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

Yang Kai was taken aback. Lin Daochen, however, remained silent. He knew that revealing his trump card too early would make it easy for the opponent to easily confuse him. He abruptly stood up, flicked his sleeves, and strode forward.

He had prepared a backup plan: another fragment was hidden in his storage bag, and a cool, damp piece of the Heavenly Stele was also attached to the hidden buckle at his waist—that was the Achilles' heel he had left for himself.

Tianlangzi caught a glimpse of that flash of silver light and smirked: "Kid, you've finally figured it out? You're not tough enough when it comes to fighting alone."

Lin Daochen smiled faintly, his gaze already passing over everyone's shoulders and landing on the darkest patch of black in the forest.

"Let's go in together," he said. "The clues will follow wherever the key to the formation is hidden."

Tianlangzi let out a short laugh, flicked his sleeve, and said, "Alright! I love getting involved in this kind of mess."

The group set off again, their footsteps crunching on the dry branches as they plunged into the ever-wriggling darkness.

Three days passed, and Lin Daochen had only retrieved three fragments. But with Tianlangzi by his side, his steps were steady, and his heart remained calm.

It was the Mid-Autumn Festival. Lin Daochen stood under the old locust tree, looking up at the full and clear round moon. His heart felt like it was being gently squeezed by something—the sound of the hearth fire in his hometown, the laughter of his parents, and the sweet aroma of mooncakes all welled up in his throat.

His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, his eyes burned, and a single tear slid down silently, gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

"Lin Daochen, what are you thinking about?" Yang Kai asked softly, his pace slowing unconsciously, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

Lin Daochen closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, suppressing his surging emotions. His voice was low and steady: "Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival. I keep seeing the scene in the old house courtyard before my eyes—fruits on the eight-immortal table, my mother peeling oranges, my father polishing the copper wine pot... But I am here, thousands of miles away from home."

Before the words were finished, a light rain began, pattering softly on the leaves, stone steps, and shoulders. Moonlight slanted through the clouds, illuminating the raindrops as silver threads falling to earth.

He looked up at the rain, his eyelashes wet, but his heart felt as if it were being washed by warm water—those old images were not yellowed pages, but living, warm tides, surging in wave after wave.

In the rain, his figure was slender yet upright, like a green bamboo that refused to bend.

Mid-Autumn Festival is more than just a solar term; it's a key. With a gentle turn, it unlocks the dusty courtyard gate: lanterns sway, laughter and chatter fill the air, and even the polished wood grain on the threshold is as clear as yesterday. Tears welled up in my eyes, only to mingle with the rain and disappear silently.

Don't get too carried away, Lin Daochen. We all have yesterdays we can't go back to, and tomorrows we haven't finished walking. Yang Kai reached out and put his hand on his shoulder, his palm warm and gentle.

Lin Lei stood silently to the side. He understood that heart-wrenching emptiness—the bloody fire three years ago had consumed his entire clan. At this moment, he simply took a half-step forward without making a sound, shielding Lin Daochen to his side. Some pain is easier to bear when spoken; some longing is heavier when kept to oneself.

Suddenly, the rain intensified, with large raindrops pattering down, splashing up silvery spray that danced and swirled in the moonlight, weaving a dreamlike, enchanting scene.

Lin Daochen suddenly turned around, a slight smile playing on his lips, and raised his hand to the sky, as if recognizing his homeland from afar: "Thank you—this rain, this moon, have made me taste the flavor of home."

Before he finished speaking, his palm trembled slightly, and a clear, resonant energy burst forth. In an instant, thousands of raindrops suspended, swirled, and rose, like stars leaving their orbits, slowly circling around him.

The sound of rain transformed into the lingering melody of a guqin, its gentle murmur accompanying the light and shadow of memories, unfolding one after another in the forest: the old well, the woodpile, the bamboo trays on the drying ground... The entire forest seemed to come alive, becoming a breathing old scroll.

This is... a divine power? Tianlangzi gasped, his beard stiffening. He had lived for over sixty years, witnessed lightning splitting mountains and dragon roars tearing through clouds, but he had never seen anyone brew such a spectacle from longing.

Lin Lei's heart trembled violently—a calm yet powerful aura emanated from Lin Daochen's body, not scorching, yet making the entire forest hold its breath. At that moment, he was no longer a fellow traveler, but the sole main vein here, the root of the rain, the shadow of the moon, and the soul of the forest.

As the rain and mist thickened, Lin Daochen's figure was slightly blurred in the light and shadow, as if he were melting into the depths of this verdant landscape. He did not cast any spells, but only used his thoughts to manipulate heaven and earth, making each drop of rain become amber of time, wrapped with fragments of the past, floating and flickering beside him.

Yang Kai frowned, and Tian Langzi scratched his head. The two looked at each other in bewilderment—they could see the scene in the rain, but couldn't touch it; they could hear it clearly, but couldn't enter it. Supernatural powers can be learned, but the lock on the heart is hard to unlock.

Lin Lei had intended to take a step forward, but just as he raised his fingertips, he met Lin Daochen's glance. That gaze was calm and undisturbed, yet it was as if an iron gate had been closed. He paused, silently taking half a foot back.

Some doors can only be opened by one person; some roads are destined to be looked back on alone.

The crimson sunrise quietly pierced the clouds, bathing the forest in a warm ochre hue. Lin Daochen wiped the raindrops from his brow, his voice clear as a spring: "No matter how vivid the memories, they are still yesterday's ashes. Even if you could summon back the old shadows, you couldn't bring back a single turn."

As soon as the words were spoken, it was as if thunder and lightning rolled across the treetops, causing the entire small world to tremble, with the aftershocks lingering.

