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

Lin Daochen stood quietly atop the small hill, his robes fluttering slightly, his gaze sweeping down. At the foot of the hill, a dense mass of cultivators filled the area, each with a fierce glint in their eyes, yet not one dared to take a single step forward.

He curled his lips slightly, his smile cold and detached, a half-smile playing on his lips: "What? You're resentful? You're angry? Since you're not satisfied, why don't you take action? Maybe... you can actually get some advantage back."

Before he finished speaking, he laughed loudly and turned to look at the limp old man—his previous life-burning secret technique had already drained the last drop of phoenix essence from the man's body. Lin Daochen knew perfectly well that this man had no chance of turning the tables.

But he never gambles.

He always believed in a decisive, swift strike, leaving no room for retreat. Unlike the indecisive protagonists in stories, who insist on uttering unnecessary words to give their opponents a chance to survive.

He stepped forward slowly, and with a flash of cold light, the dagger precisely pierced the old man's Adam's apple—even with spiritual light protecting him, this strike was unavoidable; it severed his lifeline, not his flesh.

The old man's pupils dilated suddenly, and his breath stopped abruptly.

Just as the surrounding cultivators were about to erupt in anger, they suddenly saw a ghostly blue vapor rising around the old man's corpse and were immediately stunned: This... how is this possible? He also knows this technique?

Just as they were hesitating, an even more horrifying scene appeared—the blue mist surged like boiling water, turning crimson inch by inch!

Everyone's expression changed drastically, and they exclaimed in shock: How is this possible? Only the Lord has cultivated for three hundred years to barely control the red mist! His lifelong pursuit is to forge an immortal body with his flesh and blood, taking one step at a time, enduring the years, just to prove the path of "physical sainthood".

However, the cultivation world has always ridiculed such ascetic practices, regarding them as foolish, fanatical, and out of touch with the times. He could only silently swallow the cold stares, practice more in seclusion, and temper his bones in the dark, waiting for the day he could break free of his cocoon and personally tear off the labels that the world had placed on him.

Today, he has finally succeeded.

He encountered all sorts of people—the Celestial Immortal of Tianshan, the Celestial Immortal of Tianshui, and the powerful backer behind them: the Ziwei Emperor. Despite the weight of these identities, he stubbornly carved out his own place in the public eye with sheer determination, gradually gaining the approval and recognition of the masses.

The physical technique he cultivated was essentially trading his life for power: draining his soul fire and scorching his primordial spirit, all to unlock strength far exceeding that of ordinary people. But that power was too violent, the backlash was like a knife, forcing his blood and soul to evaporate and explode on the surface of his body—the surging blue mist was a sign that his essence was being forcibly extracted; the rising red smoke was the soul screaming and evaporating in the high temperature.

To put it bluntly, this is a path of self-destruction. The stronger the physical body, the more crumbling the foundation; every surge in strength gnaws at one's lifespan and spiritual foundation. The cultivation world has always regarded it as a heretical path, avoiding it like the plague. If it weren't for the personal support of the two immortals, Tianshan and Tianshui, he would have been attacked by all sides long ago, and how could he have survived to this day?

But now, after all these years of hard work, is it really going to end in failure? He stared blankly at the flickering light and shadow before him, as if the ground beneath his feet was slowly turning into bubbles.

Immediately afterwards, his pupils suddenly lost focus, his vision rapidly faded, and finally he sank into a deathly blackness—his breathing stopped, his heart stopped beating, and a once-powerful figure met his end.

Above the clouds, Jiang Ziya and Shen Gongbao fell silent simultaneously. No one had expected things to fall apart like this.

"Senior brother... I'm afraid junior brother is really gone. This time, we've completely broken ties with the Ziwei Emperor. Do you think we can salvage the situation?"

Shen Gongbao's brows furrowed, his fingertips unconsciously digging into his palms. His original intention was simply to teach Lin Daochen a lesson and curb his evil nature—after all, this kid had strayed into the immortal sect by wrong means, and his personality was both arrogant and violent, causing many fellow cultivators to frown upon him.

But who could have imagined that a lesson would lead to such an outcome?

"There's no turning back." His voice was low and hoarse. "Things have come to this, we can only grit our teeth and charge forward."

The two stared at each other in silence, their throats bobbing but no words coming out. Their gazes swept across the light screen beneath their feet, and they saw Lin Daochen still standing in the center of the pile of corpses, his eyes still filled with murderous intent, like a deadly blade that had been drawn from its sheath and would never return.

"it is good."

Shen Gongbao shook his head slightly and sighed, "This child... his violent temper is frightening. Alas, it was our negligence that led him astray. Let's not dwell on that now; the most urgent thing is to bring him back."

Before he finished speaking, the two of them raised their hands simultaneously—a clear and refreshing rain poured down from the heavens, like spring water seeping into scorched earth, instantly extinguishing the raging flames of blood in Lin Daochen's eyes.

He shuddered violently, looked around blankly, and felt an unbearable soreness and swelling in his bones, as if they had been crushed.

"No... what's wrong with me? Why are even my fingers stiff?"

He looked down at his hands, then slowly raised them again, his eyes filled with astonishment and doubt. But in just one glance, he understood—the corpses lying haphazardly on the ground, the dark red stains on his fingertips that were still wet, and the ashen faces of his two masters… everything reminded him: he had just lost control.

He rubbed his hands awkwardly, his throat tightening: "Master... I killed all these people? My mind suddenly went blank, I just felt a fire burning in my chest, and my hands started moving on their own... After that... I don't remember anything after that."

Shen Gongbao waved his hand, and his figure suddenly transformed into a wisp of white mist, descending from the sky and landing steadily in front of him, his warm palm pressing against his forehead.

