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

Inside the Blood Palace, Fu Yunzi held the sacred artifact, the Red Embroidered Ball, in his palm. Its crimson light blazed brightly, and its oppressive power was like a mountain crashing down. Lin Daochen, on the other hand, guarded the Heavenly Stele, his back taut like a bowstring, enduring the immense force crushing down upon him by the sacred artifact.

With life hanging by a thread, Fu Yunzi's sinister smile suddenly erupted. The red embroidered ball exploded violently, carrying the force to tear through the void as it hurtled straight at Lin Daochen! Lin Daochen had no way to dodge. He gritted his teeth and struck his dantian, using his blood to draw upon the monument—

A thunderous roar erupted from his chest, causing the Heavenly Stele to tremble, its golden patterns to surge, and the protective light barrier to rise in response. However, the residual power of the Crimson Embroidered Ball had not yet dissipated, and the entire Blood Palace shook violently, with spiderweb-like bloodstains appearing on the dome.

The sacred artifact and the Heavenly Stele faced each other like two peaks colliding. During the stalemate, veins bulged on Lin Daochen's forehead, cold sweat soaked his collar, and his breath became increasingly turbid, as if the flame of his life was being extinguished inch by inch by an invisible hand.

Suddenly, a deep, whispering voice slipped into his ear: "Lin Daochen, what exactly do you want to do?"

His heart trembled violently, and he abruptly turned his head. Deep within the blood mist, a wisp of a figure quietly solidified, its aura ethereal and unpredictable, as if it had strolled out from the eternal void. "I am an extreme cultivator, long hidden in the chaos, and now I reveal myself to you." The voice was calm, yet it struck his soul like a heavy hammer.

"The Chosen One?" Lin Daochen frowned slightly, his gaze like a hook, piercing straight at the hazy figure.

The phantom slowly unfolded the secrets of the Extreme Path lineage: the perilous ascent, the impassable path, the eternal night under a solitary light... Finally, it changed the subject: "I'm willing to make a deal with you—in exchange for your life."

Lin Daochen's fingertips twitched slightly, and a sudden realization dawned on him. This voice, like a key, was gently knocking on the door of his long-standing confusion. He held his breath, focusing intently on each word, and even felt a slight warmth in his blood.

"Twenty thousand years ago, the ultimate path was extinguished. Only you, Lin Daochen, are a spark of true fire ignited from the embers of that catastrophe." The voice seemed to traverse the torrent of time and space, resounding with conviction, "You survived, and the future will be cleaved by your own hands."

Lin Daochen lowered his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. The words "Chosen One" sounded as unfamiliar as a knife, yet the heavy weight in those words sent a chill down his spine, as if an ancient star had personally lit a lamp for him.

The phantom remained silent, turning the road ahead into a silent question that weighed heavily on his heart.

Just then, a gentle breeze brushed his cheek, and the blood mist dissipated like a thin veil—this unexpected turn of events caused his pupils to shrink sharply.

The sound faded into the distance, its lingering echo like smoke. Lin Daochen looked up, only to find desolation where the mist had dissipated, though the warmth in his heart remained. He bowed deeply in the direction where the illusory figure had disappeared, his robe sleeves falling loose, his respect unspoken.

"Thank you for your help."

Fu Yunzi watched the whole thing coldly, only noticing the strange and inexplicable dissipation of the blood mist, but he couldn't figure out its source. He stared at Lin Daochen's bent-over back, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists, his jealousy and anger churning and almost burning away his reason.

In the center of the Blood Hall, the illusory figure identified himself as an "Extreme Dao Cultivator" and uttered the words "transaction." Lin Daochen raised his eyes, his gaze calm yet turbulent beneath—this person's origins were shrouded in mystery, and his intentions unpredictable, yet his aura of transcendence had already made Lin Daochen's heart tremble slightly, giving rise to a burning desire to investigate.

"A deal?" He suddenly smiled, a sharp curve appearing at the corner of his lips, his eyes like blades drawn from their sheaths. "This Blood Palace has nowhere to retreat. I'd like to see what you're willing to gamble with."

The illusory figure's voice was slightly deep: "I want the fragments of the divine map on your body. Hand over three, and I'll give you three chances to live."

