Martial Arts Crossover: The Sweeping Monk of Wudang? That's our patriarch!

The two turned to leave, but Lin Daochen suddenly stopped, turned back and smiled, his words clear and distinct: "Ancestor, next time you encounter Little Flower, you'd better be careful—no matter how high your Heavenly Sense Realm is, you can't defend against its bite."

The Celestial Immortal led out the fluffy little dog behind her, introducing it with a smile: "Look, this is my little flower, very well-behaved, isn't it?" She deliberately winked at Ancestor Guang'an, "Ancestor, you and it really are 'like-minded'."

The Ancestor Guang'an's face was as black as ink, his fingertips trembling with rage as he roared, "Insolence! You worthless brats, you have no respect for life!"

The Celestial Immortal chuckled: "Don't be so rude, Ancestor. Little Flower wouldn't even bite me."

The Dark Ancestor flicked his sleeves grimly: "Today's humiliation will be repaid a hundredfold in the future!"

Old Ancestor Mei watched coldly, a slight smirk on his lips, and glanced sideways at Old Ancestor Fuyun: "Fuyun, your Old Ancestor Guang'an is indeed impressive—being led by the nose by a mere brat, going around in circles."

Ancestor Fuyun's face darkened, and he lowered his voice to a whisper: "Ancestor Mei, how can we afford to be careless at this moment? If Ancestor Guang'an really suffers a loss of his foundation, all our plans will fall apart."

Old Ancestor Mei merely smiled lightly, his gaze sharp as a blade, having already seen through Fu Yun's feigned worry while he was actually calculating his moves. He turned to look at Old Ancestor Guang'an, a slight smile playing on his lips, a smile tinged with icy coldness:

"Damaged? That saves us the trouble of removing the obstacle."

With a flick of his finger, Ancestor Fuyun abruptly changed the subject, mentioning the seven remains of sages deep within the misty sea—their bodies were not yet decayed, and their power remained intact.

He glanced sideways at Old Ancestor Mei, his tone deepening: "This place is where the source of disaster resides. Although the seven sages are gone, their remaining power can still crush souls. We must not be afraid."

Old Ancestor Mei remained unmoved, but his tone was as cold as tempered iron: "Of course I know. But the dead can't stir up trouble. To seize the sacred artifact, I would not hesitate to burn my entire foundation of cultivation."

Although Old Ancestor Fuyun appeared hesitant on the surface, his heart was already taut. He knew all too well how deep Old Ancestor Mei's greed for power was, and he had long anticipated that beneath the other's gentle exterior lay a heart capable of swallowing the heavens.

He secretly prepared himself, waiting for the opportune moment to seize the initiative—the power of the sacred artifact must not be monopolized by Ancestor Mei.

On the other side of the battle, Lin Daochen knelt on one knee, blood gushing from a deep, bone-revealing gash in his shoulder blade. A sweet taste rose in his throat, and he spat out a mouthful of crimson blood, his face ashen. The Heavenly Water Immortal's fingertips trembled as he gripped Lin Daochen's wrist tightly: "Lin Daochen! Can you still hold on?"

He raised his eyes and smiled, blood still smeared at the corner of his mouth: "It's nothing, Immortal Tianshui. This little flesh wound is nothing to worry about." But his true energy was like a broken thread of quicksand, dissipating everywhere, and the chance to heal was fleeting.

Without a word, the Celestial Immortal produced a spirit stone shimmering with azure light from his palm and placed it in the man's hand: "Quickly refine it!"

Lin Daochen gripped the spirit stone tightly, a warmth spreading through his heart—thankfully, she had been prepared. He closed his eyes, focused his mind, and guided his last shred of clarity to his wound. The pure power of the spirit stone surged forth, exploding into a warm current within his meridians, and the torn muscles visibly contracted and healed.

The Ancestor Guang'an watched coldly, then suddenly sneered, "Lin Daochen, no matter how quickly you heal, you can't escape death today—this misty sea will be your burial ground!"

Lin Daochen slowly opened his eyes, his gaze intense, the smile on his lips undiminished: "Ancestor, the show has only just begun. Who lives and who dies is yet to be decided."

The murderous intent surged like a tide, growing ever stronger. Veins bulged on the forehead of the Ancestor Guang An, and an undercurrent of tension flowed between Mei and Fu Yun; their silent confrontation resembled a clash of swords.

