Qingyang Town Mouth, Fortune-Telling as a Distraction

The wind at the entrance of Qingyang Town carried a dusty scent, drying out people's faces. Chen Wuya stood by the roadside, his steps unceasing, yet his gaze had already swept across the entire street entrance. A few peddlers with their carrying poles were shouting to open for business, two old men squatted by the wall smoking dried tobacco, and children were chasing each other in the distance. He didn't look further, heading straight for the crooked wooden stand to the left of the town gate.

It was an abandoned fortune-telling stall. One leg of the table was missing a corner, propped up by a stone, the tabletop was covered in scratches, and burnt incense ash remained in the corner. No one cared for it, and no one approached it. It was the best possible place.

He put down his travel bag, took out a faded blue cloth from within, and shook it open, spreading it on the table. He then picked up eight small stones from the ground and arranged them according to the eight trigrams positions in his memory. He tore a corner from his clothes, bit his finger, dipped it in blood, and wrote the four characters "Iron Mouth Divination" on it, hanging it on a bamboo pole stuck by the side of the table.

After finishing these preparations, he sat down cross-legged, his eyes slightly lowered, his breathing slowing. The misaligned energy quietly circulated, rising from the soles of his feet, passing through the Weilu, over the spine, and with a gentle sweep, it actually deepened his voice by a few notes, and even added a touch of vicissitude to the expression between his brows.

He became still, like a clay statue that had been here for many years.

In less than the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, people began to stop and watch.

A village girl walked over from the small road to the west, clad in coarse cloth, her braids tied with straw rope, her steps slightly heavy, yet her breathing was longer than that of an ordinary person. She stopped at the stall, hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a low voice, "Sir... can you divine illnesses?"

Chen Wuya's eyelids flickered, and he looked her up and down, a slight smile curving his lips. "There are three causes for illness—the heavens, the earth, and the human heart. Which kind are you referring to?"

The girl was taken aback, clearly not expecting this. "My father... has been bedridden for almost two months. The doctors say his pulse is weak and floating, and medicine is useless. He always complains of cold at night, as if something is clinging to him."

The crowd gradually grew larger, and a woman muttered, "Perhaps he's possessed?"

Chen Wuya did not answer, but instead closed his eyes and traced a few lines on the tabletop with his fingers, as if deducing fate. In reality, his mind was racing: circulating the misaligned energy could stimulate blood essence. If he guided the yang energy using the "Reverse Circulation Method," it might not be impossible to alleviate the cold symptoms. Although the System had not prompted him, he was accustomed to framing martial principles as profound sayings.

"Your father's illness is neither ghost nor demon," he slowly opened his eyes. "It is the internal blood and energy channels flowing in reverse. The yang energy that should be rising has fallen into the lower abdomen, stagnating and forming cold over time. This is the 'Obstacle of Reversed Circulation,' which ordinary physicians find difficult to treat."

The girl listened, stunned. "Then... can it be cured?"

"There is a method," Chen Wuya nodded. "An ancient technique called 'Azure Wave Misaligned Energy' specifically breaks such chaotic reversals. You only need to stand facing east every day at the hour of Chen, and when inhaling, imagine the energy rushing up from the bubbling springs at your feet, passing through your knees, hips, waist, and back, all the way to the Baihui at the top of your head; when exhaling, slowly let it sink back to the dantian. Three times to the left and four times to the right, reversing the circulation. It will show effects in seven days."

He spoke with utmost seriousness, but in reality, it was all fabricated. The so-called "three times to the left and four times to the right" was merely a hint at the breathing rhythm; "reversing the circulation" was the core logic of misaligned energy—the more abnormal, the more effective.

The girl's brow furrowed. "This... is different from the internal breathing method my master taught me."

Chen Wuya's heart stirred: she had indeed practiced martial arts.

"The orthodox method progresses gradually, but your father is already in a stagnant state and requires extraordinary means to break the deadlock," he said with conviction. "If you do as I say, you will feel your body warming up within three days. If it doesn't work, you can come back and smash my signboard."

The girl stared at him for a long time, then finally reached into her sleeve and placed a few copper coins on the table. She didn't say a word and turned to leave.

The crowd murmured in disbelief.

"This outsider has quite the nerve, setting up a stall here?" grumbled an old farmer carrying vegetables.

