A Pawn's Passage

This was also a sentiment stirred from within Qi Xuansu.

Nearly two years of experience within the Daoist Order—from the Tiangang Hall to the Ziwei Hall, from Jade Capital to the local regions—had turned him from a mere wanderer into a true Daoist insider.

As one of the Daoist Order, he naturally had to understand its internal affairs.

The highest governing body of the Daoist Order was known as the Golden Tower Council, and it wielded two main powers.

One was the power over personnel matters. For instance, Qi Xuansu’s position as Deputy Hall Master had to be submitted for discussion by the Golden Tower Council and formally appointed by it. Although it was Sage Donghua who nominated him and ensured the nomination passed, the Golden Tower Council still had to make the final decision for the appointment to be legitimate. In this process, Sage Donghua was, in fact, acting as part of the Golden Tower Council.

That was genuine, tangible power.

The other type of power was decision-making power, like whether to wage war on Fenglin or how to handle the major Jiangnan cases. These matters had to go through a vote by the Golden Tower Council, which would ultimately determine what actions to take—or not take.

But that power was superficial. Making decisions was one thing; executing them was another.

Actual implementation depended on the Nine Halls and the local Daoist mansions. If they paid lip service or dragged their feet, those decisions would float in the air, never landing on solid ground.

During the final years of dynasties, imperial edicts could not leave the capital. So, such so-called decision-making authority was hollow.

The real power was financial power.

Everything requires money—whether conducting operations, fighting wars, or paying Daoist priests and Spirit Guards. Without money, nothing could be done.

Local Daoist Mansions had autonomy precisely because they held part of the financial authority. If they could fund their own initiatives without asking Jade Capital for money, they became harder to rein in.

The same applied to the Nine Halls. They controlled the finances of Jade Capital, while the various local Daoist Mansions controlled their regional finances.

Thus, the Golden Tower Council had to use its authority over personnel to counterbalance the financial power of the Nine Halls and the local Daoist Mansions. If one disobeyed or performed poorly, they would simply replace the personnel with someone more obedient.

Only then could decisions be truly enforced.

This was the Daoist Order’s power-balancing system, always adhering to the principle of yin-yang duality and equilibrium.

From ancient times to now, whenever the central court handed over both personnel and financial power to local administrations, the result was always the same—regional lords seized power, and the central authority was rendered impotent.

To control the Golden Tower Council was to control personnel appointments and, by extension, financial power. That was the path to the pinnacle of authority within the Daoist Order.

For the Grand Master, failing to control the Golden Tower Council meant being a crippled leader. The Zixiao Palace thus served as a backdoor counterbalance against the Golden Tower Council’s authority.

The sixth-generation Grand Master abandoned Zixiao Palace, and as a result, was thoroughly sidelined. His orders never left the palace.

Conversely, if the Grand Master fully controlled the Golden Tower Council, he would be as powerful as an emperor, capable of accomplishing anything, even replacing the Deputy Mansion Masters, who were meant to act as a counterbalance. The fifth-generation Grand Master was such an example.

In truth, both the fifth- and sixth-generation Grand Masters were overly extreme. Throughout most of Daoist history, the Grand Master and the Golden Tower Council existed in mutual checks and balances, maintaining harmony like the duality of yin and yang.

In the absence of a Grand Master, the Golden Tower Council held sole authority. Yet internally, it was a tripod of competing forces. The alliance between the Zhengyi Sect and Quanzhen Sect was not solid, as each had its own agenda, resulting in a fragile equilibrium.

Thus, power struggles within the Daoist Order were as complex—or as simple—as one chose to see them. No need for mysterious scheming or theatrical posturing, nor for long-range manipulation. Most of the time, it was about adapting on the fly and countering moves as they came, all in order to seize control over personnel appointments.

Some might claim the Li family laid plans generations ago, but that was more continuity in decision-making than foresight. It was not that they predicted today’s events with precision, but rather that they prepared for the unexpected.

Others might point to military power, but that too fell under personnel appointment. To decide who would lead an army was to hold the reins of command. If that appointed leader was undermined or replaced, it only showed a loss of personnel control.

As for military coups or rebellions, that was a matter of overthrowing the old power system entirely and establishing a new one.

Once Qi Xuansu understood this, he naturally saw Zhang Juquan’s case in a different light.

He believed it was not a sudden event, nor something unforeseen. It was a counterattack by the Taiping Sect.

From the looks of it, the Taiping Sect did not mind provoking a third major Jiangnan case. After all, it was a land rife with controversy, full of exploitable flaws. The Taiping Sect also controlled both the Fengxian Hall and Beichen Hall.

There was only one thing Qi Xuansu had not figured out yet.

The Taiping Sect’s top priority was winning the war in Fenglin, so why stir up trouble now?

Was it because the Taiping Sect felt confident in victory, so they began fighting on two fronts? Or was there dissent within the Taiping Sect—someone wishing to put Sage Qingwei in a bind at this very moment?

After all, during peaceful times, Sage Qingwei was too firmly rooted to be shaken.

But now, Sage Qingwei was like a man holding a boulder with both hands, unable to free his arms or shift positions. That made this the perfect time for subtle maneuvers and backroom plays.

These two possibilities might relate to Sage Qingwei’s intention in involving Qi Xuansu in this case.

