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

"Since you once guarded the divine city, why did you stand idly by?" The Ouyang family patriarch's voice tightened, his fingertips digging into his palm.

The sage slowly shook his head, his robes motionless in the wind: "The source has been depleted for a long time; I am but a walking, broken monument. The survival of this world will ultimately fall on your shoulders."

Before his words had even finished, he was already standing outside the divine city. His divine sword flashed from its sheath, its light like molten gold, its blade like a cleaving abyss—with one slash, demons crumbled into a bloody stench; with another, evil spirits dissipated into a mist of blood. Each strike was like divine punishment descending, crushing cries of agony before they could even rise.

The entire small world trembled. That sword light was not merely killing, but also judgment, sending chills down the spines and chills to the souls of humanity's sworn enemies.

The commotion within the divine city subsided slightly, but flames still raged across the surrounding fields, and the killing intent crashed against the city walls like a tidal wave. Long Xiuyang's knuckles turned white as he shifted his gaze from Mo Wuyan's face to the churning battlefield.

Mo Wuyan stood still as a pine tree, his eyes calm as an ancient well, as if he had already rehearsed the chaos before him a thousand times. This scene was merely a moving piece on the chessboard; the true grand scheme of things was quietly unfolding.

The immortal mark between the boy's brows, soaked in the blood of the ancestors, suddenly burst forth with dazzling golden light. Wherever the light touched, the floor tiles of the Blood Palace cracked inch by inch, the entire hall hummed and trembled, and an indescribable power surged and roared in the air.

But the boy's face showed no joy, only a distorted expression of terror. The surrounding ancestors were struck as if by a giant hammer, all spitting blood and collapsing to the ground, their eyes bulging, only gurgling sounds escaping their throats. Although the golden token above Long Xiuyang's head rippled with protective light, his legs couldn't help but go weak, and he forced himself to take half a step back.

"This... is definitely not ordinary power!" An old ancestor lay on the ground, his teeth chattering, his voice broken and faint.

Mo Wuyan stood motionless, his brows slightly furrowed, a glint of light flashing in his eyes, as if a river of stars were flowing within them. His gaze pierced through the thick fog of the Blood Palace, reaching its core: "The mark has mutated—someone has taken advantage of the Blood Palace to steal power that should not have been touched."

Long Xiuyang's heart pounded. He focused his gaze and examined the light closely: it did not originate from the boy himself, but rather seeped from a dark crevice within his body—cold, unfamiliar, and filled with a bone-corroding greed. His breath caught in his throat, and the air within the Blood Palace suddenly tightened, like a fully drawn bowstring.

In an instant, the fallen ancestors struggled to their feet, hunched over, and bowed deeply to the boy, their eyes burning with the fervor of worshipping a true god. Meanwhile, the boy's neck veins bulged, his mouth twisted, and his eyes rolled back, as if something beneath his skin was tearing at his mind.

……

"What exactly is this thing?" Long Xiuyang's throat tightened, and his fingers were already pressing on the hilt of the knife.

Mo Wuyan suddenly smiled, his voice as soft as a falling leaf: "In the Blood Palace, one shadow is missing."

Everyone shuddered. His gaze was like a blade, easily piercing through the blood mist and array patterns, directly targeting that empty, dead corner in the heart of the hall.

"Who's missing?" Long Xiuyang's brows furrowed. Although he knew very little about Mo Wuyan, his spine involuntarily straightened as he uttered these words.

Zhang Yang stepped forward, speaking rapidly: "Master, this place has gone awry. If we don't leave now, we might be swept into the depths of this vortex."

Lin Daochen was still refining the Heaven-Turning Seal, completely unaware of the turbulent waves outside. He guided the spiritual fire with his fingertips, imprinting two brand-new golden runes inch by inch into the bottom of the seal—the runes pulsated slightly, as if they were living things just awakening, causing his heartbeat to rise and fall accordingly.

