Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 66: The Fight for Blackriver Market

Misfortune never comes alone.

The moment Qi Xiu’s feet touched the soil of Blackriver Peak, Zhan Yuan was already waiting, face pale with urgency. He hurried forward and dropped the next news like a thunderbolt.

“They want to renegotiate the entire profit split for Blackriver Market?!”

Qi Xiu could scarcely believe his ears. Chu Youguang had only just arrived. The good days for the Chu-Qin Sect had barely begun. And now this—another carving up of the pie?

Zhan Yuan’s shoulders slumped. “It’s true. Started small: some cultivator from Guanghui Pavilion in Qi’nan City approached Chu Youmin, just asking for a slice of the auction business. Who knew Chu Youmin would humiliate the man in front of half the market? Guanghui Pavilion lost face. So their Nascent Soul ancestor went straight to Old Ancestor Chu Hongshang. That’s how this ‘renegotiation’ was born.”

“That pig Chu Youmin!” Qi Xiu laughed, but there was no humor in it.

Guanghui Pavilion wasn’t some local merchant house. It was a colossal, with branches spidering across the entire Qi Cloud Region, backed by powers so deep even South Chu Sect treaded carefully. And Chu Youmin, that brainless fool, had practically gift-wrapped them an excuse to muscle into the newest, juiciest market in the region. Not only had he cost himself, he’d dragged the Zhao Clan, the Wang Clan, and Qi Xiu’s own Chu-Qin Sect down with him.

“I just spoke with Zhao Liangde,” Qi Xiu said, frowning. “He didn’t mention anything. Are you sure about this?”

“Dead certain.” Zhan Yuan pulled out a silk handkerchief and unfolded a hastily sketched map of the new market layout. “Got it straight from Chu Youguang’s people. Zhao Liangde probably hasn’t heard yet.”

Qi Xiu’s gaze swept across the cloth. The once-central crossroads where Chu-Qin Sect had held prime ghost-market and inn rights had been shoved into a forgotten corner. Dozens of numbered plots now dotted the best locations: future shops, auction houses, pill stores. Every single exclusive privilege was gone. From now on, rights would be decided by blood and fists.

A chill crawled up Qi Xiu’s spine. “They’re holding a tournament?”

Zhan Yuan tapped the blank plots. “Exactly. South Chu Sect is hosting a grand melee for all Qi Refining cultivators in the region. Winner takes the plot. Rankings decide everything. Qi Cloud, South Chu, Imperial Beast Sect, White Mountain, even the Water League, everyone’s invited. It’ll be a slaughterhouse up there.”

“Fair?” Qi Xiu spat the word. “Fair for the big sects, maybe. They just locked every small clan out.”

He’d barely promised Zhao Liangde they’d fight side by side when true life-and-death came. Now this hopeless tournament loomed. The entire Chu-Qin Sect together had nearly died taking down one Blackriver Lizard. How were they supposed to compete against heaven’s chosen from every major power?

Zhan Yuan sighed. “Guanghui Pavilion, Wanbao Pavilion, Spirit Herb Pavilion, White Mountain’s Artifact & Talisman Alliance… even the minor sects under South Chu and Imperial Beast will throw their geniuses in. We don’t stand a chance.”

Qi Xiu clenched his jaw. “Gather everyone. Hugging Origin Hall. Now.”

Inside the hall, the news hit like frostbite. Faces wilted. No one spoke. Only He Yu’s eyes glittered with sudden fire.

“I’ve been stuck at the peak of Qi Refining Qi layer five for months,” he said, voice eager. “Master Kan told me to wander the world, see bloodshed, feel the edge of life and death. Maybe this tournament will crack the bottleneck wide open.”

Zhang Shishi rubbed his chin. Same bottleneck, same frustration. And the rules promised no fatal blows—just until surrender or ring-out. A perfect training ground.

“Then He Yu and I will enter,” Zhang Shishi declared, then glanced at Yu Denuo. “Senior Brother Yu…?”

Yu Denuo, the strongest among them, gave a helpless nod. “Count me in. Though I’ll warn you now—don’t expect miracles.”

“Good! The three of us will represent the sect,” Zhang Shishi said firmly. “We fight, we learn, we come back alive. No regrets.”

The rest nodded. It was their best lineup.

“No.”

Qi Xiu’s voice cut through the hall like a blade. He rose, pacing, face dark with thought. Everyone stared.

At last he stopped, expression grave. “Every single disciple of Chu-Qin Sect will enter this tournament.”

Zhan Yuan blurted, “Sect Leader, we’re only Qi Refining! We’ll be laughingstocks!”

Qi Xiu raised a hand, silencing him. When he spoke again, his voice was low, heavy with things he could not yet say.

“Listen carefully. Soon, very soon, our sect may have to fight for our lives. Not a tournament. Real blades, real death. Zhang Shishi was right—this stage has no fatalities. Perfect practice for what’s coming.”

The hall exploded in shock.

Yu Denuo shot to his feet, face drained of blood. “Sect Leader! We joined Chu-Qin for peace, for quiet cultivation! Not… not this!”

Qi Xiu’s heart twisted. He wanted to tell them about Chu Duo’s secret decree, the shadow falling over them all. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“This isn’t my choice,” he said instead. “We’re not some core clan under three-generation protection. Even with South Chu backing us, some tides we cannot swim against.”

Seeing Yu Denuo sway, Qi Xiu softened. “I don’t have all the details yet. Maybe it won’t come to that. But preparing early never hurts. And tell me—can any of you swear you’ll never have to fight for your life on the road of cultivation? Better to bleed a little now than die ignorant later.”

No one argued after that. The sect leader’s word was iron.

Dust flew as forgotten combat arts were dragged back into practice. Zhan Yuan emptied the sect’s coffers overnight, buying up every talisman, artifact, and pill that might tip a fight. Prices in every market had already tripled—proof the other powers were doing the same.

Guanghui Pavilion moved like lightning. With a Nascent Soul ancestor’s face and efficiency honed by centuries of commerce, they flattened all resistance. In mere days, a colossal arena of black spirit-iron rose in the heart of Blackriver Market. The date was set. Registration opened.

Chu-Qin Sect signed up all eleven disciples.

The Wang Clan sent three.

Zhao Liangde entered ten of his best.

As for Chu Youmin, the original culprit? He never showed. Word was he and his entire branch had been hauled back to South Chu City under house arrest. One arrogant clan, erased from Blackriver’s future as though they’d never existed.