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

Qin Yinhua couldn't help but press, "Just who is this person? How can he command such terrifying right and left arms?"

Qin Yun's eyes darkened, and his voice was low but weighty: "Lin Daochen's background remains a mystery, but he is by no means an ordinary person."

I personally witnessed his battle in the Divine City—a lone warrior defying fate, his blood staining the long streets, slaying all the besieging cultivators, his name resounding throughout the Three Continents and Seven Regions overnight. Even more terrifying is that the ghost cultivator and the wind-winged lion beside him were not ordinary servants, but rather bound by a deep spiritual bond, sharing life and death together.

Everyone held their breath, their awe mingled with burning curiosity. Qin Yinhua was also stunned, her fingertips slightly curled, as if she had already touched upon an earth-shattering legend about to unfold.

"There's one more thing," Qin Yun suddenly paused, his gaze sweeping over his sister, "After that bloody battle, a young girl secretly came to me, asking me to inquire about Lin Daochen's whereabouts—it was Yin Hua."

Qin Yinhua's ears burned slightly, but she looked up and met his gaze directly, nodding frankly: "That's right, I have indeed fallen for him. Even though the rumors are bloody and horrifying, it is the identity, choices, and causes hidden behind them that truly captivated my heart."

The purple divine ship pierced through the clouds, and the cultivators were on edge, their eyes fixed on the mountain range ahead. In a corner, Qin Yinhua sat side by side with a girl in green, their voices low as they repeatedly murmured Lin Daochen's name.

A light flickered in the eyes of the girl in green, and she said softly, "It is said that he single-handedly overturned the heavenly rules of the divine city and slaughtered all the powerful enemies in the midst of a mass attack... If I could ask such a person for advice in person, I would have no regrets in this life."

Yin Hua nodded with a smile: "He is indeed irreplaceable. Strength is the sword, and the story is the sheath—and this trip may be the time for the sword to be drawn."

Before the words were finished, a figure in white silently approached. She wore a pale purple robe, her steps were silent, and her eyes were like a cold pool reflecting the moon, unfathomable. She was Shuangxue, the pillar of the team, her cultivation as deep and unfathomable as a mountain.

Beneath the cloak lay a hidden treasure, which even divine sense could not penetrate, leaving only an unfathomable aura.

"No matter how dazzling Lin Daochen is, he can't illuminate our path." Shuangxue's voice was clear and cold, without any ripples. "The altar is about to open, and the secret realm is in sight—don't let the legends of others blur your own Dao heart."

The Shenzhou spacecraft cleaved through the purple clouds, reaching the distant mountains. Suddenly, a thunderous roar tore through the sky!

As everyone looked up, they saw a towering peak collapse with a deafening roar, sending plumes of dust billowing into the sky—deep in the valley, an ancient altar slowly rose, runes flowing and a faint light shimmering.

"The altar has appeared!" Qin Yun shouted loudly, and the entire team instantly boiled over, their blood boiling. Everyone rode their swords into the air, rushing towards the valley like arrows released from a bow.

Just as everyone rushed toward the altar, a blinding purple light suddenly burst forth from the collapsed peak—fiery as divine punishment, violent as the wrath of a god, instantly engulfing hundreds of miles of mountains and rivers.

The cultivators wailed, shattered, and annihilated in the light, their limbs flying everywhere, blood mist filling the air, and the world instantly turned into a purgatory.

What a devastating flame!

A cold glint flashed in Shuangxue's eyes. With a light touch of her toes, she moved like an ice sparrow soaring through the air, instantly retreating to the edge of the halo.

The surrounding cultivators hurriedly dodged, but several were still caught off guard and swallowed by the stream of light. Their screams tore through the sky, one after another.

Yin Hua's brow furrowed deeply, her mind filled with doubt: "How could the destiny guide personally directed by the Divine Maiden of the Divine Mechanism Sect lead to such a bizarre phenomenon?"

