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

He turned around, staring at the crystal-clear, slippery iceberg in front of him, and silently swallowed: Good heavens, the whole mountain is frozen like a glass pillar, and it's hard to find even a protruding edge... Let alone climbing it, it's difficult to even stand still.

The moment Lin Daochen's fingertips touched the mountain wall, the chill seeped into his flesh like a venomous snake—the entire Tianshan Mountain had already frozen into a giant ice crystal, its surface gleaming with a cold, eerie blue light. Even the white breath he exhaled didn't have time to dissipate before condensing into fine frost and falling down in a soft rustling sound.

This isn't mountain climbing; it's like walking on razor blades! Trying to scale an 8,000-meter cliff with your bare hands? It's more absurd than making a cicada carry an iron tower.

He looked up at the mountain peak piercing the clouds, his Adam's apple bobbing twice. He turned his head away, looking aggrieved, and shouted at the young Taoist, "Aren't you making a fool of me? I sincerely seek the Dao, and you just throw a dead end at me! Do the immortals of Tianshan really use such a dead end to test people?"

The young Taoist priest simply shook his head, flicked his sleeve, turned and disappeared into the snow mist without uttering another word.

The wind whipped up ice shards that stung his face. Lin Daochen stood alone at the foot of the mountain, his shadow stretched long and thin by the setting sun, like a string stretched to its limit.

"Fine, fine... If I can't use magic or borrow external power, then I have to use my brain, right? I can always make my own tools—as long as I don't use magic to forge them or spiritual power to refine them!"

He crouched down and picked up a few sharp-edged black rocks, then tore off the sinew rope from his waist and carved out three hooked ice picks on the spot. He then used a stone hammer to forcefully chisel them into the ice. With three muffled "thump, thump, thump," the three spikes bit into the ice layer, as stable as iron stakes.

But just as he grasped the first ice spike, preparing to unleash his power, the sky suddenly cracked open with a low roar—not thunder, not wind, but the entire mountain range vibrating and resonating within its chest:

"Anyone who uses magic to shape, solidify, or imbue objects with power will be immediately eliminated. This mountain only recognizes hands and bones, not talismans or true energy."

Lin Daochen rolled his eyes, nearly choking on blood. An eight-thousand-meter ice wall, slippery even for geckos, and he was expected to climb it barehanded? Did he expect his ten fingers to grow suction cups?

He took a breath of the frozen air and pressed his hand against the mountain wall again—sure enough, it was slippery, hard, and cold, reflecting his distorted eyebrows like a mirror.

He leaped forward, his five fingers gripping the ice tightly! The moment his fingertips touched the ice, a crisp "crack" rang out, and his entire palm was instantly encased in thin ice. The stinging pain pierced his very bones, causing him to gasp for breath and his teeth to chatter.

Ordinary frostbite is excruciating, but this cold air is like a living thing, gnawing upwards along the blood vessels, and in the blink of an eye, bluish-purple blisters have appeared on the back of my hand.

He gritted his teeth and slammed his frozen hand against the ice wall—the ice cracked, and with the force of the impact, he kicked out with his right foot, scraping a shallow mark on the sole of his shoe; his left foot followed quickly, his toes digging into the ice crevice, and with a sudden burst of energy, the veins in his arms bulged, and he pulled his body up half a foot.

This process repeated itself: frozen → torn → grasped → frozen again... After walking twenty meters, the fingernails of all ten fingers cracked, blood mixed with ice shards flowed down, wrists were swollen and shiny, and frostbite ulcers oozed pale yellow pus.

A hundred miles away in the heart of a bustling city, Yang Kai was picking out copper bells from a pile of peddlers when he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his hands and his palms were burning hot. When he looked down, he saw that his skin was covered with spider web-like pale blue blood vessels!

He suddenly looked up, his gaze piercing through the bustling crowd and heading straight towards the Tianshan Mountains.

The long street was bustling with activity: horse-drawn carriages rumbled over the bluestone slabs, and oilcloth awnings clattered in the wind; sweet white steam rose from the sugar cake stalls, and the woman selling rouge smiled broadly, her eyes crinkling with laughter, the copper bells on her earlobes jingling with tiny points of light.

"Senior... what's wrong with you?" Yang Kai clenched his burning palms, his voice low but filled with anxiety. "This pain is so strange. It feels like I'm being stabbed myself, even though we're separated by mountains and rivers... No, I have to see it with my own eyes!"

