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

When he opened his eyes again, a deafening roar of water crashed down on him—he was now standing beneath the waterfall, the cold water whipping at him, soaking his head and face.

But that chilling, evil feeling still churned in his mind. He wiped his face, pushed off with his feet, splashing water droplets, and leaped out of the pool, stepping onto solid ground.

He stretched out his consciousness, which spread outwards like ripples on water, revealing a clear and unobstructed view of everything.

It was as if that wisp of primordial spirit had broken free from the golden core, not only did its senses become as sharp as a knife, but its muscles, bones, meridians, and divine sense also grew rapidly. Its entire body seemed to have been tempered by a raging fire, filled with scalding power—this feeling made one's blood boil.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking, then leaped into the air, his toes slamming heavily on the flowing clouds. He shot straight into the sky like an arrow, tearing through layers of mist and hurtling away into the distance.

At the foot of the mountain, several villages were bathed in the spring sunshine. Farmers bent down and wielded their hoes, plowing through the damp soil. Suddenly, a figure leaping through the sea of ​​clouds streaked across the sky, so fast that only a silvery afterimage remained.

The people on the ridge were stunned, their hoes hanging in mid-air, forgetting even to catch their breath.

Just after that figure passed by, a group of people instantly gathered under the old locust tree at the village entrance, chattering excitedly.

"How strange! I've lived to this age and this is the first time I've ever seen a real person riding the clouds! I can't be sure if it's a deity or a monster, but it's probably related to the recent chaos."

"You mean that demon who suddenly appeared out of nowhere? Tsk, I've heard he's really something else—he just showed up in the northern border, and in the blink of an eye, he turned Dongying and Nanzhao upside down, capturing several royal nobles like chickens and making a fool of them!"

Before the words were finished, the crowd suddenly fell silent, a chill running down their spines as they all shut their mouths—the clouds above silently parted, revealing a huge black face in the sky, its fangs bared, its eyes bloodshot, grinning as it stared intently at the group of mortals.

At this moment, Lin Daochen, who was speeding through the clouds, frowned and his consciousness suddenly tightened.

So that's how it is... This is the aura of the Evil Sword Immortal. It's sinister and chilling, yet it carries a hint of awkwardness and weakness.

Not difficult to deal with, even... a bit fragile.

The thought flashed through his mind, and his figure grew three times larger, his sleeves fluttering, as he swooped down towards the direction with the strongest aura, like a meteor falling to earth. The legendary demon who had stirred up the three realms was about to reveal himself.

Half an hour later, a solitary peak stood out, sharp as a sword. At the summit, a bald man with ink-black markings on his face held a massive, dark sword, laughing wildly to the sky, his voice echoing through the surrounding mountains.

Beneath his feet lay the "Qingweimen" mountain gate, already a river of blood. Corpses lay strewn before him, their Taoist robes soaked in dark red, their breaths extinguished.

The surviving Taoists gritted their teeth and formed a battle formation, their swords flashing and talismans flying everywhere. But every time their attacks hit the dark figure, they melted away instantly, like snow meeting boiling water.

An elderly man with white hair shattered the blue bricks, leaped forward with his sword, and a blazing golden light burst from the tip of the blade, like a thunderclap cleaving the night sky—

But the light had barely reached three feet from the Evil Sword Immortal when it seemed to crash into an impenetrable wall, crumbling inch by inch. He didn't even raise his eyes; with a flick of his finger, a crisp "clang" rang out, and the old man's sword shattered, turning into countless cold stars.

"Hahaha!" The Evil Sword Immortal's laughter was hoarse, like sand scraping against an iron plate. "An ant dares to show its claws? Even if the Jade Emperor himself comes, I'll still sever its three souls and seven spirits! If you know what's good for you, kneel down and kowtow, and you might at least have a whole corpse!"

"What I, the Evil Sword Immortal, desire is not slaughter, but the submission of the Three Realms! Those who surrender will not be killed, and a path to survival will open for them—"

"Bullshit!" The old man spat out a mouthful of blood, his voice hoarse but resolute. "You trespassed on my mountain gate and slaughtered over three hundred of my disciples. The blood is not yet cold, the revenge is not yet complete. If I, Xu Heming, were to retreat even half a step today, I would be ashamed before the ancestral tablets!"

Before he finished speaking, he unleashed his last armor-piercing arrow, its arrowhead glowing with the last vestiges of spiritual light as it shot forth—

The Evil Sword Immortal didn't even lift his eyelids. His shoulder swayed slightly, and the arrow tip, still half an inch from his throat, disintegrated inch by inch and fell to the ground with a rustling sound.

The old man felt a sweet taste in his throat, then fell backward, his blood splattering onto the blood-stained bluestone, hot and glaring.

Just as the massive black sword was raised high, about to pierce the old man's chest—

Boom!

