Twisted Logic Defeats Enemies, Sect Disciple's Halberd Breaks

Chen Wuya stood on the surface of the fortune-telling table, sunlight falling on his shoulders, the corner of his blue sash lifted by the wind. Lin Xiao and Xie Yun stood on either side, sword tips touching the ground, their breathing much deeper than before. In that brief exchange just now, they hadn't gained any advantage; instead, they had been forced to retreat repeatedly.

But they didn't leave.

Lin Xiao stared at Chen Wuya, fire burning in his eyes. He couldn't believe that someone expelled from the Academy, who made a living by setting up a stall, could see the flaws they had spent three years practicing.

"Again," he said in a low voice, suppressing it as much as possible, yet every word was clear.

Xie Yun didn't respond, but his grip on his sword tightened slightly. Both of them stepped forward simultaneously. This time, they no longer rushed to attack but advanced slowly, their sword tips interweaving into a net, a faint sound of wind rising with their movements—this was the opening stance of the Qingfeng Sect's combined attack technique, "Twin Stars Piercing the Moon."

Chen Wuya gently moved his wrist.

The misaligned energy flowed within his body, not fast, but steady. He didn't rush to attack, but instead smiled, "How many times have you practiced this formation?"

Lin Xiao snorted, "Enough with the nonsense!"

Before he finished speaking, their swords were upon him.

One high, one low, sealing off retreat routes above and below; one left, one right, locking down evasion space. The common folk had already retreated far, only daring to peek from behind doors and windows. This strike was several times more ferocious than before; an ordinary martial artist would likely not even have time to react.

But Chen Wuya moved.

He didn't retreat, nor did he leap up. Instead, he took a step forward, his entire body undulating as if riding waves. As his left foot landed, it angled outward, while his right shoulder retracted inward. His posture was so skewed it looked like he was about to fall. But in that seemingly unbalanced instant, his waist twisted sharply, and he slid past the two sword tips like a whirlwind.

Lin Xiao's pupils contracted.

Their swords had clearly sealed off all angles, yet this person... had he slipped through the cracks?

Chen Wuya landed with his back to them, his footing unstable, but he suddenly turned, his right hand spreading its fingers, palm facing the sky. Misaligned energy surged from his dantian to his fingertips, emitting faint crackling sounds.

"Do you know why you can never hit me?" he asked softly. "Because your bodies move before your swords do."

Xie Yun's expression changed slightly.

This was the most basic of basic skills—intent precedes movement. Yet this person before them claimed they moved their bodies before their swords.

"What nonsense are you spouting!" Lin Xiao roared, lunging forward again.

Chen Wuya didn't answer. He tapped his toes and met the attack again. This time, he didn't dodge but raised his hands to block. His arms crossed, misaligned energy poured into the outer sides of his forearms, taking Lin Xiao's sword strike head-on.

With a "clang," sparks flew.

Lin Xiao felt his tiger's mouth go numb; he was actually forced back half a step. He widened his eyes, "What technique are you using?"

"I told you, it's your problem," Chen Wuya flicked his wrist. "When you practice swordplay, you emphasize 'correct heart, correct body,' but every move is just copying your master. How to raise your shoulders, where to place your feet, all have fixed rules. But where are fixed forms in actual combat?"

Xie Yun gritted his teeth and swept his sword.

Chen Wuya sidestepped to avoid it, his left hand naturally resting on the sword's spine. Using the force, he pulled, causing Xie Yun to stumble forward. He seized the opportunity to close in, his right hand forming a blade with his fingers, feinting a thrust at the opponent's ribs.

Xie Yun instinctively defended, blocking with his arm.

In that instant, Chen Wuya suddenly withdrew his attack and instead leaped back two steps.

"See, it happened again," he shook his head. "I haven't even attacked you, and you're already defending. Your mental cultivation teaches you to 'anticipate the enemy's moves,' but what you anticipate is never my actual action—it's the 'proper way to fight' that you've conjured in your own minds."

