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

Li Kui's legs trembled. He grabbed Yang Kai's arm, his voice weak, "You...your master wouldn't be...a mountain demon in disguise, would he? That white line just now...was it a soul?"

Yang Kai abruptly turned his head, his eyes so cold they could frost, his five fingers gripping his collar like iron pincers, and said, word by word, "If a single word of what you saw today leaks out—I'll personally tear your mouth apart, drain your soul and spirit, and then chop your entire family into pieces and pickle them in a jar, understand?"

Li Kui's face turned deathly pale, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to his knees. But instead of crying or begging, he gritted his teeth, his nails digging deep into his palms, and a ruthless glint flashed in his eyes.

"You damned bunch, I should have known you were all cut from the same cloth! Ha, all those times you pretended to wander around Tianrong City, weren't you just trying to lure me into this godforsaken place? I saw through that trick in the first place."

"Now that I'm in your hands, do with me as you please."

As soon as he finished speaking, he stiffened his neck, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back, looking like a piece of hard wood ready to be slaughtered. Seeing this, Yang Kai could only shake his head with a wry smile—he really hadn't expected this kid to be so tough.

"Alright, stop scaring him. We're not demons or evil spirits at all. That move just now was a secret technique to probe memories. You saw it too; their mouths were as tight as iron gates, and they wouldn't say a word."

"I only extracted a fragment; I didn't harm his soul or kill him. You can rest assured."

Li Kui was skeptical, hesitated for a moment, and finally nodded.

Yang Kai sighed again, his shoulders slumped, and his tone was full of resentment: "Master, you're such a spoilsport! I was just thinking of teasing him, putting on a show to scare him, but you just exposed everything with one shout—what's the point now?"

……

Lin Daochen glanced at him sideways, too lazy to reply.

At this moment, everything hidden in that person's mind had fallen into his consciousness. He had already drawn a clear outline of the origins of the Netherworld Village in his mind—the cause was so simple that it made his heart tighten.

The villagers who surrounded him at the foot of the mountain were no ordinary people. They had been exposed to the demonic energy that permeated the area for years, and their bodies had undergone subtle changes: their fingernails turned blue, their pupils shrank, and their ears felt cold at night... These subtle signs became the marks that led to the entire village being scorned.

Even the mountain bandits considered them unlucky, and would raid their homes every few days. Freshly harvested grain, newly spun hemp cloth, the last piece of coarse grain cake on the stove—all would be stolen and smashed. They reported it to the authorities, once, ten times, dozens of times… but the county yamen never even crossed the threshold—the constables, seeing their ashen hands from afar, would cover their noses and walk around them. In the eyes of the officials, these people tainted by evil spirits were no longer considered human.

Under this double crushing pressure, hatred fermented and solidified day by day, eventually freezing into an ice river. They no longer hoped for redemption, only for blood revenge; they did not seek a way to survive, only to burn all the "clean people".

Lin Daochen stood silently with his eyes lowered, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. It turned out that the deepest evil wasn't born with fangs, but rather a broken blade sculpted inch by inch by the world.

When you see someone full of ferocity, you might think about how many times he knelt down begging for a piece of stale food and how many pairs of boots trampled him into the mud before he raised his knife.

"Master? What are you daydreaming about?" Yang Kai's voice suddenly broke in. Lin Daochen looked up, his gaze sweeping heavily over the group of villagers—they were dressed in rags, but their backs were straight, their eyes burning like embers about to go out, clearly in a posture of facing death.

In Yang Kai's eyes, they were butchers, the source of disaster, the executioners who had taken dozens of lives in Tianyou City over the past three years, and he had no regrets to this day.

But Lin Daochen could already see the still-warm ashes buried under the charcoal fire.

"Fine, release them. They... are just pitiful people driven to the brink."

Before he finished speaking, he flicked his sleeve, and the men landed with a thud. A faint light flashed at his fingertips, and the cuts and bruises quietly healed, fading as their breathing returned to normal.

