Xiao Rou Seeks Help, Misaligned Energy First Shows Its Edge

Xiao Rou's figure had barely appeared at the street corner when Chen Wuya noticed her steps had lightened. The heavy feeling that had pressed down on her shoulders yesterday was gone. Even the grass rope holding her braid seemed to have been smoothed by the wind, no longer askew or knotted.

Without revealing his thoughts, he rearranged the pebbles in his palm into a line. His fingertips trembled slightly—just a moment ago, a warm current had stirred deep within his dantian, like a fine thread being gently tugged from afar. The sensation was identical to when his meridians had been connected last night.

"Sir!" Xiao Rou hurried over, her voice brimming with barely contained excitement. "My father can stand up! This morning, he walked to the courtyard entrance by himself and even drank half a bowl of rice porridge!"

Chen Wuya looked up, his gaze falling on her face. Her eyes, which always used to be downcast, were now astonishingly bright. Her lips trembled slightly, as if she wanted to say everything at once.

"He said the blockage in his chest has cleared, and now his hands and feet have strength. He's not coughing at night anymore. He also asked me to ask you... is it really true that 'water flows uphill,' and sickness can also flow backward?"

The crowd that had gathered hadn't dispersed yet. A few vegetable vendors were squatting nearby, sorting through their greens, but their ears were clearly tilted in their direction. An old man, leaning on his cane, slowly shuffled closer, muttering, "What's this 'water flows uphill'? Is the river going to flow backward too?"

Chen Wuya didn't answer. He merely nodded slowly, his finger tracing an arc on the tabletop. As he made the movement, the end of his foot lesser yin kidney meridian, which had been broken for a long time, suddenly jolted. It felt as if a gentle force was seeping into his bone marrow along the meridian.

The System stirred.

It wasn't an illusion, nor a coincidence. It was a genuine restoration.

He looked down at his hands. The edges of his fingernails were a little pale, a mark left by his true energy surging backward and scouring his blood vessels. Yet, this injury brought a clarity to his mind.

So, as long as someone believed, even a village woman who knew nothing of martial arts, a patient bedridden for years, as long as they genuinely followed those "nonsensical words," his cultivation technique could be pieced back together bit by bit.

"How long has your father been practicing?" he asked.

"Since the hour of Zi last night, until now," Xiao Rou said urgently. "He followed what you said, imagining black water rushing up from the soles of his feet. He felt dizzy at first, then it became warm and comfortable, like basking in the sun."

Chen Wuya closed his eyes.

That route, "Kan Water Backflows to Kunlun," was supposed to be a dead end he had made up. A normal person following it would be paralyzed in bed within three days. Yet, a critically ill old man not only survived but came back to life.

Misaligned Practice Connects to Spirit—it doesn't recognize life or death, only "believing it to be true."

He suddenly smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting in a very faint arc.

"Tomorrow, add another phrase to the incantation," he said. "Have him silently recite the words 'Earth Fire Ascends.' The focus shouldn't be on the top of his head, but on the soles of his feet. He needs to feel a surge of heat rising from the bubbling spring acupoint, making the soles of his feet feel scorching hot."

The moment these words left his lips, a section of a meridian within him, long dead and stiff, suddenly twitched. Then, a gentle force slowly flowed into it. This was the crucial junction where his foot lesser yin kidney meridian intersected with the Chong Mai—a place that had been impassable for years, yet it quietly loosened after this absurd instruction was given.

Xiao Rou nodded vigorously, pulling out a rough cloth handkerchief from her pocket and carefully jotting down the words. Her hand trembled slightly. Before the ink was dry, she folded the cloth and clutched it tightly in her palm.

"Sir, what exactly are you?" she suddenly looked up, her gaze fixed on him. "The village doctor said my father was beyond saving, but your few words brought him back to life. Are these... really fortune-telling?"

The surrounding people also quieted down.

The vegetable vendors stopped their work, and the old man shuffled a couple of steps forward with his cane. The air was filled with an indescribable emotion, a mix of awe and suspicion.

Chen Wuya didn't avoid her gaze.

He knew he couldn't falter at this moment. If he showed any fear, all the groundwork he had laid would crumble.

"I am not a fortune-teller," he said slowly. "I am a messenger."

Everyone was taken aback.

"Some people are sick, not because medicine is ineffective, but because no one tells them how to use their own bodies. Between heaven and earth, blood essence circulates according to its own way, but this way is not always something doctors can explain clearly."

He paused, his voice not loud, but each word struck the ground like a hammer blow. "You come to me asking about marriage, about harvests, about your children's studies, but you are all essentially asking one thing: how to make your lives better. And what I want to tell you is that the way to improve your life is not in fate, but within yourself."