A surge of light erupted atop the mountain, sending chills down the cultivators' spines. The once smooth path leading to the sacred realm had abruptly transformed into a deadly, narrow trail riddled with blades. Within a hundred miles, the rocks steamed, the vegetation scorched, and even the wind carried a burning pain, making every step unbearable.

In another secluded cave, Lin Daochen remained asleep, his breath as faint as a wisp of smoke.

Seeing the sweat beading on Monk Ren's forehead, in a moment of desperation, he took out the Nine-Turn Immortal Peach that the divine general had personally cultivated—its fragrance was as clear and refreshing as a spring stream just beginning to bloom, and its body shimmered with five-colored light. It hung quietly three inches between Lin Daochen's eyebrows, its halo trembling slightly, flickering like breathing.

Monk Jianren clasped his hands in silent prayer, his fingertips trembling slightly. He remembered that Lin Daochen had once crossed the boundary between life and death, his soul returning from the underworld. Perhaps this immortal peach, imbued with the aura of a divine general, could truly unlock his tightly closed spiritual aperture.

One incense stick, two incense sticks... until the candle wax piled up like a hill, but Lin Daochen's lips remained pale, showing no sign of waking up.

Thirty days passed, and Lin Daochen's body suddenly trembled. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and his brows furrowed, as if he were wrestling with some invisible force deep within his consciousness.

Monk Jianren's heart skipped a beat—he's waking up! He's really waking up!

At this time, he had become sworn brothers with the rogue cultivator in the cave named Tianlangzi, and they got along very well.

The two sat cross-legged facing each other and agreed to use the storage bag to explore and seek their destiny. Tianlangzi reached into the bag with one arm, palm facing inward. The bag was filled with a faint light that flickered frequently, sometimes bursting out with the phantom of green scales, and sometimes passing by golden runes, as if the bag had become its own restless little world.

Deep within the ancient tomb sealed by Kuafu, the fragmented divine image, after more than a month of meticulous study and piecing together, was finally perfectly joined. Although it was missing corners and broken edges, it exuded a vast and powerful aura, as if it had been personally carved by the ancient craftsmen.

Lin Daochen lay quietly beside the painting, bathed in its golden light every day—the light flowed like molten gold, covering his body layer by layer, condensing into a thin, armor-like cocoon of light, shining brightly.

As soon as the divine diagram was completed, its immense power surged into Lin Daochen's limbs and bones!

The Heavenly Stele, which had been dormant in his dantian for a long time, suddenly resounded. The Yin and Yang energies swirled wildly like a vortex, and the aura of the primordial chaos surged and rose, as if to break through the old marks of heaven and earth and reenact the primordial chaos.

At that very moment, the blood-red shadow deep within his sea of ​​consciousness slightly raised its head, seemingly revealing a long-lost excitement. Lin Daochen's eyes snapped open, a silver wheel flashing in his pupils, clear and cold like an ancient, icy pool, yet unfathomably deep.

In an instant, he suddenly realized: pain is not a calamity, but a catalyst; blood is not a disaster, but the foundation of the path—just like the path of blood he cultivated, the more he drank, the stronger it became, the more he was injured, the more powerful he became.

He took a deep breath, his hands forming a mudra like an eagle's beak clasped together, and the ancient incantations surging from the fragments of the divine diagram poured directly into his sea of ​​consciousness. The chanting was deep and resonant, and the blood and energy within his body surged like a river bursting its banks, all rushing towards his right eye.

The moonlight faded rapidly in his pupils, spreading crimson, and a blood moon slowly rose, alluring, chilling, and inviolable. Blood was thought, thought was blade; upon seeing blood, the flames of hatred ignited spontaneously, leaving no trace of dullness or numbness.

In that instant, he felt as if he had touched the most primal pulse of his bloodline and heard the battle roars coming from the bones of his ancestors.

At the same time, the spiritual energy of heaven and earth drawn by the divine diagram surged forth like a raging tide, cleansing all the meridians and nourishing the internal organs.

He could clearly sense his meridians widening, his bones becoming denser, and his skin and flesh solidifying—he had only been awake for a moment, yet his cultivation had already leaped to the eighth level of the Transformation Realm, with his blood, spirit, and divine meridians resonating in unison, as stable as a tripod.

