The teacup sat on the table, a faint ring of water stains around its rim. The instant Chen Wuya's fingertips left the cup's edge, a subtle tremor spread from his wrist bone to his shoulder—the aftershock left by circulating Misaligned Force too frequently, like a stream scouring a riverbed cracked by a long drought, smooth yet carrying a faint numbness.
He quietly folded his fingers inward and pressed his palm down against the table's corner, using the motion of blowing on his tea to suppress the surging energy within him. When the heat brushed his cheek, the corner of his eye had already swept toward the opposite side of the street.
The eaves were empty.
That smear of black had retreated extremely quickly, but the rhythm of its landing had exposed a flaw—light, steady, heavy in front and light behind. It was unmistakably the footwork of a sword cultivator sneaking forward with measured steps. More importantly, when the foot had touched down, the left foot had paused slightly while the right had exerted force. It was exactly the same as that Qingfeng disciple in the village that day—the one whose shoulder blade he had injured.
The scorched, yellowed fragment hidden in his sleeve grew hot once more against his skin, as if reminding him.
He lowered his head and took a sip of tea. The bitterness shot straight into his throat. Then he rose, lightly tapping the copper coins onto the table—no more and no less, exactly enough to pay the bill.
The street was somewhat quieter now. The crowd that had gathered earlier had mostly dispersed, leaving only a few vendors hunched behind their stalls, peeking at passersby. Chen Wuya walked forward at an unhurried pace, his cloth shoes treading steadily over the flagstones. Along the way, he even stopped to glance at an old man's medicinal-herb stall, casually picking up a dried date and stuffing it into his mouth.
After walking a dozen or so steps, he turned into a narrow alley.
The alley twisted and turned, with firewood baskets, broken earthenware jars, and half a snapped log piled on either side, leaving barely enough room for one person to pass sideways. He deliberately slowed his pace and paused briefly at a fork, as if distinguishing the direction. In truth, his ears had stirred faintly as he listened to the footsteps more than ten paces behind him, desperately restrained yet still rhythmic.
They had come.
The person was following too closely. Even his breathing had not been completely reined in. When the hem of his clothes brushed past the alley entrance, a flash of moon-white flickered and vanished—the color of the robes worn only by inner disciples of the Qingfeng Sect.
The corner of Chen Wuya's mouth lifted. He suddenly quickened his pace and went deeper into the alley. When he reached the third bend, he abruptly spun around. His feet launched into the reversed momentum of Canglang Misstep, and his entire body shot backward like a boat rowing against the current. One step, two steps, three—each landed on a beat beyond his opponent's prediction.
Before the black shadow could react, a smiling face had already closed in before him.
"Does your left shoulder still hurt?" Chen Wuya asked. His voice was not loud, but every word was clear. "You fled too hastily last night, so I never got the chance to tell you—when practicing Tianshu Qi Induction, don't use your right hand to press on the injury. The more you press, the more blocked it becomes."
The man's pupils contracted sharply. He instinctively retreated half a step, only to find his path blocked by the pile of firewood behind him.
Moonlight slashed in at an angle, illuminating his face: young, with high cheekbones and a vicious gaze. An unremoved bandage wrapped his left shoulder. It was the same disciple who had fled after his failed ambush in the village the previous night.
"You dare come back?" the other man snarled, already pressing a hand onto his sword hilt.
"Shouldn't I have come back?" Chen Wuya tilted his head. "You chased me all this way. You should at least let me ask why, right? Don't tell me you really think I'm the thief who stole your scriptures?"
"You hold a fragment, misinterpret the heart method, and deceive the common people. That is already an act of treason!" the man shouted. "If I don't recover the fragment today, how am I supposed to answer to the sect master?"
"Answer to him?" Chen Wuya laughed. "Does your sect master know you went down the mountain on your own to rob someone? Does he know you barged into a village at night and ganged up on people?"
The other man was rendered speechless, his face turning livid.
At that instant, when the standoff had frozen in place, the sound of sleeves slicing through the air came almost simultaneously from both sides of the alley entrance.
One person leaped onto the low wall on the left, his long sword barring the exit. Another flashed out from behind the heap of debris on the right, crouched like a leopard and sealing off the path of retreat.
Chen Wuya swept them with his peripheral vision, and his heart sank slightly.
The two men's auras were steady, their footwork refined, and the styles of the swords at their waists archaic. The knots of their sword tassels differed from those of Lin Xiao and Xie Yun. Clearly, they were inner disciples of a higher seniority. The man on the wall in particular had not even drawn his sword, yet a chill was already pressing down upon the alley.
"Senior Brother Zhao." The injured man at the end of the alley let out a breath of relief and murmured with clasped fists.
