Be a proper Taoist priest in The Condor Heroes

"A menial job?"

Zhao Zhijing suddenly raised his head, and the despair in his eyes was instantly replaced by madness.

Ignoring the excruciating pain from the claw marks on his chest and the limpness of his left arm, he stubbornly braced himself against the ground, roaring as he tried to stand upright. Blood dripped continuously from the corner of his mouth, staining the gold bricks in front of him, but his eyes shone with an astonishing light, like the last spark of a wildfire burning brightly.

The two disciples who stepped forward to restrain him were so shocked by his frenzied aura that they took a half step back.

"Why should I, Zhao Zhijing, be relegated to menial tasks?!"

He roared, his voice hoarse as if it had been sanded, yet it possessed a power that pierced the heart. Tears mixed with blood streamed down his cheeks, carving two hideous lines on his scarred face.

"Five years old! I joined the Quanzhen Sect when I was five!"

He struggled to raise his intact right hand and pointed to the distant mountains outside the hall.

"Back then, the church was dirt poor, with only a handful of cats and dogs. In winter, we couldn't even afford enough cotton robes to keep warm! I went down the mountain with Master Ma to beg for alms, going from house to house asking for food. I was chased and bitten by the vicious dogs of the local gentry, and my hands and feet were covered in sores from the cold, but I dared not cry. I went with Master Qiu to patrol the hidden spies, enduring wind and rain in the desolate mountains and wilderness, and encountered bandits and robbers several times, almost losing my life!"

His gaze swept over Liu Zi, each word dripping with tears and grievance.

"There are few disciples in the sect, so I act as both the senior brother and the master, personally teaching my junior brothers swordsmanship. The sect's finances are tight, so I am very careful with money, stretching every penny to ensure that no one goes hungry. I am busy from morning till night, coordinating sect affairs, managing the storeroom, and teaching disciples. I even have to squeeze in my own cultivation time late at night. Has anyone ever seen me utter a single complaint?"

The hall was deathly silent, except for his roars echoing between the beams and pillars.

Those disciples who had sworn to follow him to the death already had tears in their eyes. Li Mo and the others gritted their teeth, tears welling up in their eyes, but they dared not interrupt. They knew that these were the words that Senior Brother Zhao had kept in his heart for half his life.

"After the Mount Hua Sword Tournament, the number of disciples within the sect increased by over a hundred, and the affairs became more complex more than tenfold!"

Zhao Zhijing's voice suddenly rose, filled with hysterical grief and indignation.

"Who shared most of the religious affairs for you? Who managed the finances, ensuring that thousands of believers had enough to eat and wear and a place to live? It was me, Zhao Zhijing! And what about you?"

He suddenly pointed at Yin Zhiping, his eyes filled with jealousy and resentment.

"You only see Yin Zhiping's composure and praise his peaceful nature, but you forget that I'm the one cleaning up his messes behind the scenes; you only admire Su Yan's talent and marvel at his martial arts prodigy, but has he ever handled any teaching affairs for a single day? He spends his days leisurely and carefree in the Scripture Pavilion, openly living with female disciples, probably more carefree than a god."

"I am the most senior, and my achievements and hard work are all there for me. The position of chief disciple should rightfully belong to me!"

His body trembled violently with excitement, and the wound on his chest reopened, gushing out blood.

"But you insist on putting me in a competition with Yin Zhiping. Why? Just because he's soft-hearted, obedient, and can do what you want? I refuse to accept this! In what way do I, Zhao Zhijing, lack compared to him?"

Wang Chuyi, standing to the side, was already in tears. Although he had many disciples, only Zhao Zhijing was someone he had raised from childhood, whom he had long regarded as his own son. At this moment, he could no longer hold back his tears.

"Zhijing, that's not true. We have never belittled your contributions..."

"Not like this? Then what is it like?!"

Zhao Zhijing interrupted him sharply, his eyes full of mockery.

"You're biased! You're inactive! Over the years, I've appealed to you countless times, hoping for a single word of recognition, but all you've done is offer perfunctory responses and appeasement; you've never truly taken my efforts to heart!"

He looked at the young rebel disciples, a hint of guilt flashing in his eyes, which was then replaced by grief and indignation.

"I gave everything for the Quanzhen Sect, and in the end, I couldn't even get fair recognition! It was your favoritism, your indifference, that drove me to a dead end; you destroyed me!"

Sun Bu'er frowned, stepped forward, and spoke sternly but with regret.

"Zhijing, our Quanzhen Sect is a righteous lineage of Taoism, emphasizing purity of mind and few desires, and following the natural way, not vying for power and profit! When you joined the sect, you recited the Tao Te Ching: 'Do not value rare goods, so that people will not steal; do not display what is desirable, so that people's hearts will not be disturbed.' But now, your heart is full of the position of chief and the power to lead the sect, and you have long since deviated from the tenets of Taoism!"

"Deviating from our mission?"

Zhao Zhijing burst into wild laughter, tears streaming down his face.

"Uncle-Master Sun, it's easy for you to talk when you're not the one suffering! You're one of the Seven Disciples, a person of high status, so naturally you can be detached from worldly desires! As for me? I climbed up step by step from the bottom, enduring countless cold stares. If I hadn't fought for it, I would have been trampled underfoot long ago!"

