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

Lin Daochen lay unconscious on the ground, his breath as faint as a wisp of smoke. The voice, however, clearly penetrated the peach tree's ears: "Give the peach to Monk Jianren to make up for his shortcomings and to continue the old covenant with the Heavenly Court." The War God Peach Tree did not utter a word, but simply pushed the peaches off the branch, as if it had opened a palace door that had been sealed for ten thousand years.

"Monk Jianren, these two peaches are the catalyst for the revival of Heaven, and also the debt your Peach Clan has repaid." The God of War's voice was not loud, but it shook the surrounding leaves to the ground.

Monk Jianren held the peaches, his palms tingling. The peach skin gleamed with a bluish-gold luster, and faint cloud patterns could be seen moving within it, rising and falling like a living thing. His throat tightened—this was no divine fruit; it was clearly two unopened bolts of lightning.

"Heavenly Court..." he murmured, and his tongue tasted rust, as if the name itself carried the embers of blood and fire.

Lin Lei squatted down beside Lin Daochen, his fingers probing his wrist pulse, only to feel a bone-chilling cold. Black mist was slowly emanating from Lin Daochen's seven orifices, spreading rapidly like ink dripping into clear water.

Signs of his cultivation collapsing had crept across his brow, and the flame of his life flickered on the verge of extinguishing. Lin Lei gritted his teeth and could only hold onto his shoulder tightly, as if holding onto a kite about to slip from his grasp.

The moment the peaches changed hands, the entire peach grove fell silent. The branches drooped, not out of submission, but out of silent resignation. They knew: if a branch is broken today, it may not sprout new buds tomorrow; but if the Heavenly Court were not established, even the cycle of withering and flourishing would become nothing more than a casual stamp on someone else's desk.

Monk Jianren was unaware that the peach in his hand was not as simple as a rare treasure—it was a token of the Peach Clan, nurtured with souls as soil and wishes as rain, containing their obsession with the old heavenly rules, waiting for a certain moment to suddenly break through the shell.

Suddenly, Lin Daochen's storage bag exploded! Thirty-three fragments rose into the air and pieced together a fragmented array diagram in mid-air.

The patterns were ancient and simple, with edges shimmering with a chaotic light, as if a page had just been torn from the beginning of creation. The five elements of spiritual roots responded and surged violently, with streams of light—green wood, red fire, black water, white gold, and thick earth—crashing into the center of the formation and exploding into a dazzling display of color.

Lin Lei looked up, stunned, his heart almost stopping.

This is no array diagram. It is clearly a living slice of the Heavenly Dao. The power of the Five Elements is as obedient as a kneeling child before it.

Just then, Monk Jianren lost his footing and fell straight down! The "inheritance" he had just received was churning violently within his body, and the phantom of the divine diagram suddenly appeared, its golden light like a knife, cutting his Buddhist aura and causing his meridians to tremble and his veins to hiss.

"What's going on?!" Veins bulged on his forehead, his robe billowed in the wind, and the light of his Buddha statue flickered, like a candle being torn apart by a gale.

The divine image hung overhead, its oppressive aura like a mountain, but it was not meant to protect; rather, it was meant to suppress. He desperately tried to steady himself, but his limbs and bones felt unsteady, as if his bones had been removed, leaving only a thin skin to hold him up.

Just as his mind was about to collapse, three black spots emerged from the depths of the divine map—the three black fragments! They trembled slightly, emitting a faint light, and the entire divine map shuddered, its collapse slowing down by half.

This divine diagram is an anomaly, a crack in the old era. Of the thirty-six fragments in the diagram, four are now lit up, firmly positioned in the four directions, outlining the prototype of a floating land. Buried among the rock patterns and mountain formations are secrets even older than dragon bones.

Tianlangzi stared at the divine diagram, his pupils unfocused, as if he could hear the tides of another world; Yang Kai clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white—those few fragments that had been lost and then recovered were once the ladder that allowed him to climb to the top, but now they had become the steps under the feet of others.

Golden talismans rained down from the divine diagram, all sinking into Lin Daochen's chest. He did not perish, but sank into the deepest state of meditation, like a seed falling into a cold pool.

