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

"How...how could this be?!" All the charm on her face vanished, leaving only a deathly pale and panicked expression.

Lin Daochen stepped forward slowly, his sleeves unstained by blood: "You are but a few drops of ink on my path to fame. But Shencheng, remember my name—remembered in blood."

The green rain still clung to her body. Her Adam's apple bobbed, and she tasted the rust. Only then did she truly understand what it meant to be worse than dead.

"You're not human, you're a demon!" Her eyes were bloodshot, but when she met Lin Daochen's calm eyes and the blood-stained blade pointing at her neck, all her strength vanished instantly.

Behind her, the two corpses had long since dissipated into a foul stench, utterly devoid of warmth.

The Liu family patriarch's eyes widened in fury as he roared like thunder: "Lin Daochen! You slaughtered your fellow cultivators, you have no humanity, you're worse than a beast!"

Lin Daochen didn't turn his head, his voice as calm as sweeping fallen leaves: "In the cultivation world, those who survive are never the ones who uphold benevolence and righteousness."

The Liu family patriarch trembled with rage, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move. Lin Daochen raised his hand, and with a flash of sword light, Li'er's head flew into the air, splattering hot blood three feet high.

"Such arrogance! You're nothing but a caltrop stuck in flesh!" Lin Daochen's voice was cold and hard, but his eyes burned with an unyielding, chilling flame. Within the divine city, he tore off all masks of gentleness, his killing intent as sharp as a knife, making the hearts of the entire city tremble.

This battle is etched into the very bones and blood of the divine city. Amidst the rain of blood, he stood like a scythe that severed souls, and wherever he passed, even the wind seemed to freeze.

……

In the streets and alleys of the divine city, corpses lay strewn everywhere, a horrific sight. At Lin Daochen's feet, blood seeped into the cracks between the blue bricks, mixed with charred bones and swirling mud. The entire city seemed to have been devoured by a blood curse from the underworld, the stench pungent and the chilling atmosphere palpable.

The Liu family patriarch's beard and hair stood on end, his eyes were bloodshot, and he roared, his body exploding with energy that transformed into a raging torrent that tore through the sky and rushed straight towards Lin Daochen's face.

Despite being suppressed by the Heavenly Laws of the Divine City, the Liu family patriarch, as a Heavenly Sensing expert, still possessed an aura as powerful as a mountain collapsing and a tsunami crashing down. Wherever the shockwave passed, stone slabs were blown away like paper, and eaves collapsed like rotten wood. The entire long street instantly turned into a battlefield of raging sand and chaotic blades.

Lin Daochen remained motionless, yet a flash of metallic clang appeared deep within his eyes. He suddenly unleashed the Heavenly Stele Hand, its invisible palm strike carrying immense weight, directly clashing with the monstrous wave of air. The two immense forces collided in mid-air, causing roof tiles to peel off and eardrums to ring incessantly.

At that moment, the Liu family patriarch felt a chill run down his spine! He looked up sharply—three gray-white afterimages were already hanging above his head, the souls of the three half-step Heavenly Sensing cultivators who had been killed by Lin Daochen earlier!

"Damn it!" His heart pounded wildly, but it was too late to retreat. The three ghostly figures moved with ghostly speed, suddenly closing in and tightly binding his limbs and bones, chilling him to the bone, making him unable to move.

Lin Daochen's lips curled into a cold, sharp smile. Using the sudden attack of the soul spirits to disrupt the formation, he blurred through the turbulent currents and headed straight for the city gate. The old man of the Wang family turned pale and hurriedly flicked the communication talisman in his sleeve. Green smoke rose into the air, and the talisman cried out for help—hoping that the city garrison commander would appear to suppress the rebellion.

Atop the city wall, a figure silently appeared. Though he hadn't reached the Heavenly Sense realm, he was bound by the rules of Heaven, his aura as deep and unfathomable as an abyss, his combat power no less than that of a veteran Heavenly Sense expert. Seeing Lin Daochen charging recklessly, he frowned slightly, a hint of contempt flashing in his eyes, before raising his hand, intent on cutting off his path.

Lin Daochen scoffed, his steps as swift as thunder, the city gate almost within reach. But the city garrison commander had already launched a fierce attack, his palm strike carrying immense force, crashing down upon him! Lin Daochen drew his blood sword with a backhand, the tip pointing diagonally to the sky, showing no intention of retreating.