Yang Kai was stunned, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets: "Oh my? Master, what kind of tragic drama are you putting on?"

"We absolutely cannot let them go! You've seen with your own eyes how ruthless they are—in the past three years, how many pools of blood have they left in Tianyou City? How many families have been wiped out? If we let them go, we'll become accomplices, and the people of Tianrong City will drown us in their spittle!"

Lin Daochen didn't look at him again, but stepped forward and entered the narrow alley.

The earthen houses on both sides were leaning and dilapidated, with peeling paint on the walls like moss, and the beams creaking and groaning, but faint smoke still wafted out from the cracks in the doors, and shadowy figures could be vaguely seen moving behind the windows.

His steps did not falter, but his heart sank heavily—it turned out that poverty was not the path they had chosen; that dilapidated state was a cage built brick by brick by the entire land with prejudice.

They've been driven to the point where they have no chance of survival.

Lin Daochen knew this in his heart, but others knew nothing about it—they neither understood the thoughts churning in his heart nor knew what kind of bloody past was buried beneath this Netherworld Village.

A ruthless glint appeared on Yang Kai's face. He leaned forward and urged Lin Daochen in a low voice, "Master, let's just wipe them all out! The people of Youming Village have long been branded as wicked and treacherous outside. Letting them go is like releasing wolves into the forest; who knows how many more people they'll harm in the future."

"Shut up!" Lin Daochen suddenly shouted, his voice like tearing silk, making Yang Kai stiffen. He had never seen his master so out of control—his brows were taut, his knuckles were white, and there seemed to be a dark tide surging in his eyes.

Could it be that these villagers are hiding something? Could it be... that they have a long-standing connection with their master?

Yang Kai's throat tightened, and he dared not speak further. He glanced up furtively and saw Lin Daochen also looking at him. There was no anger in Lin Daochen's eyes; instead, they seemed to be filled with a block of ice, beneath which lay an unfathomable weariness. After a moment of silence, Lin Daochen spoke slowly:

"The same event, viewed from different angles, tells a completely different story. If you really knew how they've endured all these years, you probably wouldn't even be able to lift your hand." He paused, "In the end, they're just a group of unfortunate people driven to the brink of despair."

"Good disciple, some things are better left unsaid. Burdening yourself with too much responsibility too early will only crush your spirit and disrupt your mental state. Listen to your master—stop asking questions, come with me, and let's find the culprit first."

Before he finished speaking, Lin Daochen had already turned and strode forward, his figure shooting into the heart of the village like an arrow. The inky darkness of the night around him suddenly peeled away in his eyes, transforming into a series of burning images:

Ragged villagers knelt in the mud being beaten; children were thrown out of the village, their backs branded with the word "evil spirit"; in the torchlight, distorted faces shouted, "Burn them!"

Yang Kai stood there stunned for a long time before nodding, "Yes, disciple understands. I won't ask any more questions about this matter."

Lin Daochen didn't respond, but quickened his pace. The most important thing right now was to find the old village chief, Youming, who was hiding in the heart of the village.

The name of Youming Village originated from him. This man tampered with the weapon-refining secrets personally taught by Lin Daochen, and even stole the spiritual essence that rightfully belonged to the sect from him, which has yet to be returned.

A chilly night wind swept in as Lin Daochen led Yang Kai and Li Kui deep into the village.

The mottled earthen walls are covered with withered vines, half of the blue tiles have collapsed, and the wooden door is crooked and about to fall—this village has clearly been abandoned for decades, but the newly hung animal skins on the eaves and the still-warm ashes on the stove clearly exude the breath of life.

The further in he went, the stronger the stench of blood became, like rust mixed with old, decaying leaves, heavy and sticky in his throat. Lin Daochen's nostrils twitched slightly as his gaze swept over the broken walls and ruins—most ordinary people who stepped into this place would not be able to take more than three steps.