His body, forged through blood cultivation, was as hard as iron, yet the aftershocks of his Dao-cultivation collapse had shattered his millennia-old cultivation into cracks.

The golden runes burrowed into his meridians like living things, and a thunderous buzzing sound exploded in his mind. Lin Daochen's eyes were slightly closed, but his consciousness felt as if it had been thrown into a raging sea, floating and tossing in the invisible undercurrents.

He looked back on the past and suddenly realized that pain and reminiscence were just masks etched by time, not expressions of his true feelings, but merely scabs formed from old wounds.

As he pondered deeper, a warmth spread through his heart—he realized that longing should be warm, like a hearth fire, like a journey home; that cold, clear moon was never a footnote to sorrow, but rather a silent beckoning from his homeland in the distance.

He relived the past again and again, and the more he looked, the clearer it became: what is "unforgettable" is not necessarily clenching your fists with gritted teeth, but rather the lingering shape of the wind in your palm after you let go. In that instant, he was stunned, as if standing at a crossroads in the fog, unable to distinguish which path led to the truth.

At that very moment, a blood-red shadow rose from the depths of his consciousness—blurry, intense, and brimming with the restlessness of newborn life; it was the form of a nascent primordial spirit on the verge of formation. The figure dispersed and then coalesced, shifting from illusory to real, like a long-dormant seed finally breaking through the frozen soil.

Lin Daochen's blood and qi surged, his bones creaked, and a strange yet familiar force rose from his dantian, rushing straight to his spiritual platform—he understood, this blood shadow was not an illusion, but the echo of his own deepest self.

It speaks no words, yet it is louder than a thousand; it moves no action, yet it has already overturned all the shackles of the past. Lin Daochen felt a sense of relief, as if a millstone that had weighed him down for half his life had been lifted.

He finally realized: "The past is like morning dew, it will dissipate when the sun rises." What is truly etched into one's destiny is never the faded old stories, but the rise and fall of one's breath, the slight tremor of one's fingertips, the rhythm of one's heartbeat at this moment—living itself is the most solemn way to remember.

Everything quietly restarted. That touch of blood had already taken root in my heart.

Lin Daochen ultimately failed to break through the Gate of Heavenly Sensation, but this period of seclusion was not in vain. Although his mind had shattered and his realm had not advanced, once he woke up, that gate was one inch closer than before, and the light shining through the crack was a bit brighter.

The monk Jianren staggered over, his robes fluttering, tears streaming down his face, so sorrowful he could wring water from them. Yet, out of the corner of his eye, his gaze was fixed on the divine image suspended in mid-air, like a nail.

Lin Lei drew his cold blade, the tip pointing directly at the monk's throat, chilling to the bone. The monk addressed him as "Buddha," but Lin Lei treated him merely as a gilded actor. Before they could exchange more than three sentences, the killing intent was already taut like a bowstring.

Yang Kai chuckled, slightly raising his chin, his eyes filled with undisguised mockery; Tianlangzi, however, took two steps forward, clasped his hands in invitation, "If Your Excellency wishes to join us, we will be waiting for you with open arms." His sincere tone surprised Monk Jianren.

Just as he was about to decline, he suddenly heard Tianlangzi speak. His voice was deep and resonant, and it even faintly matched the word "master" coming from the divine diagram! Monk Ren's back stiffened, and cold sweat instantly soaked through his inner shirt—this was no coincidence. This person... was probably already involved with the divine diagram.

Lin Daochen remained unconscious on the ground, but the surroundings had subtly changed. Except for Lin Lei, everyone spoke in coarse slang, their mouths full of vulgar and harsh words, every word barbed and grating. When he opened his eyes, he would likely be facing a damned lawsuit that he couldn't escape.

Lin Lei stood by his side the whole time, his shoulders and back taut like a fully drawn bow, his gaze calm as an ancient well, yet every bit of vigilance was sharpened into a blade. The moment Monk Jianren raised his hand, Lin Lei had already coldly drawn his sword—the sword flashed like lightning, cleaving through the air with a resounding clang.

