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

This transformation wasn't forged through tribulation lightning, nor through the accumulation of elixirs; it was simply a breath, a pause, a moment of gazing down at the moon. He remained aloof, but no longer sinister; still sharp, but now warm. Qin Yue's eyes flickered slightly, as if a ripple had passed through them; the other cultivators quietly lowered their guard, replaced by genuine emotion.

The catalyst for this transformation of the soul was a scroll that had long been shattered—a divine scroll. It had once fallen into the hands of an old monster, then passed through the hands of the Venerable Master Jianren, and finally crumbled into dust in a world-destroying battle.

No one can say for sure what it depicts; all that is known is that its appearance caused the energy of heaven and earth to become disordered, as if the entire cultivation world was trembling slightly under its brushstrokes.

The monk Jianren had long coveted it, seeing it as the key to unlocking the door to immortality. But Lin Lei had already laid traps and set up defenses at every step, managing to keep those hands reaching for the divine map from entering the ancient tomb time and time again.

A ghostly light flickered within the tomb, a murderous aura lurking beneath the surface. All eyes were fixed on the ethereal image—it was not merely a treasure, but the fuse that would stir up a storm.

"Master Jianren," Lin Lei stood beside the broken stele, his voice not loud, but each word like a nail, "If the Divine Map truly belongs to you, it won't just be about ascending to immortality, it will overturn the entire cultivation world."

The monk's pupils contracted sharply, his knuckles clenched until they turned white, and greed churned in his eyes, but he was firmly held down by Lin Lei's unwavering spine, unable to move.

Deep within the ancient tomb, the moonlight grew ever brighter, enveloping Lin Daochen like liquid glass, gentle yet irresistible.

The voice of Tianlangzi suddenly emerged from the wind: "The divine map is not one, but nine—each one holds a secret powerful enough to overturn the three realms." Legend has it that Chiyou once used the Nine Li Map to depict its form, but what happened? No one knows. This mystery hung overhead, making the air in the entire ancient tomb taut like a bowstring.

Who is Tianlangzi? His origins are as dark as ink, his movements as swift as the wind. Lin Lei frowned, seeing Monk Ren lower his eyes, while the other cultivators exchanged glances—not out of awe, but out of the instinctive alertness of a hunter encountering a deep pool.

Lin Daochen closed his eyes, letting the moonlight cleanse his internal organs. The tide of hatred receded, leaving behind the stark truth exposed on the mudflats: life is fragile, the human heart is easily broken, only clarity of mind cannot be betrayed.

Suddenly, he raised his arm and waved his sleeve—

The clouds shattered, and a torrential downpour began, but it wasn't a chaotic deluge; rather, it was a thousand blades of water slicing through the air with chilling light, cutting through stone like mud and splitting the mist in two. Heaven and earth fell silent, with only the howling rain like a dragon's roar remaining.

He stood in the eye of the storm, his body unwavering, yet a faint golden glow rose around him, like an ancient Buddha awakening or a star trail condensing.

His eyes snapped open, his gaze sharp as lightning, as if he could see the veins of fallen leaves a thousand miles away, and the threads of cause and effect a hundred years from now. This move, "Turning Clouds and Overturning Rain," was no longer just a technique, but the first long roar of his soul after breaking free of its shackles.

Just as everyone was speechless with shock, Lin Daochen flipped his wrist and unleashed his second divine power, "Plucking Stars and Embracing the Moon." This time, his entire arm seemed to transform into the eye of a vortex, with starlight being forcibly torn down like rain, and silver radiance being violently compressed in his palm, actually condensing into a trembling, bright moon.

Suddenly, all around became so quiet you could hear a pin drop—the wind stopped, the rain hung in mid-air, and even the drifting dust seemed to freeze.

Lin Daochen stood there like an iron pillar driven into the heavens and earth, his aura as heavy and imposing as a mountain pressing down. Time seemed to stand still in the entire ancient tomb, leaving only him breathing and dominating the eight directions.

