Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 72: Zhang Shishi Takes Concubines

Gu Ji was carried back to the mountain to heal, and life slipped into familiar quiet rhythms once more.

The grand protective array kept the storms of the outside world at bay. Blackriver Peak stayed eternally spring-warm, wrapped in gentle mists and birdsong. Unnoticed, eight full years had passed since Chu-Qin Sect first claimed this corner of the southern border.

An auspicious day.

Lanterns glowed crimson in the rear courtyard. Double-happiness characters the size of wagon wheels plastered the main hall.

Zhang Shishi’s wedding day.

Yu Denuo hoisted his cup high, voice booming over the gathered disciples. “Today our brother Shishi enters bliss! With Sect Leader and Junior Brother He advancing by leaps and bounds, Chu-Qin’s golden age is just around the corner. Come—drink!”

Laughter rippled. Cups clinked. “Bottoms up!”

Behind the groom in his scarlet robes stood two girls—no more than seventeen or eighteen—dressed as brides in matching crimson. Cheeks flushed from wine, they hid shy smiles behind red sleeves and coughed delicately. Identical faces, identical grace. Twin blossoms in full bloom, mirror images of loveliness that stole every breath in the room.

Yu Denuo, ever the irreverent elder, chuckled. “Looks like the little ladies are eager. Let’s not keep Brother Zhang from his… marital duties. Out, everyone—out!”

The twins ducked their heads, ears scarlet.

Zhang Shishi—now thirty, beard neatly trimmed, face settled into mature lines—laughed and shook his head. “Old Yu, you’re not that much older. Who knows? I might be drinking at your wedding yet.”

Another roar of laughter. The guests filed out, leaving the hall to the newlyweds.

Qi Xiu had broken through every bottleneck since obtaining the Mingxin Jianxing Jue (modified by Chu Huixin). Qi Refining layer five at thirty-eight—prime of life. His [Clarity of Self] talent sharpened daily; his eyes gleamed with kind yet piercing wisdom.

Leading the way outside, he glanced back at Zhan Yuan with a teasing grin. “You’re only a year younger than Shishi. Next year we’ll be toasting you and Munhan, mark my words.”

Zhan Yuan met the eyes of the woman beside him and scratched his cheek, sheepish. “Afraid we can’t make as big a splash as Zhang Shishi. Munhan’s suffered enough on my account…”

She cut him off gently. “Don’t say that. My father owes his dignity these years to Sect Leader Qi’s courage—and to you watching over us in the market. He carries heavy chains already. I’d hate to drag the sect down with ceremony.”

Bai Munhan looked older than Zhan Yuan, Qi Refining layer five, dressed in simple, elegant robes. Not beautiful in the classical sense, but serene, warm—like quiet moonlight on still water. Her features carried an unmistakable echo of Bai Xiaosheng, still chained in the square below.

Qi Xiu sighed. “If not for your father’s misfortune, you’d never have known such hardship.”

She gave a bittersweet smile. “He brought it on himself—scribbling those wild stories that offended the wrong people. Lost me a betrothal in White Mountain, turned me from a Foundation Establishment daughter into a pariah. Without Zhan Yuan’s help, I wouldn’t have survived the market at all.”

Gu Ji, fully recovered and as mischievous as ever, piped up. “Senior Bai’s tales? I tracked down a bunch. Hilarious stuff—perfect for whiling away an afternoon.”

Qi Xiu shot him a stern look. The boy had real talent—defeating a late-stage opponent at layer two proved it—yet he squandered every day on pranks and idle reading.

“Ahem. Fewer idle books, more cultivation. Follow your Senior Brother He’s example.”

Gu Ji hated the comparison. “He reads them too! I saw one stuffed under his pillow—want me to go fetch it?”

He Yu flushed crimson. “You little—!”

The two bolted off in a flurry of mock outrage and laughter. Everyone watched them disappear down the mountain path, shaking with mirth.

Qi Xiu chuckled despite himself. That rascal kept the sect alive with chaos.

He turned to Zhan Yuan. “How’s business in the market these days?”

The smile faded from Zhan Yuan’s face. “The new districts dwarf the old. Our corner’s been shoved into obscurity. I turned the ground floor into a spirit-tea house—mostly low-tier loose cultivators nursing a cup all afternoon. Inn barely breaks even.”

Faces darkened around the circle.

Since the big sects carved up the market, Chu-Qin couldn’t scrape together crumbs. They survived on expanded boar-fish breeding, but Zhao Liangde’s star was falling fast in Imperial Beast Sect. Those profits wouldn’t last.

Speaking of Zhao Liangde—the tournament’s aftermath had been brutal.

Once Chu-Qin withdrew, the second round turned into a bloodbath. When Zhao Clan fighters met their internal rivals on stage, brotherhood evaporated. Limbs broken, foundations cracked—Imperial Beast Sect’s civil war laid bare for all to see.

Zhao Clan lost disastrously. Zhao Liangde’s influence crumbled day by day.

Word now spread openly: his master, Golden Core cultivator Wei Tong, neared the end of his lifespan. Fair-weather allies flocked to the other Golden Core elder’s banner. Even Wang Juan switched sides without a backward glance.

Qi Xiu, bound by Chu Duo’s secret decree, had no choice but to stay loyal. Zhan Yuan had broached changing allegiance more than once; Qi Xiu refused every time, unable to explain why. The sect limped along in awkward limbo.

Population grew. Last year’s Ascension Ceremony welcomed a new miscellaneous-spirit-root boy named Li Tan. Qi Xiu and He Yu’s rapid progress devoured resources. Income shrank. They scraped by—for now.

Next year, when Bai Munhan officially joined, the coffers would run dry.

Zhan Yuan saw his opening. “About staying tied to Zhao Liangde…”

“Sect Leader!” Huang He hurried up the path. “Senior Zhao Liangde is waiting in Hugging Origin Hall. He asks for you at once.”

Qi Xiu and Zhan Yuan exchanged startled glances.

Speak of the devil.

Without another word, they hurried toward the main hall.