Chen Wuya squatted on the stone steps, his fingertips still resting against the rusted edge of the broken sword. The figure in the woods had stopped moving. The long sword hung toward the ground, droplets running down its tip and falling into the pile of dead leaves. The sound was faint, yet each drop struck his eardrums.
He slowly slid the broken sword back into the crack between the stones. When he stood, his legs felt a little stiff. The last battle had drained him badly. Misaligned Force was like a thin layer of ice congealing in his meridians, stabbing him with every step. But he could not stop.
The ruined temple stood right before him. Its doorframe leaned crookedly, and the threshold had split in two. He stepped inside. The rotting wood creaked, startling several bats from the rafters. They flapped toward the rear hall.
His foot landed on a loose floor tile. He squatted with the motion, running his fingers across the dust covering the ground. A trace of warmth reached his fingertips—not the kind of heat left behind by sunlight, but more like airflow seeping up from below, carrying a faint vibration.
Just as he was about to examine it closely, a tile overhead suddenly rattled.
A figure flipped down. His movements were far too nimble for someone merely hiding from the rain. He wore black with a blue cape and held a folding fan in his hand. When he landed, he did not even stir the dust.
"Brother, don't be nervous." The man smiled. "I'm hiding from trouble too."
Chen Wuya did not move. His eyes fixed on the silver-threaded sash around the other man's waist. It was tied in a peculiar knot, like water winding around a stone.
"This temple's been here for quite a few years. It's normal for one corner to collapse." The newcomer spread his hands. "But if you dug up the ground beneath your feet, you might just stumble upon a bargain."
"You know this place?" Chen Wuya finally spoke, his voice slightly hoarse.
"One of the Heavenly Machine Pavilion's altars three hundred years ago." The man closed his fan and lightly tapped it against his palm. "It collapsed later and buried quite a few things. Someone came to dig them up. Seven people died. Not one survived."
Chen Wuya narrowed his eyes. "What about you? Why aren't you doing it?"
"I'm not familiar with mechanisms." The man shrugged. "Besides—" He twitched his nose. "There's a smell in this soil, like burnt paper mixed with rust. Touch it, and you'll invite trouble."
Chen Wuya did not respond. He silently closed his eyes and thought, System, scan within thirty feet. Are there any fluctuations from martial relics?
[The aura of a fragment of the 'Heavenly Machine Scroll' has been detected. It is located three feet beneath the main hall. Its energy is faint but pure. Immediate recovery is recommended.]
He opened his eyes and, without changing expression, drew his short dagger. He walked to the right of the statue and pried up a floor tile with a raised edge. The soil beneath was soft, as though it had been recently turned over.
He dug downward. The dagger struck something hard. He brushed away the mud, revealing the corner of a yellowed silk manuscript. Broken sword patterns and twisted star trails were drawn across it.
"So it really is." His voice was low.
The man stood at the doorway without approaching. "You really dare take it?"
Chen Wuya ignored him and pulled out the fragment. The instant the silk manuscript touched his hand, Misaligned Force within his body gave a violent twitch, as though something had latched onto it. It drilled inward along his fingertips.
Images suddenly flashed through his mind: waves rolling backward up a cliff, a sword cleaving down from the clouds and slicing the entire sky in two, and a figure standing atop a peak with a scroll raised in his hand, his laughter shaking rocks loose from the mountain.
"This isn't martial arts." He murmured, "It's... a rule."
Before the words had left his mouth, the wind outside suddenly intensified.
He looked up. The sky had already changed. Dark clouds pressed down like the bottom of a cauldron clamped over the mountaintop. Distant thunder rumbled dully. A bolt of lightning tore through the clouds, bleaching the ruined temple inside and out.
[Warning! The fragment is severely incomplete. Forced fusion will trigger a resonance between heaven and earth. A lightning tribulation is expected to descend within three-quarters of an hour. Please prepare a guidance plan immediately.]
Chen Wuya tightened his grip on the fragment and turned toward the man. "Either leave, or stay and help me block the lightning."
The man grinned and opened his folding fan. Dense patterns were carved across its surface, resembling flowing ripples and yet also some kind of formation.
"I told you I came here to hide from the rain." He looked up at the clouds sinking lower and lower. "As luck would have it, this rain will be heavy enough."
Chen Wuya said no more. He strode toward the shrine. There was a recessed alcove in the corner behind it, barely large enough to hide a person. He tucked the fragment against his body, then slowly circulated Misaligned Force, trying to stabilize the power being drawn through him.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Mo Feng." The man leaned against the doorway, lazily waving his folding fan. "And you? Someone worth having three people from the Qingfeng Sect chase down and hack apart must have a name."