The entire process was silent yet breathtaking, with divine light, surging blood, and spiritual energy washing over and intertwining, like a living scroll of nirvana.

His sudden enlightenment and his rise were not accidental, but rather the result of the intense fire and true gold forged by the collision of destiny and opportunity.

Inside the ancient tomb, Lin Daochen slowly rose, his spine straight as if a broken mountain had been reforged.

He stood beneath the divine light barrier, his aura surging, as if a thousand troops were galloping endlessly through his veins.

In his right eye, the blood moon flickered, its eerie light swirling, like an ancient eye that had just opened, brimming with secrets and murderous intent.

Meanwhile, atop the mountain, the world-destroying flames continued to roar and rage, leaving the land scorched for miles around, with mournful cries echoing endlessly.

But Lin Daochen suddenly listened intently—there was a sound of light cracking in the wind, a rhythmic tremor in the earth, and even the faint light seeping from the cracks in the distant altar seemed to be whispering to him.

"The altar has been unsealed; indeed, it conceals a formidable barrier." Shuangxue's voice was as cold and hard as tempered black iron, her gaze as sharp as a drawn blade. She was the backbone of this team; what she sought on this journey was already etched into every inch of her being.

Lin Daochen stepped forward, his inner power surging and about to explode, like a river overflowing its banks. He gazed towards the altar, his eyes calm yet burning: "That is the true entrance. This anomaly is not an obstacle, but a knock at the door."

Upon hearing this, everyone fell silent for a moment, then nodded in unison. As they gazed at Lin Daochen's retreating figure, they clearly saw that the boy of yesteryear had vanished, replaced by a new king who arrived riding on a blood-red moon and carrying chaos.

The moonlight, like silver, flowed silently over the stone steps of the ancient tomb sealed by Kuafu. Lin Daochen stood with his hands behind his back, his figure stretched long and thin, like an unsheathed sword.

The past thirty days and nights had been washing over his heart like a tide—the blood and fire, the betrayal, the growls and the silence had all calmed down, turning into a wisp of smoke and dissipating in the chilly night wind.

He no longer clenched his fists, nor gritted his teeth. He realized that hatred wasn't a raging fire, but rather a dampness that corroded his heart; he realized that letting go wasn't admitting defeat, but finally loosening the knots that were digging into his flesh.

How fleeting is life! It's like morning dew reflecting in the sun, or the ephemeral beauty of a night-blooming cereus in bloom—breathtakingly beautiful, yet agonizingly short-lived.

The moonlight suddenly came to life—not an illusion, but more real than any illusion.

It solidified into a pale silhouette, its skirt like mist, its fingertips slightly raised, as if it had been waiting for him for a long time. Lin Daochen took a step forward, and his heart became as calm as a mirror, not even bothering to stir a ripple.

Deep within that clear light and shadow, Qin Yue stood quietly, her black hair cascading down her shoulders, her features unchanged, yet the fierce aura of confrontation was gone.

"Lin Daochen, the snow in your heart has melted." She spoke, her voice like a clear, unwavering stream thawing in early spring. A slight smile played on her lips, but a thin layer of relief rose in her eyes. "Those old grievances are over."

He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, and said, "To hate someone is to lock yourself in a dark room and lock the door yourself. Now that the door is open and the light is in, I can see that I have always been standing in the light."

There was no handshake or verbal vows between the two, but something was undeniably settled—hostility dissolved, leaving not intimacy, but equal respect.

The onlookers held their breath in astonishment: the fiend who had once made mountains of corpses tremble had now concealed his sharpness under the moonlight, revealing the warm bones and muscles within.

At that moment, a sudden realization dawned on him, as if a window that had been covered in dust for many years had been abruptly pushed open. He no longer avoided the image of the trembling boy who had cowered in the corner, nor did he try to conceal the illusion of "cultivating for revenge."

If power is only used to tear others apart, it will eventually backfire on oneself; true strength is daring to turn the blade around and dissect one's own cowardice and obsession.