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

Long Xiuyang's eyes darkened, and a cold smile curled at the corner of his lips: "Mo Wuyan, do you really think the Loose Cultivator Alliance can get along with everyone in this Divine City?"

"I do not seek favors, I only refuse to die." Mo Wuyan's voice was not loud, but each word struck the ground. "Our people are not bargaining chips, much less stepping stones for your selfish desires. What was left from ancient times is a spark, not shackles."

At this tense moment, Long Xiuyang's aura suddenly surged, his muscles and bones trembled, as if a true dragon was about to take flight; while Mo Wuyan's robes fluttered without wind, his back was taut like a bow, and he did not retreat an inch. The other elders watched with bated breath, some clenching their fists, some lowering their eyes, and some already secretly digging their fingertips into their palms.

Just then, the golden-robed patriarch of the Wang family slowly spoke, his voice deep yet steady: "Long Xiuyang, using the Long family's lineage as a shield to reject public opinion is far too stubborn. Right now, the dinosaur clan is at the city gates, their claws and teeth are already knocking—can't you see that?"

Long Xiuyang scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he swept his gaze across the faces: "A threat? Just a bunch of barbaric remnants. The Long family has its own way of breaking this deadlock; why should we need others to tell us what to do?"

The old man in the green robe sneered, "Your face is more disgusting than a dinosaur's."

The hall erupted in chaos. Before the commotion subsided, Mo Wuyan pressed again, "Long Xiuyang, while you're suppressing the doubts of the various clans, you're also planting spies among the major families—where exactly are you trying to drive us?"

Long Xiuyang threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sound causing the dust on the beams to fall in a flurry: "Conspiracy? I was merely fighting for the survival of the Long family—is that wrong?"

Mo Wuyan remained silent, his knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white. He knew better than anyone that there was no room for reconciliation between the Long family and the Loose Cultivator Alliance; and every step Long Xiuyang took was like pushing him further into the abyss.

Just as the controversy was raging, the matter of the sacred artifact was brought up again. The Wang family patriarch spoke in a deep voice, intending to stabilize the situation: "Listen to me, everyone: the formidable enemy before us is the top powerhouse of the dinosaur race. This is not the time for us to undermine each other."

Awakening the ancient sages is the most urgent task at hand.

Mo Wuyan nodded in agreement: "What Elder Wang says is absolutely right. With external threats looming, we will survive if we unite, and perish if we divide."

Long Xiuyang scoffed, a mocking smile curving his lips: "The Loose Cultivator Alliance? You think you're worthy of touching the Gate of Sages? That's not something you can accomplish by setting up an array or chanting a few incantations—one wrong move and your soul will be burned to ashes, leaving not even a trace."

The hall fell silent instantly, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. His words were like knives, piercing the very backbone of the Loose Cultivator Alliance. Mo Wuyan's gaze was icy, fixed on him without flinching: "We are capable of bearing the responsibility, and we have our own methods. It's not your place to draw lines and set the tone."

"Ha!" Long Xiuyang laughed, his laughter devoid of any warmth. "Only the ignorant dare to claim they 'have their own methods.' How dare mortals tread upon the land where sages rest?"

The air in the hall suddenly tightened. The expressions of the various clan elders varied, and undercurrents were already churning beneath their sleeves. At that moment, Long Xiuyang suddenly lowered his voice, each word like a nail: "The only way to awaken them is through the 'Nine Abyss Dragon Breath' flowing in the bloodline of the Long family, which can stir the remnants of the sages' minds—you? You can't even touch the threshold."

A cold glint flashed in Mo Wuyan's eyes, but he did not argue. He turned and left, flicking his sleeves, leaving behind only the words: "The Alliance of Loose Cultivators never relies on charity for opportunities."

The other three rogue cultivators followed silently, their steps steady. They were weary of this intricate web of power struggles. Long Xiuyang's decision to reveal his hand at this crucial moment was clearly a ploy to use the rogue cultivators as targets to establish his authority; his provocation was blatantly obvious.