These two runes were deciphered from the fragments of the Heaven-Turning Seal. The more Lin Daochen pondered them, the more extraordinary they seemed, and he vaguely felt that they could infuse his magic weapon with an unprecedented power. He concentrated entirely on the refining process, letting the divine aura surging within the Heaven-Turning Seal flow through his fingertips. Each stroke became increasingly refined and sharp, as if he wanted to press the laws of heaven and earth into the patterns.

"I was completely unaware of these variables." Lin Daochen was slightly shaken. His control over the Heaven-Turning Seal was still somewhat awkward, but his burning desire to explore the unknown was even stronger than before.

(Please remember 1110.com for the fastest chapter updates)

He put away his magical artifact, picked up his vajra, and walked side by side with the leaping lightning leopard, plunging into the heart of the mountains. He insisted on walking—both to hone the synergy between his physical body and his magical weapon, and to avoid the unpredictable dangers lurking in the air.

The moment Lin Daochen stepped into the Blood Hall, he felt a jolt: this wasn't an external force infusing him, but rather the blood mist itself reshaping his bones and blood vessels. For conjoined cultivators, maintaining the balance of their bodies is like walking a tightrope, especially at the crucial moment of breaking through to the fifth level; a slight miscalculation could mean the end of all their efforts.

He slowly inhaled and exhaled, and suddenly felt a warm yet powerful force surging within and around his body, like a morning breeze brushing through the treetops in the mountains, or like the pulse of the earth resonating with his heartbeat—in that instant, he truly experienced the feeling of "harmony between man and nature." This realization quietly solidified the foundation of his cultivation and quietly paved the way for his next breakthrough.

Almost simultaneously, Fu Yunzi soared through the air, his figure like a silver streak tearing through the sky, heading straight into the distance. His eyes shone brightly, his target clear: deep within the surging blood mist ahead lay a fragment of Kuafu's primordial spirit! For him, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—if he could absorb and fuse with it, his cultivation would surely soar to new heights.

The remnants of the Great Dao floating in the blood mist made his blood boil. He firmly believed that this fusion would be a leap forward. Before he finished speaking, the storage bag at his waist suddenly trembled, and the blood sword was unsheathed on its own, humming as it shot into the depths of the sea of ​​mist. The tip of the sword trembled slightly, as if it had caught the scent of long-lost prey and was impatient.

At the other end of the Blood Palace, Elder Mei stood at the core of the shattered earth, beneath her feet a web of crisscrossing abyssal fissures. Her eyes, sharp as lightning, were fixed on the end of the fissures—there, perhaps, lay a wisp of Kuafu's life spring. Her withered body had long since succumbed to its strain; only the life force of the life spring could rejuvenate her decaying form.

The cracks were deep and mysterious, layered upon each other, as if forming a chaotic world of their own. She released her divine sense to explore, but it was like a mud ox sinking into the sea, instantly swallowed and shredded by the disordered spatial folds. She tried again and again, only to get lost each time, unable to even discern the slightest direction.

"This crack... it's practically alive." Old Ancestor Mei murmured, her brow furrowing into a deep ravine. Even a seasoned veteran like her was forced into a corner.

She hovered above the rift, steadying herself while quietly breaking the seal on the blood sword. In an instant, a violent and ferocious aura exploded! She plunged into the darkness, her divine sense transforming into countless wisps of light, racing wildly through the distorted space-time—the Fountain of Life, she was determined to obtain it, even if it meant burning away her lifespan.

At this moment, Lin Daochen was walking barefoot across a patch of fertile land interwoven with gold and red. The land gleamed with a strange metallic luster and was soaked in a thick, bloody color, clearly formed from the flesh and skin that Kuafu had shed when he chased the sun, ancient to the point of being almost mythical itself. He had tried to absorb its essence, but stopped at the last moment—the malevolent energy lurking in that bloody soil was too intense; the slightest carelessness would corrupt his mind.

