Temporary Shelter in a Ruined Temple, Misaligned Energy Causes Further Anomaly

Chen Wuya squatted on the stone steps, his fingertips still resting on the rusty edge of the broken sword. The figure in the woods didn't move again, his long sword hanging down to the ground. Water droplets dripped from the sword tip into the pile of fallen leaves, the sound faint, yet it struck his eardrums repeatedly.

He slowly reinserted the broken sword into the crack in the stone. When he stood up, his legs felt a bit stiff. The battle just now had been draining. The misaligned energy in his meridians felt like a thin layer of ice, piercing him with every step. But he couldn't stop.

The dilapidated temple was right before him, its doorframe crooked and the threshold split in half. He stepped inside, the rotten wood creaking. A few bats flew from the beams towards the back hall, their wings flapping noisily.

His foot stepped on a loose floor tile. He crouched down instinctively, his fingers brushing away the accumulated dust. He felt a faint warmth on his fingertips—not the residual warmth of sunlight, but more like a current seeping from below, carrying a subtle vibration.

Just as he was about to investigate further, a tile on the roof suddenly made a sound.

A figure dropped down, moving with a nimbleness that suggested they weren't just seeking shelter from the rain. Clad in black with a blue cloak, they held a folding fan. They landed without even stirring up any dust.

"Don't be nervous, brother," the person said with a smile. "I'm just lying low too."

Chen Wuya didn't move, his eyes fixed on the silver sash around the person's waist—tied in a peculiar knot that resembled flowing water around a stone.

"This temple is quite old," the newcomer said, spreading their hands. "It's normal for a corner to collapse. But the ground beneath your feet, if you were to dig it up, you might find something valuable."

"You know this place?" Chen Wuya finally spoke, his voice a little hoarse.

"Three hundred years ago, it was one of the altars of the Heavenly Machine Pavilion," the person said, closing their fan with a light tap on their palm. "It collapsed later, burying quite a few things. Those who came to dig died, seven of them, not a single one survived."

Chen Wuya narrowed his eyes. "And you? Why aren't you digging?"

"I'm not familiar with the mechanisms," the person shrugged. "And..." They twitched their nose. "There's a smell in this soil, like burnt paper mixed with rust. Touching it might bring trouble."

Chen Wuya didn't reply. He closed his eyes silently and mentally recited, "System, scan within ten zhang for any martial arts relic fluctuations."

[Detected aura of tattered pages from 'Heavenly Machine Scroll', located three feet underground in the main hall. Energy is weak but pure. Recommend immediate retrieval.]

He opened his eyes and subtly drew his short dagger. He walked to the right of the statue and pried up a floor tile with a slightly raised edge. The soil beneath was loose, as if it had been recently disturbed.

He dug down, his dagger hitting something hard. Brushing away the dirt, a corner of yellowed silk scripture was revealed, adorned with broken sword patterns and distorted star charts.

"It really is here," he murmured.

The person stood at the entrance, not approaching. "You really dare to take it?"

Chen Wuya ignored them and pulled out the tattered page. The moment the silk scripture touched his hand, the misaligned energy within him jolted violently, as if something had latched onto it and was drilling into him through his fingertips.

Suddenly, images flashed through his mind: waves rolling back up a mountain cliff, a sword cleaving down from the clouds, severing the entire sky; a figure standing on a peak, holding a scroll, their laughter causing rocks to tumble down the mountainside.

"This isn't a martial art," he muttered. "It's... a rule."

Before he could finish speaking, the wind outside suddenly intensified.

He looked up. The sky had changed. Dark clouds pressed down, like a pot lid covering the mountaintop. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a flash of lightning tore through the clouds, illuminating the dilapidated temple and its surroundings in a stark white light.

[Warning! The tattered pages are severely incomplete. Forcible fusion will trigger a resonance between heaven and earth, expected to summon a lightning tribulation within three ke, please prepare an induction plan immediately.]

Chen Wuya gripped the tattered page tightly and turned to face the other person. "Either you leave, or you stay and help me block the lightning."

The person grinned and unfurled their folding fan. The fan surface was etched with dense patterns, resembling flowing water or some kind of formation.

"I told you I was here to take shelter from the rain," they said, looking up at the darkening clouds. "Coincidentally, this rain is quite substantial."

Chen Wuya said nothing further. He quickly walked towards the shrine. In a corner behind it was a recess, barely large enough to hide someone. He tucked the tattered page inside his clothes, circulating his misaligned energy to try and stabilize the force pulling at him.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Mo Feng," the person replied, leaning against the doorframe, gently fanning themselves. "And yours? Someone who's worth three people from the Qingfeng Sect chasing after must have a name."