"Blood Battle Against the Heavens!" His words thundered, and a burst of blood mist erupted from his body, thick as paste and blazing as fire, colliding fiercely with the city garrison commander's mighty palm force—the void twisted instantly, and a blood-red vortex tore and roared, as if the heavens and earth were wounded.

The city garrison commander's pupils constricted, and the slight arrogance on his face vanished, replaced by a chilling wariness. Lin Daochen, however, merely stared coldly at him, his sword still drawn, his momentum undiminished; the killing intent between them was as taut as a bowstring.

Inside and outside the divine city, the sounds of battle rose again. Lin Daochen fought bloodily, his sword light like a dragon, clashing with the city's garrison commander in close combat. The wind from his palm collided with the sword energy, creating a thunderous roar that crushed mountains, the aftershocks shattering windows in the market, the echoes lingering for a long time.

His blood surged and boiled, every bone and tendon roaring as he challenged not only his opponent, but also the millennia-old ironclad rules of the divine city. Blood mist swirled around him, billowing and churning, making him appear like an ancient war god descending on blood.

The city garrison commander dared not slacken his efforts. He held the cyan divine whip in his palm, his face grim, his breathing steady, revealing not the slightest flaw.

Before long, a deep gash suddenly appeared on Lin Daochen's shoulder, and blood spurted out. He didn't even utter a sound, only wiping the blood from his lips. His gaze burned even brighter, and he pushed off with his feet, moving with his sword as fast as a tiger pouncing on its prey!

The city garrison commander was slightly shaken, but he did not lose his composure. Instead, his eyes became even sharper—only then did he realize that Lin Daochen was actually a rare master of body refinement! But he was no ordinary person either; with the cyan divine whip in his hand, his mind was as steady as a rock.

Lin Daochen swung his arms, his Heavenly Stele Hand advancing five steps in quick succession, creating layers upon layers of gale-force winds that trapped the city garrison in the center like an impregnable fortress. The entire divine city trembled, and the onlookers were all horrified. His eyes flashed with killing intent as cold as frost, and he swung his blood sword horizontally, unleashing two crimson sword energies that shot through the air with lightning speed!

The city garrison commander was prepared—his azure divine whip suddenly unfurled, its azure light surging forth, like a living azure dragon soaring into the sky! With a flick of his wrist, a streak of azure light burst forth from the tip of the whip, precisely meeting the two streaks of bloody light.

The moment a mocking smile appeared on his lips, his expression froze—the blood sword in Lin Daochen's hand actually contained the power of the Blood Sea's origin over ten thousand years; wherever its sharpness reached, even magical treasures were as thin as paper!

As the blood-red sword slashed down, the city envoy's divine whip suddenly lost its luster, instantly shredded into fragments by Lin Daochen's surging murderous aura. The whip snapped and whipped back, and the city envoy's heart skipped a beat—this attack had missed its mark.

In the blink of an eye, Lin Daochen's figure dissipated, like a wisp of smoke torn apart by the wind, evaporating from the spot in the blink of an eye. The city envoy's pupils contracted, his back tensed, and his eyes, sharp as hooks, swept around rapidly, only to catch a fleeting afterimage in the void.

The sky above the divine city was turbulent as two figures repeatedly flashed and clashed amidst a torrent of attacks. Palm strikes tore through the air, and sword beams exploded across the sky, bursting into clusters of dazzling silver-white halos.

The city garrison commander felt a tightness in his chest, and a chill crept up his spine—this young man was not only fast, but also ruthless, deep, and unpredictable; victory or defeat might hang in the balance between the next breath.

His trail vanished without a trace. Instinctively, he spun around and swung his palm. Before the wind from his palm even arrived, the green whip coiled around his body like a living snake, its scales menacing. But before he could finish speaking, Lin Daochen had already charged in from the side. His sword was still sheathed, but the wind from his fist, carrying a stench of blood, rushed towards him. Their arms clashed, creating a deafening roar that sent rooftops flying across half the street.

Lin Daochen's footwork was as light and agile as a butterfly flitting among flowers, almost unpredictable. But just as he shifted positions, a sharp sword aura suddenly broke through his protective qi, slashing across his left shoulder—flesh and blood spurted out like rain.

He didn't even frown. With a light touch of his toes, he shot up like an arrow, his eyes burning with cold fire as he aimed straight at the throat of the city's envoy.

