The wind at the entrance to Qingyang Town carried a dusty tang that dried the skin. Chen Wuya stood by the roadside, never slowing his steps, yet his eyes had already swept over the entire street entrance. Several peddlers carrying shoulder poles were hawking their wares, two old men squatted beneath the wall smoking dry tobacco, and children were chasing one another in the distance. He barely glanced at them before walking straight toward the crooked wooden stand on the left side of the town gate.
It was an abandoned fortune-telling stall. One of the table legs was missing a corner and had been propped up with a stone. The tabletop was covered in scratches, and burnt incense ash still lingered in one corner. No one looked after it, and no one went near it. It could not have been a better place.
He set down his pack, pulled out a blue cloth washed pale with wear, shook it open, and spread it across the table. Then he picked eight small stones off the ground and arranged them according to the Eight Trigrams' positions from memory. He tore off a corner of his clothing, bit his finger, dipped it in blood, and wrote the four characters "Iron Mouth Divination." He hung the cloth from a bamboo pole and planted it beside the table.
When he had finished, he sat cross-legged, lowered his eyes slightly, and slowed his breathing. Misaligned Force began circulating silently, rising from the soles of his feet, passing through Weilu and Jiaji, then making a light turn. It lowered his voice by several shades and lent his expression between the brows a few more traces of weathered age.
He stopped moving, like a clay statue that had stood there for many years.
In less than the time it took to drink half a cup of tea, someone stopped to watch.
A village girl came along the path from the west. She wore coarse hemp clothes and had her braid tied with a straw cord. Her steps were slightly heavy, yet her breathing was longer and steadier than an ordinary person's. She stopped before the stall and hesitated for a moment before asking softly, "Sir... can you tell fortunes about illness?"
Chen Wuya lifted his eyelids and looked her over. The corners of his mouth rose slightly. "Illness has three causes—heavenly timing, earthly qi, and the human heart. Which kind do you mean?"
The girl froze, clearly not expecting that answer. "My father... has been bedridden for nearly two months. The physician says his pulse is weak and floating, and no medicine can help. At night he keeps shouting that he's cold, as if something is clinging to him."
The onlookers gradually grew in number. A woman muttered, "Could he have run into a ghost?"
Chen Wuya did not answer. Instead, he closed his eyes and traced several lines over the tabletop with his finger, as though deducing her fate. In truth, his thoughts were racing. Misaligned Force could stimulate the flow of qi and blood. If he guided the yang qi with the "Reverse Surge Method," it might not be impossible to ease an illness caused by yin-cold. Though the system had given him no prompt, he had grown used to dressing martial principles up as mystical doctrines.
"Your father's illness is neither ghost nor evil spirit." Chen Wuya slowly opened his eyes. "The qi meridians within his body are flowing in reverse. The yang qi that should rise has fallen into the lower burner, where it has stagnated and congealed into cold. This is an 'Obstacle of Reversed Circulation,' something ordinary physicians would find difficult to detect."
The girl listened in a daze. "Then... can it be cured?"
"There is a method." Chen Wuya nodded. "The ancients passed down a technique called 'Azure Wave Misaligned Energy,' specially designed to break through this kind of disorder. Every day at the hour of Chen, stand facing east. As you inhale, imagine qi surging upward in reverse from Yongquan at the soles of your feet, passing through your knees, hips, waist, and back until it reaches Baihui at the crown of your head. As you exhale, slowly sink it back down into your dantian. Three on the left, four on the right. Go against the current and proceed in reverse. You'll see results within seven days."
He spoke with utter solemnity, but it was all fabricated. The so-called "three on the left, four on the right" was merely a hint at the rhythm of breathing. As for "going against the current and proceeding in reverse," that was the core logic of Misaligned Force—the more abnormal it was, the more effective it became.
The girl furrowed her brows. "This... isn't the inner-breathing method my master taught me."
Chen Wuya's heart stirred. As expected, she has practiced martial arts.
"Orthodox methods proceed step by step, but your father has already fallen into stagnation. An extraordinary means is needed to break the deadlock." His tone was firm. "If you do as I say, you'll certainly feel warmth returning throughout your body within three days. If it doesn't work, come back and smash my sign."
The girl stared at him for a long while. At last, she drew several copper coins from her sleeve and placed them on the table. Without a word, she turned and left.
The crowd sighed and whispered among themselves.
"Not bad for an outsider, daring to set up a stall here," an old farmer carrying vegetables grumbled.