Mo Wuyan's departure caused quite a stir. The patriarch of the Nangong family immediately slammed his hand on the table and stood up, pointing coldly at Long Xiuyang: "Your Long family is putting on too high an air, which has crushed the foundation of the Divine City!" Before he finished speaking, he had already left the hall, making his stance clear.

The other clan elders lowered their eyes and remained silent, their eyes filled with hesitation—who didn't know the power of the Long family? But if things really came to a head, who would be willing to be the first to stick their neck out?

Long Xiuyang remained unmoved, a slight smile playing on his lips, a cold, iron-blooded glint in his eyes: "Ancestor Nangong, thank you for your kind words. My Long family has never taken pride in loyalty offered on one's knees."

Patriarch Nangong sneered, "It's easy to be powerful for a while, but difficult to maintain a stable position for a hundred years. If the Divine City cracks, the grass on the Dragon family's grave will probably be three points taller than that of other families."

"What a joke." Long Xiuyang's voice was as cold as iron. "My Long family's foundation is strong enough to suppress mountains and rivers and swallow up storms."

As the figures of the rogue cultivators disappeared through the palace gates, the main hall fell into a deathly silence. The ancestors exchanged glances, silently probing each other, each weighing a weight on their hearts—their families were no longer allies, but rather chess players wary of one another; one misstep and the entire divine city might collapse.

Suddenly, Long Xiuyang stepped onto the high steps before the palace, his voice resounding throughout the surrounding area: "Listen up! The ancient sages have begun their journey home—we are here to welcome them!"

The words exploded, and all the patriarchs in the hall paled, their pupils shrinking sharply. This news struck them like a thunderbolt, making their fingertips numb and their breath catch in their throats.

Before he could finish speaking, Long Xiuyang burst into action, transforming into a streak of silver lightning that streaked through the air, leaving only the howling night wind and the fading light of the stars and moon.

Above the night sky, the voice of Ancestor Fuyun suddenly tore through the air and resounded throughout the city: "This show has been going on long enough."

"Long Xiuyang, you've calculated everything about people's hearts, but you overlooked this one move by me."

"Lin Daochen? Ha... You were already in my palm."

As the words fell, dark clouds surged above the main city of the divine city, becoming deathly silent. Ancestor Fuyun stood atop the precipice, crimson magma slowly seeping from the cracks that coiled around his arms. One drop, two drops, fell into the void, condensing into a dark purple mist—as if the wounds of the earth were whispering, foreshadowing an even more devastating storm that was stirring in the womb.

His voice, like a resounding bell, stirred up another wave of emotion: "The story of Kuafu chasing the sun is not mere fiction. His remains are buried in the belly of a towering mountain, where sages have designated them as the 'core of firewood'—today, I, Fuyun, will retrieve it on behalf of all the tribes!"

Upon hearing this, the patriarchs of all the clans turned their heads sharply, their expressions changing drastically. What Patriarch Fuyun held in his hand was a secret that even the ancient texts kept hidden.

As his figure disappeared into the sea of ​​clouds, Lin Daochen stepped out from the boiling lava. Jade-like light shimmered around him, and the lava receded like a tide. He returned to the mortal realm, but his body was stiff and cold—Fu Yunzi's words, "You are also part of my scheme," pierced his ear like a poisoned needle, lingering there for a long time.

The ancient tale of Kuafu chasing the sun had indeed left its mark on Earth. Lin Daochen was shocked and almost speechless—everything he had personally experienced in that hidden little world perfectly matched the miracles passed down orally in his homeland.

Kuafu, the sun chaser, burned himself to pursue the light—these events, like viewing flowers through a fog, caused Lin Daochen to have an unprecedented wavering in his belief about whether the "mythological era" truly existed.

