Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 86: Migration to Immortal Forest Hollow

This might be the last time Qi Xiu ever set foot in Zhao Liangde’s hall. The man stood alone outside, hands clasped behind his back, watching retainers haul crates onto a waiting beast ship. He looked like someone already halfway gone.

Qi Xiu had never seen a fall this steep, this fast. The crowds that once clogged the gates had vanished. The swaggering local powerhouse—greedy, loud, unbreakable—had aged decades overnight. White hair, stooped shoulders, the slow shuffle of an old man waiting for the end.

“Hey, kid.”

Zhao Liangde spotted him and managed the old familiar greeting, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Qi Xiu hurried forward with a respectful bow.

A bitter chuckle. “All the usual visitors stopped coming. You… you’re a decent sort, still bothering to check on an old wreck.”

They traded small talk for a minute. Then Zhao Liangde’s gaze drifted back to the loading dock, as if the crates held the last scraps of his life.

Qi Xiu broke the news about Immortal Forest Hollow—carefully edited, no mention of the hidden hand that had rigged the tournament. He presented the gifts he’d brought: valuables pulled from the sect vault, wrapped as thanks.

“You didn’t have to drag presents along.”

The bribe worked anyway. A real grin cracked the old man’s face for the first time. He pocketed the goods with practiced nonchalance and waved Qi Xiu inside.

The grand hall echoed empty. No giggling concubines, no fawning retainers. Just dust and silence where splendor used to live.

“You really leaving?” Qi Xiu asked.

Zhao Liangde slapped his thigh. “Yeah. No place for me in the southern border anymore.” His voice carried the weight of someone who’d stared into the abyss and blinked first. “Too old for new fights. Can’t cross Wei Tong. Can’t stay in Beast Taming Sect. Time to go.”

“Where to?”

“Back to the main mountain. Got some distant cousins there. Probably the last move I’ll ever make.”

The answer landed heavier than Qi Xiu expected. He’d started to like the greedy old bastard—flaws and all. Now the man was vanishing into exile.

“That daughter of mine married into the Qin family… keep an eye on her, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Words dried up after that. They sat in the hollow hall, two men nursing separate regrets. Qi Xiu left soon after. Neither knew it was the final goodbye.

A few days later Zhao Liangde slipped away quietly, taking most of his clan with him. The stragglers he entrusted to allied sects. Dozens of households landed on Chu Qin’s doorstep—perfect timing to join the Qin migrants heading south.

Zhan Yuan chartered a massive second-tier beast ship. Twenty days’ rental nearly cleaned out the sect treasury—ten third-tier spirit stones gone like smoke. The rough equivalent of ten Foundation Establishment pills, vanished without a ripple.

Qi Xiu’s teeth ached for days, but options were nil. Mortal transports were rare birds; the ship came with hundreds of cabins and storm wards sturdy enough to cross the Death Marsh. Without it, two thousand souls would never reach the new land alive.

“No choice,” Zhan Yuan grumbled on deck. “Once Zhao left, Beast Taming Sect blackballed us. South Chu uses third-tier shuttles—rent one of those and we’d be bankrupt twice over. This tub’s an old Artifact Talisman Alliance hand-me-down from Beast Taming routes. We’re covering their lost revenue too.”

The two men sat hunched over empty cups, mourning another financial gut punch. Zhan Yuan hadn’t bled this bad since Chu Youmin fleeced him years ago.

“We’ll need cash the second we land,” Qi Xiu said. He handed over the three second-tier treasures looted from the purple-clothed woman. “Sell them fast. Take the loss if you have to. Money’s tight—we can’t pinch pennies now.”

“Auction them in Artifact Talisman City,” Zhan Yuan suggested. “Attack arts and weapons fetch better prices in the white mountains.”

Qi Xiu nodded.

“Sect Leader… Immortal Master Zhan…”

Qin Ji appeared out of nowhere, dropping to his knees. The Qin migrants had secured arable land—life-saving dirt—but the family’s patron, the Zhao clan, had evaporated overnight.

Qin Ji’s face was the color of old ash. He kept his forehead glued to the deck, waiting for the axe.

Zhan Yuan ignored him, stalking off with the treasures. Passing the kneeling man, he let out a deliberate snort. Qin Ji flinched hard, pressing lower.

Qi Xiu sighed. The proud young spear of a man who’d arrived at Black River years ago was gone. Pity, contempt, exhaustion—all tangled together. But the migrants were mostly Qin blood; the sect still needed him functional.

“Get up. Go help with the move. That land’s already broken—plant fast, survive the first year, same deal as always. I’ll cover seed grain.”

Soft words, practical mercy. Qin Ji scrambled away, relief shaking his shoulders.

The overloaded beast ship crawled south for ten full days before Immortal Forest Hollow opened beneath them—a lush green cradle between two gentle ridges.

“Sect Leader!”

Zhang Shishi and He Yu waited at the landing clearing, grinning ear to ear. The moment Qi Xiu’s feet touched soil, they dragged him on a triumphant tour.

First sight: the old Lin clan gate, weathered stone arch still bearing two carved characters—Immortal Forest.

“No need to replace it,” Qi Xiu said. “We bled enough coin on the move. Save where we can.”

Shen Chang piped up behind him, eyes gleaming. “Arch stays, but the calligraphy’s ugly. Sect Leader’s brush would look far better.”

Perfect flattery. Qi Xiu barked a laugh, mood lifting. “Well said.”

Smiles all around. Zhang Shishi led the group deeper.

“Main hall and side courts—mostly intact. The mountain guard array’s damaged but runnable, maybe seventy percent strength.”

“Excellent,” Qi Xiu murmured. Every preserved stone meant fewer spirit stones bled.

They pressed on. Second-tier spiritual qi thickened, wrapping around them like cool mist. Neat rows of thatched meditation huts dotted the slope, doors hanging open. Every flowerbed and herb patch had been razed flat—only broken stems remained.

“Personal cultivation huts,” Zhang Shishi explained. “One per disciple. Deeper in, the qi gets richer. No more cramming everyone under the gathering array. Though the Wei family stripped every valuable plant and portable treasure before they left. What’s here can’t be carried.”

A few disappointed murmurs, quickly stifled. No one had dared dream of inheriting a stocked paradise. Bare dirt with a spirit vein beneath was already obscene luck.

The original owners hadn’t been major players; nothing irreplaceable lost.

The tour ended at the summit where the ridges met. A stone disk array—sun-dial huge—crouched on the peak, redirecting rising spiritual qi down a sunlit incline, artificially nourishing broad swaths of first-tier fields below.

A permanent rainbow arched over the terraces, fed by constant mist.

Compared to Black River Peak’s perpetual stink and black fog, the sight punched the breath out of them. Verdant slopes, clean air, painted sky—one realm heaven, the other hell.

“Prime first-tier fields,” Zhang Shishi said. “Big enough for serious planting. Wei cultivators uprooted every stalk of spirit grain before handover.”

Another collective sigh.

Tour done, they gathered in the echoing main hall—sect elders, key disciples, migrant representatives. Time to plan the future of Chu Qin on new ground.