Chen Wuya smiled without taking offense. "I'm not a greedy man. Before my master died, he said that one calamity and one fated connection awaited me, both in Qingyang Town. I came here today only to fulfill that vow."
His words were more mysterious than the last. The crowd exchanged glances, and instead found themselves unable to say anything more.
Just then, several half-grown children crowded closer. One of them reached out to flip up the tablecloth.
Chen Wuya was quick as lightning. He snatched up a handful of stones, scattered them across the ground, and intoned, "Seven Stars Lock the Soul. Child, return to your position. Whoever treads upon the formation will lose three years of life."
The boy's hand had just touched the edge of the cloth when he heard this and jerked it back, his face turning white. The others also retreated two steps in fright.
"You... you know magic?" a chubby boy asked in a trembling voice.
"No." Chen Wuya shook his head. "But I know the workings of fate. Which of your families has an ancestral grave facing south? Southeast? Northwest? Tell me, and I'll read the feng shui for you."
The children looked at one another, but not one of them dared answer.
The onlookers burst into laughter, and the hostility quietly ebbed away.
Seizing the moment, Chen Wuya rose and called out, "From today onward, I'll accept only three divinations a day. I ask for no money, only sincerity. If you don't believe me, feel free to watch. It won't be too late to leave after you've seen."
As soon as his voice fell, people really did step forward to ask about marriage and the harvest. He answered them one by one. His words were wild and nonsensical, yet somehow seemed to make sense, drawing the crowd into heated discussion.
The sun climbed overhead, and the flow of people at the town entrance grew denser. Chen Wuya remained seated upright and unmoving, answering only occasionally and spending most of the time with his eyes closed in quiet repose. Misaligned Force flowed slowly through his body. With every piece of crooked reasoning he delivered, he felt his meridians tremble faintly, as if some hidden pathway were being opened.
He knew this was no coincidence.
The more he described the ways of martial arts as deviant and contrary to orthodoxy, the easier it became for Misaligned Practice Connects to Spirit to complete the path of circulation. His earlier talk of "guiding reversed qi" sounded like nonsense, but in truth it coincided with the method of circulating Misaligned Force at its initial stage. If the girl really practiced according to his instructions, she might genuinely awaken her potential.
Just as he was thinking this, a burst of bells rang out in the distance.
A mule cart rolled slowly over, piled high with medicinal herbs. An old, hunched man was driving it. When the cart reached the town entrance, the old man jumped down, squinted at Chen Wuya's fortune-telling stall, then glanced at the strip of cloth bearing the blood-written characters and snorted. "Another swindler from the martial world."
Chen Wuya did not answer, merely giving him a faint smile.
The old man spat and led the mule into town.
But as he passed, Chen Wuya suddenly said, "Old sir, your right shoulder has been aching for years, and it worsens whenever the weather turns damp and rainy, am I right?"
The old man's footsteps halted.
"When you were young, you fell from a horse and injured your muscles and bones. You later recovered by forcing yourself through it, but the injury left a root behind. Whenever the weather turns wet and cold, your qi and blood fail to flow smoothly, which is why you have trouble turning over in bed 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 exertion and favors ease. It's obvious that an old injury never fully healed." Chen Wuya's tone remained mild. "If you're willing to trust me on one thing, go home and soak your feet in hot water until you sweat. Then lie flat and imagine the heat traveling up your legs, surging through your waist and back, and finally spraying out through your shoulders. Do it once a day. After seven days, you should feel at least thirty percent better."
The old man stood stunned, then finally asked, "This is also called 'Misaligned Force'?"
"Call it whatever you like." Chen Wuya smiled. "As long as it works."
The old man said nothing more. He silently took out a copper coin, placed it on the table, and led the cart away.
The crowd fell even quieter.
Someone whispered, "This man... really has some skill."
Chen Wuya remained seated, his fingers tapping lightly beneath the table as Misaligned Force slipped between his knuckles like a thin stream. He knew he had already sunk roots at this town entrance.
As long as no one saw through his identity, and as long as that remnant page remained hidden in the compartment beneath the table, he could stay here.
Once the storm had passed, he would make his next move.
The noonday sunlight spilled across the strip of cloth bearing the words "Iron Mouth Divination," and the wind made it crack and snap. A corner of yellowed paper stuck out from beneath the table, its ragged edge looking as if it had been scorched by fire.
Chen Wuya lowered his head and looked at his hand.
The tips of his fingers were faintly hot.
Before you continue