Chen Wuya smiled, unoffended. "I am not a greedy person. My master told me before he died that my fate had one tribulation and one predestined encounter, both in Qingyang Town. I have come here today only to fulfill a vow."

His words were mysterious and profound, and the crowd exchanged glances, unsure of what else to say.

Just then, a few half-grown children approached, and one of them reached out to lift the tablecloth.

Chen Wuya's hand moved quickly, grabbing a handful of stones and scattering them on the ground, chanting, "Seven Stars Lock the Soul, Children Return to Their Positions. Those who step on the formation will have their lifespan reduced by three years."

As the child's hand touched the corner of the cloth, he flinched back violently upon hearing the words, his face turning pale. The others also retreated a couple of steps in fear.

"You... you know magic?" asked a chubby child, his voice trembling.

"No," Chen Wuya shook his head. "But I know fate. Which of your families has ancestral graves facing south? Southeast? Northwest? Tell me, and I'll tell you about your feng shui."

The children looked at each other, and none dared to respond.

The onlookers burst into laughter, and their hostility quietly dissipated.

Chen Wuya seized the opportunity to stand up and announced loudly, "From today onwards, I will only accept three divinations per day. I do not accept money, only sincerity. If anyone disbelieves, you are welcome to come and watch. It's not too late to decide after you've seen."

As his voice fell, some people actually stepped forward to inquire about their marriages and fortunes. He responded to each one, his words absurd yet seemingly logical, causing the crowd to discuss animatedly.

The sun climbed to the zenith, and the flow of people at the town entrance gradually thickened. Chen Wuya remained seated, occasionally answering a few questions, but mostly just closing his eyes to rest. The misaligned energy flowed slowly within his body, and with every nonsensical statement he made, his meridians seemed to vibrate slightly, as if some hidden path was being opened.

He knew this was no coincidence.

The more he spoke of the martial path in a rebellious manner, the easier it was for "Misaligned Practice Connects to Spirit" to complete its operational trajectory. The "reverse energy guidance" he had just performed, though seemingly nonsensical, actually secretly aligned with the initial stage of misaligned energy circulation. If that girl truly practiced it, she might even be able to awaken her potential.

As he was thinking, the sound of bells came from afar.

A mule cart slowly approached, laden with medicinal herbs, driven by a hunchbacked old man. The cart stopped at the town entrance, and the old man jumped down, squinting at Chen Wuya's fortune-telling stall and then at the blood-written cloth strip, he snorted, "Another charlatan."

Chen Wuya did not reply, merely offering a slight smile.

The old man spat, then led the mule into town.

But as he passed by, Chen Wuya suddenly said, "Old man, your right shoulder has been sore for years, worsening in damp weather, correct?"

The old man's steps faltered.

"You fell off a horse when you were young, injuring your muscles and bones. You recovered somewhat, but it left a persistent problem. When it's damp and cold, your blood and energy don't flow smoothly, making it difficult to turn over at night."

The old man slowly turned around, his expression changing. "How... how did you know?"

"When you walk, your right foot drags slightly, your shoulders are uneven, and your breathing avoids the heavier side, clearly indicating an old injury that hasn't healed," Chen Wuya said calmly. "If you're willing to take my advice, go back and soak your feet in hot water until you sweat. Then lie flat and imagine the heat flowing up your legs, through your waist and back, and finally erupting from your shoulders. Do this once a day, and after seven days, you'll feel at least thirty percent better."

The old man was stunned, and after a long while, he asked, "This is also called 'misaligned energy'?"

"Call it whatever you like," Chen Wuya smiled. "As long as it works."

The old man said no more, silently took out a copper coin and placed it on the table, then led his cart away.

The crowd became even quieter.

Someone whispered, "This person... might actually have some skill."

Chen Wuya remained seated, his fingers tapping lightly beneath the table, the misaligned energy flowing like a thin stream between his knuckles. He knew he had taken root at this town entrance.

As long as no one saw through his identity, and as long as those tattered pages remained hidden in the secret compartment beneath the table, he could stay here.

Once the storm passed, he would make other plans.

The midday sun shone on the "Iron Mouth Divination" banner, which fluttered and rustled in the wind. A corner of scorched yellow paper peeked out from under the table, its edges jagged, as if licked by flames.

Chen Wuya looked down at his hands.

His fingertips felt slightly warm.