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

Using the afterimage as cover, the old man had already circled behind him and was now standing quietly, his fingertips only an inch away from the back of his neck, the smile on his face like a cat eyeing a mouse.

Lin Daochen stood frozen in place, his throat dry.

It wasn't that I didn't expect it to be fast, but that it was incredibly fast—crushing the opponent without any chance to fight back. This kind of oppressive feeling was something I had never experienced before.

But the more he did this, the more his blood boiled.

Can't win? Then fight until you can!

The thought had barely formed in his mind when he unleashed a powerful backhand punch, slamming it hard into the back of his body!

The old man merely smiled, then his figure vanished in an instant, like smoke swept away by the wind.

Lin Daochen's punch missed its mark, leaving him stunned on the spot.

When he looked up again, the old man had already swayed to his side, lightly brushing the tip of his nose with two fingers.

"Do you understand now, young man? There are always mountains beyond mountains, and people beyond people. The reason you thought you were powerful before was simply because... you hadn't met a true master yet."

Hearing this, Lin Daochen's throat tightened, and the words caught in his throat. These words... truly struck a nerve. There are always mountains beyond mountains, and people above people; he had always thought he stood at the peak, unmatched by anyone.

In terms of innate talent, comprehension, fighting spirit, and even luck—his journey has been smooth sailing, with miraculous medicines delivered to his door and opportunities piling up. He has rarely encountered any setbacks, let alone any truly overwhelming difficulties.

But in that instant, he suddenly felt as if he had been doused with cold water, and belatedly realized that he was not invincible after all.

That talent that he was so proud of didn't seem so dazzling after all.

Of course, these thoughts were all imagined by the old man. He was closing his eyes and letting his imagination run wild—he could almost picture Lin Daochen with his head down, biting his lip, his face full of shame, silently reflecting on his actions. This was exactly the scene he wanted.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

Lin Daochen didn't follow the script he had planned at all.

The old man, however, was still grinning, smugly imagining that Lin Daochen was right there, bowing his head in remorse, beating his chest and stamping his feet, wishing he could swallow back all his former arrogance.

A sharp, knife-like gust of wind suddenly struck his face, shattering his cheekbone instantly. In the instant the excruciating pain exploded, his mind went blank, and he even forgot to breathe—what was that just now? It was so fast that even the afterimage left only a blurry black line!

Who could move with that speed right under your nose?

He instinctively looked up, and his gaze met Lin Daochen's cold, expressionless face. The man was right in front of him, his eyes as cold as a thousand-year-old glacier. There wasn't a trace of regret, let alone any sense of shame.

That old man is acting! That dejected look isn't a sign of defeat after being crushed by strength; it's a deliberate bait!

"Why are you pretending to be so dejected?" His voice was tense. "You're not actually desperate because of the gap in abilities, but you insist on putting on that act—just to make me lower my guard so you can launch a surprise attack!"

The leaders grinned, their eyes full of sarcasm, and gave Lin Daochen a sinister look.

"That's ridiculous. I have to report to you if I space out? Besides, I thought you'd be somewhat interesting after you activated your secret technique to speed things up... but you're still a spineless coward."

"Your move is nothing more than drawing spiritual energy wildly to your vital point, forcing your blood to boil, and squeezing out all your potential."

Before he finished speaking, the other person's pupils suddenly contracted, and he stared at Lin Daochen in disbelief, as if a trump card he had been hiding had been suddenly exposed.

A slight heat rose in his ears, and he sneered and shook his head: "Such arrogance! I thought you were a sensible person before, but now it seems you're nothing more than an ignorant brat."

"Since you can't even withstand a tenth of my power, this cat-and-mouse game should end now—next, I'll show you what true wrath from the heavens is. After this attack, your life will be yours, delivered by my own hand."

He clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles cracking, and crimson flames suddenly ignited in his palms. A phoenix rising from the ashes circled and ascended around him, its eyes churning like molten lava, and a phantom behind him flapped its wings, flames reaching the heavens.

Lin Daochen squinted and looked over, and sure enough, he saw the phoenix phantom behind the other party, which remained solid and did not dissipate, with its wings blazing and flames rising.

He understood immediately: it really was borrowed power from the phoenix. Since it was borrowed, then he wouldn't hesitate to take it back.

"Phoenix blood? Ha... You haven't even grasped the basics, yet you dare to flaunt it. No matter where you stole this remnant blood from, it's mine now."

Lin Daochen's lips curled up slightly, and his palm suddenly flipped over, unleashing a powerful force that had been dormant for a long time!

The phoenix phantom behind the old man suddenly screeched and uncontrollably detached from his body, rushing towards Lin Daochen with flames that could burn the eight wastelands!

Flames shot into the sky, turning the entire landscape crimson. The rolling mountains were bathed in the glow of the flames, resembling a barren wasteland. Even the pebbles beneath our feet crackled and popped under the intense heat.

Lin Daochen raised an eyebrow slightly, but showed no surprise whatsoever—this level of power was exactly what he had expected. His opponent had reached his limit, while he himself had only just warmed up.

"This move is called 'Phoenix Ashes Return to Ruins'—if you can withstand it, you're lucky; if you can't..." He paused, his gaze sharp as a blade, "then you'll have to swallow the end I'm sending you."

Before the words were finished, a clear and melodious phoenix cry tore through the sky. In the distance, a phantom phoenix as big as a mountain swooped down with flames, carrying a world-destroying force, and crashed down!

But the expected heavy blow did not fall. Lin Daochen only swayed slightly, like a bamboo branch being blown by the wind, and then became as steady as a rock, without the slightest ripple.

