Dao Qi Wu Zang Guan Guan: I became a Daoist Master in the 1990s

Chapter 116 The Matter of Heretical Cultivators, Funeral

Qi Yun listened silently, his heart filled with turbulent emotions.

He nodded slowly and said in a deep voice, "I see. Only by clearing the way for those who came before can those who come after find the path."

After a slight pause, Qi Yun asked again, "What about the so-called heretical cultivators nowadays..."

Zhong Weiguo's expression hardened: "That would be another mess."

The orthodox lineage of Buddhism is dwindling, but the common people are vast and diverse.

Although the Taiping Dao, White Lotus Sect, Red Lantern Sect, and Maitreya Sect were submerged by the torrent of history, some fragments of their lineages have been passed down in the shadows.

Furthermore, due to the century of chaos, many orthodox cultivation texts and techniques were lost to the common people. Even Western cultivators who invaded during the war, Onmyoji who were defeated by Japan, and even hostile overseas forces in recent years, either deliberately abandoned them or secretly disseminated them, leaving behind many dubious, dangerous, and bizarre cultivation methods.

"These fragmented traditions, if obtained by people with evil intentions, can easily lead to wrongdoing if they have any ability. At the very least, they may bully the villagers and practice evil arts; at worst, they may gather followers, form cult organizations, and wreak havoc on the region."

These are the heretical practices that our bureau is focusing on cracking down on.

Fortunately, its inheritance is mostly incomplete and unsystematic, making it difficult for truly extraordinary figures to emerge.

After years of continuous crackdowns, most of its core forces have fled overseas, but sporadic threats have never been completely eliminated.

Qi Yun understood, and only then did he gain a relatively clear understanding of the current situation.

This is an era in which the righteous path is beginning to emerge, remnants of evil remain, and what appears calm is actually turbulent beneath the surface.

Zhong Weiguo concluded, "These are all top-secret information, and only you, as the head of the temple, are qualified to know them."

If you wish to learn more in the future, you can visit headquarters at any time to access the relevant files for detailed examination.

Just then, a steady and clear set of footsteps came from outside the door.

Immediately afterward, Li Fang pushed open the door and entered.

Today he changed into a well-fitting black Zhongshan suit with a tight collar and straight shoulders. His expression was solemn. When he walked up to Zhong Weiguo and Qi Yun, he bowed slightly.

"Captain Zhong, Abbot Qi, it's time. Captain Song has specially ordered me to come and invite you both."

Zhong Weiguo and Qi Yun exchanged a glance, stood up at the same time, and silently straightened their clothes.

They ran their hands over their clothes, straightened their collars, and finally pinned a simple white flower to their left breast.

Their office was located inside the management office of a martyrs' cemetery.

Stepping outside, the afternoon sun pours down, bathing this tranquil place in its warmth.

The pines stand tall and straight, the cypresses are verdant and green, and rows of tombstones stand in neat silence, like a line of eternally sleeping guardians, watching over the ages.

Beside a clean main road, a newly dug tomb has been prepared.

The freshly piled earth stood to one side, glistening with a damp sheen. The grave mound was deep and orderly, like the earth quietly opening its arms.

Eight armed guards stood on either side.

They wore crisp military uniforms, snow-white gloves, stood tall and straight like pine trees, gazed straight ahead, and had faces as resolute and calm as stone carvings.

Song Dingqian and his daughter Song Wan, both dressed in black with white flowers on their chests, stood silently to the side.

Master Gongyang also changed into a more solemn robe, holding a whisk, and stood with his head bowed, like a ceremonial guardian who stepped out of an ancient painting.

This funeral was the first time Qi Yun, in his capacity as the head of the Five Organs Temple, exercised his power to arrange for Qin Weimin.

Previously, when Qi Yun slowly recounted Qin Weimin's deeds, all the members of Bureau 749 were filled with awe and spontaneously came to bid farewell to the hero.

Before long, a black hearse slowly drove into the cemetery, its body as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the sunlight and the shadows of the pines.

It traveled smoothly along the main road to the front of the tomb and quietly came to a stop.

As the car door opened, Li Jun and Yang Hui, dressed in mourning clothes, slowly moved a coffin out of the car with the help of staff.

The coffin was simple, covered with a bright red national flag, its fiery red like blood, an inextinguishable flame, symbolizing the highest honor bestowed upon it by the nation.

Eight honor guards stepped forward simultaneously, their steps perfectly synchronized.

Four people stood on either side, taking the coffin with the most steady movements and carrying it firmly on their shoulders. A low command broke the silence.

The honor guards, carrying the spirits of the fallen heroes, marched in unison, their heavy yet unified steps striking the stone pavement and resonating in the hearts of everyone present.

As they approached the tomb, the command sounded again, and their steps suddenly turned into a marching pace.

With a powerful kick and a resounding slam, the coffin was precisely positioned above the tomb.

They then gently and respectfully lowered the coffin into the burial chamber.

The national flag still covered it, standing out against the dark brown soil like a blooming red flower, fiery and solemn.

Everyone stands at attention.

Qi Yun stepped forward, his deep voice piercing the heavy air.

"Fire a gun—to send off the old hero Qin!"

The honor guards immediately raised their guns into the air.

"boom!"

"boom!"

"boom!"

Three bursts of gunfire roared in succession, tearing through the sky like thunder and howls, echoing in every corner of the cemetery.

That was the highest respect from the nation and its people, a final, magnificent song for an unnamed old man who guarded a night of peace with his blood.

The gunshots gradually subsided, but their echoes still lingered among the pines and cypresses.

Sunlight streamed down, illuminating the freshly turned soil in the grave, the still solemn national flag, and every solemn face.

As dutiful sons, Li Jun and Yang Hui used shovels to sprinkle handfuls of soil into the grave.

Qi Yun and the others stepped forward one by one to present wreaths.

After Qi Yun offered his wreath, he gazed at the deep tomb, his heart at peace.

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, heroes ultimately return to the earth.

The tranquility of this land has always been forged in blood and fire, and protected by silent sacrifices.

But his journey has only just begun.

The sunshine in the mountain city is just right, illuminating the road ahead and the road we came from.

After the funeral, the mountain city's sunshine still generously bathed the martyrs' cemetery, and the pine and cypress trees stood solemnly, as if even the wind carried respect.

Qi Yun silently left with the others.

He was arranged to rest at the local 749 Bureau's guesthouse.

After two days and two nights of tireless running, fighting, and performing rituals, even though his vital energy was abundant and his blood was strong, a deep sense of exhaustion still washed over him as the dust settled.

The guesthouse is located deep within a quiet government compound; it is an inconspicuous yet clean and tidy little building.

The staff led him to a sunny room on the third floor.

Pushing open the door, the interior was far better than the cold and simple dormitory at the headquarters in Beijing.

The floor is covered with light-colored wooden flooring, polished to a shine; a large solid wood bed is covered with snow-white, fluffy bedding, which looks soft and comfortable; by the window is a desk with a cushioned chair, an antique-style table lamp, and a white porcelain tea set; the separate bathroom is fully equipped with a water heater and brand-new towels and bath towels.

The air was filled with a faint scent of camphor wood and sunshine.

Qi Yun locked the door behind him, took off his Taoist robe, and went into the bathroom.

The warm water washed away the fatigue and dust, and seemed to dispel the bloodshed and horror of the past two days.

He dried himself with a towel, changed into the clean cotton pajamas provided by the guesthouse, and almost as soon as his head touched the soft pillow, his consciousness sank into boundless darkness.

(End of this chapter)