"Chen Wuya." He lowered his head and examined the old wound on his arm. The flesh was faintly hot—the sign that Misaligned Force had stagnated.
"The force inside you isn't right," Mo Feng suddenly said. "It wasn't cultivated properly. It's more like... it grew backward."
Chen Wuya raised his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Like tree roots growing upward and branches thrusting into the earth." Mo Feng took several steps closer. "But it's alive. And it's doing quite well."
Chen Wuya did not deny it. He never explained the matter of Misaligned Practice Connects to Spirit.
"Since you know about the Heavenly Machine Pavilion, you should also know why this fragment attracts lightning," he said.
"Because it shouldn't be here." Mo Feng pointed at the ground. "There's a formation eye beneath this temple. It was sealed once back then, but someone later broke the seal. Now that you've taken the fragment, it's the same as relighting the fuse."
"So the lightning is coming for the formation eye?"
"Only half of it." Mo Feng shook his head. "The other half is coming for you. The force inside you resonated with the fragment. It sees you as the key to completing itself."
Chen Wuya was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed. "Then let it come."
"Are you insane?" Mo Feng frowned. "A lightning tribulation is no joke. One strike could completely destroy your meridians."
"I've endured worse." Chen Wuya rolled his wrist as Misaligned Force circulated once through his palm. "I copied the wrong answers during an academy examination and got hit thirty times with the teacher's ruler. Back then, I thought, If everything's already wrong, I might as well be wrong to the bitter end."
Mo Feng was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing. "You're an interesting man."
The wind outside grew fiercer, slamming the temple doors back and forth. A bolt of lightning struck the nearby hillside, blasting out a charred black crater.
Chen Wuya walked toward the doorway and looked up at the sky. The clouds had begun to spin, and light was faintly gathering at their center.
"You need to do something." Mo Feng followed him. "Just hiding won't work. Lightning will seek out the weakest point, and this temple is full of openings."
"Then what do you suggest?" Chen Wuya asked.
"I can set up a water shield." Mo Feng raised his fan. "It won't hold for long, but it can divert the strike a little. What about you? How do you plan to withstand it?"
Chen Wuya touched the fragment inside his robe, then sensed the flow of Misaligned Force within him. It now resembled a fish swimming against the current, desperately burrowing toward the depths of his dantian.
"I have an idea," he said. "But I need your cooperation."
"Go on."
"When the lightning comes down, use the water shield to guide it toward my right hand." Chen Wuya extended his hand. "I want Misaligned Force and the lightning to travel through my meridians together."
"You want to borrow the lightning to cleanse your meridians!" Mo Feng's expression changed. "If you lose control, you'll be blasted apart on the spot!"
"That's why I need you to control its direction." Chen Wuya looked at him calmly. "If you don't want to do it, you can still leave now."
Mo Feng stared at him for several seconds, then grinned. "Fine. I'll go crazy with you once."
The two quickly divided the work. Mo Feng drew a circle of moisture in the center of the main hall, then sprinkled powder from a hidden compartment in his fan, forming a semicircular water formation. Chen Wuya removed his outer garment and bound his right arm to prevent excessive force from tearing the muscles.
When everything was ready, he sat cross-legged at the formation eye, placed his hands on his knees, and sank Misaligned Force into his dantian.
The thunder outside grew denser and denser. The air carried a metallic scent.
"It's coming." Mo Feng's voice was low.
When the first bolt crashed down, the entire mountainside trembled. Purple light cleaved through the temple doors and shot straight toward Chen Wuya's head.
Mo Feng waved his fan. The water formation lit up, and a curtain of water rose, diverting the lightning by three inches. The electric serpent skimmed past Chen Wuya's right shoulder and thundered into his outstretched palm.
His body jolted violently. Misaligned Force instantly ran wild, surging backward along the lightning and charging up to his Jianjing Acupoint. Web-like blue patterns surfaced across his skin, as though electricity were flowing through his veins.
The second bolt followed close behind.
This time, he deliberately opened his meridians, letting Misaligned Force and the lightning surge through them together. Agony exploded through all four limbs, but he clenched his teeth and held firm. There was only one thought in his mind: When wrongness reaches its extreme, it becomes right.
When the third bolt descended, his left hand suddenly lifted, all five fingers spread, his palm aimed at the sky.
Mo Feng's eyes widened. "What are you doing?!"
Chen Wuya did not answer. Misaligned Force condensed into a twisted vortex in his palm, and it actually sucked half the lightning inside.
His arm began to turn black, as though it had been burned to a crisp.
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