Suddenly, the sea of ​​clouds overhead burst open, and golden light poured down like a waterfall, so bright that it was impossible to open one's eyes.

The surviving Taoist priests trembled, abandoned their swords, and retreated, their faces filled with horror and ecstasy.

The Evil Sword Immortal suddenly looked up, his pupils contracted sharply, and for the first time, he showed hesitation.

But Xu Heming, who had been seriously injured and lying on the ground, suddenly propped himself up, looked at the golden light, and burst into laughter, his voice as loud as tearing silk:

"The Heavenly Gate has opened! Reinforcements from the Upper Realm have arrived! Xie Jianxian—you will die here today! The blood debt you owe will be settled today, with interest!"

Before he finished speaking, he slapped the ground with one palm, and a blue light barrier rose up, firmly protecting all the surviving disciples within it.

The Evil Sword Immortal launched two fierce attacks in succession, only to find that the protective aura emanating from his opponent was as thick as a mountain, firmly enveloping everyone within it. If he were to force his way through, it would take him at least an hour to tear through this barrier.

The golden gate above his head was wide open, and the mist inside surged, as if something unknown might descend at any moment—the Evil Sword Immortal's heart tightened, and he looked up, his pupils shrinking as he locked onto the blinding golden light.

Just then, Lin Daochen slowly emerged from the Heavenly Gate. A staircase formed of pure golden light descended from the gate, and he stepped down, his robes fluttering, his steps unhurried, as if he were slowly descending on time itself.

Once he stood facing the Evil Sword Immortal, the two of them hovered atop the towering clouds, their gazes sharp as knives, exchanging a silent battle that seemed to tear the air apart.

"Heh, so it was you." Lin Daochen's lips curled up slightly, his voice cold. "When I sensed that sinister aura earlier, I thought it was some kind of world-shaking demon lord—but it turns out you're just a fake with a fierce reputation but a cowardly exterior."

His eyes were expressionless, except for a trace of undisguised disappointment. He had thought that someone who could stir up trouble in the three realms should at least have some real skill, but he had not expected to encounter only an empty shell with bluster.

Upon hearing this, the Evil Sword Immortal's face turned purple with rage. He unleashed a massive slash with his sword, not uttering a single unnecessary word—those of the demonic path always proved their words with force and used their blades instead of their tongues.

The sword light flashed like lightning, reaching Lin Daochen's brow in an instant! But the fierce and unparalleled slash struck the protective aura, like a mud ox sinking into the sea, not even causing a ripple. Only a dull thud remained, and the sword lightly bounced off the surface of the protective aura before disappearing without a trace.

The Evil Sword Immortal froze, his pupils dilating in shock—he had poured eighty percent of his cultivation into this attack, yet it hadn't even shaken the hem of his opponent's clothes! In that instant, he fully understood: the difference between himself and the person before him was not just a tiny bit, but an insurmountable chasm.

He turned and fled, his figure as frantic as a startled lone bird, soaring through the sky in a disheveled state.

Lin Daochen watched the rapidly disappearing figure, shook his head slightly, and did not give chase.

The sect below was in ruins, disciples lay scattered on the ground, broken arms and bones, blood staining the blue bricks—the injuries were horrific. Saving them was of utmost urgency.

However, the celestial realm has its own ironclad rules: immortals cannot easily reveal themselves to the mortal world. The opening of the heavenly gates and the descending of the golden steps just now were already an extreme exception. If they were to reveal their true forms again and make them known to the world, it would likely cause turmoil in the mortal realm and disrupt the order of people's hearts.

He pondered for a moment, then raised his hand and gently waved it. Instantly, golden light enveloped him like mist, completely obscuring his face and figure. The crowd below could only see a figure in pure white standing quietly on the golden steps above the clouds, his robes fluttering in the wind, like an immortal descended from an ancient painting.

Before the mountain gate, the sect leader knelt down with a thud, followed by over a hundred disciples who prostrated themselves on the ground, their foreheads pressed against the cold stone steps, their voices trembling like sieves: "Welcome, Immortal Lord of the Upper Realm! Our sect's foundation is shallow, and we were no match for the Evil Sword Immortal's invasion, causing the mountain gate to crumble... We humbly beg the Immortal Lord to punish us!"

Lin Daochen lowered his gaze to the humble, prostrate backs, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly before he finally gave a silent laugh—a laugh tinged with helplessness and warm memories of the past. When he first entered the sect, hadn't he also prostrated himself in this way, gazing up at his master on the high platform?

In the eyes of mortals, immortals are gods who cannot be looked at directly; while they are nothing more than ants struggling to survive in the dust.

...Actually, it didn't have to be like that. He had also suffered from hunger and cold, had also gone mad from practicing qi cultivation, and had also knelt in the snow and kowtowed ninety-nine times in exchange for a chance to pass on his skills.

But this thought could only remain hidden in my heart. What I need to do now is to stabilize the morale of this group of people who are on the verge of collapse—I need to make the right gesture.

