Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 63: Pig-Fish Harvest Day

First snow fell like a sudden verdict.

Zhang Shishi stood in his small courtyard, collar turned up against the wind, watching flakes swirl past the eaves. Two and a half years at Black River. Two and a half years of bone-grinding effort, and still only the fifth layer of Qi Refining.

He Yu was already in seclusion, hammering at the sixth layer before winter truly bit. Even the Sect Leader—who’d barely cultivated a day in his life—was showing signs of breaking through the third.

Zhang Shishi’s reflection in the frozen puddle looked back with tired eyes.

Calm… calm…

A future sect leader didn’t need to be the strongest. Look at the Sect Leader—warm, steady, beloved. That was real power.

Today was harvest day. First snow meant mortals could finally tread the Black River without freezing or being eaten. The Sect Leader had put him in charge of escorting the settlers to the breeding grounds. Ever since Zhan Yuan and his little clique buried themselves in the market, mundane chores like this fell to Zhang Shishi. He could not—would not—fumble it.

He slapped his cheeks until the sting woke him fully, then strode out the gate.

Gu Ji, Qin Weiyu, Yu Jing, and Huang He waited in the snow, breath pluming.

“Sorry to keep you,” Zhang Shishi said, forcing a smile.

“We just got here,” Gu Ji answered cheerfully. Seventeen this year, voice deep, the last traces of boyish bounce fading into a young man’s frame.

Qin Weiyu, nearly fifteen, had shot up like bamboo after rain—second-tallest in the sect now, only Junior Brother Yu Denuo edging him out. Same honest, slightly slow grin as always.

Huang He and Yu Jing were quieter these days, steadier.

Zhang Shishi’s gaze snagged on the pale leather pouch at Huang He’s waist—a cheap White Mountain storage bag. Zhan Yuan must have picked up a batch from some desperate seller and handed them out like new-year candy. To his friends, of course.

He reached over without a word, plucked the pouch free, and pressed it back into Huang He’s arms.

“Wealth invites thieves,” he said lightly, clapping the boy’s shoulder. “Keep expensive things out of sight.”

Huang He flushed scarlet. “Yes, Senior Brother.”

“Move out. We’ll fly ahead, clear the path. The settlers will follow.”

He tossed out the spirit boat and shot skyward. The other four scrambled after him.

Halfway to the settlement, they spotted the column: a hundred mortal men marching in neat ranks, two enormous geese circling overhead. Qin Ji and his wife, no doubt. Zhao Liangde’s wedding gift all those years ago—first-tier spirit geese as dowry for mortals—still made people whisper.

Zhang Shishi descended.

The taller goose carried a striking woman in plain Qi Cloud robes, no trace of her old Beast Taming Sect leathers. She spotted them and cupped her hands with exaggerated formality.

“Immortals Zhang, Gu, Qin, Huang, and Yu—honored guests! This humble woman failed to greet you from afar. A thousand pardons!” She even attempted a wobbly curtsey while perched on a goose.

Zhang Shishi nearly laughed. A Zhao daughter afraid of no immortal—refreshing.

“No harm done,” he returned the salute. “All well?”

“The same as ever,” Qin Ji called from the second goose, rounder now, sporting a thin mustache that made him look like a contented shopkeeper. “Only hoping this year’s Ascension Ceremony yields a few gems.”

“Let’s speak on the ground. Snow came early—some spirit beasts might still be awake and cranky. Stay close behind us.”

Zhang Shishi caught the way Qin Ji’s first glance went to Qin Weiyu, warm and paternal. Something sharp twisted in his gut.

The Sect Leader had once repeated, off-hand, a drunken remark of Qin Ji’s: still wary of “outsiders,” still nursing dreams of a Qin-blooded successor one day.

Delusion.

The next sect leader’s seat belonged to him. No one—neither Zhan Yuan nor this overgrown kid smiling innocently below—would take it.

He turned the spirit boat sharply and led the arrowhead formation forward.

The journey passed without serious incident. The great purge years ago had emptied Black River of anything truly dangerous. Mortals walked slowly; it took half a day to reach the breeding grounds.

The old Yellow Sand Illusion Array still shimmered. The poor elder stationed here year-round stumbled out weeping with joy at the sight of human faces. A whole year with only monthly supply drops for company—Zhang Shishi almost pitied him.

“Gu Ji, take first watch inside the array. The rest of you—rest. Qin Ji, set up camp. Harvest begins at dawn.”

He flew patrol circuits until exhaustion dragged at his arms, then found himself gliding over the exact spot where the Black River Lizard had nearly killed him.

Bleached bones lay scattered across the ice, massive even in death.

Zhang Shishi’s blood sang.

I survived worse than this.

The sect leader’s seat is mine. No one else can carry it.

Then another thought slid in like cold steel:

The current Sect Leader is barely ten years older than me…

He shook his head violently, scattering the notion like snow from his hair.

Dawn brought shouting and laughter from the slopes.

Rows of straw nests had been prepared the previous winter. Fragrant Cattail Pig-Fish, fat and sleepy, crawled in each autumn and hibernated like clockwork. Harvest was simple: reach in, pull out a snoring, pig-snouted fish the size of a toddler, toss it in the medicated tanks to purge its guts, bind legs with grass rope, pack into crates.

Mortals worked in cheerful chaos. Even Qin Ji’s wife rolled up sleeves and hauled crates, laughing when slime splattered her face. The settlers adored her for it.

By dusk the tally was done.

“Three thousand one hundred nineteen,” the Zhao clan purchaser announced, grinning. “Call it three thousand five hundred. That’s three hundred fifty second-tier spirit stones—or four third-tier if you prefer. Here.”

He pushed the stones over with deliberate carelessness, winked at Qin Ji’s wife, then slapped a gold-embossed invitation into Zhang Shishi’s hand.

“After New Year, the sect’s holding a grand racing tournament. Sect Leader Qi is personally invited to attend.”

Zhang Shishi accepted with a polite nod.

The man tapped the invitation twice, smile sharpening. “Make very sure Sect Leader Qi comes himself.”

The geese lifted off into the twilight, crates swaying beneath them like ripe fruit.

Snow kept falling, soft and relentless, covering every track the mortals left behind.