Li Kui and Yang Kai followed behind him, their shoulders ramrod straight. They knew without even looking that what awaited them ahead was no ordinary danger.

The houses on both sides were leaning precariously, their empty window openings like skull eye sockets, swaying gently in the wind, as if a group of hunched shadows were tiptoeing and spying, waiting for anything to come close before pouncing and tearing flesh apart.

As soon as he turned a corner in a narrow alley, the hairs on the back of Yang Kai's neck suddenly stood on end—he abruptly turned to the side and scanned his surroundings. Sure enough, behind the gap in the broken wall, the shadow of the rotten beam, and the broken pottery jar, several points of eerie green light flashed and disappeared, like the spitting tongue of a venomous snake.

"Stop looking." Lin Daochen said without turning his head. "Those are villagers. I don't know what happened to them, their bodies are still there, but their souls have long since scattered. Now they only have instinct left, they pounce on strangers and devour anything alive. In their eyes, the three of us are just prey delivered to their door."

Yang Kai swallowed hard and nodded. He suddenly understood—this village wasn't deserted because no one dared to come; rather, it had been meticulously crafted into a living tomb. Every broken door, every crooked path, every wisp of foul wind was a deliberately placed intimidation trap.

It was all to scare away outsiders so they could do whatever they wanted in this dead land.

The group continued on their way. The stone slabs under their feet were misaligned and uneven, and the streets and alleys were completely disorganized: the main road, which should have been straight, suddenly turned at an obtuse angle, and five narrow paths branched off from the crossroads, some leading to dry wells and others straight to cliffs.

Not right.

This is hardly a plan; it's just a haphazard pile-up—a few thatched huts are crookedly built on the slope, and the slightly better wooden houses are also crookedly joined together, with blackened straw stuffed into the cracks in the walls.

Lin Daochen witnessed this scene, and his heart sank as if cut open by a dull knife—it turned out that these villagers, despised by the world, carried such a tragic past. No wonder they slid step by step into the abyss, to the point that they could no longer recognize themselves.

From the houses on either side, pairs of eyes peeked out from the cracks in doors and windows, intently watching Lin Daochen and his group. No one knew why he had come; they only sensed an ominous aura emanating from this unfamiliar face the moment he stepped into the village. In the villagers' eyes, he was not a savior, but a guillotine hanging over their heads. No matter how noble the reason, when it fell, they would be the ones to be cut.

As they walked, they suddenly saw a swarm of dark figures, and dozens of villagers emerged from the corners of alleys, behind walls, and deep within stacks of firewood. They dared not take a step forward, but stood at a distance, like a herd of wild deer driven to the edge of a cliff, their silence chilling.

Lin Daochen ignored them, letting them stand in the shadows and peer into the distance. After a long stalemate, an old man finally stepped out of the crowd, knelt down heavily with a thud, and hit his forehead on the bluestone slab, the dull thud startling several crows.

He knelt, and the others fell to the ground like puppets with broken strings. The old man at the head of the group raised his face, a deep grin spreading across his lips to reveal jagged, yellow teeth, his voice hoarse yet each word ringing with conviction:

"My lord! I don't know where you come from, but we people who have lived to this day have endured so much hardship. To be able to breathe, speak, and utter the word 'human' is already an immense blessing!"

"But this word 'human,' a thin piece of paper we fought tooth and nail to obtain... Do you really want to tear it apart with your own hands and turn us all to ashes?"

Those words struck Lin Daochen like a hammer blow to his eardrums, his throat tightening, and he couldn't answer. Yes, what they were fighting for wasn't power, but merely a breath of life, a title. By what right did he, in the name of justice, rob someone of their last chance at survival?

His brow furrowed, and he froze on the spot. Beside him, Yang Kai's killing intent surged, and a cold glint flashed—"Clang!" The sword was drawn, aimed straight at the kneeling old man's skull!