This devastating attack didn't even lift the hem of his clothes. The old man froze on the spot, his pupils shrinking sharply—he had cultivated diligently for nearly three thousand years and dominated the Northern Territory for hundreds of years, never imagining that he would be defeated by a mere immature youth.

He refused to believe it, but reality had already crashed down on him: this wasn't a contest of victory or defeat, but a one-sided crushing defeat. He exerted all his strength, his true energy surging like a tidal wave, yet he couldn't even budge a single strand of Lin Daochen's hair. The other party didn't even raise a hand, just stood there quietly, his shoulder trembling slightly, as if the earth-shattering blow just now was nothing more than a light cough brushing past his ear.

How could he possibly contend with such an existence? His mind went blank, his hands and feet turned ice-cold, and he even lost his rhythm in breathing. His worldview crumbled inch by inch, his faith collapsed with a devastating roar, leaving only a heart filled with absurdity and emptiness.

The crimson true energy surging around him, which had once burned rivers and boiled seas and shattered nine peaks, was now dim as a dying candle, so weak that it chilled one to the bone—it turned out that he had become so frail.

This move exhausted his life force, forcibly cutting off twenty years of his lifespan. He was already at his limit, with only twenty-odd years left to live... This cut made his death imminent.

A chill ran down his spine, as if an icy hand were gripping his throat. He stared blankly at everything before him, his throat tight, too weak to even question anything.

What else can we do? Things have come to this point, there's no turning back.

"You bastard! Since your way out is gone, then we'll be buried together!" he roared, his voice hoarse as if tearing silk. "My life is already on fire, and if you still remain unmoved—then I'll burn some more! I'll burn to my last breath, but I'll stand tall before you, these bones of mine!"

"Boy, take this! This is my ultimate move, my last gamble—if you can withstand it, our grudges will be settled; if you kill me…" He gasped for breath, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "the sect elders will come looking for you with their swords, to settle your blood debt in blood."

Upon hearing this, Lin Daochen merely scoffed twice. A threat? He never took such a question seriously.

Too lazy to waste any more words, he calmly focused his gaze on his opponent—this battle had to end here. He didn't want to die, and he didn't want to leave his opponent alive.

Those words were merely a prelude to his move, a warning to Lin Daochen: don't act rashly, or you'll suffer a devastating defeat.

Before he finished speaking, his figure rapidly expanded in front of Lin Daochen—five meters, ten meters, twenty meters… His body rose up like an ancient mountain, blotting out the sky and the sun, his dark shadow swallowing the entire mountain valley.

Just as he was about to roar to the sky, he suddenly felt a chill in his chest, followed by a sharp, piercing pain that shot straight through his back!

A jet-black dagger pierced his heart, its tip dripping blood and gleaming eerily in the sunlight. A gruesome gash opened in his chest, his heart shattered into pieces, and scalding blood gushed out like a fountain.

The old man trembled violently, his eyes bulging out as he turned his head in disbelief—Lin Daochen had somehow moved behind him, his left hand hanging down, a lingering afterimage still visible between his fingers.

Internal injuries are silent, yet most deadly. Blood may not have flowed out of the body, but life force is rapidly dissipating from the depths of the internal organs. Even the strongest body cannot withstand this fatal blow that pierces the heart.

Consciousness receded rapidly like the receding tide, his vision blurred, and his limbs grew cold. Despair seeped into his heart and lungs like ink. His face was deathly pale as he stared at the dark gash on his chest, his throat gurgling: Is... I really going to die? It's happening today? It's really like this?

He had cultivated for nearly a thousand years and never imagined that death would come so suddenly and so miserably.

He stared blankly, his gaze unfocused, as if he had just woken from an absurd dream, but couldn't even grasp its content.

The disciples beside him were already terrified and screamed as they rushed toward them.

They simply couldn't believe it—this peerless powerhouse, who had dominated for millennia and was like a god, had actually fallen at this moment. In everyone's memory, he had always been like a pavilion shrouded in mist, unfathomable and unapproachable.

No one expected that such a person would fall in this desolate wilderness.

The cultivators from afar stumbled and ran towards them, their robes torn, their boots covered in mud, their faces filled with panic and despair.

"My lord! You mustn't leave! If you fall, who will stand up for us? Who will seek justice for us? We all depend on your word to live!"

"Um."

The cries suddenly erupted, heart-wrenching and devastating. Some knelt and kowtowed, their foreheads bleeding from the blows, yet they did not stop; others roared to the sky, their throats hoarse, unable to utter a single complete sentence.

But when their gazes fell upon Lin Daochen, their grief froze instantly, transforming into raw hatred. A burly man with a face full of scars suddenly raised his hand, his fingertips aimed directly at Lin Daochen's face, his eyes bloodshot, his voice hoarse and desperate:

"Look closely! It's him! This beast killed our boss! From now on, if anything happens, remember this face—he's the one who drove us to our deaths! Brothers, surround him and chop him up!"

In an instant, the crowd surged, roaring like thunder. No one saw the cause and effect clearly, but everyone gritted their teeth, venting all their misfortune, resentment, and grievances on Lin Daochen.

"He's the one who killed the boss! Don't let him get away! We have to bury him here today!"

The crowd surged forward, their teeth grinding, their fists clenched so tightly that veins bulged, as if they wanted to tear him apart. But after taking only two steps, they all froze in place—not because they didn't want to move, but because they simply couldn't.

They are like kites nailed to the wind, seemingly fierce but actually unable to stir up even the slightest breeze.