Identity Exposed, On the Run Again

Chen Wuya opened his eyes, but dawn had yet to break.

The room was pitch black, with only a sliver of grayish-white light seeping through a crack in the window. He didn't move, his breathing steady as if he were still asleep. But his fingers had already quietly gripped the edge of the straw mat, and the misaligned energy within him flowed slowly, rising from the bubbling spring at his feet all the way to his shoulder well, ready to erupt at any moment.

He knew that night wouldn't pass without incident.

The lamp in the west room had been extinguished not long ago, but he could hear that the door had opened twice. Once in the dead of night, and again about half an hour ago. The footsteps were light, yet they carried a killing intent.

This was the moment he had been waiting for.

A faint scratching sound came from outside the door, like a scabbard brushing against the doorframe. Immediately after, the light under the door was blocked for a moment.

They were here.

The door was pushed open a crack, and two figures darted in. One held a sword, the other was empty-handed. Their movements were synchronized, their landing silent. They headed straight for the table—where the imitation tattered pages were still pressed under a stone, waiting quietly.

The sword-wielder reached out to take it.

Chen Wuya moved.

He didn't stand up. Instead, he forcefully pushed off the bed board, his entire body rolling like a wave. He shifted his weight and slid diagonally, instantly cutting between the two men. His left palm lifted upwards, and the misaligned energy surged from his Laogong acupoint, directly striking the crossbeam of the ceiling.

Dust and straw rained down, covering both men's faces.

The empty-handed man instinctively raised his arm to shield his face. Chen Wuya's right foot swept out, kicking over the bucket of water left from last night. Water splashed everywhere, making the ground as slippery as oil.

The sword-wielder roared in anger, swinging his sword horizontally, a cold glint flashing past Chen Wuya's throat.

Chen Wuya advanced instead of retreating, ducking his head and body to slip under the sword's edge. His shoulder then bumped the opponent's chest. The man's feet slipped, and he stumbled backward, stepping into a puddle with a "splash" as he fell.

The other man reacted with lightning speed, shaking the debris from his face and lunging forward.

Chen Wuya was prepared. He swiftly reached out with his right hand, grabbed a broken piece of firewood from the ground, and twisted his body using the Universe Reversal Step to shift position. His form spun like a windmill, evading the direct attack, and he swung his arm back, smashing the firewood hard into the opponent's knee pit.

With a dull "crack," the man's knee buckled, and he knelt on the ground.

The misaligned energy followed, surging into him along the meridians of his leg, instantly numbing his entire right leg. Before he could even cry out, Chen Wuya had closed the distance, striking his Shanzhong acupoint with a palm strike.

The man's eyes rolled back, and he fell backward, unconscious.

The sword-wielder, who had fallen, struggled to get up, bracing himself with his sword tip, his knuckles white.

Chen Wuya stood before him, looking down. "Does your Sect Master know you acted without authorization? Or is this his intention?"

The man gritted his teeth and remained silent.

"I won't kill you," Chen Wuya said calmly. "Go back and tell Ling Xuzi that the tattered pages are with me. If he wants them, he can come himself."

Before his words even finished, he kicked the man's wrist. The sword flew from his grasp, embedding itself three inches into the earthen wall.

The man clutched his wrist and rolled to the corner of the wall, his face ashen.

Chen Wuya ignored him, walked to the table, lifted the stone, and tore the fake paper into pieces, stuffing them into the stove and lighting them. The firelight flashed, illuminating half of his face, stern and calm.

The real tattered pages had been against his chest all along, warming slightly with his heartbeat.

He blew out the flame and walked out of the room.

The village in the early morning was eerily quiet. Lights flickered on in a few distant houses, and figures moved behind the windows. Clearly, the commotion had awakened some villagers.

An old woman, leaning on her cane, emerged from the house next door. Seeing the unconscious man by the doorway, she nearly fell over in fright.

"Don't be afraid," Chen Wuya said, steadying her. "It's not a murder, just a martial arts dispute."