The man on the wall gave a slight nod, but his gaze remained fixed on Chen Wuya. "It's him?"
"It's him." The injured man gritted his teeth. "He injured my fellow disciple in the village last night, and today he set an ambush here to counter us."
"Set an ambush?" Chen Wuya spread his hands. "I'm standing here talking. You were the one who ran into me. Besides, you three are surrounding me from front and back, blocking someone in a dead-end alley. If word gets out, that doesn't sound much like the style of the Qingfeng Sect."
"Stop relying on your glib tongue." The man on the wall spoke coldly. "Hand over the fragment of the Canglang Art and cripple the evil technique you learned. Then your life can be spared."
"Evil technique?" Chen Wuya shook his head. "You practice the orthodox path, while I practice the Wrong Path. Yet you can't hit me, while I can knock your swords aside. Tell me—is this evil, or are you simply too rigid?"
"Shut up!" the injured man roared and drew his sword, about to charge.
"Stand down." The man on the wall raised a hand to stop him. "This person is strange. Do not advance recklessly."
The other man crouched to the side and remained silent. He only slowly drew half his blade, its surface reflecting a faint gleam and glowing with a blue-green pattern.
Chen Wuya slowly worked his wrist, sending Misaligned Force branching from his dantian into his limbs. His fingertips grew faintly hot. He knew this battle could not be avoided.
But he had no intention of avoiding it.
"The three of you can come together." He stepped forward half a pace, his blue sash snapping loudly in the wind threading through the alley. "That'll save me the trouble of finding you one by one and asking—why can a single incomplete heart method drive you this mad?"
"You're courting death!" The injured man could no longer restrain himself. Sword light erupted as he thrust straight at Chen Wuya's throat.
Chen Wuya advanced instead of retreating. With a slide of Misstep, he cut straight into the center line, actually meeting the sword tip head-on. The opponent's wrist trembled, changing the thrust into a slash as the blade swept across Chen Wuya's neck.
At the critical instant, his left hand suddenly rose, five fingers spreading as his palm faced the sword's spine. Misaligned Force burst forth.
With a muffled clang, the sword trembled violently and was flung several inches off course by a bizarre force.
The injured man's tiger's mouth burned with pain, and he nearly lost his grip on the hilt.
At that moment, the man on the wall finally moved.
He leaped down, his long sword drawn three inches, Sword Qi spreading across the ground like frost. At the same time, the crouching man lunged forward, his blade rising from below toward Chen Wuya's ribs.
The two killing intents intertwined, sealing off every path of retreat.
Chen Wuya planted both feet, pouring Misaligned Force into his legs. His body abruptly sank, completing an almost twisted turn within the cramped space—his shoulder moved first, his hips shifted afterward, and his whole body came loose like a rope suddenly unwound after being twisted taut.
Sword light scraped past him.
Using the momentum, he spun and chopped his right palm toward the injured man's sword-wielding wrist. Before the edge of his palm even reached it, Misaligned Force had already pierced through the man's body.
The man's arm went limp, and the sword nearly slipped from his hand.
Yet at that very moment, the man on the wall finally drew his sword completely.
Blue light surged, and before the sword's momentum arrived, its chill had already sliced painfully across Chen Wuya's face.
Chen Wuya's pupils contracted slightly. Misaligned Force instantly flowed back into his dantian as he prepared to receive the blow head-on.
Yet the expected heavy strike never fell.
The sword stopped in midair, no more than three inches from his chest.
The swordsman's brows drew tightly together as he stared into Chen Wuya's eyes. Then he suddenly barked, "You... you've never practiced the Canglang Art at all?"
Chen Wuya froze.
"The orthodox route enters the Jueyin through the Shaoyang Meridian, but you move from the Taiyin in reverse into the Yangming." The man's voice sank. "This isn't practicing it incorrectly. You've completely reversed it."
"So what if it's reversed?" Chen Wuya sneered. "As long as it can move, it's a way to live."
"Absurd!" the crouching man shouted and swung his sword again.
This time, the three men no longer held back.
Sword shadows crossed, cold light weaving a net, and three figures trapped him firmly in the heart of the alley. With every block, Misaligned Force shook and rebounded through his body, gradually numbing his arms.
Chen Wuya leaned against the broken wall and took a breath, watching the three men resume their positions—surrounding him from the front, left, and right, leaving no dead angle.
He suddenly laughed.
"Have you three ever had your fortunes told?" he asked quietly.
The three men froze.
"I mean, you three—" He raised his palm, Misaligned Force swirling within it and giving off faint crackling sounds. "Believe it or not, I can calculate exactly which of you will draw your sword first?"
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