Misguided Provocation, Sect Disciple Infighting

Chen Wuya's misaligned energy was still pulsing in his palm, crackling like sparks from a hot iron bar plunged into cold water. He stared at the three men, a sneer twisting his lips, his voice neither high nor low: "I'll count to three. The first one to move will be wounded by the second."

The alley fell silent for a moment.

Senior Brother Zhao frowned, his left hand already on his sword hilt, but his gaze swept over the two men beside him. The injured disciple's breathing was slightly heavy, his left shoulder tensed, the tip of his sword angled forward. The crouching man remained half-crouched, his knuckles gripping the end of his scabbard, waiting only for the order.

"Three!"

Before Chen Wuya finished speaking, the injured man's wrist flicked, and the sword edge advanced an inch—though he hadn't truly attacked, his aura had shifted, his body leaning forward.

The crouching disciple reacted with lightning speed, immediately crossing his sword to block Chen Wuya's side, guarding against a surprise attack. But in Senior Brother Zhao's eyes, this move was his teammate rashly advancing, leaving his defenses wide open!

"You're asking for death!" Senior Brother Zhao roared, his longsword slashing horizontally, aiming for the injured man's ribs!

A cold glint flashed past. The injured man suddenly realized his peril and hastily drew his sword to block. With a clang, the two swords collided, sparks flying. He stumbled backward, nearly crashing into a pile of firewood, his face drained of color: "Senior Brother? Are you mad!"

"You moved first!" Senior Brother Zhao retracted his sword, his gaze cold. "He calculated that you wouldn't be able to hold back."

Chen Wuya slid backward, his back against the broken wall, but he showed no panic. Instead, he chuckled: "See? You can't even tell who moved first, and you talk about coordinating your attacks?"

"Shut up!" the injured man gritted his teeth, his right arm shaking violently, his sword blade rising again.

Senior Brother Zhao raised a hand to stop him, his eyes fixed grimly on Chen Wuya: "You don't understand the Canglang Art at all, so how could you point out our flaws?"

"Don't understand?" Chen Wuya tilted his head and smiled. "You practice the 'proper path,' I walk the 'inverse way.' But you can't hit me, while I can see the source of every move you make—isn't that strange?"

The crouching disciple slowly stood up, his sword-holding hand trembling slightly: "His 'Breaking the Flow' variation just now… those were details only taught in our inner sect."

"You believe his nonsense too?" the injured man glared. "A charlatan who scraped by on the streets, knowing the crucial points of the Qingfeng Thirteen Forms' finishing moves?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Chen Wuya spread his hands. "Your senior brother's sword strike had a disconnect between his stance and his waist. If I were you, I would have sliced his wrist with my sword long ago." As he spoke, he suddenly kicked up a piece of gravel, sending it straight towards Senior Brother Zhao's face.

Senior Brother Zhao turned his head to dodge, his sword pressing down to prevent Chen Wuya from closing in. But at that exact moment, Chen Wuya didn't follow up. Instead, he slammed his foot down, channeling the misaligned energy into his palm and striking the ground with a roar!

Dust flew, and several pebbles shot out, striking the ground near each of their feet.

"Someone's behind you!" he shouted.

The three men instinctively turned, their sword edges crossing, nearly colliding with each other. The crouching disciple was a fraction too slow in retracting his sword, the tip slicing through Senior Brother Zhao's cloak, tearing a gash.

"Enough!" Senior Brother Zhao bellowed. "Stop falling for his tricks!"

But the crack had already been sown.

The three men stood loosely, their gazes filled with hesitation. The injured disciple panted, his stare at Chen Wuya shifting from anger to fear; the crouching disciple's sword grip had changed, no longer focused solely on the target, but his peripheral vision constantly darted towards his companions; Senior Brother Zhao, though still standing tall in the center, had shifted his stance from a stable triangular formation to a single-line defense.

Chen Wuya slowly moved his shoulders and neck, the misaligned energy circulating through his limbs. Though slightly sluggish, it was still enough to support a rapid movement. He knew he couldn't delay any longer.

"When you people in the Qingfeng Sect learn swordplay, do you learn the sword first, or obedience first?" he suddenly asked, his tone flippant. "You don't look like you're practicing swordplay, more like you're rehearsing a play—one person recites lines, two people echo, and after it's over, you even applaud each other."

"You're asking for death!" The injured man could no longer stand it, roaring as he lunged forward, his sword light like a waterfall, striking directly overhead.

Chen Wuya neither blocked nor parried. He stepped into the Universe Reversal Step, lowering his body and slipping beneath the opponent's sword shadow. The misaligned energy flowed with his steps, his right palm sweeping horizontally along the ground, the edge of his palm grazing the opponent's ankle.

With a soft crack, the injured man's ankle went numb, and he tumbled forward, falling awkwardly onto the muddy ground.

Senior Brother Zhao, enraged, leaped forward, his sword stabbing down like a bolt of lightning.

Chen Wuya spun to evade, the misaligned energy surging upwards. A line from a fragment of the Canglang Art, previously judged by the System as a "misunderstanding," flashed through his mind: "The one who goes against the current lives, the one who follows perishes." He didn't retreat. Instead, he cut into the center line against the sword's momentum, his left hand opening into five fingers, palm facing the sword's spine, and the misaligned energy erupted.

Clang!

The sword body vibrated violently. Senior Brother Zhao's hand went numb, his attack faltering.

In that fleeting gap, the crouching disciple attacked from the side, his sword tip aimed directly at Chen Wuya's throat.

Chen Wuya ducked to evade, sliding again with a misstep, his body undulating like waves, managing to sandwich the two incoming attacks to his sides. Using their force, he lightly pushed the crouching disciple's elbow joint with his right palm.

The man's arm stiffened, his sword strike veering off course, colliding with Senior Brother Zhao's sword!

With a clang, the two swords struck, sparks flying.

Both men staggered back half a step, their expressions changing drastically.

"You did that on purpose!" Senior Brother Zhao's eyes blazed with fury.

"What did I do?" Chen Wuya retreated to the alley entrance, dusting off his sleeves with a half-smile. "You started fighting amongst yourselves, who can you blame?"

"Chase!" Senior Brother Zhao commanded sharply. "Don't let him escape!"

The three men attempted to surround him again, but their formations were already disrupted by the previous misfires. Chen Wuya seized the opportunity to turn and sprint, his figure flashing and disappearing into the twilight of the alley entrance.

Angry shouts and chaotic footsteps echoed from behind him.

He weaved through streets and alleys, choosing narrow paths and eaves, using the Universe Reversal Step to move in reverse, leaving behind a trail of ambiguous footprints. After several turns, the clamor of the town faded, and the footsteps behind him grew sparse.

He reached a barren slope outside the town and stopped to catch his breath, looking back to confirm no one was following.

In the distant woods, a dilapidated temple appeared, its eaves tilted, tiles broken, the incense burner in front overturned, its ashes still warm.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and muttered to himself, "Practice swordplay without practicing your brain, and you deserve to get beaten."

He adjusted his blue cloth sash and slowly walked towards the ruined temple.

As he stepped onto the stone stairs, his foot suddenly slipped.

He looked down. Half of a broken sword was stuck in a crack in the stone, rusted and with a curled edge, as if it had been forcibly snapped and discarded there.

He squatted down and reached out to touch it.

A blurred character, "Qing," was carved onto the hilt.

Before he could examine it further, the sound of breaking branches and leaves came from the woods behind him.

Chen Wuya's head snapped up, his gaze locking onto the depths of the forest.

A figure stood behind a tree, their cloak half-concealed, a long sword held at their side, its tip dripping with water.