The city envoy's Adam's apple bobbed as an unusual sense of oppression pressed down upon him. He suddenly realized: what lay before him was not a fledgling that could be easily crushed, but a young dragon that had been hiding its sharpness for a long time.

Retreat? No. Fight! Only fight harder—the cries of swords and the ringing of palms tore through the sky once more, and the energy tide surged wildly between the two, even causing the air to ripple like glass.

In the distance, the Liu family patriarch arrived swiftly, accompanied by several streaks of light. The moment he landed, they all stopped abruptly, looking up at the figure that moved with lightning speed amidst the city guards' palm strikes, their expressions slightly stiff. Even these veteran experts of the Divine City felt their legs grow heavy—they couldn't catch up, they truly couldn't catch up.

The Liu family patriarch's icy gaze swept across the battlefield. His voice, though not loud, was sharp and impactful: "Don't dawdle, stay close." The crowd responded, leaping up and transforming into streaks of light as they rushed into the battle. Despite their shock, their greed remained—no matter how strong a youth, he was ultimately alone; even in the chaos, there was always a chance to reap the rewards.

The teahouse, three stories high, was filled with the delicate aroma of aged Yunwu tea. Several elderly monks with snow-white hair and beards sat chatting idly, their teacups clinking lightly as they sighed and laughed at the swift passage of time. Who would have recognized Lin Daochen just six months ago? Now, that name is so infamous that no one dares to utter it lightly.

Every floor of the teahouse was inlaid with transparent jade walls, displaying the battle situation in detail. The cultivators either leaned against the railing and whispered, or stroked their beards and gazed intently, arguing endlessly: some asserted that Lin Daochen's sword intent had reached the pinnacle, and he had a 70% chance of winning; others shook their heads, saying that the city envoy had been immersed in this path for three hundred years, and his foundation was as solid as a mountain, how could he be shaken by mere brawn and blood?

The aroma of tea wafts through the air, carrying a lingering and profound sense of tranquility, creating an atmosphere of leisure and ease.

In a private room on the seventh floor, Nangong Piaomiao leaned back in a wide chair, slowly twirling a jade chess piece between his fingers, his gaze calm as he surveyed the entire city. He remained impassive, yet he took in every single movement and every breath Lin Daochen made.

Suddenly, a young cultivator stepped up the stairs, his robes fluttering in the wind. He bowed and clasped his hands in greeting, his voice clear and melodious: "Senior Nangong, I am Zhang Feng of the Chasing Wind Sect. I have heard that Lin Daochen downstairs is a peerless genius of our time. I wish to come up here to learn from him."

Nangong Piaomiao's lips curled slightly as he glanced past the window and looked down at the churning battle clouds. He nodded and said, "They're down there. Go." He had already noticed the arrogant air between Zhang Feng's brows and thought to himself: This is just the beginning of the show.

Zhang Feng laughed loudly, and with a flash, he soared into the sky like a falcon.

Nangong Piaomiao raised his hand and lightly tapped the rosewood tea table with his fingertips. A soft sound followed, and the room fell silent. He looked in the direction Zhang Feng had left and said calmly, "Young friend, this is not a game for you. It is best to stand by and watch."

Just as the young cultivator was about to speak, the side curtain was gently lifted, and a person slowly walked in. Long Ze wore a plain white robe, his clothes spotless, his brows relaxed, and his demeanor composed. He nodded slightly to Nangong Piaomiao, then turned to the young cultivator with a smile and said, "Senior Nangong is absolutely right—to observe is to participate."

He stepped to the table, his sleeves fluttering slightly, his aura spreading out subtly: "The Liu family, the Wang family, and the Long family, what they should be thinking about now is not fighting for pride, but preserving the vitality of the Divine City." His words were not loud, but they were like metal and stone striking the ground, leaving no room for argument.

Nangong Piaomiao nodded, his gaze gentle yet resolute. He had chosen this place to wait for him precisely to quell the conflict. He then raised his hand, gesturing for Long Ze to take a seat—this small tea room was the beginning and end of all the causes and effects of today.

In the corner of the room, a slender figure stood silently, her purple dress trailing on the ground, her face veiled in white gauze—it was none other than the Heavenly Goddess Ni Yun. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if a cold star had flashed across them; she had already sensed Long Ze's quiet approach.

A cloud of doubt quietly churned in his mind: Why was his grandfather, Nangong Piaomiao, so determined to support Lin Daochen? What unspeakable weight did that young man possess?