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

Although Tianlangzi and Yang Kai were full of doubts, they had to admit that this young man possessed an almost ruthless tenacity. Lin Lei stood silently, gazing at Lin Daochen's upright back, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, his respect overflowing silently.

Under the intense light of Lin Daochen's blood-red sun, the three ancient peach trees suddenly underwent a strange transformation—black and white cocoons suddenly clung to the trunks, and as the leaves fluttered down, two aged faces emerged from the main trunk, like two old men who had been sleeping for a thousand years suddenly opening their eyes.

They were all very interested in this mutation, but one of them suddenly lost its life, leaving only an overwhelming sorrow that wept silently in the wind.

The other two peach tree demons instantly flew into a rage, their branches flailing wildly, their howls tearing through the air and shaking the entire mountainside, causing dust to scatter. They roared, demanding to settle old scores with Kuafu, their angry faces contorted, their demonic aura splattering like ink, surging into a chilling black cloud.

Lin Daochen stood at the eye of the storm, closing his eyes to trace the lingering tremor of the Mid-Autumn Festival night, trying to fathom the true weight behind the word "moon." He stood still as a pine tree, his mind deep and focused, waiting for the waning moon in his eyes to truly become full.

However, he suddenly realized that this understanding was too superficial and did not even reach the threshold of the rule-upgraded dimension.

True understanding is never a fleeting emotional ripple, but a profound and thorough comprehension of the laws of nature.

Lin Daochen stood quietly under the tree, his mind sinking into the depths of the moonlight, repeatedly asking himself: What is the moon? It hangs in the heavens, but it is not just a ray of clear light; it is also the embodiment of the flow of time, the cycle of yin and yang, and the separation of life and death.

He had always valued enlightenment, but he knew all too well that true enlightenment required piercing through appearances and reaching the very marrow of one's bones. Although he had now stepped into the third level of the Moon Realm, the "pivot of the Dao" that supported all laws was still hidden behind the thick fog.

The moonlight poured down like water, washing his features so that they appeared lean and sharp, like an ancient sword that was still sheathed but already exuded a chilling aura.

A sudden roar erupted from the depths of the peach grove, the thick branches trembled violently, and peach blossoms fell in a flurry. The entire grove seemed to be gripped and shaken by rage. Lin Lei, Yang Kai, and Tian Langzi tensed up, their spiritual power instantly surging to their fingertips. Before their weapons were even drawn, their killing intent was already palpable.

At that very moment, Lin Daochen suddenly raised his head—his gaze pierced through the silver light, striking beyond the dome, as if trying to tear open the sky and look directly at the eternally rotating lunar core.

He understood perfectly: the so-called enlightenment of the moon is not just about looking up and feeling sentimental; one must go upstream and grasp the primordial law that pulls the tides, stabilizes the four seasons, and locks the soul!

The moon is the eye of the heavens, and even more so, the most silent yet most violent order in the universe. Lin Daochen's chest surged with turmoil; he could no longer remain still, and instead used his mangled body as a catalyst, crashing headlong into the barrier of heavenly senses!

The peach tree demons soared into the air, their gnarled branches transforming into claws. Their demonic aura surged like a dark, turbulent wave, instantly pressing down on the entire peach grove, causing it to droop and gasp for breath. Their roars twisted into a deafening sonic boom, carrying the smell of decaying leaves and rust, crashing down on Lin Daochen.

"Form ranks and meet the enemy!" Lin Daochen shouted, his voice like the cracking of metal and stone. His gaze suddenly darkened, and the moonlight seemed to come alive, wrapping around his body and condensing into a flowing, frosty white halo, cold and scorching.

Deep within the dark forest, two towering peach trees stand like mountains, their bark cracked like ancient seal script, their branches gnarled like dragon tendons, as if they had etched a thousand years of wind and frost into their annual rings.

In the center of this sealed secret realm, the young cultivator Lin Daochen stood with his eyes closed, questioning the true meaning of the moon with his own flesh and blood.

The two trees initially sensed something amiss, but upon discovering that he had already firmly established himself at the third level of the Moon Realm, they were both shocked—this young man is a rare talent in this world.

The old peach tree on the left suddenly chuckled, shaking off a few withered leaves from its crown: "Enlightenment? Ha... Nowadays, steel bars pierce the clouds and lightning cuts through the long night. Your old methods are too slow to even order takeout!" Its tone was full of sarcasm, as if he were just holding an old scripture, floundering aimlessly in the torrent of the new era.

The tree on the right sighed softly, its branches drooping as if in mourning: "The mountains and seas of the past have collapsed, the wilderness has been torn apart, but the shadow of the strong always quietly revives where the dust settles."

This game was already written in the folds of fate. The voice was low and slow, revealing the weariness of understanding reincarnation, as if one could already see the footsteps of an ancient giant, shattering time and approaching step by step.

Lin Daochen listened, but his heart remained as still as a deep well. He breathed slowly, closed his eyes, and a layer of clear, silvery light quietly spread around him. It was not dazzling or scorching, but it made the entire peach grove breathe more gently—he was no longer a person standing under the moon; he was the moonlight itself, slowly awakening.

In an instant, a surge of spiritual energy that shook the earth's veins exploded out! This time, it was not a plea to the heavens, but a declaration of war against oneself.

His knuckles cracked, shattering three ribs; his spine dislocated inch by inch, the excruciating pain like being plunged into molten lava; his meridians ruptured inch by inch, blood seeping from his pores, evaporating into a pale red mist. Lin Lei and Yang Kai turned pale, wanting to step forward to stop him, but were rooted to the spot by that resolute aura.

"Is it worth it?" Lin Lei's voice was strained.

Lin Daochen merely curled the corners of his lips, but his eyes shone with a terrifying light, like two clusters of cold flames burning through the darkness.