If it was the former, then Sage Qingwei’s use of Qi Xuansu was to create a rift between him and the Zhang family, or to sow discord between the Zhengyi Sect and the Quanzhen Sect.

If it was the latter, then Sage Qingwei was using him to send a message to the Zhang family through their relationship, perhaps even to ease tensions.

These two intentions were nearly opposite. One aimed to provoke conflict, while the other was to promote unity.

Sage Qingwei specifically instructed him not to inform Zhang Yuelu for now.

If the goal was to create friction, then the instruction was meant literally, as a warning to Qi Xuansu, putting him in a dilemma.

But if unity was the goal, then it was ironic—a disguised reminder out of concern that Qi Xuansu might forget.

Regardless of his true aim, Sage Qingwei would never speak straightforwardly. He was not Sage Donghua, who had promoted Qi Xuansu personally, nor was he Madam Qi. Speaking too bluntly would be overstepping their closeness.

That was why people said the minds of those in power were hard to gauge. Guessing a superior’s intent was never simple.

Unable to make sense of it, Qi Xuansu had a heart-to-heart with Lu Yuting from the Taiping Sect, hoping for insight or information.

Unfortunately, Lu Yuting was not her cousin, Lu Yushu, and she did not know any deeper inside information.

After thinking it through again, Qi Xuansu decided to tell Zhang Yuelu anyway. Regardless of what Sage Qingwei intended, he would put the broader interests of the Daoist Order first. In this critical moment of the Fenglin War, unity mattered most.

Once Lu Yuting had left, Qi Xuansu used his Intermediate License to contact Zhang Yuelu.

Soon, Zhang Yuelu’s image appeared before him. She was not wearing her formal hechang, just her inner garments with her hair down—likely resting or doing her daily cultivation routine.

She quickly sensed something was off. Qi Xuansu was in formal attire, and the background behind him did not look like the field camp but more like a flying ship.

Before Zhang Yuelu could ask, Qi Xuansu took the initiative and recounted the night’s events along with his suspicions.

Zhang Yuelu listened carefully and then fell into deep thought.

After a long pause, Zhang Yuelu finally spoke. “This matter is indeed complicated. In normal times, we could handle it by the book. But now, during wartime, the greater picture must be prioritized. I’m not suggesting we go easy on Zhang Juquan. He’s guilty and must be punished strictly and severely. What I mean is, we mustn’t let this incident spark an all-out conflict between the Zhengyi Sect and the Taiping Sect, or worse, jeopardize the Fenglin campaign. We should treat the case on its own and avoid politicizing it. We can’t let the Zhengyi Sect see this as provocation and retaliate, escalating the situation. On this point, Sage Qingwei’s stance is absolutely critical.”

Qi Xuansu raised an objection. “What if it really is the Taiping Sect deliberately provoking or launching the first strike? Are we supposed to let the Zhengyi Sect swallow it without a response? Their counterattack might be to cause a crushing defeat for the Taiping Sect on the Fenglin battlefield, forcing Sage Qingwei to step down as Sage Commander. Changing generals mid-battle is a major military taboo and would undoubtedly disrupt the situation in Fenglin. But the two of us aren’t in a position to speak freely about this. One wrong word, and the Zhengyi Sect will see us as traitors.”

Zhang Yuelu could not help but press her hand to her forehead and said, “The three-way struggle between the Daoist sects has developed to a point where right or wrong no longer matters. It’s no longer a gentleman’s contest. The so-called ‘conflict without breaking unity’ and ‘standing together against outsiders’ are nothing more than a fragile consensus forged under immense pressure. That’s the trickiest part. I already agreed that Zhang Juquan should be punished harshly, and even that will prompt murmurs from the Zhang family. If I now push for a moderate approach in this case, I’ll completely lose support within the family. On the contrary, if I take a tough stance and personally lead the retaliation, it might actually rally support.”

Qi Xuansu and Zhang Yuelu were not saints. They could not entirely ignore their own interests. But with their current positions, they were not yet qualified to have an open and honest discussion with Sage Qingwei unless he initiated it himself.

Qi Xuansu shifted his thinking. “Let’s assume this wasn’t Sage Qingwei’s intention, but that someone else is trying to fish in troubled waters. Who do you think that might be?”

Zhang Yuelu, sharp as ever, immediately replied, “This is an internal Jiangnan Daoist Mansion matter. Outsiders wouldn’t know it so well, let alone strike so precisely. The mastermind must be from the Jiangnan Daoist Mansion. The presiding Jiangnan Mansion Master is from the Quanzhen Sect, and the Chief Deputy is my senior sister Bai Yingqiong. From what I know, she and Zhang Juquan had a good relationship, which was partly why he dared act so recklessly. Neither of them would have turned on him so viciously. The Second Deputy, Li Tianlan, would be the most suspicious.”

Qi Xuansu mused, “The Li family has traditionally rotated power among the main branch, adopted sons, and sons-in-law. But starting with the Imperial Preceptor, Sage Qingwei, and now Li Changge, three successive heads of the Li family have come from the main branch. That kind of generational momentum could fundamentally alter the internal structure of the Li family and establish an unspoken rule that only those of direct descent can lead. In that case, the foundation of unity within the Li family would be shaken. Do you think that the adopted son and son-in-law factions have started thinking differently?”