"Silly child, it's not your fault. Everyone has to go through this. You just happened to run into it a little earlier than others."

He paused, looked at the boy's still somewhat childish face, and finally let out a long sigh.

Back in the day, your uncle also devised such meticulous plans, but what could we do? Time flies like a knife, and there is no time to lose—what must be cut must be cut, what must be borne must be borne. Once the arrow leaves the bowstring, there is no reason to stop.

Lin Daochen listened and simply shook his head slightly.

"Um."

"Uncle-Master, there's no need to comfort me. I know perfectly well that this was bound to happen sooner or later. It's just that I was caught off guard and felt like I'd been hit in the chest with a blunt object, making it hard to breathe. But when I think about it, this is just the most ordinary scene on the path of cultivation."

His gaze swept over the corpses lying around him, and suddenly his eyes darkened, revealing a cold and sharp glint.

These wretched creatures deserve to die. When they breathe their last, I won't even lift an eyelid. Master, Uncle-Master, you can rest assured—I will remain calm.

Shen Gongbao and Jiang Ziya exchanged a glance, their brows furrowing slightly. But then they thought, what cultivator hasn't waded through corpses to reach their level? Behind the glory lies only blood and broken blades.

The true path to immortality is never about celestial banquets and feasts, but rather about mountains of corpses and rivers of blood. No one can reach the end cleanly; death is merely the oldest brick on the threshold.

On the journey to the West, at the foot of Mount Ling, there was a sea of ​​blood on Lion Mountain. Legend has it that the road was made of human bones, and the wind smelled of rust. Even the Great Sage Equaling Heaven felt a chill run down his spine upon first seeing it—if even a peerless monkey god like him was moved, how much more so would an unknown little cultivator?

Lin Daochen slowly stood up, his toes three feet off the ground, hovering in mid-air, looking down at the devastation.

Corpses littered the field, and his heart churned, but he quickly suppressed the turmoil: what was destined to happen could not be avoided.

He glanced at the cultivators beside him—each one with their heads bowed and necks hunched, not daring to even look at him out of the corner of their eye. Lin Daochen shook his head again.

He didn't know what to say, nor did he need to. He knew better than anyone that these people had never intended to stand with him. To put it bluntly, they had long regarded him as their target—no matter when or where, their first thought was always how to destroy him.

"Lin Daochen, which path do you choose?" Jiang Ziya's voice was deep, his gaze like a scale. "You've just bled, your heart is still burning; this is the hardest hurdle to overcome. I really want to see how you'll make your move."

He knew in his heart that this young man before him never followed the usual path. Even if others guessed for ten years, they might not be able to grasp even a fraction of his thoughts.

At this moment, Lin Daochen, who remained silent, had elevated the entire game to an unprecedented level.

What will he choose?

Jiang Ziya desperately wanted to know—through a thousand years of vicissitudes and countless choices, the tracks left by the wheels of time had never deviated by an inch. Gods, immortals, demons, monsters, humans… all living beings were like puppets on strings, rising and falling repeatedly within a predetermined trajectory.

No one could break the deadlock, no one could change their fate; even the rhythm of their breathing seemed to be written dead in the pages of a book.

She suddenly felt utterly disgusted. In her eyes, the world had become a gigantic cage, all the scenery merely repetitive rubbings, devoid of any surprise. Was this world real or an illusion? Or was it just a never-ending shadow play?

She used to believe in illusions, until she met Lin Daochen—the fire in his eyes actually cracked a glimmer of light in this iron-clad destiny.

Every word he utters next will reshape her understanding of the world.

Yes, she is a deity high on the Investiture of the Gods, revered by the world like a star. But only she knows that beneath that divine position lies a vast sea of ​​mist.

She didn't understand why this world operated the way it did, nor did she understand why she was Jiang Ziya—why she was in charge of the Investiture of the Gods? Why was she destined to rank the gods? Was it possible that from the moment she was born, every step she took was already nailed to her destiny by an invisible hand?

If he is the supreme being who holds the divine authority and judges all living beings, then what is he himself? A puppet whose name has already been written, or a blank space yet to be filled? He gazed at Lin Daochen in the distance, trying to find the answer in that young face; and Lin Daochen also moved—his lips slightly raised, his smile like the first light of dawn, his gaze fixed directly on Jiang Ziya.

"Master, I know you are trapped in the fog, trying to see the image of destiny reflected in me. But I'm sorry, I am not the 'person destined for tribulation' in your heart. I am just a mortal who stumbled into the threshold of cultivation by accident."

Before he finished speaking, he suddenly burst into loud laughter, a laugh as clear and bright as a mountain stream shattering ice. The next instant, his longsword was drawn, its cold light flashing—a deafening explosion erupted, and blood mist surged within a hundred miles, like crimson clouds pressing down.

In the instant that sword cleaved them, all living beings disintegrated into dust. Their bodies were severed into pieces, blood rained down, and they didn't even have time to utter a mournful cry.

Jiang Ziya froze on the spot, his throat tightening—that attack just now had slaughtered at least a million Holy Spirits! How could this gentle and refined disciple before him harbor such a chilling killing intent? His pupils shrank sharply, and before he could recover, Lin Daochen had already swept in front of him like the wind, his clothes perfectly in place and his breath steady.

"Master, now you should understand: there is no predetermined script in this world. Every step we take is rewriting the ending with our own hands. What just happened was just one of the paths I chose; and I can step onto another one at any time."

He raised his hand and waved it lightly, and the surrounding scenery suddenly distorted and reversed—the shredded flesh reassembled, the broken bones healed, the splattered blood flew back to the torso, the dead opened their eyes, and were reborn as before.