He had heard of Yang Chuo's name in the mass grave before, and had also witnessed the indescribable being destroy mountains with a wave of its hand; but only now was he truly overwhelmed by a heavy sense of reality—myth is not an ethereal allegory, it has walked step by step, following the pulse of the earth.

He subconsciously clenched his fist, his mind churning with fragments of Earth's history, eager to unravel this hidden thread that spans millennia: how exactly did the mythical era manage to cling to the hem of modernity?

But then, a bitter smile crept onto his lips—five thousand years? Too light. That chasm was more than just the changing of dynasties; it was a long epoch of time, a rebirth of heaven and earth, a shift in stellar orbits. The connection between this small world and Earth had not only failed to unravel the mystery, but it was like throwing a boulder into a deep pool, creating ripples everywhere.

Having confirmed that Fu Yunzi had vanished, Lin Daochen slowly stepped out of his hiding place. At that moment, the sky suddenly sank! An immense and unparalleled pressure poured down from the heavens, invisible yet like an iron wall pressing down, seemingly echoing the silent and resolute finality of Kuafu at his death, condensing into an unquestionable decree from the heavens.

Lin Daochen's knees buckled, and he collapsed to his knees with a thud, his internal organs feeling as if they were being clenched and then released. This was not ordinary power, but the sound of the world's boundary tearing apart—he had just broken free from the body of Kuafu and returned to this world, his physical body and soul being fiercely kneaded and aligned by the laws of the two worlds.

A fierce wind swept in, carrying ashes, and the might of the heavens grew stronger, as if the heavens were roaring: This world and that world are already connected by blood. Lin Daochen gritted his teeth and supported himself on the ground. The metallic taste in his throat had not yet dissipated, but he was already swallowing large gulps of scorching air, forcibly stabilizing his mind and, little by little, pinning his scattered energy back into his meridians.

He sat cross-legged in a dark corner of the volcano's folds, the pungent smell of sulfur choking his throat, the muffled roar of surging lava like an ancient beast turning over underground, each sound reminding him: this world is as fragile as a sheet of paper.

With his eyes closed and mind focused, he no longer resisted the downward force, but instead willingly sank into the heart of the volcano—where what surged was not simply magma, but strands of scalding, lingering energy of time. This pressure did not come from beyond the heavens, but from the ancient essence gushing forth from the depths of the mountain, which, for cultivators, was like a tempering hammer, specifically for forging muscles and bones, and honing the spirit.

The power surged through his entire body like a tidal wave, every inch of his flesh throbbed, every bone hummed, as if an invisible hand was repeatedly kneading and pounding deep within his flesh.

A day slipped by quietly, the roar of the lava echoing in sync with his heartbeat. Lin Daochen opened his eyes and stood up, his breath long and deep. He knew that the day and night of training had made his body heavier and his foundation stronger—even if there were mountains of knives and seas of fire ahead, he would dare to stride forward.

Recalling his battle with Ancestor Guang'an, a slight smile appeared on his lips. The outcome remained unchanged, and his cultivation level hadn't improved, but that life-or-death struggle was like a sharp knife, slicing away the superficial layers of his understanding and revealing the true essence beneath. He finally understood: cultivation wasn't about building a tower, but about breaking down the bones and growing new edges between each collapse and reconstruction.

In that battle, he personally severed his natal treasure—the Heaven-Turning Seal. This seal had accompanied him through tribulations and cleaved through deathly obstacles, but now only a few charred fragments remained, faintly gleaming with a cold, inky light.

Lin Daochen ran his fingertips over the fragment, feeling its cool touch and sensing the faint, ancient thunder rumbling within its lines. Just as his heart warmed slightly, a sudden tremor and rumbling sound came from deep within his dantian, and a jet-black stone quietly emerged—the very essence of the Heaven-Turning Seal, its core divine power intact.

His pupils contracted sharply, and he quickly held the stone in his palm. It felt heavy in his hand, as if a galaxy was flowing within it, as if the very soul of the seal was slowly opening its eyes in his palm.