The oppressive atmosphere of the seven saints' corpses and the turbulent omens of the fog-shrouded sea, like an invisible giant net, enveloped everyone and dragged them into the center of the vortex of fate.

Lin Daochen stood amidst the ashes, the remnant power of the sage and the murderous intent of Guang An tearing at him like two raging winds.

But his mind was clear. While activating the Blood Cultivation Technique, he stabilized his true essence meridians. This ancient technique was strange and domineering, and it could actually extract life force from the depths of the bloodline, allowing the dying body to reignite its flame.

During a break from healing, he realized with a clear understanding: the spirit-seeking compass indicated only one person, not because the enemy was weak, but because the other two elders each harbored their own ulterior motives, waiting for an opportunity to profit. Therefore, he decided to temporarily avoid confrontation, remain calm and wait for the right moment to break the deadlock.

Seeing that the three patriarchs in the distance were all restrained, the Heavenly Water Immortal breathed a slight sigh of relief: "Lin Daochen, the current opening is rare, why don't we retreat first?"

He shook his head and smiled gently at her: "Our escape route is not cut off, but to withdraw now would only give them a handle against us. Our ancestors wielded thunder, and we... may not only have candlelight in our hands."

Before he finished speaking, he had already stood up, his wounds scabbed over and gleaming with gold, and he moved as usual. The two stood side by side, like drifting duckweed in a chaotic world. They had once wanted to imprison the Heavenly Stele, but now its shadow had vanished, leaving only a soft sigh. Lin Daochen looked up at the sky, his voice low and slow: "Fate is like a river; sometimes we sail together, sometimes we go against the current."

The Celestial Immortal lowered his eyes, his fingertips brushing against the empty cuffs of his sleeves, his voice as soft as a falling leaf: "Now that the Heavenly Stele is gone, there's no point in chasing after it. Only by going to meet it can we avoid wasting this cultivation."

Lin Daochen had already turned around, his gaze like a nail, piercing straight at the blood-red palace in the distance—its eaves were menacing, and its aura was deep and sinister. Flames flickered in his eyes as he spoke, each word distinct and deliberate: "If it is an opportunity, then one should knock on the door oneself."

The surface of the Heaven-Turning Seal was covered in spiderwebs, vibrating and buzzing, on the verge of collapse. The Blood Palace's oppressive aura poured down like a mountain, yet Lin Daochen stepped forward, his voice like tearing silk: "Charge!"

Retreat meant certain death; advance offered a glimmer of hope. He believed that this oppression could forge his bones, and that this perilous situation could force out a momentary opportunity to break through his limitations under the influence of divine inspiration.

His figure suddenly shot up like a blood-red arrow, piercing straight through the massive gate of the Blood Palace. The oppressive aura was like a knife cutting into his face, yet his spine remained ramrod straight, and an indomitable spirit emanated from his body. Just as he crossed the threshold, the entire Blood Palace seemed to come alive—his figure flickered, as if gently swallowed by the ancient bricks and stones.

Deep within the Blood Palace, crimson light surged like molten lava, and the air was thick with the stench of rust. Lin Daochen tensed up, as if an invisible giant hand had gripped his heart, dragging him into the very marrow of this crimson behemoth.

The oppressive force emanating from the heart of the palace was as heavy as ancient iron pressing down on him, causing his ribs to tremble, his throat to taste sweet, and even his breathing to feel like swallowing shards of glass.

The Heaven-Turning Seal in his palm suddenly shattered—not just broken, but ground to dust! Only a charred half remained, with lingering embers of spiritual patterns still clinging to its edges. This seal had withstood a thunderous attack from the Heavenly Sensing Ancestor without collapsing, but now it didn't even have time to utter a mournful cry before it completely submitted to the Blood Palace.

Lin Daochen's pupils contracted slightly, his fingertips paused for a moment, then he deftly picked up the fragment and stuffed it into his inner pocket, his movements as light as if he were collecting the remains of an old friend.

The Celestial Immortal's sword flashed like lightning, its black-sheathed blade slashing horizontally, its spine humming and vibrating, actually cleaving a gap in the mountain-like pressure. A curtain of sword light, shimmering with an eerie glow, descended, enveloping the two in a precarious tranquility. The sword seemed to possess a soul, its blade whistling softly, confronting the blood tide within the hall from afar.

