4. First Day as a Broke Sect Leader

Morning comes, and with it, the first day of the rest of my life.

Dawn breaks cold and clear over Coiling Dragon Mountain. The sun crests the eastern peaks slowly, painting the sky in shades of pale gold and rose that would probably inspire poetry in someone less exhausted. I’m already in the training yard when the disciples arrive, moving through basic sword forms with the practiced ease of forty years.

The movements come automatically; legacy of this body’s decades of practice.

Stance, breath, strike. Stance, breath, strike.

The wooden sword feels natural in my grip, an extension of my arm. With each repetition, the strangeness fades a little. The memories of another world grow quieter. The dissonance between who I was and who I am now softens around the edges.

By the time the disciples file into the yard, yawning and rubbing sleep from their eyes, I feel almost… settled.

They fall into line behind me without being told. Twelve bodies moving through the same forms I’m demonstrating, a rhythm as old as the sect itself. For an hour we train in silence. Punches. Kicks. Stances. Breathing. The familiar rhythm steadies me further.

Feng leads the younger ones through their forms while I step back to observe. If he never reaches Foundation Establishment, he’ll still make an excellent drill master.

Mei Lin’s water techniques show improvement already. Her movements flow more smoothly than yesterday, less hesitation, more confidence. Maybe my suggestion about precision over power actually helped.

Wei Chen still struggles with fire control. His techniques flare too hot, then sputter out, a classic Earth/Fire imbalance. But his earth foundation is solid, grounded, immovable. If I can find him a technique that emphasizes stability over aggression, he might actually progress.

I make mental notes, filing away each observation for future reference. The Gaze isn’t active right now, I don’t need it for this. But its information colors everything I see.

The Gaze gives me truth. It doesn’t give me hope.

When training ends, I gather them in a loose semicircle.

“Good work this morning.” I let my gaze sweep across their faces; twelve variations of young, earnest, mediocre. “Feng, continue leading morning practice while I’m gone. I’ll be inspecting the mine today. If anyone needs me, I’ll be back by evening.”

Feng nods, his brow furrowing slightly. “The mine, Sect Leader? Should I accompany you?”

“No. Your place is here, with the disciples. I won’t be long.”

They bow, and I head down the mountain path toward the mine.

The path winds downward through sparse forest, past the point where the sect’s meager defensive array flickers at the boundaries of my perception. Below the tree line, the air grows warmer, more humid. Birds call in the branches. A rabbit startles from the underbrush and vanishes into the ferns.

It’s peaceful. Quiet. The kind of morning that makes you forget you’re broke, in debt, and hiding a cosmic anomaly in your kitchen.

The mine entrance comes into view around a bend in the path: a dark gash in the mountainside reinforced with rotting timbers that look like they haven’t been replaced in decades. Two mortal laborers sit outside on a flat rock, eating breakfast from wooden bowls. They scramble to their feet when they see me approaching, nearly dropping their food in their haste.

“Sect Leader! We didn’t expect—”

“At ease.” I wave them back to their meal, keeping my voice calm. “How goes the mining?”

The older one, a grizzled man named Huo with more wrinkles than teeth, shrugs philosophically. “Same as always, Sect Leader. Three stones this week so far. Vein’s getting thinner. Another year, maybe two, and it’ll be tapped.”

I nod, unsurprised. The Gaze was accurate. Again.

“Show me.”

We enter the tunnel.

The air grows cool and damp immediately, smelling of earth and stone and something metallic I can’t quite identify. Huo carries a lantern, its flickering light casting jumping shadows on the rough-hewn walls. The tunnel slopes gradually downward, timber supports groaning softly with each step.

Deeper in, the tunnel opens into a small cavern where two more laborers chip at the rock face with pickaxes. The sound echoes—clink, clink, clink—a slow rhythm of diminishing returns.

I activate Truth Seeker’s Gaze and sweep it across the walls.

Just as Huo said. Nothing hidden, nothing overlooked. Just a dying mine and a slow decline into poverty.

But the Gaze shows more than just stone.

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I turn it on the miners themselves.