Yang Kai felt a chill run down his spine, his fingertips went numb, and his heart pounded wildly. He suddenly realized that what he had just witnessed was not an ordinary burst of magic, but rather the awakening of some long-dormant primal power within Lin Daochen's body.

That power was ancient and profound, carrying an inviolable pressure that made one's knees go weak, and one only wanted to kneel down.

"Lin Daochen, where did you get these skills from?" Yang Kai stared at the man under the moonlight, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, his voice extremely low. Lin Lei, Monk Jianren, and the others also held their breath, their gazes fixed on him, their hearts churning with suspicion.

The cool moonlight flowed into Lin Daochen's meridians like liquid, and his sea of ​​consciousness suddenly opened up—the rhythm of the moon, the flow of yin and yang, the mechanism of waxing and waning, were all clear in an instant. The feeling was like a person who had been trapped in a deep well suddenly leaping to the clouds, with all five senses clear and mind lucid, even the airflow that brushed against his fingertips seemed to have patterns.

His arm flashed again, and the "Plucking Stars and Embracing the Moon" technique reappeared. Stars crackled and scattered between his fingers, while the moon floated steadily in his palm, its halo swirling, as if it were alive. The surrounding cultivators all gasped in astonishment, some even instinctively taking a half step back, their heels hitting the stone steps with a dull thud.

But at the very moment when the brilliance was at its peak, the restrictions of the small world suddenly erupted! The black curtain above surged like an ink tide, splitting open a ferocious maw, accompanied by a shrill whistle that tore through the void, and devoured Lin Daochen head-on—this was the thunderous wrath of the realm's self-defense, specifically designed to counter the overwhelming power that crossed boundaries.

Lin Daochen frowned, flicked his sleeve, and the moon suddenly dissipated, the starlight receding completely. He had not yet reached the Heavenly Sensing Realm; forcibly confronting it would only bring trouble upon himself.

This experience allowed him to see the true nature of the restriction: it was not merely a seal, but a living, breathing sentinel; any transgression would inevitably result in a backlash. He felt a chill run down his spine and immediately stopped, daring not to recklessly test it again.

In the next instant, he flashed to Tianlangzi's side and snatched the green wine gourd.

Tianlangzi's eyes widened, and before he could even clench his fists, he saw Lin Daochen shake the gourd, tilt his head back, and take a swig, smacking his lips: "Aged truffle wine, but unfortunately, it's not quite cooked enough." — His roguish appearance startled Tianlangzi at first, then he burst into laughter, the sound of which shook the tomb ceiling, causing dust to fall.

"You little brat, you've really got some nerve!" Tianlangzi slapped his thigh and shook his head, his eyes gleaming with a hidden light, as if he were weighing a piece of uncarved cold iron.

When Lin Daochen turned to face Monk Jianren, his expression suddenly darkened. His gaze, like a double-edged sword, swept across Yang Kai's face, and the latter instantly broke out in a cold sweat, as if an invisible blade was pressed against his neck, making even swallowing painful.

"Lin Daochen, who exactly are you?" Monk Jianren's voice was extremely tense, his eyes sharp as needles, fixed on Lin Daochen's face, as if trying to pierce through his skin and see into his soul.

Yang Kai turned to flee, but his legs had barely left the ground by three inches when he suddenly felt the air around him freeze, his muscles and bones stiffen like cast iron, and even the movement of his eyes became incredibly sluggish. The Blood Control Technique had already subtly woven a net, and he was now like a caged bird, unable to even flap his wings.

Lin Daochen approached slowly, his boots crunching over the gravel with a clear sound. His eyes were cold, like the sharp edge of a blade tempered in an icy pool, each step treading on the intervals between Yang Kai's heartbeats.

Yang Kai gasped for breath and hurriedly said, "I was pulled here by a force! I didn't come here on my own initiative—believe me, there really is a force pulling me here!" Before he could finish speaking, he lost his confidence and his voice became dry and weak.