He looked up at the sky, where two blood-red suns hung high, blazing like fire. The stories his parents had told him in his childhood suddenly came alive: Kuafu chasing the sun, Yang Chuo breaking the mountain, Wu Gang chopping down the cassia tree... These names were no longer just legends on paper, but like roots buried under his feet, faintly burning with the pulse of the blood-red soil.

He gazed at the crimson sun for a long time, his heart slightly burning. As a child, he would always pester the adults to ask if there really were golden crows dwelling behind the sun; later, as his cultivation deepened, he only believed in the sword in his hand and the road before him, treating myths as idle talk to amuse children.

But now, standing on this land soaked in divine blood, he suddenly felt that the childlike curiosity he had suppressed for many years was quietly breaking through the soil, carrying dew and glimmer of light.

He stood motionless, his feet sinking deep into the warm soil, as if he could hear the long, ancient breath coming from the depths of the earth. This small piece of land was not a lifeless ruin, but a living history—every grain of sand contained a vanished era.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting down streams of molten gold that bathed the blood-red earth in an eerie and profound light. Lin Daochen's heart stirred slightly, and in a daze, an ancient song he had heard in his childhood floated up, and a burning yet calm emotion quietly surged within him.

He traversed the path on foot, repeatedly honing his techniques for fusing physical combat with blood cultivation methods, gradually aligning his body with the rhythm of his mind. This physical tempering not only strengthened his bones and muscles but also purified his blood and essence, making it as clear as a spring. His cultivation level, like a gentle spring stream, quietly increased slightly. For him, using his body as a sword and his bones as a shield had become the most reliable means to break through the illusions of cultivation.

He felt more and more clearly that he was resonating with this world—stepping on the blood-soaked soil, his steps felt as solid as the earth; gazing at the sky, the invisible pressure transformed into an upward force deep within his spine. Although his cultivation had only progressed slightly, he knew that on the path of cultivation, every steady and solid step was closer to the truth than a wildfire of illusion.

A month passed, and Lin Daochen stood atop a snow-capped mountain. The mountain's jagged peaks, gleaming with a chilling light, sent a shiver down his spine—this was very likely the transformed remains of Kuafu. A colossal mountain stretched before him, serving as both a training ground and a ladder to heaven. His physical body had already reached the sixth level of the Transformation Realm, his meridians and spiritual energy perfectly aligned, yet facing this imposing mountain, he still felt his cultivation was like a firefly, faint yet stubbornly shining.

He sat cross-legged atop the peak, his fingertips tracing the rough stone surface, reviewing his earlier doubts: Why hadn't any other cultivators set foot here? Three patriarchs had perished here, yet no one had stirred things up? The thought crossed his mind, and a slight smile appeared on his lips—his own clumsy efforts were solid enough; there was no rush to try his luck. The mystery of this blood-soaked land was likely growing ever deeper and more profound with time.

He had intended to wait for outside cultivators to break through the barrier and enter, so he could use their momentum to tear open the path back, but there was still no movement. Just as he was concentrating in thought, a silver-white shadow suddenly leaped into view—the Lightning Leopard stood tall, its throat slightly pursed, and a lustrous jade pendant lay quietly beside its paw.

Lin Daochen bent down and picked it up. The jade was cool to the touch, exuding a faint, cool fragrance, and its surface was as smooth as solidified cream. He examined it closely. The leopard crouched beside him, its amber pupils gleaming with a cunning yet confident light. This was no ordinary object; it was clearly a token that the leopard had carefully selected and solemnly presented.

"What is this?" Lin Daochen asked in a low voice.

The leopard raised its head and roared, its voice like tearing silk, its front paws lightly touching the jade surface. He leaned closer to examine it and indeed saw a very faint silver line floating on the jade surface, winding and outlining, resembling the contours of a mountain range.

Could it be... a map? His heart skipped a beat, and his fingertips slowly traced the fine, thread-like patterns. If so, this was the key to unlocking the depths of the secret realm.