Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 79: The Departed Are Gone

Yu Denuo fell silent, no answer ready. A fight this brutal—if Gu Ji was fine, he'd have circled back with help by now. Shrugging it off, he busied himself: sparked a campfire, dragged the unconscious Qi Xiu closer for warmth, then slipped into the dark to rummage through the Shan Du corpses. Under Zhang Shishi's puzzled stare, he returned with five or six storage pouches.

"You haven't lived it," Yu Denuo said, dumping the pouches beside Qi Xiu without peeking inside. His voice carried the weight of too many years. "Fights in White Mountain always end the same. No grudges in death—winner takes all."

He settled by the fire, gaze distant. "My old sect? Stronger than Chu Qin by far. Wiped out overnight. I still remember—anyone who fought back, man, woman, child... dozens slaughtered. Should hate them? Sure. But I don't. Half a lifetime here, seen it too often. No room for mercy in White Mountain. Only strength. Only winners. Weak don't last—like Shan Du Sect now. What they did? Every sect here's guilty of the same. Their only sin: catching Old Ancestor Wei's eye. Why them? Simple. Pick the soft target."

Pause. Wind whispered through the valley.

"To avoid their fate, you get ruthless. To others. To yourself, harder. I couldn't. So no hate for them—just myself, for lacking the edge." He nodded at the withered corpse opposite Qi Xiu, still frozen cross-legged, fingers locked in a final seal, eyes glaring ahead with frozen fury. Firelight danced across the snarling face, turning it ghostly.

"That one had it. Ruthless to enemies. Ruthless to himself. That's how you claw survival here. Hold out a bit longer? We'd be the corpses—Sect Leader, all of us. Just second-layer Qi Condensation, same as Huang He. Without that bite, how else drag a fifth-layer leader to the brink?"

Zhang Shishi said nothing.

Night hushed, broken only by crackling flames. No glowstones for light—Yu Denuo chose fire for its primal comfort, the kind that soothed ancient fears deep in the soul.

"Death's terrifying, yeah. But fighting with your back to the wall? That's cultivation too. Snatching life from heaven, from men. Countless White Mountain cultivators broke through in blood like this. You lot sheltered under Chu's wing too long. Safe days breed soft edges. You'll get it, in time..."

Words trailed off. He slumped, sleep claiming him fast—his own wounds heavy, exhaustion finally winning.

Zhang Shishi alone stayed awake, arms throbbing as flesh knit slow. Stared into the dying embers.

Fire guttered out as dawn grayed the sky. Night winds had thinned the blood reek. From distant trees, two figures emerged—a man and woman. Zhang Shishi recognized He Yu and Bai Muhan. He waved empty sleeves, hurrying over.

"What happened?"

Close now, he saw tears streaming silent down their faces. He Yu cradled a headless body in Chu Qin's red robe.

"Gu Ji..."

Zhang Shishi's eyes burned instantly. "It's him?"

He Yu nodded mute. Bai Muhan offered a silk-wrapped bundle—a head.

"This..." Zhang Shishi's lips quivered. Tears burst free. He reached—then remembered his missing arms. "Sect Leader... he'll break when he hears. Gu Ji was his favorite..."

"Place him with Huang He..."

Long silence. Deep breath. Zhang Shishi's voice steadied, heavy.

The three arranged Gu Ji's remains in quiet. Sat together afterward, tears falling unchecked.

"Gu Ji took an old hunter with him," He Yu said later, pressing a transparent silk thread into Qi Xiu's hand—brass rings at each end. "Careless. Never saw a mortal with gear like this. Didn't... leave a full body."

Qi Xiu lay rigid, staring skyward, unhearing. The thread's tough, razor edge bit his palm. Sudden strength surged—he lurched up, hurled the killer weapon away in rage, then lunged for the wrapped head, cradling it close. Wails tore from him.

"Ah... ah... Ji'er... my Ji'er..."