Lin Daochen had previously told Yang Kai that the two should go their separate ways—after all, he was now under someone else's tutelage, and what he had gained and learned was all ordinary, making it difficult for him to have any further breakthroughs.

But right now, the word "separation of paths" is harder than climbing to heaven. If there is anything that can make Lin Daochen's heart warm and his blood surge, it must be cultivation itself.

Lin Daochen waved his hand, his voice steady: "Don't worry, I'm fine for now. But if it drags on any longer? Who knows? Go take care of your business first, and I'll call you when I need your help."

Upon hearing this, Yang Kai felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and his heart returned to its place. He trusted Lin Daochen, whose word was always as firm as iron.

"Understood, senior! From now on, whenever you need me, just send me a message—I'll be there whenever you call."

Before the words were even finished, the connection between their spiritual senses was severed. The two were connected by a spiritual seal that Lin Daochen had previously implanted into Yang Kai's sea of ​​consciousness; with a thought, they could communicate across vast distances—it was incredibly convenient.

Yang Kai composed himself and looked up. Before him lay a sea of ​​figures, layer upon layer, densely packed. He frowned slightly and said in a low voice:

"Sigh... Senior, what exactly are you planning? Things are changing one after another, and there are constant troubles."

"Why do you insist on forcing your way through again and again, fighting tooth and nail at every obstacle... Aren't you afraid of exhausting your body and breaking your vital energy?"

After speaking, he clenched his fist, pushed aside the vines in front of him, and plunged into the deep forest. The forest stretched out in a dark, dense mass, its branches twisted like fangs, and the mist swirled like a living thing, as if it were a silent, grinning maw ready to swallow a person whole at any moment.

At this moment, Lin Daochen was gritting his teeth and climbing on the cliff of Tianshan Mountain, only three or four hundred meters away from the foot of the mountain. However, Tianshan Mountain is over eight thousand feet high, and this height is not even halfway up the mountain.

The chill had already seeped into his bones. His ten fingers dug into the cracks in the rock, his palms turned purple from the cold, and his entire hands were stiff as ice sculptures—if it weren't for the continuous flow of spiritual energy within his body, his flesh and blood would have long since turned to dust.

"If this continues, I'm afraid we won't make it to sunset... Climbing without using spiritual power? Ha, even our corpses will probably be blown into ice by the wind and snow."

He took a breath and glanced into the distance. Sure enough, the higher he went, the more strange phenomena became: several towering ancient trees had appeared out of nowhere, their branches twisted and their bark a dark red, as if they had just drunk blood; what was even stranger was that they were clearly far away in the valley, yet they approached him step by step as he climbed, as if they were being pulled by invisible threads, waiting for him to enter their trap.

Lin Daochen felt a chill run down his spine—could these trees also be part of a scheme set up by the immortals of Tianshan? Otherwise, how could they be so bizarre?

He shook his head, ceasing his thoughts, and tapped another protruding rock with his fingertips, continuing his ascent. This journey allowed no retreat, no stopping. What he sought was that secret technique capable of shattering the shackles of cultivation realms.

Three days later, his eyebrows and eyelashes were frosted with age, and the tip of his nose was covered with a thick layer of ice. Even his breath exploded into fine white particles in the air. Yet he still stood tall as a spear, taking one step at a time, climbing deeper into the clouds.

"I'll see just how hard this mountain is, and how resilient my bones will be! If a mere eight thousand feet can't even hold me down, does that mean I can't even trust myself without the blessing of immortal energy?"

Before he finished speaking, he suddenly exerted force with both arms, his body leaping half a foot into the air, his fingernails scraping against the rock surface with a sharp, piercing sound.

Suddenly, a tiger roared through the sky, and a dragon's cry shook the valley!

A wave of sound, carrying a foul stench, rushed in. Lin Daochen twisted his body sharply and glanced back—

A winged tiger was perched atop a jagged rock three zhang away! Its wings spread wide like dark clouds pressing down overhead, its fangs dripping with blood, its eyes golden-red, burning with murderous intent.

"Interesting... This kind of desolate place actually raises flying tigers? Heavenly Mountain Immortal, you really don't want me to make it to the top of the mountain alive."

His Adam's apple bobbed, and instead of retreating, he advanced, pushing off the rock with his left foot and swinging his right arm, his whole body leaping upwards like an arrow released from a bow.

For seven days and seven nights, he worked without sleep, rest, food, or drink. When he finally stepped onto the last stone step of the Tianshan summit, the entire mountain seemed to tremble slightly beneath his feet.