The two engaged in a fierce battle, their sword energy tearing through the forest mist, causing fallen leaves to shatter before they even touched the ground. Lin Lei's cultivation was slightly inferior, but his swordplay was as cunning as a venomous snake's tongue, and his steps were as steady as an old tree's roots, forcing Monk Jianren to be unable to advance even half a step for the time being.

"Buddhism teaches salvation, not theft." Lin Lei's swordplay suddenly hardened, the blade angled. "If you truly possess compassion, why not join hands to comprehend the divine diagram? Why insist on blocking my path?"

Monk Jianren sneered, his palm radiating a burst of Buddhist light, the golden glow making his features appear sinister: "Foolish child, what you're protecting may not be a living person."

Yang Kai leaned against a withered tree, arms crossed, not even lifting his eyelids, treating what appeared to be two wild dogs fighting over food. Tianlangzi, on the other hand, stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze sharp as a ruler, meticulously measuring the monk's moves, footwork, and even the gaps in his breath.

The sword's cry reverberated through the forest, causing branches and leaves to rustle and fall. And at the very moment when the sword's energy was at its peak, Lin Daochen's drooping fingers curled up extremely slightly.

The blood-red sun pierced the clouds, staining the sky crimson, and the entire mountain wilderness was instantly immersed in an eerie scarlet hue. The divine map slowly unfurled, revealing a flowing scroll of a secret realm. Spiritual energy surged like a tide over the mountain ridges, causing vegetation to grow wildly and insects and birds to fall silent.

Rumor has it that the goddess of the Heavenly Mystery Sect, through astronomical deduction, determined that the next secret altar is hidden deep within this vast mountain range. As soon as the news spread, cultivators from all sides flocked to the area like ants, eager to be the first to open the door to the unknown.

A divine vessel, gleaming with purple light, soared through the sky, carrying six people—four men and two women—each in a different color of Taoist robe, yet all sharing the same expression: furrowed brows, sharp eyes, and an air of worldly wisdom and composure. The vessel traversed the sky, leaving a trail of condensed, unyielding purple light that pierced the heavens.

On the divine vessel, a cultivator's gaze, sharp as a blade, swept across the faces of the crowd—he was none other than Qin Yun, the helmsman of this team. The oppressive aura of a Nascent Soul cultivator subtly rippled, his purple robes fluttering as if carrying the force of thunder.

What the goddess of the Heavenly Mystery Sect said is absolutely true; the altar is indeed hidden deep within these mountains.

We must seize the clues before others, break into the secret realm, and fight for a divinely granted opportunity! Qin Yun's voice was like the striking of metal, each word solid and weighty. All the cultivators nodded in unison, their expressions solemn.

As everyone meticulously examined the clues in the ancient god map and the entrance to the secret realm, a clear voice suddenly cut in: "I've heard that Lin Daochen once massacred cultivators in the Divine City, leaving mountains of corpses and terrifying the entire city. People call him the 'Bloody Hand Demon Cultivator,' but what's the truth?"

Before the words were even finished, all eyes were already on the young woman—her pale purple Taoist robe accentuated her beautiful features, and a glint of light flashed in her eyes. She was none other than Qin Yun's younger sister, Qin Yinhua.

Qin Yun smiled slightly and nodded, saying, "Lin Daochen? He is indeed quite eye-catching. It is said that he killed the Liu family patriarch not solely with his own cultivation, but by relying on a ghost cultivator and a strange beast—especially that wind-winged lion, which moved with the wind as fast as a startled swan, tearing open a decisive gap for him."

Everyone's spirits lifted, and their breathing became heavier. Qin Yun continued, "That ghost cultivator's shadow is unpredictable and can summon the Yin Sha of the Nine Netherworlds; the Wind Wing Lion is an ancient and exotic species. When it spreads its wings, the wind howls and tears through the sky. Its speed is so fast that even a Nascent Soul cultivator cannot catch up with it."

Upon hearing this, everyone gasped, their faces filled with astonishment—it turned out that the so-called "massacre" was actually the result of such a shocking scheme.