Path of the Sect Leader-Chapter 7: The Fourth-Generation Sect Leader

Qi Xiu knelt beside the body and let the tears fall without sound.
Memories crashed over him like waves.
A cavernous hall lit by a single floating pearl. A towering figure cloaked in shadow spoke from the darkness:
“Sect Leader Qi, this child bears a Single Life-Bound Essence and Single Spiritual Root—his future is limitless!”
Middle-aged Master had whirled, joy blazing in his eyes, hand gently ruffling three-year-old Qi Xiu’s hair. The man who would one day look ancient had then seemed immortal, three strands of beard fluttering like banners of immortality.
The same voice years later, heavy with pity:
“Sect Leader Qi, forgive my bluntness. The boy’s natal essence is one of the rarest beneath heaven. The Great Dao… is forever closed to him.”
Ten-year-old Qi Xiu watching Master’s shoulders cave inward, hearing the broken sigh that would echo for the rest of his life.
Fifteen-year-old Qi Xiu standing in the council chamber while elders hissed:
“That waste has already squandered half the sect’s resources! You cannot keep favoring him!”
Master, old before his time, eyes red with guilt, pulling him into a desperate embrace. “Rest easy, my boy… rest easy…”
“Master…”
The word tore out of Qi Xiu now like a blade dragged across stone. He collapsed forward, forehead striking the floor in great, wracking sobs that shook his entire frame.
A junior brother slipped inside and knelt beside him, voice trembling. “Senior Brother Qi, quiet—please! If the three sects hear—”
The warning sliced through the grief. The image of that sharp-tongued woman kicking him in the dirt flashed bright. Qi Xiu choked the cries down to ragged hiccups.
The junior brother hesitated, shame coloring his cheeks. “Senior Brother… I’ve already pledged myself to the three sects.” He couldn’t meet Qi Xiu’s eyes. “You… you should too. Otherwise they’ll strip you of everything and throw you down the mountain as a rogue cultivator.”
Qi Xiu stared, the absurdity almost funny. “You’re a Qin. How could you—”
The boy flushed crimson. “Sect Leader Qi passed the throne to Qin Siyan of the direct line on his deathbed. Elder Qin—the branch elder—went berserk. He shut off the grand array himself and opened the gates. The rest of us branch collaterals… we had no choice.”
Qi Xiu’s voice was hollow. “How did Master die?”
The story spilled out in a rush.
For decades the sect leader had played the elders against each other, dangling the succession like bait to keep them divided. Everyone knew the game. Everyone hated it.
The elders invited wolves—Flowing Cloud Sect, Lotus Temple, Huang-Zuo Clan—each backing a different candidate. The wolves came often, saw the fat spirit veins, the third-tier fields, the libraries built by a Golden Core ancestor, and decided they wanted the whole carcass.
Three years ago Sect Leader Qi failed his last breakthrough. A visiting Foundation Establishment cultivator sensed the injury to his vitality—three years of life at most. Word spread. Plans were made.
Today the old man knew his time had come. With his dying breath he named Qin Siyan, legitimate heir of the founding bloodline, fourth-generation sect leader.
Elder Qin of the branches lost his mind. He killed the arrays, flung open the gates, and personally dragged the invaders up the mountain. He even forbade laying the body in the main hall—dumped it here in a side palace like trash.
Qin Siyan? Took the sect leader’s storage bag, took the command token, opened the secret escape tunnel, and vanished without a backward glance.
The only ones still fighting were a handful of outer elders and disciples holding the Scripture Pavilion behind its ancient defenses.
Qi Xiu listened until the words stopped meaning anything. Anger refused to rise. The sect deserved its grave.
A roar of triumph rolled across the peak—the Scripture Pavilion had fallen. Defeated disciples were marched out in lines, heads bowed.
The junior brother tugged his sleeve. “We have to go. Decide carefully, Senior Brother. Once you choose, there’s no undoing it.”
Qi Xiu knelt again, kowtowed three times until his forehead bruised, then rose.
The plaza had become a carnival. Invaders laughed and slapped backs while setting up ritual platforms and a dueling array. Twenty-odd Chu-Qin captives were herded into the center like sheep.
Elder Qin—the traitor—strutted at the front of the welcoming party. When he spotted Qi Xiu his face twisted into a snarl.
“You! The little bastard is back! Perfect—old rogue, young rogue, same nest of rats!”
He jabbed a finger. “Even if you crawl left I’ll boot you out myself!”
Qi Xiu ignored him and walked right—toward exile.
A few diehards followed. Then more. When the choosing ended, the right side held twenty-three souls: the middle-aged scripture keeper who had held the pavilion longest, several female disciples including the woman cradling her toddler, and Qi Xiu standing silent at the front.
A soft cough from behind the traitor elder. A man stepped forward—quiet until now—and the elder’s mouth snapped shut like a whipped dog.
Foundation Establishment pressure crashed down. Younger disciples swayed; Qi Xiu’s qi froze mid-circulation.
The Foundation Establishment cultivator spoke mildly, as if discussing weather.
“Each has their own Dao. We three sects will not force anyone. We share the same Daoist roots; no blood feud exists. Not a single life lost today—that is our sincerity. However, certain matters remain unsettled. For one more night we must ask you to remain as guests. Tomorrow, stay or leave as you wish. Those who stay will be welcomed; those who leave will depart in peace.”
With polite gestures the captives were led into a side chamber and locked in.
Twenty-three bodies crammed the room. The scripture keeper immediately took charge, giving women and child the cleaner corners, men packed by the door like firewood.
He tried to draw Qi Xiu into his circle—clearly planning something. Qi Xiu smiled, declined, and took a spot by the latticed window.
Through carved flowers he watched the plaza transform: high seats for honored guests, a gleaming dueling array finished in heartbeats.
The three Foundation Establishment cultivators ascended their thrones. Speeches followed—sonorous words about unity, about selecting a Qi Refining puppet-leader from among late-stage disciples to handle daily affairs.
Fights began—Lotus Temple nuns against Flowing Cloud pretty boys, talismans and artifacts exploding in rainbows.
Elder Qin took the stage full of swagger, only to be bound and tossed off like laundry by the same whisk-wielding cultivator who had trussed Qi Xiu on the road. Laughter rolled across the plaza; Qi Xiu felt second-hand shame.
Then a voice—ancient, sand-rough, vast as a thunderhead—boomed from the heavens and silenced every soul.
“Chu Youyan of Qi Cloud Sect, escorting the rightful fourth-generation Sect Leader of Chu-Qin Sect, Qin Siyan, requests audience with Elder Mu of Flowing Cloud, Abbess of Lotus Temple, and Patriarch of Huang-Zuo Clan!”
The plaza froze as if winter had arrived in a single heartbeat.
【Terminology Updates – Chapter 7】
- Qin Siyan (秦斯言): the direct-line disciple Sect Leader Qi named as successor with his dying breath
- Scripture Pavilion resistance: last stand led by an outer elder using the library’s ancient defensive arrays
- Puppet sect leader selection tournament: the three invading sects’ method to choose a figurehead from late-stage Qi Refining disciples
- Chu Youyan (楚佑严): Qi Cloud Sect envoy