Expelled from the Academy, Mistakenly Entering the Escort Agency's Predicament

In the late spring afternoon, sunlight slanted across the bluestone path.

Outside the prefectural city of Jiangnan, by the side of the official road, a crowd had gathered before the gates of an academy. Chen Wuya stood at the foot of the steps, a patched-up travel bag slung over his shoulder. His coarse cloth tunic was washed pale, his skin slightly tanned, yet a hint of a smile still lingered around his eyes, as if he were indifferent to everything before him. But the smile only floated on the surface; it vanished as soon as it appeared, with the slightest twitch of his dimple on his left cheek.

He was the seventh student expelled from the academy this year, and the only child of small merchants.

"Rotten wood cannot be carved," someone emerged from the gate, holding a rolled-up paper. Their voice was neither high nor low, just loud enough for everyone around to hear. "Chen Wuya, your parents sent you to study, not to slack off."

Several classmates nearby burst into laughter. One person squatted down, picked up a crumpled piece of waste paper from the ground, and tossed it towards Chen Wuya's feet. The paper ball rolled to his cloth shoes, with crooked writing on it: "Go home and sell sweet potatoes."

Chen Wuya didn't look up, nor did he speak. He simply tightened his grip on the bag strap, his knuckles turning slightly white, bit his lower lip, and then, head bowed, quickly walked through the crowd.

No one stopped him. They just laughed, watching him dart out of the academy gates as if avoiding the rain, his figure quickly disappearing down the small road leading out of the city.

He knew he couldn't take the main street. It was too crowded, and news of his expulsion from the academy would likely spread throughout half the city today. He detoured onto a dirt path overgrown with weeds, flanked by low bushes, with occasional startled birds taking flight. His steps quickened, the bag on his shoulder hitting his back with a faint sound.

The sun began to set in the west, and the official road rejoined ahead. The sound of horses' hooves, mixed with the crisp clang of metal, drifted from the distance.

He stopped, crouching in the roadside grass, and peered out.

Through the swirling dust, a team of escorts was engaged in a fierce battle with over a dozen masked men. Sword light flashed, blood splattered on the yellow sand, and two men had already fallen motionless. A guarded cart had overturned in the middle of the road, its boxes shattered, revealing several bronze chests. As one of them burst open, a yellowed piece of paper flew out with the wind, spinning and drifting directly towards his hiding place.

He instinctively reached out and caught it.

The paper felt light and thin in his hand, its edges charred black, as if rescued from a great fire. The writing on it was incomplete, only a few phrases discernible: "Qi circulates Taiyin, reverses Shaoyang... leads fire into the Lung Meridian... reverses to the Ren Meridian then death."

The order of words was nonsensical, the logic chaotic; it didn't seem like a proper cultivation technique at all.

He frowned, staring at the lines of text, and a thought suddenly struck him: What if I read this backwards... would it make sense?

As the thought arose, a voice suddenly rang out in his mind:

"Incorrect understanding detected, initiating completion mechanism."

He trembled all over, almost dropping the paper.

In the empty space before his eyes, several lines of faint golden text appeared, crystal clear—

"Detected fragment of incomplete cultivation technique Canglang Art. Seven operational paths are missing. Initiating reverse deduction... Reverse operational paths have been reconstructed."

Immediately, a warm current rose from his dantian, slowly flowing through his limbs and bones. Though fleeting, it caused every pore on his body to open, as if he were a parched land receiving rain.

He was stunned.

This was not an illusion.

He looked down at the paper in his hand again. The sentences that had been incomprehensible now faintly exuded a certain rhythm. Especially the phrase "leads fire into the Lung Meridian." Normally, this would be a major taboo, but if read in reverse, first cutting off breath from the lungs, then using the fire's force to expel stagnation... it seemed to make sense.

Before he could ponder further, a roar from the distance tore through the air.

"That kid took something!"

A robber was pointing in his direction, his face filled with murderous intent. He charged forward with his saber.