"A shadow is just a shadow. Beneath our feet lies a living forest, the key to a mysterious formation, awaiting the piecing together of fragments of a divine map." His gaze swept over the crowd, calm yet unwavering. "Move forward. The rain will guide you."

A surge of warmth filled the crowd, and they responded in unison. The group set off again, traversing among the ancient, towering trees. The rain, like fine threads, subtly guided their direction—three steps to the left, seven steps to the right, they circled the gnarled roots and trod over the moss, as if the entire forest was making way for them.

Deep within the Demon Sea, Monk Jianren was sighing over the collapsing array patterns when he suddenly sensed a change in the aura. He looked up at the distant sea of ​​trees and saw Lin Daochen standing in the heart of the forest under the moonlight. The red sun and silver light reflected in his pupils, and a bright, icy soul slowly rose from the bottom of his eyes, both cold and burning.

He murmured, "I have seen a thousand moons... but this one is etched in my heart."

Moonlight is never just a jade plate on the horizon. It has shone on countless homes and on lonely graves overgrown with weeds. In this ancient forest, it suddenly gained weight, sinking heavily into the veins of the body, stirring the most subtle emotions.

Lin Daochen lowered his eyes, his gaze as calm and profound as a stream flowing across the surface of water.

Yang Kai, Tianlangzi, Lin Lei, and the others stood silently, their hearts calm and undisturbed. Yet, in this forest, some heard the echo of heartbeats, and some felt the marks of time—for every heart, there lies a moon palace waiting to be opened.

Lin Daochen stood deep within the peach grove. The moment the rising sun pierced the clouds, all sounds fell silent, even the wandering spirits froze. He looked up at the sky, a lingering trace of the cold moonlight still visible in his eyes. The entire peach grove seemed like a vibrant vein, subtly stirring the deepest, most hidden emotions within him.

He wanted to use the surge of emotions to open the door to the divine sense, to repeatedly ponder the authority of "rain" and the true nature of "moon," but he found that rain was ultimately something dependent, lacking the foundation to stand on its own as a law.

With a furrowed brow, he suddenly realized that his ability to reach this threshold was not a coincidence—but rather a result of the lingering charm of the Mid-Autumn Festival igniting a fire in his blood, and the longing for loved ones that had never been extinguished for a thousand years had quietly tempered him into the qualification to knock on the gate.

Suddenly, a powerful force surged up from the ground, causing the entire peach grove to tremble and the branches to resonate like drums. This was not merely the falling moonlight, but rather as if some ancient will, long dormant, was slowly opening its eyes deep within the tree roots.

This is… the Realm of Heavenly Sensation? Lin Daochen was deeply shaken, there was no doubt about it—his fingertips had already touched that invisible boundary marker. It was as thin as a cicada's wing, yet heavier than a thousand mountains; energy surged and ebbed across its surface, as if with just a little more focus, he could shatter it and leap into a brand new realm.

His blood was boiling, but he was also keenly aware that crossing this gap would not be achieved through brute force, but through a deeper understanding.

He slowly inhaled and exhaled, clearing his mind of distractions, and once again immersed himself in the rhythm of the peach grove formation, carefully observing the flow of every breath. Although others could not see where he was lost in thought, they could clearly feel the air tightening, as if countless fine threads were silently taut.

Suddenly, his blood vessels surged, his pores opened like miniature vortexes, frantically absorbing spiritual energy from all directions, weaving a hazy aura around his body. He had long been weary of the conventional path of cultivation and was determined to break free from its shackles, using emotion as a blade to cleave open the gate of divine perception.

Even though the Mid-Autumn Festival is long gone and the moon has disappeared from the sky, the moon in his eyes shines even brighter—longing pierces his heart, the pain is so intense that he is clear-headed, so painful that he refuses to let go.

This peach grove is indeed unusual; it stirs my blood and resonates with it. Let me try and see if I can turn my joy and sorrow into a tide, propelling me toward the shore of heavenly inspiration. Lin Daochen's mind was as firm as iron; he resolutely abandoned the old path, determined to forge a path that belonged only to himself.

His figure swayed slightly, as if he were being swept away by an invisible torrent. Lin Lei and Yang Kai watched from afar, feeling an indescribable pressure swirling around Lin Daochen, but they couldn't figure out where that power came from or where it was going.

He deliberately tried to hold onto that sharp pain—pain is the mark of being alive. He gritted his teeth and whispered: It is because of the pain that I am awake; it is because of the awakening that I do not stop; only when the pain completely dissipates will it mean that I am truly dead.

He refused to bury the burning sensation, viewing retreat as cowardice, preferring to let the pain gnaw at his bones until it became numb and sharp.

This pain is the sharpness I was born with. I will forge it into my backbone, forcing myself to shatter all limits. Lin Daochen's gaze was like a knife, cold and burning.

He was resolute: even with a powerful enemy at hand, he would not flinch at the slightest physical pain; but if his heart were torn open, that would be a true defeat.

Yang Kai was dumbfounded, completely unable to understand what he was gambling on. Tian Langzi, however, took a big gulp from the wine jug, choked on it until tears streamed down his face, wiped his mouth and clicked his tongue, "That's ruthless, he's a real ruthless guy."

As noon approached, the sunlight, like molten gold poured down, gradually evaporated the blood mist in the forest, revealing a rare, clear, faint light in the sky. Lin Daochen used his blood to draw out the yang energy, causing the peach grove to twist and deform, with wisps of green smoke rising, especially from the three ancient peach trees in the northwest corner—though their branches were withered, they faintly revealed three wisps of weak yet tenacious vitality.

This peach grove... truly recognizes my blood. It has awakened. Lin Daochen gazed intently at the three strange trees, his eyes burning, as if he could already see the chance for them to break free of their cocoons.