Lin Xiao panted, sweat beading on his forehead.

He wanted to retort, but found himself unable to speak for a moment. Those few moves just now were indeed as Chen Wuya said—they were always waiting for the opponent to "play by the rules," but this person, from beginning to end, hadn't followed any rules.

"Martial arts aren't copied from books," Chen Wuya patted his sleeve, his tone as if discussing the most ordinary matter. "It's the path walked by living people. You cling to a flawed manual, repeating it day after day, thinking you're improving. But in reality... you stopped long ago."

"Shut up!" Lin Xiao roared, thrusting his sword straight.

This sword strike was unadorned, aimed directly at the chest, carrying a fierce intent born of desperation.

Chen Wuya finally got serious.

His footwork changed. It was no longer the undulating, varied steps from before, but suddenly became inverted and strange—his left foot stepped on the shadow of his right, his right hand drew the wind from the left. Every step seemed to defy his body's inertia. This was the "Universe Reversal Step" he had meticulously deduced in his mind the night before.

Lin Xiao's sword strike missed. Unable to stop his momentum, his entire body lunged forward.

The moment he lost balance, Chen Wuya had already circled to his side and rear. Misaligned energy gathered at the edge of his palm, lightly slicing the inner side of Lin Xiao's sword-wielding wrist.

Lin Xiao's entire arm went numb, and the sword fell from his grasp.

Seeing this, Xie Yun lunged forward, his sword sweeping horizontally.

Chen Wuya calmly bent his knees and sank, managing to slip under Xie Yun's arm at the last possible moment. As he stood up, he casually flicked his hand, and misaligned energy struck Xie Yun's elbow. Xie Yun's sword momentum faltered, and the tip scraped the ground.

Both froze in place, one unable to hold his sword, the other unable to muster his strength.

Chen Wuya stood firm, dusting off his shoulders, his expression as relaxed as if he had just finished a stroll.

"You've practiced for three years, has there ever been a single move you thought of yourself?" he looked at the two of them. "Or are you just imitating your master's shadow every day?"

Lin Xiao's lips trembled; he wanted to speak but couldn't make a sound.

Xie Yun looked down at the sword in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. He suddenly remembered what his master had said on his first day of enrollment: "The Qingfeng Thirteen Forms are passed down from generation to generation and cannot be altered." Yet today, this person they had dismissed as a good-for-nothing had shattered their sword forms with a set of footwork no one had ever seen.

"The arrangement of stones at my fortune-telling stall understands 'misalignment creating change' better than you do," Chen Wuya turned, his blue sash fluttering in the wind. "If you come again next time, remember to make an appointment first."

He then walked away. His steps were not fast, but no one dared to stop him.

Lin Xiao stood rooted to the spot, watching his retreating figure, his fists clenched so tightly they creaked. Xie Yun slowly bent down and picked up his sword, his knuckles turning white, but he didn't pursue.

The crowd at the street corner automatically parted to make way.

Chen Wuya passed through the alley entrance, his figure gradually fading. Murmurs rose behind him, someone whispering, "Is he really just a fortune teller?"

No one answered.

Sunlight slanted down, dust still settling.

Chen Wuya walked into a teahouse and sat down in a corner. The owner brought him a bowl of coarse tea. As he took it, his fingertips trembled slightly—the aftershock of continuously activating his misaligned energy.

He calmly set down the tea bowl and scanned the street outside the door.

A moment later, two figures in white left from the direction of a fortune-telling stall. Their steps were heavy; one carried a sword, the other had empty hands.

Chen Wuya lowered his head and blew a breath, causing ripples to spread across the tea's surface.

Unbeknownst to him, under the eaves across from the teahouse, a dark figure quietly turned and disappeared into a dark alley.

And at this moment, the edge of the yellowed paper slip in his sleeve was starting to feel warm.