Lin Daochen's breath hitched. How precious were the fragments of the Divine Diagram? They were the key to tearing open the illusions of the Great Dao, the life he had painstakingly carved out inch by inch amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood. But now, with the red embroidered ball hanging overhead and the Heavenly Stele about to collapse—this deal was like a double-edged sword, its edge pressed against his throat.

"The Pact of Three Lives cannot buy even a single fragment." He inhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling, each word carrying the weight of a thousand pounds.

That ethereal voice seemed to pierce through every trace of doubt in Lin Daochen's heart, and slowly said, "The fragments of the divine map are a priceless treasure to you; to me, they are nothing more than a key—a key to pry open the shackles of the Sea of ​​Reincarnation and break free from its constraints."

Lin Daochen frowned slightly, his fingertips slowly tightening inside his sleeve. After a long while, he nodded in agreement: "Deal. But your words must be as firm as iron."

The ethereal voice chuckled softly, its tone like the resounding of an ancient bell: "I am a cultivator of the highest path; my promises are always marked, and I never lie."

Before he finished speaking, he turned a page sealed for millennia: the Supreme Path lineage once stood at the pinnacle of all heavens, its palm techniques as precise as the lines on its own hand, its control of the Great Dao as effortless as manipulating its fingers. But on a midnight night twenty thousand years ago, under a blood-red moon, the entire lineage was abruptly severed, its flame never to be passed down again.

"I have been lying dormant in the void for a long time, waiting for only one person." The voice suddenly became gentle, yet seemed to carry a sense of destiny. "You are the chosen one."

Lin Daochen's pupils contracted slightly, his Adam's apple bobbed, but he remained silent—these three words were like a wedge driven into his heart, unfamiliar, yet strangely not abrupt.

The ethereal voice continued, "The chosen one bears the weight of a collapsing pillar of heaven, and treads upon blood-stained staircases. Chaos is about to erupt, heroes surround you, and the clash of swords will all be for you."

"All people are adrift in the calamity, but you alone have the hope of breaking free." The tone was not loud, but it was like a ray of light that cleaved through the chaos, making Lin Daochen's back burn and his chest surge with a battle intent that was a mixture of heat and cold.

Finally, the voice softly asked, "Do you dare to accept this destiny?"

Lin Daochen's gaze was like a nail, fixed on the void ahead, his teeth clenched, and he said, word by word, "Dare!"

A faint voice laughed, its echo lingering in the Blood Palace's dome: "Very well! Then let's use your heart as the anvil and your body as the blade—let me see how tough your bones are!"

The laughter subsided, and the Blood Palace returned to deathly silence. Lin Daochen stood quietly with his eyes lowered, his mind clear: this contract was like a vine on the edge of a cliff, a lotus seed in a raging fire—if he missed, he would be pulverized; if he clung to it, he would shine.

Fu Yunzi stood to the side, her nails digging deep into her palms, her eyes surging with naked jealousy that seemed to burn through the air.

Above the sea of ​​blood, the radiance of the Life Spring surged, burning like molten gold, leaping ceaselessly like orange-red flames. Ancestor Mei hovered outside the blood cocoon, her silver hair whipped about by the heat, her eyes burning, reflecting the faint outline floating within the cocoon—not an embryo, but the final gateway for her to return to her youthful days.

She gently stroked the cocoon with her fingertips, and a warm, vibrant life surged up her fingertips, reaching straight to her heart. She slowly closed her eyes, and with each breath, she seemed to smell the fragrance of cosmetics and hear the laughter of young girls; the wrinkles of old age quietly receded in her illusion.

But just as she was lost in this dream of rejuvenation, a pair of cold eyes silently opened from beneath the abyss of blood. The Lord of the Blood Palace sat on a dark red throne, his robes cascading down like a solidified waterfall of blood, his gaze like a poisoned hook, firmly locking onto the suspended blood cocoon—emotionless, yet chilling to the bone.

"Old Ancestor Mei..." He slightly raised the corner of his lips, his voice like an icicle scraping against a stone surface, "Do you really think the Spring of Life is sweet rain? It's probably not even worthy of being called an offering on the altar."

Ancestor Mei felt a chill run down her spine, her heart sinking inexplicably. In an instant, an invisible pressure surged like a tide over the sea of ​​blood, the ripples silent yet causing a chill to run through the entire area. She abruptly opened her eyes and looked around, but saw only flickering light and shadows, nothing at all.