The crowd erupted in a buzz.

Some shook their heads in disbelief, others pondered thoughtfully. A young man pushed his way forward and asked, "Then tell me, what should I do about my back pain?"

"Every morning and evening, pat your Mingmen acupoint seventy-two times, while imagining hot water flowing down your spine," Chen Wuya replied casually. "Don't worry about whether it's scientific or not. As long as you believe that heat is real, it will become real."

The young man froze, and those around him burst into laughter.

"You really dare to say that!"

"Who would believe that you can just imagine hot water?"

Chen Wuya ignored them and looked at Xiao Rou. "Go back and tell your father to keep practicing. Within three days, he'll not only be able to walk but also carry water and chop firewood."

Xiao Rou bit her lip, her eyes welling up with tears. She gave him a deep look and turned to run. Her footsteps echoed crisply on the bluestone slabs.

After her figure disappeared around the street corner, Chen Wuya slowly withdrew his gaze.

He looked down at his hands, opening and closing his fingers. The misaligned energy flowed through his meridians much faster than before, like a long-dry riverbed finally welcoming the spring flood.

He realized he had been walking a path no one else dared to tread—treating martial arts as rhetoric, and cultivation as a lie. Yet, it was precisely these lies that were piecing him back together, bit by bit.

In the Academy, the teachers scolded him for his nonsensical theories, saying he couldn't recite texts properly and his interpretations were pure fabrication. But even then, he had discovered that the more absurd his analogies, the better his classmates understood. Once, when explaining the "vast righteous energy" from Mencius, he casually said, "It's like drinking ice water in summer, feeling it cool all the way from your throat to your belly, then letting out a burp, and feeling refreshed all over." Even the most rigid instructor was stunned for a long moment, and finally nodded.

He hadn't understood it then, that his mind was naturally inclined to go off the beaten path.

And now, this crooked path had actually worked.

He looked at the old farmer basking in the sun by the roadside. The man was squinting, rubbing corn, and humming an out-of-tune little song. In the past, he would have just seen him as an insignificant passerby. But now, he suddenly thought: if this person also started practicing "misaligned energy," even if it was just to treat leg pain or sleep better at night, wouldn't it also reconnect a section of his meridians?

The thought arose, and his heart suddenly felt enlightened.

Why bother searching for a renowned master? Why hope for a miraculous encounter? As long as someone was willing to listen, willing to believe, and willing to act accordingly, his Canglang Art could be restored inch by inch.

This wasn't deceiving people; it was borrowing the power of all beings to mend his own brokenness.

He picked up another handful of pebbles and arranged them in a new formation. This time, it wasn't the Eight Trigrams, but the flow of the eight meridians. The position of each pebble corresponded to an unopened acupoint within his body.

"Sir!" A child suddenly ran over, holding a copper coin in his hand. "My mom sent me to ask, my little brother keeps getting a fever, did he get possessed?"

Chen Wuya looked up, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"It's not evil, it's qi stagnating in the lungs," he said. "Tonight, have him stand barefoot on the ground for fifteen minutes before sleeping, imagining a wind blowing up from beneath his feet, dispersing that stifling fire in his chest."

Before he finished speaking, the Sanyinjiao acupoint on his left arm suddenly grew hot, as if lightly pricked by a needle. Immediately after, a long-dormant hidden belt meridian began to slowly revive.

He had opened another section.

More and more people gathered around. Some asked about headaches, some about insomnia, some about why their crops weren't growing. He responded to each one, his words nonsensical, yet containing hidden paths for reversing true energy.

When he spoke of "Li Fire Descends to the North Sea," the end of the Ren Meridian twitched slightly.

When discussing "Taiyin Reverses to Taiqing," the meridians in his arms felt as if being washed by a warm current.

As he smiled and told a hunched old man, "Your back hurts because your yang qi is stuck in the Jiaji, so every night before sleeping, imagine the sun rising from the Weilu," the misaligned energy had quietly connected through the Hand Yang Meridians.

The noon sun shone on the blue cloth banner, rustling loudly. A corner of the scorched yellow paper at the table's edge still peeked out, unnoticed by anyone.

Xiao Rou's figure reappeared at the street corner.

She practically ran over, her face pale and her breathing rapid. "Sir! My father practiced 'Earth Fire Ascends' as you instructed, but halfway through, the soles of his feet suddenly burned, and he collapsed to his knees crying out in pain! I'm afraid he's... gone mad from his practice!"

Chen Wuya shot to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the ground.