"Chen Wuya," he said, looking down at an old scar on his arm. The skin felt slightly hot, a sign of lingering misaligned energy.

"The energy within you is not right," Mo Feng suddenly said. "It's not cultivated properly, it's more like... it grew in reverse."

Chen Wuya looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Like tree roots growing upwards, and branches burrowing downwards," Mo Feng said, taking a few steps closer. "But it's alive, and it's thriving."

Chen Wuya didn't 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 these tattered pages attract lightning?" he asked.

"Because it shouldn't be here," Mo Feng said, pointing to the ground. "Beneath this temple is a formation core. It was sealed once, and later someone broke it. Now that you've taken the tattered pages, it's like relighting the fuse."

"So the lightning is coming for the formation core?"

"Half of it is," Mo Feng shook his head. "The other half is for you. The energy in your body has resonated with the tattered pages. It sees you as the key to completing itself."

Chen Wuya was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled. "Then let it come."

"Are you crazy?" Mo Feng frowned. "Lightning tribulations are no joke. One strike can destroy your meridians."

"I've endured worse," Chen Wuya said, rotating his wrist. The misaligned energy flowed around his palm. "During the Academy exams, I copied the wrong answers and was spanked thirty times with a ruler by the teacher. Even then, I thought, since it's all wrong anyway, I might as well go all the way wrong."

Mo Feng was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter. "You're an interesting person."

The wind outside grew stronger, rattling the temple door. A bolt of lightning struck a nearby hillside, leaving a scorched pit.

Chen Wuya walked to the doorway and looked up at the sky. The clouds were already beginning to swirl, with a faint light gathering at the center.

"You need to do something," Mo Feng followed him. "Just hiding won't work. The lightning will strike the weakest point, and this temple is full of cracks."

"Then do you have any ideas?" Chen Wuya asked.

"I can set up a water shield," Mo Feng said, lifting his fan. "It won't last long, but it can deflect the landing point a little. And you? How do you plan to withstand it?"

Chen Wuya touched the tattered page in his bosom, then felt the flow of misaligned energy within him. It was now like a fish swimming upstream, desperately trying to burrow into the depths of his dantian.

"I have an idea," he said, "but I'll need your cooperation."

"Speak."

"When the lightning strikes, use your water shield to redirect it towards my right hand," Chen Wuya extended his hand. "I want to guide the misaligned energy along with the lightning through my meridians."

"You're trying to borrow lightning to cleanse your meridians!" Mo Feng's expression changed. "If you can't control it, you'll be scattered on the spot!"

"That's why I need you to control the direction," Chen Wuya looked at him calmly. "If you don't want to do this, you can leave now."

Mo Feng stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly grinned. "Alright, I'll go crazy with you."

The two quickly divided their tasks. Mo Feng drew a circle of damp marks in the center of the main hall, using a hidden compartment in his fan to sprinkle powder and form a semicircular water array. Chen Wuya, meanwhile, took off his outer robe and bound his right arm to prevent tearing his muscles from excessive force.

Afterward, he sat cross-legged at the center of the array, hands on his knees, sinking his misaligned energy into his dantian.

The thunder outside grew more frequent, and the air carried a metallic scent.

"Here it comes," Mo Feng whispered.

When the first bolt of lightning struck, the entire mountainside shook. Purple light flashed into the temple gate, heading straight for Chen Wuya's head.

Mo Feng waved his fan, the water array lit up, and a water curtain rose, deflecting the lightning by three inches. Electric snakes grazed Chen Wuya's right shoulder and struck his outstretched palm.

His body trembled violently, and the misaligned energy surged uncontrollably, rushing up his shoulder along the path of the lightning. Spiderweb-like blue patterns appeared on his skin, as if electricity flowed through his veins.

The second bolt of lightning followed immediately.

This time, he actively opened his meridians, allowing the misaligned energy to surge with the lightning. Intense pain exploded from his limbs, but he gritted his teeth and endured, his mind focused on one thought: When misalignment reaches its extreme, it becomes alignment.

As the third bolt of lightning descended, his left hand suddenly rose, fingers spread, palm facing the sky.

Mo Feng's eyes widened. "What are you doing?!"

Chen Wuya didn't answer. The misaligned energy condensed in his palm into a twisted vortex, actually drawing half of the lightning bolt in.

His arm began to blacken, as if scorched.