At the same moment, the struggle for destiny had already torn the world apart. In the deep, dark cave, Fu Yunzi, his black robes fluttering, hung in mid-air, his face as cold and ruthless as iron. Blood seeped from the cave walls, the stench so thick it was almost unbearable, like an old wound ripped open in hell.

"The lifeblood of Kuafu is now in my hands." He opened his palm, and a drop of crimson-gold blood floated quietly, reflecting the almost obsessive light in his eyes. "This is the only catalyst to suppress the demonic nature of the sacred artifact."

But the sacred artifact was still humming, and the evil energy grew wildly like poisonous vines, gnawing at his consciousness inch by inch.

Suddenly, a sneer echoed from the deepest darkness, lazy and mocking, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue: "An ant, clutching a drop of blood, thinks it can rewrite fate? How laughable."

Fu Yunzi suddenly spun around, his inner magic technique already pushed to its limit. But before he could finish speaking, a bolt of black lightning tore through the void, moving so fast it was invisible—it neither slashed nor struck, it simply pursued! Fu Yunzi dodged several times, but the lightning, like a leech, pierced his heart with its deadly force!

Before the scream could even reach his throat, the black light had already engulfed his entire body. In an instant, flesh and blood peeled away like ash, leaving only a grotesque skeleton hanging in mid-air, with only a charred scab on his chest trembling slightly, like a dying star that refused to be extinguished.

Lin Daochen sat quietly on the side of the cave, his gaze sharp as a hook, fixed on Fu Yunzi deep within the cavern. His outward appearance remained calm and ordinary, but the moment Fu Yunzi stepped into the cave entrance, a cold glint flashed in his eyes, sharp as a blade that could cleave stars. Two days ago, the Lord of the Blood Palace had personally arrived and moved him here—the undeniable pressure from that man left him with no room for hesitation. He suddenly realized: he had spent ten years lying low, gathering his strength; while Fu Yunzi, with each mishap and collapse, was sinking deeper and deeper into despair.

This delicate standoff forced him to confront the deepest questions in his heart: Has the path to the ultimate truth truly been severed? Is he truly willing to remain silent forever? He knew that this was not the time to back down, but the time to draw his sword—to use blood and bones to prove that the Dao heart that had never been extinguished.

A raging fire erupted within him, and he transformed into a streak of dark light tearing through the sky, hurtling towards Fu Yunzi with wind and thunder in his wake! His black hair flew wildly like an arrow released from a bow, every strand taut with unyielding strength. Fu Yunzi whirled around, his pupils shrinking sharply—he had clearly watched as the red embroidered ball tore the other's flesh apart, yet this person stood alive and well before him, not even a wrinkle on his clothes!

"You... how could you still be standing!" Fu Yunzi's throat tightened, his voice strained. The killing traps he personally set up were always flawless. But the person in front of him was unharmed, his breathing steady, as if he had just returned from gathering herbs in the mountains, rather than having escaped death.

Lin Daochen stopped his stance three steps away from him, his tone as calm as a mountain stream: "Fu Yunzi, the calamity you speak of is not worthy to close the Dao gate for me."

Fu Yunzi laughed wildly, but there was no joy in his laughter, only the lingering warmth of ashes. His life essence had long been drained by the red embroidered ball; his internal organs were like rotten wood, his tendons like withered vines. Hoping to break the deadlock? It was all a pipe dream. Ironically, he still wanted to live—this last thought became his final ember. He waited no longer, no longer fled; he stomped his feet on the ground, his entire body like a blood-stained arrow, hurtling towards Lin Daochen!

"Lin Daochen! You're just a mortal breathing for a second!" He roared, unleashing all his cultivation, his body surging with blood-red light, swirling into a scarlet vortex, his fangs bared, as if he wanted to swallow the world whole.

Lin Daochen's eyes narrowed, and he raised his hand and gently waved it. A dark light barrier silently appeared, steadily blocking the blood wave. The two forces collided with a deafening roar, the shockwave causing rocks to fall from the cave walls, and blinding sparks to erupt from the cracks in the rocks.

"To be trapped in a sea of ​​blood and refuse to come ashore is a kind of toughness." Lin Daochen's voice was low and slow, like the night wind sweeping through an ancient pine tree, revealing neither joy nor sorrow, yet every word took root.

Fu Yunzi grinned, a line of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth: "Tough? You call this tough? To me, this is called having no choice—I refuse to give in, and I refuse to accept my fate!"