Trembling fingers unveiled the face. Gu Ji's features—corner of the mouth quirked in that eternal playful grin, lively even in death. Memories flooded: the masked figure bouncing through arena flames years back.

"I failed you... this worthless leader failed you..."

He pressed head to body, muttering over and over, words slurring like a man unhinged. Zhang Shishi and the others exchanged worried glances, moved in.

"Sect Leader—enough. They're gone. Spare your grief! If something happens to you, what becomes of us?"

Yu Denuo, Pan Rong, the rest roused, knelt before him, pleading.

Bai Muhan joined them on her knees. "Sect Leader Senior Brother—this isn't my place, but pull yourself together. We're exposed here, situation unclear. Contact Zhao Liangde fast, or more Shan Du stragglers hit us wounded like this? No chance."

It landed. Qi Xiu's sobs choked off. A seven-hued glint flickered in his dark eyes—Clear Self Heart stirring again. Reason crept back.

He reorganized defenses. "Denuo—another alarm flare. Grab from Shishi's pouch."

"Yes!" Yu Denuo fished one out, climbed the hill, ignited it.

"Shan Du ringed by thousands, Golden Core ancestor included—how'd so many slip through? Zhao parking us here... hardly kind. Next time I see him, answers or blood."

Zhang Shishi ground out through pain—arms days from ready—or pure fury.

Flares rose one after another. Stock dwindled. Nothing.

"Sect Leader...?" Yu Denuo grimaced.

"Keep going. Alarms gone? Use the Imperial Beast signal ones. Heal fast—every bit of strength buys hope."

Post-battle emptiness gripped the wilds. Cloudless sky. Not a bird. Flares faded quick in bright sun. Signal stock nearly spent—Chu Qin teetering on abandoning post—when a vast, flat shadow finally crossed the horizon: the Silver-Back Carrying Ray.

Zhang Shishi leaped aboard before it settled, fury propelling him. Qi Xiu couldn't stop him. But after the group loaded Gu Ji and Huang He's remains... Zhang froze in place. No charging off for confrontation.

Qi Xiu puzzled—until he saw the ray's back.

Corpses everywhere, draped in sect cloths. Survivors? Barely fifty. Some sat numb beside piles of dead. Others clutched bodies, wailing loud. Devastation thick in the air.

"This..."

Zhang Shishi's anger evaporated. He found a clear spot instead, arranged their fallen with care. Qi Xiu headed inside for Zhao Liangde.

The hall—once bustling, laughter echoing—now chilled with yin winds. Dozens of bodies lined up, mostly Zhao clansmen.

That scarred-face Foundation Establishment cultivator? Tossed in a corner, uncovered. Alone. None of his living bluster left.

Zhao Liangde hunched in his old seat, staring blank. Aged two decades in days—hair gone full white. He glanced up as Qi Xiu entered.

"You're here... alive. That's enough. Alive beats everything..."

Murmur weary. He pulled back cloth from a nearby corpse: Zhao Teng—the one who'd raised pigs and fish for Chu Qin early on, crushed Zhang Shishi in the tournament. Body stitched with wounds, death brutal.

"All gone from me... Can't handle your matters now. We'll drop you at your sect first. Rewards... I'll send word later. Cough..."

Coughs wracked him—wounds deep. Qi Xiu, seeing the wreck, found no words for blame. Comforted him instead, then withdrew.

Outside, Yu Denuo had gleaned the truth: Shan Du hid a sixth Foundation Establishment—a true peerless genius, sect's hidden hope. Never showed face, lived off-mountain. Broke out right through Zhao's line. Slain in the end, but dragged hordes to the grave. One sect, lured by heavy promises—thirty-plus, wiped clean. Far worse than Chu Qin.

"Sigh... guess we're the lucky ones..."

Qi Xiu's gaze lingered on Gu Ji and Huang He. Ache renewed. "Then back to the sect. Bury them proper. Plans after..."