Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 87: Building Immortal Forest Hollow

With the migrants settled in, the Chu Qin population had crept upward over the years—cramped land, lean rations, but babies kept coming. Add the hundred-odd souls Zhao Liangde dumped on their doorstep, the three hundred tied to Bai Xiaosheng and Bai Muhan, plus the fifty Yu Denou planned to bring from his own kin, and they’d hit around twenty-five hundred mouths to feed. Clothing them, keeping bellies full—that headache topped the list.

“Zhan Yuan, take Muhan and fetch the Bai clansfolk. Yu Denou, same for yours. Shishi—head to the Wei mountain. Borrow if you can, buy if you must. Grain, cloth, whatever it takes to tide us over.”

Qi Xiu paused, eyeing Zhang Shishi’s ramrod honesty. The man was trash at begging. “Shen Chang, go with him. Keep things smooth.”

Yu Denou spoke up, voice mild but probing. “Leaning on the Weis might rub South Chu the wrong way. Word is Wei Tong spent years in Beast Taming Sect nursing grudges against the Chu family.”

Heads nodded around the hall. The younger disciples didn’t know the tangled history; curiosity flickered in their eyes as they turned to Qi Xiu.

He waved it off. “Not your worry. We’re scratching out a living on the edges of their mountain—who else would we lean on? Wei Tong and Wei Xuan burned bridges with Beast Taming. They’re not stupid enough to poke South Chu from this far south.”

Chu Duo wanted him cozy with the Weis anyway. No way to spill that here.

Zhan Yuan frowned. “But the Weis are newcomers themselves. Wei Xuan hauled his whole sect across tens of thousands of miles. More migrants trickling in daily. Their stockpiles must be bleeding. Not sure they’ll spare essentials for outsiders.”

Qi Xiu’s smile carried a tired edge. “That’s where you’re wrong. High seats hate when you don’t need them. Makes you unpredictable. I heard an old story once: a rich landlord owed his life to one young man and had favored another. Both courted his daughter. Guess who got her? Not the lifesaver. The one who owed him. Sounds backwards, but people are twisted. Living with your savior every day? Constant reminder you’re in debt—how’s that for peace? The other way, the kid sings your praises nonstop, polishes your halo. Makes the old man feel like a saint. Same with us. Owe the Weis, and they won’t fear us, won’t push us away. Keep reminding them—‘We’re in your debt, always grateful.’ They’ll pull us closer. Self-reliant on everything? Solve your own messes? Suddenly we’re distant. Suspicious. Maybe plotting. Yeah, it’s shameless. But small sects like ours survive on shameless.”

The room went quiet, chewing on the bitter logic. Zhang Shishi grimaced—he smelled the crookedness—but no better path lay open. He pocketed the spirit stones and flew off with Shen Chang trailing.

Zhan Yuan and his wife headed north for the Bai kin. Yu Denou took his own road. Qi Xiu dipped into the auction proceeds from the purple-robed woman’s treasures to cover travel costs. Another handful of stones, gone like mist.

The rest sorted themselves. He Yu and Qin Weiyu returned to Black River Peak—guard the old base, keep He Yu near soil that matched his root, and wedge distance between Qin Weiyu and her brother Qin Ji. Split the Qin siblings early; nip any private ambitions in the bud.

Yu Jing and Pan Rong took shifts settling migrants, watching the hollow, minding young Li Tan. Qi Xiu himself set out again—this time for Kan Lin’s cave abode.

New roots in the white mountains demanded a courtesy call. With Zhao Liangde exiled and Wang Juan gone reclusive, he’d lost two hard-earned mentors. Managing spirit fields and soil? He needed advice from someone seasoned like Kan Lin.

Kan Lin was a loose cultivator. His abode sat on a modest peak with second-tier grounds, east of Artifact Talisman Alliance territory. Shan Du Mountain—now Wei turf—lay west of the alliance; Immortal Forest Hollow farther still. The journey chewed days.

Three beast ship legs, endless hours on the spirit boat, and Qi Xiu finally spotted the peak. Women washed clothes by a mountain stream—Kan clansfolk, from their chatter. Right place.

He landed the boat and climbed on foot, respectful. At the array barrier he sent in a visiting card and waited, hands folded.

The ward parted soon enough. Kan Lin stood outside his simple cave, grinning like an old friend.

“Senior.” Qi Xiu bowed deep, only to be hauled upright by the elbow.

“Heard about your windfall,” Kan Lin said. “Meant to swing by with congratulations, but then I caught the name—Immortal Forest. Bad omen for a man named Kan Lin.” He chuckled, half-serious.

Qi Xiu barked a laugh. Fallen Forest to Immortal—same sounds, ugly history. Cultivators and their superstitions. He dropped any thought of inviting the man over.

A single child servant brought spirit tea and vanished. The cave felt quiet, almost lonely.

Small talk first—weather, old favors. Then Qi Xiu laid out the problem.

“…Fields stripped bare. Not a root left. We’re Daoist stock, but years scraping by without farming—atrophy set in. White mountain soil, climate—we’re blind. Senior’s seen it all. Any guidance would feed generations of Chu Qin.”

Kan Lin leaned back, amused. “Easy enough. White mountains aren’t the northern borders.”

Locals called everything past the Death Marsh “northern borders”—opposite the migrants’ view.

“Loose cultivators everywhere here. Most chores, you hire out. Spirit planting? Specialists for that. Head to Artifact Talisman City—plenty registered there. Costs more than doing it yourself, but alliance-backed names keep their word.”

Qi Xiu blinked. “Cultivators… hiring out as laborers?”

Kan Lin shrugged. “Why not? Need buildings raised—construction specialists. Got pill ingredients but hate shop markups—alchemists for hire. Even I list as a fate viewer in the city. Pick up the odd job reading natal charts. Keeps rice in the bowl. Standard loose cultivator hustle around here.”

Qi Xiu’s mind raced. Throw money at the problem—simple, clean.

“How much for a decent spirit planter?”