Ch 3

Chapter 3 – The Art of Influence

The wind carried the scent of damp earth and freshly steamed buns as Zhao Min walked through the village, his mind already constructing his next move. A ruler was only as strong as his foundation. He had taken the first step—planting uncertainty among the villagers, drawing the first thread of loyalty from Guo Hai.

But a single soldier was not an army.

He needed more.

More than that, he needed control.

-------------------

Elder Yan sat beneath the mulberry tree, sipping his morning tea. His old bones ached from the damp weather, and the sight of the newcomer did little to ease his concerns.

Zhao Min was different. He carried himself like a noble, yet wore the robes of a wandering cultivator. His speech was careful, his gaze sharp. A man who did not waste words.

That was dangerous.

Beside him, a younger villager—Shen Mu—watched Zhao Min with narrowed eyes. "He stirs trouble, Elder. The people listen to him too much."

Elder Yan hummed in agreement. "And what do you propose?"

"Drive him out," Shen Mu said firmly. "Before he brings disaster upon us."

Elder Yan placed his cup down. "And if he resists?"

Shen Mu hesitated. He was strong, but even he could see that Zhao Min was no simple traveler.

Elder Yan sighed. "Watch him. But do not act yet." His gaze lingered on Zhao Min's retreating form. "A man like that does not settle without reason."

---------------------

Guo Hai was already waiting when Zhao Min arrived at the old storage shed behind the village square. The former soldier had cleaned up slightly—his beard trimmed, his clothes slightly less tattered.

"You're late," Guo Hai grunted.

Zhao Min smirked. "You were early."

Inside, two more figures waited. The first was a wiry youth with sharp eyes and nimble fingers—clearly a pickpocket or small-time thief. The second was an older man with the hardened look of a former merchant, his sleeves frayed but his posture still upright.

"Jianhong," the merchant introduced himself. "This is Liu Fen."

The thief gave a lazy wave. "Heard you're making something interesting."

Zhao Min sat down, steepling his fingers. "Not something interesting. Something great."

The three men watched him, skeptical but intrigued. He could see it in their eyes—the hunger for something more, something greater than this village life.

"You've all lost something," Zhao Min said, voice calm, measured. "Your purpose. Your fortune. Your future."

Jianhong tensed. Liu Fen's smirk faded.

"But I offer you a new path," Zhao Min continued. "A place where strength is rewarded. Where the weak do not dictate the fate of the strong."

Guo Hai's fists clenched. "And what would you call such a place?"

Zhao Min's lips curled into a knowing smile.

"A sect."

------------------------

[POV: Liu Qing]

The mountain air was crisp as Liu Qing descended toward Qinghe Village, his dark robes fluttering behind him. Behind him followed three junior disciples, their hands resting on their sword hilts.

Their orders were simple: observe, test, and, if necessary… eliminate.

Grand Elder Xun had spoken of a disturbance. A force that did not belong.

Liu Qing intended to find out what it was.

As they approached the village entrance, a farmer caught sight of them and quickly ran off. By the time they reached the square, nearly half the village had gathered.

A woman bowed hurriedly. "Honored cultivators, we did not expect a visit—"

Liu Qing raised a hand, silencing her. "We seek a newcomer." His gaze swept across the crowd. "A man who does not belong here."

Murmurs rippled through the villagers. Some glanced toward the old storage shed. Others avoided looking at all.

Interesting.

Liu Qing smirked. "I see you already know of whom I speak."

The people hesitated, but one man stepped forward—Shen Mu.

"He is inside, Honored One," Shen Mu said, bowing deeply. "He speaks of forming a sect."

Liu Qing's smirk widened. So, he is ambitious.

This would be entertaining.

He strode toward the shed, his disciples flanking him. "Then let us see if this so-called sect leader is worth his words."

----------------

Zhao Min looked up as the doors creaked open.

A young man in black robes stepped inside, his stance casual but his eyes filled with arrogant amusement. Behind him, three more figures stood, their expressions cold.

Cultivators.

Zhao Min instantly assessed the situation. Their clothing was uniform—likely from the same sect. The way the villagers had reacted meant they were important. And the way this Liu Qing carried himself? A second-generation young master. Arrogant, but not without ability.

Liu Qing looked around the room. "This is your great sect?"

Zhao Min did not rise. "It is in its infancy."

Liu Qing chuckled. "And what qualifications do you have to lead a sect?"

Zhao Min smiled. "None. Yet."

Liu Qing's eyes gleamed. "Then let's make this simple. If you wish to establish a sect in these lands, you must prove yourself."

Zhao Min exhaled slowly. He had expected this. Cultivators respected strength above all.

Liu Qing's fingers tapped the hilt of his sword. "A duel. You and me. If you survive three moves, I'll recognize your right to exist here."

Zhao Min's mind raced. He knew nothing of cultivation. But he had spent a lifetime navigating power struggles.

He would not fight strength with strength.

He would fight it with strategy.

-----------------

The villagers had gathered around the open square, murmuring among themselves as Zhao Min and Liu Qing stood facing each other.

Liu Qing smirked. "I will not kill you, of course. But I suggest you yield early."

Zhao Min rolled his shoulders. "Concerned?"

Liu Qing scoffed. "Hardly." He drew his sword. "First move!"

He dashed forward, his blade flashing with spiritual energy. Zhao Min barely had time to react—his body was faster than in his past life, but he was still mortal.

The blade slashed—Zhao Min stepped into the attack.

Liu Qing's eyes widened as Zhao Min twisted his body at the last moment, letting the attack graze his robes instead of slicing him. A feint.

"Second move," Zhao Min said calmly.

Liu Qing scowled, regaining his footing. "You're a bold one."

This time, he vanished—reappearing behind Zhao Min in an instant.

Zhao Min had anticipated this. Instead of dodging, he stumbled—letting his own momentum throw him to the side, making Liu Qing's attack slice empty air.

Liu Qing cursed.

The crowd gasped.

"Third move," Zhao Min murmured.

Liu Qing's eyes darkened. "You think you've won?" He raised his sword, spiritual energy crackling. "Then let's—"

A voice cut through the air.

"Enough."

Liu Qing froze.

An elderly man stepped forward—his robes marked with the insignia of a higher sect authority. His gaze locked onto Zhao Min.

"You," he said. "What is your name?"

Zhao Min smiled.

"Names are earned, Elder." He gestured toward the village. "As is respect."

Silence.

Then the elder laughed.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."

Liu Qing looked between them, confused. "Master, he—"

The elder raised a hand. "Enough, Liu Qing. We will watch this one."

Zhao Min bowed slightly.

He had won.

Not through strength.

But through perception.