Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 70: The Tournament, Part Four

Qi Xiu, Zhang Shishi, and Yu Denuo were grinning so wide their faces threatened to split. This new star had risen under their watch; every one of them claimed a share of the credit. They swarmed He Yu as he stepped down, fussing over him like worried hens.

Zhang Shishi checked him three separate times before believing there wasn’t a scratch.

Wang Juan stroked her beard, voice mild. “If that Sha Konghe had been fighting for your life, would he have pulled back that white-sand tempest? Are you truly certain you could have blocked it?”

He Yu lowered his head in thought. “If it were to the death… he’d be dead and I’d be crippled. I understand your meaning, Senior.”

Then he turned to Qi Xiu. “Sect Leader, that fight sparked something. I’d like to return to the mountain and meditate—see if I can grasp it before the second round.”

“Go, go!” Qi Xiu would have carried him there himself if needed. Zhang Shishi, still fretting, escorted him all the way back.

First round was winding down. Wang Clan’s remaining two juniors advanced smoothly. Only Gu Ji from Chu-Qin had yet to fight.

The arena had emptied; most spectators had wandered off for wine and gossip. The place felt half-abandoned.

“Chu-Qin Sect, Gu Ji!

Versus—Mountain Gate Sect, Si Wenyu!”

The steward’s voice had barely faded when Qi Xiu felt a venomous stare stab across the square. Si Wentai, lounging in the distance, smiled like a knife.

Of all the rotten luck.

Qi Xiu hurriedly pulled Gu Ji close. “Don’t tangle with him. Go up, wave once, concede, come down.”

“Trash…” Si Wentai’s lazy taunt drifted over, loud enough for everyone.

Qi Xiu stepped in front of Gu Ji’s glare. “Ignore him. Just take care of yourself.”

Gu Ji, for once, didn’t nod instantly. “Sect Leader… I want to bring Little Gold.”

The Heterochromatic Golden-Silk Monkey clung to his chest, baring tiny fangs at Si Wentai’s direction.

Qi Xiu hesitated. The steward was already shouting for the next fighter. “Fine, take the monkey.”

Si Wenyu waited on stage, tapping his foot. When he saw the boy and the monkey, he flicked his sleeve with exaggerated disdain. “Look, the fly came back on its own.”

Sparse laughter rippled from the remaining crowd.

Gu Ji set Little Gold down. Slowly, solemnly, he raised his hand. “Please.”

Si Wenyu blinked. “You actually want to fight me?”

“Do you talk this much because you’re scared?”

Si Wenyu’s face split into a savage grin. “Good! I’ll teach you pain you’ll never forget!”

Flaming blades erupted from his sleeves. A volley of fireball talismans followed, sealing every escape route.

Qi Xiu rushed to the stage edge. “Gu Ji, what are you doing?! Get down!”

Wang Juan yanked him back. “Let the boy have his pride. Forcing him now would break something harder to fix.”

Qi Xiu could only watch, heart in his throat.

Gu Ji rolled under the first wave, slapped down a Water-Element Barrier that cocooned both him and the monkey. In the same motion he donned a ridiculous hawk-beak mask and drew a broken first-tier shortspear—little more than scrap metal.

Wang Juan raised an eyebrow. “What kind of technique is that?”

Qi Xiu gave a helpless laugh. “Toys. He bought them with chore money. The spear’s been broken for years.”

Si Wenyu hurled fire like a dragon gone mad. Gu Ji scampered, flipped, and spun around the stage edges, monkey and boy moving as one. Every blast missed by a hair. The Mountain Gate disciple’s face purpled.

“Can the rat only roll on the ground like a beast?”

Gu Ji didn’t answer. He’d spent years playing tag with Little Gold; the footwork came as natural as breathing. Si Wenyu’s flames were fierce and pure, but he had no binding arts, no crowd control—nothing to catch a flea that refused to stand still.

The crowd that remained grew quiet, then fascinated. Imperial Beast Sect members especially leaned forward, eyes shining. Someone started clapping rhythm. “Good! Beautiful!”

Minutes bled away. Si Wenyu swallowed a qi-recovery pill and kept up the barrage, waiting for exhaustion. Gu Ji’s breath turned ragged, sweat beading under the silly mask.

Si Wenyu smirked and shifted his aim low, forcing bigger leaps, faster drains.

Gu Ji’s circles tightened. Instead of fleeing, he began closing the distance.

You really think you can win? Si Wenyu laughed inside. He switched to instant-cast, high-velocity fire lances—impossible to fully dodge at this range.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Hits landed. Robes burned away. Skin blistered and smoked. Gu Ji staggered but kept coming, teeth clenched so hard the mask creaked.

From the sidelines Qi Xiu’s voice cracked. “Stop… please stop…”

Gu Ji leapt—one final, desperate bound—spear thrust straight at Si Wenyu’s face.

“Childish.”

Si Wenyu raised a fresh Fire-Element Barrier.

In that exact instant Little Gold’s mismatched eyes blazed—one blue, one virulent green.

Twin rays struck the newborn shield.

Silently, without flash or sound, the barrier vanished like it had never existed.

Si Wenyu’s sneer froze.

The broken shortspear kissed his throat. A single drop of blood slid down the rusty tip.

“You lose,” Gu Ji rasped. He looked like a charred corpse wearing a comedy mask, blood threading black channels across ruined flesh, yet his voice was calm, almost gentle.

Si Wenyu’s arms fell limp. “I… lose.”

Not smart enough, not ruthless enough, and whatever that demonic light had been—if this were a deathmatch he’d already be cooling meat. No excuses.

The arena fell deathly still for three heartbeats.

Then thunderous applause crashed down, louder than any cheer all day. A Qi Refining layer-two had forced a late-stage cultivator to yield. Once in a lifetime.

Gu Ji took one step off the stage and collapsed straight into Qi Xiu’s arms.

Qi Xiu dropped to his knees, cradling the boy, tears cutting clean tracks through the soot on his own face. “Ji-er… you idiot, you brave little idiot…”

Behind them, every remaining contestant—friend and stranger alike—looked at the smoking child with something like awe.

The Mountain Gate disciples slipped away one by one, faces burning, until not a single robe of theirs remained in the square.