Su Yan, who had been silent all along, finally spoke. His voice was calm and without any ripples, yet every word was like a steel needle tempered with ice, piercing straight to the deepest part of people's hearts.

"Zhao Zhijing, you're not confusing merit with obsession; you're just using merit as a fig leaf. Are you truly acting for the Quanzhen Sect, or is it driven by your inherent greed and resentment?"

He walked slowly to the center of the main hall, his gaze sweeping over the disciples who were filled with grief, fear, or guilt, before finally settling on Zhao Zhijing's bleeding face. His tone was as cold as the winter chill of Zhongnan Mountain:

"You were in charge of all teaching affairs and expenses. Your students respected you like an elder brother, and your teachers trusted you like a son. Even when they discovered your chaotic accounts and factionalism, they still tolerated you repeatedly out of consideration for your years of hard work. What is this if not recognition? But what did you do? You took this tolerance as weakness, and the trust of your teachers as a loophole to exploit. You turned around and knelt down to the Mongols, willingly becoming a lackey of a foreign race!"

"You keep shouting about injustice, yet you let wolves into the house, allowing Mongolian scimitars to slash your unsuspecting fellow disciples! What did those patrolling disciples who died at the gate, those junior brothers you coerced into betraying the sect do? For your own selfish desires, you used their lives as stepping stones to seize power, letting their blood stain Chongyang Palace. Do you even deserve to be called 'for the followers'?"

He paused, looked at Zhao Zhijing's suddenly contorted face, and continued:

"The Quanzhen School emphasizes 'reaching utmost emptiness and maintaining steadfast stillness.' A pure heart and few desires are not about shirking responsibility, but about guarding your Daoist heart, preventing you from being corrupted by power or consumed by desire. But what about you? For the sake of a chief position, you didn't hesitate to invite external enemies, harm your fellow disciples, and destroy your sect. You have no moral compass whatsoever, no true Daoist heart whatsoever!"

"You weren't forced into this situation by anyone; you chose it yourself. You weren't seeking fairness, but rather the satisfaction of your own selfish desires; you weren't unappreciated because of your talents, but because your virtue didn't match your position! Your current predicament isn't caused by favoritism from your teachers, but by your own greed, baseness, and betrayal, which have pushed you to an abyss of no return!"

Su Yan's words struck Zhao Zhijing's heart like a heavy hammer.

He trembled violently, the wound on his chest opened up even more violently, and blood soaked through his tattered Taoist robe. Suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed wildly, his laughter as mournful as a cuckoo weeping blood.

"Hahaha... victors! You are all victors! Say whatever you want, but have you ever been faking my grievances, my lifelong resentment, even slightly?!"

His eyes were empty, yet they burned with the last flicker of resolute determination, and his roar made the beams and pillars of the hall vibrate.

"What I'm fighting for isn't some overwhelming power, but the fact that you've never given me a second glance! What I resent isn't the humiliating defeat, but the fact that all my hard work throughout my life—teaching my disciples hand in hand, meticulously managing the sect's expenses—can't even earn me a fair word of praise in your eyes!"

He staggered back two steps, his eyes fixed on the plaque in the center of the hall that read "Quanzhen Daoist Lineage," a glory he had once dreamed of possessing, but now it had become the sharpest mockery.

"I admit defeat!"

Before he finished speaking, Zhao Zhijing suddenly knelt down with a thud and kowtowed three times in the direction of the Six Masters of Quanzhen.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!"

Three muffled thuds pierced the deathly silence of the hall. His forehead struck the gold bricks, drawing blood instantly, yet he seemed oblivious to the pain.

These three heads showed no submission, no pleading, only a resolute farewell to the lifelong bond between master and disciple, and a final protest against all the grievances and resentments.

After kowtowing, he suddenly stood up and staggered towards the dragon pillar in the center of the hall. His eyes no longer held madness, only a deathly stillness and determination.

"Bang!"

A deafening roar echoed through Chongyang Palace. Blood splattered onto the cold stone pillars and the ancient "Quanzhen Daoist Lineage" plaque, a glaring red. Zhao Zhijing's body slumped to the ground, his eyes wide open, his face still bearing traces of undried blood and lingering resentment, but he was no longer breathing.

The main hall was deathly silent.

Li Mo and the others knelt down with a thud, tears streaming down their faces, but dared not cry out loud, only suppressing their sobs, their voices filled with unbearable grief. Young Shi Tou trembled with fear, clinging to the legs of his fellow disciples beside him, crying his heart out.

The six Quanzhen disciples stood there, their expressions somber. Even though Su Yan had refuted many of their claims, there was no absolute conclusion on who was right and who was wrong.

Ma Yu's hand trembled slightly as he stroked his long beard, his eyes filled with complex emotions; Qiu Chuji gripped his long sword tightly, his face ashen, yet he could not utter a single word.

Sun Bu'er gently closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh filled with regret and heartache. Wang Chuyi squatted down, his hand trembling as he reached out to close Zhao Zhijing's wide-open eyes, but his fingertips hesitated to fall. Old tears dripped onto Zhao Zhijing's face, mingling with the blood.

Morning light streamed through the windows of the main hall, falling on the bloodstains and cold corpses scattered on the floor, carrying an indescribable sense of desolation. This rebellion, which had lasted all night, had finally come to a tragic end in such a brutal manner.