The Legend of the Condor Heroes

Book Title: The Legend of the Condor Heroes
Author: Jin Yong
Genre: Wuxia Novel
Country of Origin: China
Delivery Formats: TXT, EPUB, MOBI, PDF,AZW3

The hall of Fahua Temple echoed with a deafening crash as Qiu Chuji, the Eternal Spring Sage, slammed the massive bronze vat against the great iron bell. Cracks spiderwebbed across the vat’s surface. His beard bristled, eyes blazing with fury. “Enough! Let this end here!” he roared.

But the Seven Freaks of Jiangnan stood their ground. Han Xiaoying, the Maiden Sword, was the first to move. Her long blade gleamed as she thrust toward Qiu Chuji’s back. Simultaneously, Han Baoju, the Horse King, lashed out with his golden dragon whip, aiming to entangle the Taoist’s weapon arm.

Qiu Chuji moved like the wind. He retracted the vat, blocking the whip with a thunderous clang, while his body tilted just enough to let the sword slash harmlessly past. But now Nan Xiren, the Woodcutter, charged in, his pure steel carrying pole whirling with brute force. Zhang Asheng, the butcher, bellowed and lunged with a sharp cleaver.

Unfazed, Qiu Chuji used the bronze vat as both shield and weapon. He swung it in wide, crushing arcs, forcing his opponents back. Yet the Seven Freaks were relentless. Zhu Cong, the Marvelous Hand Scholar, darted around, his iron-ribbed fan probing for pressure points. Quan Jinfa, the Hermit, swung his large steelyard—part staff, part hook, part chain—each move unpredictable.

Seeing an opening, Qiu Chuji shot out a palm strike toward Zhang Asheng’s face—a feint. His real target was the man’s weapon hand. A sharp kick sent the cleaver flying. But Zhang was a brawler; disarmed, he only grew more fierce, throwing punches with shocking power.

“Excellent!” Qiu Chuji exclaimed, even as he deflected a blow that landed on the vat with a dull gong-like sound.

Then Ke Zhen’e, the blind leader, joined the fray. Though sightless, his hearing was supernatural. Guided by Quan Jinfa’s shouted positions—"Strike ‘Zhongfu’! Now ‘Li’!"—he launched poisoned iron caltrops with deadly accuracy. They whistled through the air, forcing Qiu Chuji into constant evasion.

But Qiu Chuji was a master of the Quanzhen School. His internal energy was profound. Even as the caltrops flew, he focused his power, expelling wine through his feet earlier—now he channeled his strength into every move. He caught two caltrops in the vat, the impact shaking his arms.

Suddenly, Ke Zhen’e changed tactics. Instead of aiming where instructed, he fired four caltrops at once—flanking the predicted dodge. A cry rang out: Qiu Chuji was hit in the shoulder, and Han Xiaoying took one in the back.

Poison coursed through Qiu Chuji’s veins. His movements slowed, his vision blurred. Yet he fought on, now using the “Mutual Demise Swordplay”—a desperate, all-offensive style that sacrificed defense for lethal strikes. He switched his sword to his left hand and pressed forward, each thrust aimed to kill.

Zhu Cong cursed, “Damn Taoist! The poison has reached your heart! Give up!”

But Qiu Chuji’s spirit burned brighter. With a final surge of energy, he slammed his palm into Nan Xiren’s carrying pole. The wood shattered, and Nan stumbled back, vomiting blood. Then Qiu Chuji kicked the bronze vat into the air—it descended like a mountain onto Han Baoju, pinning him to the ground. With his last strength, Qiu Chuji cut the rope holding the giant temple bell. It crashed down atop the vat, sealing Han Baoju inside.

Exhausted, poisoned, and bleeding, Qiu Chuji swayed. Zhu Cong threw a shoe, then a wooden fish—each strike sapping his last strength. Collapsing, Qiu Chuji gasped, “Enough! Changchunzi dies today by the hands of shameless villains!”

Yet even in defeat, he mustered one final palm strike—a lifetime of cultivated energy erupted outward, sending Zhu Cong flying, blood spraying from his mouth.

The hall fell silent. Bodies lay strewn across the floor—monks, warriors, heroes—all fallen in a brutal, unforgettable clash of titans.