The night wind still circled outside the door, and the ashes beneath the crack trembled faintly. Chen Wuya sat on the floor with his palm pressed against the bronze case, frost flowers constantly forming at his fingertips before melting away. His eyes were closed, and those two words echoed over and over in his mind—reverse.
It was not a movement. It was a mnemonic verse.
He slowly drew a breath and no longer circulated his true qi along the original route of the Canglang Art. Leaving his dantian untouched, he instead drew out a strand of Misaligned Force from his tailbone and drove it upward against the flow of his meridians. The Yin Linking Vessel already bore an old wound; that impact was like being sliced by blades, yet he did not stop.
The Misaligned Force poured backward like a reversing tide, surging all the way to the Jianjing Acupoint. The meridians within him gave off faint tremors, as though something dormant had been startled awake. A system panel instantly appeared:
[Qi resonance detected. Compatibility: 98.7%. Activate the complete inheritance?]
He did not move.
Footsteps sounded outside—light yet hurried, accompanied by the clacking of metal gears turning. The door was pushed open, and Mo Feng entered carrying a mechanism compass, the hem of his robes still stained with sea salt. He froze briefly at the sight of Chen Wuya, then quickly stepped forward and set the compass on the table.
"Don't just try things at random!" he said as he unscrewed the base. "This thing isn't an ordinary invitation."
Chen Wuya opened his eyes, his voice hoarse and low. "Why are you here?"
"Bai Zhi sent me." Mo Feng looked up. "She said you hadn't slept since refining medicine last night, and she was afraid you'd push yourself