"Yang Kai, I'm listening to every word you say." Lin Daochen stopped in his tracks, his voice not loud, but every word was like a nail. "But believe you? — You're not worthy yet."

Yang Kai's Adam's apple bobbed, his voice tight: "Lin Daochen, you have to believe me this once. There are some things that even I can't explain. But that summons really existed; it wasn't malicious, it was just like... like fate giving me a push."

Lin Lei, Monk Jianren, and the others were shaken to their core, momentarily speechless under the weight of fate and destiny. But Lin Daochen remained unmoved, his expression as calm as a still well, completely unaffected by this fatalistic discourse.

His gaze suddenly sharpened, piercing Yang Kai: "You kept pausing and looking back in the woods—that wasn't alertness, it was wariness; your detour to lead us here was no coincidence. Are you afraid of ghosts? So afraid that your fingertips are stiff? Is this fear real or feigned?"

Yang Kai was stunned by these words. His Adam's apple bobbed, and an awkward, hesitant expression appeared on his face: "I... am indeed wary of the Yin spirits, but I'm not just pretending. As for my actions in the forest, this place is fraught with danger. One wrong step could lead to utter ruin, so I have to proceed with extreme caution."

Lin Daochen, however, took these words as yet another cover-up. His shoulders and neck lowered slightly, his aura becoming increasingly restrained, his voice low and sharp: "You can isolate yourself from blood control techniques, and the traces of the outside world still linger within you—you've been here. How long have you been hiding it? What are you concealing?"

Yang Kai's face paled, his lips moved, but he couldn't utter a single word. Lin Daochen's interrogation felt like an iron clamp tightening around his throat, and he suddenly realized: if he dragged this out any longer, it wouldn't just mean losing his voice, it would mean losing his life.

In an instant, Lin Daochen clenched his fist, and a thin blade materialized out of thin air. Its cold light tore through the air, and the blade vibrated with a buzzing sound, as if a living creature was hissing. Without another word, he pounced out like an arrow—he wanted to capture him alive and pry open his mouth.

"Lin Daochen, don't push your luck!" Yang Kai roared, his figure suddenly dissipating into several afterimages, narrowly escaping the blade's downward strike and narrowly avoiding the throat-severing blow.

Lin Daochen frowned, but he was neither surprised nor angry. Instead, his muscles and bones throbbed, and his aura rose steadily, as if an ancient ferocious beast that had been gathering strength for a long time was slowly opening its eyes.

Lin Lei, Monk Jianren, and the others felt a chill run down their spines—the air was thick with a rusty, metallic stench, and the murderous intent was so intense it was almost palpable.

"You can't escape." Lin Daochen's voice was low and hoarse, his steps heavy, each one like a muffled thunderclap hitting the ground. The blade flashed, the sound of it cutting through the air sharp as a whistle, and the entire small world instantly stretched into a fully drawn bow, just waiting for the string to snap.

He looked down at Yang Kai with a cold gaze, his eyes devoid of warmth and hesitation.

Yang Kai's body went limp, his knees buckled and he slammed heavily to the ground, his teeth chattering, cold sweat smearing his face. His dignity had long been crushed; now only the naked will to survive remained, and he trembled under the shadow of death.

"Spare...spare my life!" His voice cracked, his shoulders heaved violently, and his eyes were filled with a disillusioned light.

Lin Daochen looked down at him, his heart unmoved. This man had been lying low for a long time, stirring up trouble constantly; how could a simple "beg for mercy" possibly settle this score?

"Do you think crying and wailing will clear your name?" His voice was as cold and hard as ice. "Do you think I'm deaf and blind?"

Monk Jianren stood quietly to one side, his hands clasped in his sleeves. His gaze swept over Yang Kai with a deep intensity before slowly shifting away, without uttering a word. He had seen too many realms devoured by curses, and heard too many cries of agony, both real and false.