He pointed his finger and drew a line, and golden dust fell like starlight, silently covering the wounds of his disciples. In an instant, the charred flesh began to regenerate, broken bones were mended like vines climbing a rock, the bleeding stopped, the pain subsided, and their breathing gradually stabilized.

The crowd below stared in disbelief, forgetting even to breathe. The sect leader was even more shaken; the golden light stimulated his spiritual meridians, causing a faint surge of warmth—the thrill of a Foundation Establishment cultivator, long trapped in a bottleneck, touching the threshold of "Profound Understanding" for the first time!

His knees buckled, and he kowtowed heavily, his forehead slamming against the stone slab with a loud thud: "Thank you, Immortal Lord, for saving my life! Our sect's survival today is entirely due to your mercy!"

The disciples immediately knelt down in unison, their shouts reaching the heavens: "Thank you for your great kindness, Immortal Lord!"

"Hmm." Lin Daochen nodded, said no more, turned around and stepped onto the golden steps, his figure disappearing into the depths of the Heavenly Gate in an instant.

The sky, which had just been turbulent, instantly returned to its clear state, cloudless and as if no one had ever set foot there.

The sect leader slumped to the ground, his chest heaving violently. After a long while, he finally exhaled a hot breath: "So... immortals truly exist... If it weren't for the Evil Sword Immortal's surprise attack, I'm afraid I would never have even caught a glimpse of one in my lifetime!"

He abruptly pushed himself up and roared, "Quickly prepare an altar! Set out three sacrificial animals, light nine incense sticks, and set up an ever-burning lamp—offer sacrifices to the Immortal Lord, for ten days and ten nights, with incense burning continuously!"

The disciples at the foot of the mountain responded to the order and hurriedly moved tables and chairs. Everyone had a solemn expression and their fingertips trembled, for fear of neglecting the fleeting celestial trace above the clouds.

But they were completely unaware that Lin Daochen had already left and stepped back into the Heavenly Gate.

In an instant, golden light burst forth, like ten thousand sharp swords piercing the sky. Lin Daochen's figure vanished in an instant, leaving only a wisp of breeze passing by.

The disciples at the foot of the mountain had just finished arranging the offering table neatly when they looked up and saw only an empty sky, with no sign of the Heavenly Gate.

The leader of the Light Sect stood in the center of the open-air plaza, looking up at the Heavenly Gate that had completely disappeared, his brows furrowed and his palms clenched until they turned white.

"Alas... There really are immortals! There really are immortals! This time, we were blind and rude, mistaking a true immortal for a passing cloud—it's my fault for being so ignorant, failing to see through the mystery at a glance, and letting this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip away!"

As he sighed in despair, several disciples hurriedly arrived carrying a newly repaired altar, hands clasped in preparation for his arrival. But the immortal figure had long since vanished; no matter how exquisite the altar, who would it serve now?

Looking at the pairs of bright, hopeful eyes before him, the sect leader slowly shook his head, his throat bobbing slightly, his expression filled with a deep, reluctant melancholy.

"To be able to see the immortal's face with one's own eyes is already a blessing from the ancestral master and a stroke of good fortune! Since the connection with the immortal has passed, why not enshrine this altar as a sacred site—burning incense daily and worshipping year after year? Perhaps one day the clouds will clear and the immortal will return, allowing us to continue our past connection."

The disciples below nodded in unison. They all understood: immortals were elusive and ethereal, and they had only ever heard of them but never seen them. Today, though they had only caught a glimpse of them, it was as if they had swallowed a mouthful of morning dew and drunk a ladle of starlight. Their muscles and bones felt slightly lighter, and their minds were quietly brightened—this was a sign that they had been touched by immortal energy. Perhaps the seeds of their future breakthrough in seclusion were sown at this moment.

The sect leader raised his hand and waved it lightly. The disciples immediately stepped forward and embedded red copper patterns at the four corners of the altar. Glass wind chimes were hung from the eaves, and plain silk brocade was laid on top. In an instant, a solemn altar that was not lacking in spiritual charm stood tall.

At this time, Lin Daochen had already fled thousands of miles away, but the world was vast and he had nowhere to land, so he had no choice but to return to the entrance of the ancient painting.

The gateway to the world of painting is hidden behind the waterfall—the curtain of water hangs down like a silver ribbon, and passing through it leads to another world. But Lin Daochen lingered in front of the waterfall for a long time.

He remembered that when he first arrived here, he bumped into a barefoot boy squatting on a bluestone, holding a half-rolled, yellowed old painting, who looked up at him and asked, "How can I bring the painting to life?"

He didn't say much at the time, but simply reached out and asked for the other person's arm. To his surprise, the child blinked, smiled, and agreed, even standing on tiptoe to point to the depths of the waterfall, leading him there.

This is no ordinary opportunity. That boy must have been waiting for him for a long time.