Before them stood two rows of golden-armored guards, their armor gleaming coldly, their long halberds pointing diagonally to the sky, so still that not even the wind dared to pass by.

Lin Daochen was stunned, his chest heaving gradually slowing down.

This is another hurdle?

He closed his eyes briefly, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—

Trials? He's practically been marinated in trials.

However, the group of guards in front of him had no intention of wasting words with him. As soon as Lin Daochen approached, they all drew their swords and pounced on him without saying a word, clearly intending to settle things with their fists.

Lin Daochen's heart skipped a beat, suddenly remembering what the Heavenly Mountain Immortal had mentioned—only those who passed his three trials were qualified to touch the hidden path to break through the shackles. He had already crushed those silver-armored guards; now, clad in golden armor, he was clearly not there for sparring, but rather to face the real tough opponent. Sure enough, above the clouds, the Heavenly Mountain Immortal's voice slowly descended:

"Once you pass this final test, you will be able to face the real me directly; at that time, I will reveal all the secrets and opportunities."

As soon as he said this, the heavy weight on Lin Daochen's chest suddenly dissipated. As long as he could break through his cultivation level, he would dare to step into any danger, even a mountain of knives or a sea of ​​fire.

"Alright! We'll do as you say—I'll wipe out this bunch of golden-armored bastards without leaving a single one behind. You'd better keep your word."

Before he finished speaking, he touched the ground with his toes and shot towards the front of the battle like an arrow.

The golden-armored guards were indeed troublesome. In the blink of an eye, seven or eight golden figures had already swept behind him, so fast that not even the hem of his clothes fluttered. Lin Daochen was caught off guard, his back sank, and he was sent flying sideways, crashing heavily onto the bluestone ground, a metallic taste rising in his throat.

"Heh... So it was all thanks to external force." He pushed himself up, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. "I thought you guys were really tough." That blow had dislocated his internal organs, but it also taught him a lesson—in this world, brute force is never the trump card.

The sharpest blade in the cultivation world is never in the hand, but in the eye and the heart. Just like himself, even with the power to tear mountains apart, a single restriction or a single law can make him surrender. The simplest example: if someone sets up a "restriction domain" here, no matter how powerful you are, you will have to obediently stop.

Having personally witnessed the immortals of Tianshan, Lin Daochen truly understood the meaning of life—true power lies not in physical strength, but in sudden enlightenment; not in techniques, but in the traces of the Dao.

As he dodged and weaved, he carefully sensed the surrounding energy. Sure enough, it was as if an invisible giant hand was gripping his spiritual power tightly, compressing and tightening it until he could only use less than one-tenth of it at will. He couldn't think of anyone else who could exert such domineering suppression.

"Immortal of Tianshan, Immortal of Tianshan... are you really going to fight me to the bitter end? I thought you knew better than that stubborn old man Kunlun, but who knew you were just as good at playing tricks."

He shook his head and chuckled, then leaped up with the last bit of strength he had left. The Qingfeng Sword was drawn from its sheath, its cold light bursting forth, and it slashed straight at the face of the leader!

"Bang!" The sword struck the golden armor, producing a piercing metallic clang. But before the echo could fade, the group of golden-armored figures vanished again, only to reappear from the blind spot—twenty men moved in unison, sealing off every inch of his escape route, leaving him no room to even catch his breath.

Lin Daochen remained calm, instead letting out a cold laugh and suddenly exerting force with his feet, propelling himself into the sky!

Looking down, sure enough, the golden-armored guards all stopped, looked up angrily, but none of them could lift an inch off the ground.

"Can't fly?" He raised the corners of his lips slightly, flicked his wrist, and the Qingfeng Sword hummed loudly. A sharp sword aura slammed down and hit the center of the crowd, sending up rubble and dust.

They stood on the ground, unable to advance; he hovered in mid-air, as steady as a rock. No matter how fierce the attack, it could not reach the sky, which was three zhang high.

The golden-armored guards below were furious, slashing and hacking with their swords, but only striking the air; their roars shook the heavens, but they couldn't even shake down a single cloud. They could only stare helplessly, like a group of trapped beasts hanging from the treetops.

Lin Daochen hovered in the wind, his gaze sweeping over the flushed faces, and a thought suddenly popped into his mind: Since you can't fly... then today, play a game of cat and mouse with me.

Haha, this is interesting! I never expected that these guards, all clad in golden armor and comparable to experts just entering the threshold of cultivation, would not even have the ability to fly and ride the wind. It's truly astonishing.