"You... who are you?" the old woman's voice trembled.

"I'm not a peddler," he said softly. "I'm a martial artist being pursued. That paper is what they want."

The old woman stared at him, her eyes filled with a complex emotion. "That young man from the Li family, was he also..."

"He was an informant," Chen Wuya nodded. "He tipped them off last night, and these people came tonight."

"If only we had known earlier..."

"It's best you didn't know," he interrupted her. "I deceived you, but I never harmed any of you. Now that things have escalated, I can't stay."

The old woman's lips trembled, and she suddenly grabbed his hand. "Go, while it's still not fully light. Head south, there are many mountains and winding paths there. No one will recognize you."

Chen Wuya shook his head. "Go north for a while, then turn southwest. They'll definitely pursue the northern route."

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from the village road. Seven or eight villagers gathered around, men and women, holding hoes and carrying poles, their faces etched with suspicion.

"It's him!" someone pointed at the unconscious man on the ground. "He broke in last night!"

"The other one is that Li family fellow!" another shouted. "He was faking illness! I knew something was wrong!"

The crowd stirred.

Chen Wuya straightened his body and faced them. "I know you hate me for deceiving you. But if I had told you the truth, you wouldn't have sheltered me. The trouble was brought by me, but I will hand these two over to the government officials. You just say that two bandits fought each other to steal something, and it has nothing to do with you."

"And you?" the old woman asked.

"I have to leave," he said. "If I stay, I'll only attract more people. You saved me once, and I don't want to implicate you a second time."

Someone whispered, "You drove them away, and you exposed the spy for us... You shouldn't leave."

"Martial arts matters are settled by martial arts law," Chen Wuya smiled. "Someone like me is destined not to live peacefully in one place."

He bent down, dragged the unconscious man to the woodpile, and then helped the injured sword-wielder to his feet, leaning him against the wall. Though defeated, neither man's life was in danger.

"When they wake up, they'll leave on their own," he said, turning back into the house, the patched-up travel bag slung over his shoulder.

The villagers silently made way.

He walked to the edge of the village and looked back at the small settlement where he had stayed for a few days. Smoke was just rising from the chimneys, chickens crowed, dogs barked—everything was as usual. But he knew this peace had been shattered.

He stepped forward.

After walking a hundred paces, he suddenly heard a shout from behind: "Young man! Wait!"

It was the old woman.

She ran, panting, and pressed a pair of cloth shoes into his hand: "I made these myself. They might not fit perfectly, but you can use them as padding. On the road… be careful."

Chen Wuya took them, nodded his thanks, and said no more.

He put on the new shoes and stepped onto the dirt road heading north.

After walking about half a li, he stopped, deliberately leaving a few clear footprints in the mud, pointing towards the main road to the north. Then, he leaped down into a ditch by the roadside, using the trees for cover, and turned towards a desolate southwest path.

Deep in the woods, fallen leaves lay thick on the ground, and each step was silent.

He circulated the misaligned energy to the soles of his feet. His steps appeared uneven, but in reality, they were swift. The Universe Reversal Step, combined with the flow of misaligned energy, allowed him to weave through the winding paths like a fish through water, his speed far exceeding that of ordinary people.

The village behind him gradually receded.

Reaching a fork in the road, he paused for a moment, glancing at the morning light rising in the east.

Then he turned and walked in the direction of Qingyang Town.

A crow took flight from a withered branch, soaring over his head.

He raised his hand and touched the tattered pages hidden in his chest.

As his fingertips brushed the edge of a scorch mark, he seemed to hear a system prompt in his ear:

[Detected unconventional energy circulation trajectory, classifying as 'Rationalized Error' -- Misaligned Energy Fusion Rate increased]

He didn't smile, nor did he stop.

He merely quickened his pace, his figure gradually merging into the mist.

Around a bend in the mountain path ahead, a stone tablet stood by the roadside, bearing three characters half-hidden by moss.

He walked closer and saw the three characters clearly.

"Qingyang Town."