Lin Daochen's Adam's apple bobbed, his chest churning with resentment, yet he didn't falter. He looked up at the Celestial Immortal, his gaze intense, and nodded solemnly—no words were needed; gratitude was etched into his brow. The two strode forward against the overwhelming pressure, their figures slender, yet like two nails driven into a giant rock, carving a path to survival in the suffocating world.

At the foot of the mountain, the Plum Blossom Ancestor walked slowly through the fallen leaves, accompanied by a tall, thin figure wrapped in a gray robe. Behind him, a cloud of black mist writhed like a living thing, sometimes gathering and sometimes dispersing, its stench mixed with the smell of decaying earth filling the nostrils.

Just as Lin Daochen stepped onto the bluestone steps where he had previously stood, a heart-wrenching scream suddenly erupted from the mist—the black mist was blown away by a strong wind, revealing a man nailed to a wooden stake: his entire body was densely covered with black bone nails, his flesh was torn and rolled up, and shiny black blood was flowing from his seven orifices. His limbs were limp like a broken puppet, and even his twitching exuded death.

The Plum Blossom Ancestor stroked his beard and sneered, his voice like a dull knife scraping against blue bricks, "It makes people wish they were dead, even more so than the fancy but evil arts of the Beiming family."

That man was Yang Kai, a former member of the Blood Hall and a defector. The Plum Blossom Ancestor had dug him out so that he could pry open his teeth and find out what Lin Daochen's weakness was and why he had become the Blood Hall's mortal enemy.

Yang Kai grinned, revealing a bloody mouth, and said in a sinister smile, "Heh... a bunch of filthy bastards? Tsk, so stupid that naivety seeps out even from the cracks in their bones."

The Plum Blossom Ancestor let out a cold snort. He knew the ruthlessness of the demon, of course, but the fact that this rotten flesh had managed to grit its teeth and hold on until now truly made his eyelids twitch.

He slightly raised his sleeves, and nine silver needles suddenly emerged from the mist, their tips dripping with a cold, eerie blue light—a sinister laugh rose from the mist, and a pair of bluish-gray eyes were fixed on Yang Kai's festering forehead, radiating a chilling aura.

The Plum Blossom Ancestor's face was ashen, but a glint of cunning shone in his eyes, like a venomous snake eyeing the last possible flaw.

Lin Daochen and the Celestial Immortal traversed the depths of the ancient forest. The fallen leaves beneath their feet accumulated to a thicker layer, and with each step, the earth's veins seemed to groan beneath their feet. The oppressive aura emanating from the Blood Palace was tightening inch by inch, like countless damp, cold pythons coiling around their waists and constricting their necks.

But the flame in Lin Daochen's eyes remained unextinguished, burning brightly and relentlessly—retreat meant certain death; advance offered only a sliver of hope.

"Senior Tianshui," his voice was strained, yet each word struck the ground, "the root of the Blood Palace must be dug out. If we keep going in circles, this forest will devour even our shadows."

The Immortal of Tianshui nodded silently, his knuckles turning white from clenching his fists. She trusted him, trusted the unyielding spirit in his eyes. The two continued forward, the shadows of the trees brushing past their shoulders like ghostly claws; every step felt like a fight against the entire mountain.

Suddenly, the forest opened up—in the center of the clearing stood a blood-red palace! The palace walls were like congealed blood, and the eaves pointed towards the inky sky. Moonlight spilled onto it, revealing dark gold rust spots. It was silent, yet it was more unsettling than a thousand armies.

Lin Daochen and the Immortal of Tianshui stopped in unison, and the moment their eyes met the palace gate, the air seemed to freeze into ice.

At the same moment, the Plum Blossom Ancestor and his companion had already reached the edge of the forest. He squinted at the outline of the Blood Palace, a slow, greedy glint spreading across his face like vines. The closer they got, the thicker the blood energy became; each breath felt like his lungs were soaked in salt water.

Before the palace gate, an invisible force field suddenly exploded, forming an impenetrable wall. The two paused, their eyes meeting—without speaking, they simultaneously lowered their shoulders, gathered their energy, and channeled their spiritual power, causing their palms and sword tips to burst forth with dazzling light.

"Behind the door lies the fate of the Blood Palace." Lin Daochen's voice was low and hoarse, but his eyes burned with a desperate light.