Chen Wuya reacted instantly—he had been misunderstood. He had no idea what this piece of paper was, nor why it had attracted pursuit, but there was no time to think now.

He flipped over and scrambled to his feet, turning to run.

Footsteps grew closer behind him. Another robber leaped over a ditch, taking a shortcut to flank him. He dared not run along the official road and could only plunge into the small path in the adjacent woods. Tree roots tangled underfoot, branches intertwined overhead, and the light quickly dimmed.

He ran desperately, until his lungs felt like they were burning, then tumbled into the depths of a thicket, curling up and holding his breath.

The sound of pursuers' footsteps lingered outside the woods for a moment before finally fading away.

He leaned against a tree trunk, gasping for air, his palms slick with sweat, his fingertips still tightly clutching the paper. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, illuminating the charred yellow edges.

That voice from earlier... was it still there?

He tentatively thought, What if I change "reverses Shaoyang" to "circulates Taiyin"?

There was no response.

He tried a different approach: What if this cultivation technique was designed to be practiced incorrectly? For example, the more wrong it is, the more correct it becomes?

This time, the cold voice echoed in his mind again:

"Hypothesis accepted, entering verification process."

Phantom text reappeared before his eyes: "Path deviation meets system judgment threshold, true energy circuit temporarily constructed. Warning: Current state cannot be sustained for more than three breaths."

Before the words even finished, another surge of warmth welled up within him, stronger than before. It rushed straight up his spine to the crown of his head, then instantly receded.

Chen Wuya's eyes widened, his heart pounding like a drum.

This was not a dream.

Nor was it some profound, unfathomable serendipitous encounter, but rather something... at the level of rules, responding to his "errors."

He grinned. This time, the smile finally reached his eyes.

So, I couldn't learn the Four Books and Five Classics, couldn't memorize the words of the sages, because my brain was naturally inclined towards the unorthodox?

That's perfect then.

Others practice martial arts step by step; I'll do it backwards. Others fear going berserk; I'll deliberately venture down the wrong path. As long as this thing recognizes "wrong" and not "right," then I'll be wrong all the way.

He carefully folded the paper, tucked it into the innermost layer of his bag, and wrapped it tightly in a piece of torn cloth.

Darkness had fallen, and the woods were silent. The fighting on the distant official road had long since ended. He didn't know if the escorts had won or if the robbers had succeeded. He didn't dare go back to check, nor did he dare go home rashly. Now, he carried something he couldn't explain himself, and a strange "voice" that responded merely to his wild thoughts.

He sat down against the tree trunk, closed his eyes, and tried to recall the incomplete incantation.

"True energy flows through Taiyin, reversing Shaoyang..."

He deliberately reversed the order, silently reciting in his mind: "True energy flows through Shaoyang, reversing Taiyin."

After a few breaths, the system did not respond.

He tried a different approach: "If 'reversing' is the correct path, then 'going forward' must be wrong? So the true method of practice is actually to practice it incorrectly on purpose?"

This time, there was an almost immediate reaction in his mind.

"Logical paradox triggered compensation mechanism, activating short-term simulation."

A faint but clear stream of warmth appeared again, circulating through his meridians before dissipating.

He opened his eyes, and there was a light within them.

This thing was real.

And it belonged only to him.

He stood up, brushed the grass off his clothes, and looked into the depths of the forest. The small path ahead wound onward, leading to an unknown destination. But he knew there was no turning back now.

The Academy didn't want him, and the world mocked him as a failure.

But if all the so-called "righteous paths" in this world were correct, then why would people still ambush escorts? Why would so many people who had read countless books live worse lives than a blade of grass?

He touched the tattered pages in his satchel and murmured to himself:

"Since you all call my reasoning crooked and my methods heretical, then let me use the crooked path to forge a righteous one."

The night wind swept through the treetops, rustling his clothes.

He stepped forward, his figure gradually disappearing into the dark depths.