He repeatedly crushed his own bones, severed tendons as tough as steel, and dragged his body into relentless torture. His flesh and blood were disintegrating, but his consciousness grew ever clearer.

A long-dormant, savage force is climbing upwards along every crack, echoing the rhythm of his self-destruction, each crack louder than the last.

The two peach trees' pupils constricted sharply—this wasn't a cultivator; it was clearly a calamity fire in human skin! They suddenly became certain: if this person didn't die, he would surely become a fierce god; and above that fierce god, there might even stand a monster that couldn't even be contained within the word "fierce." This young man stood in the center of the seal, neither a remnant of the ancients nor a commoner of today, but rather seemed to have an ancient war spirit cast from modern bones.

The forest was eerily cold, and the moonlight flowed like mercury over him, making him appear almost inhumanly aloof. His fierce, clenched teeth and his blood-stained, unyielding spine sent chills down one's spine—he was stepping into a realm beyond the mortal's ability to name.

The peach tree on the left sneered even more: "Had enough pain? None of your ancestors climbed to the top by self-harm!"

Lin Daochen slowly straightened up, the sound of broken bones grinding together clearly audible. His gaze swept over the two trees, and he said, word by word, "My strength is not borrowed from old debts, but a new covenant earned with my own hands. I will break this seal today—let the ancient methods take root in cement, and let the moonlight spill through the glass curtain wall."

The peach tree on the right nodded slightly, its branches trembling gently, as if a faint light was flowing within them: "Perhaps... it really can."

Before the words were even finished, both trees fell silent. Their roots dug deep into the earth's veins, their canopies pointing straight to the sky, silently absorbing the patterns of the Great Dao. The entire peach grove held its breath, the air thick and sticky, even the wind stagnant—as if Lin Daochen's resolute vow had pried open the deepest anchor of the seal, causing the millennia-long imprisonment to emit its first faint yet real, unbearable groan.

The battle's trajectory suddenly became clear. Lin Lei and Yang Kai were enveloped by the Daoist aura emanating from Lin Daochen, their true essence churning like boiling water, their meridians tingling, as if an invisible hand were gripping their internal organs, forcibly correcting their circulation.

Deep within the forest, moonlight poured down like mercury, silently spreading over withered branches and moss, forming a serene and solemn barrier.

Lin Daochen stood silently within, his slender figure as if cast in iron, his robes motionless, his aura unwavering, as if he had been born under this moon since time immemorial, waiting only for a moment of enlightenment to open the gates of heaven. His eyes were slightly open, with no whites visible in his pupils, only a phantom slowly swirling within them—that was him using his divine sense to imprint the skeletal form of the moon inch by inch.

Tianlangzi stood three steps away, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, a hint of barely concealed annoyance flashing across his face.

He originally thought that enlightenment was Lin Daochen's weakness, but unexpectedly he was caught in the backlash of the Dao traces and lost the incomplete scroll of the "Taiyin Soul-Eroding Technique". In the cultivation world, the loss of an attack method is like the extinction of an entire root, but he was too ashamed to admit his mistake, so he swallowed his resentment and turned it into a stiff arc on the corner of his lips.

"That scroll technique...in the end, it couldn't be retained." He murmured, his fingertips unconsciously digging into his palm.

Yang Kai glanced at him sideways, his tone deep and sharp: "Do you think he just threw it away casually? Lin Daochen never casts a wide net; every move he makes is made on the cracks in his destiny."

Tianlangzi remained silent for a long while before finally nodding: "...Indeed, I was too naive."

Lin Lei remained silent, his gaze fixed on Lin Daochen's back. He understood—there was no such thing as "loss" in this world; it was merely the crushing of the old path to make way for new steps. It was just a cultivation technique; on the path of cultivation, who hadn't burned a few discarded scriptures and buried a few remains?

Lin Daochen remained standing. For fifteen days and nights, his eyes were bloodshot like a spider web, and his eyelids were swollen as if they were about to burst, yet they never drooped an inch.

He wasn't tracing the moon, but dismantling it: dismantling its waxing and waning rhythm, dismantling the texture of its clear light, dismantling its arrogance of hanging in the heavens untouched by dust. His fingertips trembled as he drew the seventeenth crescent moon arc in the void, each stroke like scraping stone with broken bone, hoarse and stubborn.

"The moon shape... must be alive." He squeezed out the words through gritted teeth, his saliva tinged with blood, which landed on the fallen leaves at his feet.

Lin Lei and Yang Kai held their breath simultaneously. The air suddenly became thick and sticky, even the chirping of insects ceased. The true energy within their bodies stopped surging wildly, instead sinking together into their dantian, like a hundred rivers flowing into the sea—this wasn't being drawn in, but being awakened.

The moonlight in the woods grew brighter, yet it carried an eerie quality. A thin, pungent mist of blood rose from the woods, coiling around Lin Daochen's shattered right arm. Flesh and skin were torn apart, fingers and bones were broken, and blood mixed with bone fragments gleamed with a cold, bluish-gray light in the moonlight.

A crescent moon hung in front of him, its outline distorted and its edges rough, as if it had been cut by a dull knife, or more like a magic mirror reflecting madness.

Tianlangzi crouched down, his fingertips brushing against the twelve fragments of cold jade. One of them shimmered with a faint light, as if a galaxy flowed within it—it was the lingering wisp of divinity. His brows furrowed, his voice deep: "He tore the moon apart, but failed to piece it back together."

Yang Kai squatted down beside him, staring at the crescent moon, speechless for a long time.

He didn't believe Lin Daochen would lose control. If he really did, he would be covered in blood and his soul would be scattered by now; but the man in front of him was even breathing steadily—clearly he was awake and had personally driven himself into a desperate situation.