Path of the Sect Leader-Chapter 49: Crossroads Gambit

“You’re back already?” Qi Xiu raised a brow.
“I never saw Chu Youmin himself,” Zhan Yuan said flatly. “Handed the jade slip to one of his house guards. The guard read my face, then told me to roll.”
“…That’s it? Just ‘roll’?”
“Yep. One word. Loudly.”
Silence pooled thick between them.
Before Qi Xiu could scrape together a reply, Huang He burst through the door.
“Sect Leader! Zhan-shixiong! All the Chu clansmen in the riverlands; gone! The rogue cultivators too; cleared out like rats before a flood!”
Qi Xiu barked a laugh that startled even himself. The boulder on his chest shattered.
Zhan Yuan’s eyes went wide. “I’ll go confirm—”
“No need.” Qi Xiu waved him down, still grinning. “A Golden Core spoke. Ten Chu Youmins wouldn’t dare cough in our direction again. We burned that bridge to ash, but the fire’s finally on our side.”
He sobered, spread a fresh map across the table, and drew two bold lines:
One arrow-straight from Beast Taming Mountain to Southern Chu City.
One arrow-straight from Artifact-Rune City to Qi’nan City.
They crossed in a perfect X; right over a certain bend of Black River.
Qi Xiu tapped the intersection.
“Tell me what you see.”
Zhan Yuan’s breath caught. “Traffic… a market.”
“Exactly.” Qi Xiu’s voice thrummed with sudden fire. “Half a year I carried this half-baked dream. Three days on that cargo ray looking down; the fog finally lifted.”
He stabbed the map again.
“Why did Southern Chu dump us here? Because every cultivator flying between the four great cities has to thread this needle. Southern Chu’s west is closed to outsiders; Beast Taming airspace is a death trap full of loose spirit beasts. Only one safe corridor left: Black River. We see flying cultivators overhead every single day; and our peak isn’t even on the main line! Imagine the real numbers.”
Zhang Shishi, still pale from his sickbed, frowned at Military Station Market’s dot. “But Wang Juan’s place isn’t far off the route either. And Nine-Three sees traffic.”
Qi Xiu cut him off with a raised finger. “Why take the long way when a shorter one exists? Nine-Three is a detour, and Chu Youmin’s reputation stinks; only desperate or crooked cultivators stop there. As for Military Station…” He swept his hand across the map. “It sits a whole Black River away from the death swamp border. Travelers arrive half-dead, drop at the first safe peak; used to be ours, remember? Add the Beast Taming–Southern Chu flow; nobody’s detouring to Wang Juan unless they’re lost.”
Zhang Shishi’s jaw set. “Then Wang Juan’s trade dies. You keep saying we owe him a life debt. Our mortals will shelter under his roof for years. Build this market and you spit in his face.”
Zhan Yuan snorted. “And we’re nearly broke. Spirit boats, lotus seeds, pig-fish fry, lizard hunt; two full years until first harvest. Shall we starve honorably?”
Zhang Shishi shot to his feet. “Profit over righteousness; is that Chu Qin now?”
“Some of us live in the real world, Senior Brother,” Zhan Yuan sneered.
“Enough!” Qi Xiu’s palm cracked against the table. Both men froze. “We haven’t laid a single brick and already we’re at each other’s throats.”
He exhaled, forcing calm.
“Wang Juan will agree. Because I won’t give him a choice that lets him refuse.”
He laid out three measured steps.
“First: Zhan Yuan, take people to the crossroads. Count every cultivator who flies over for ten days straight; year-end traffic is heaviest. Hard numbers.
Second: If the numbers sing, we start tiny; a periodic fair. Once every five days, seven, ten, even monthly. Test the waters, earn first coin, and; most important; give Wang Juan breathing room.
Third: Permanent market. But we don’t build it alone. We invite Wang, Zhao, and even the Chu to buy shares. They take the lion’s share if needed. Wang Juan’s descendants inherit a slice of something bigger and safer than a lone border market that any Foundation Establishment thug could snatch after the old man dies. Give him a stake here and his family’s future is armored for centuries. He’s a businessman; he’ll see the math.”
Zhan Yuan bowed and left to organize scouts.
Zhang Shishi lingered, face stormy. Qi Xiu tried gentle words about learning mortal-side duties, but the younger man only gave curt nods and stalked out.
Qi Xiu watched him go, puzzled. *When did Zhang Shishi start hating paperwork? He used to jump at it.*
Yu Jing knocked. “Sect Leader, Military Station just sent word; the migrant column is almost at Wang Juan’s gates.”
Qi Xiu rolled the map tight, a slow smile returning.
“Good. Let the new year come. By spring, Black River will have its own heartbeat; right under the crossroads of heaven.”