Chen Wuya's palm still hung in midair, his five fingers spread and his palm facing upward. The instant the lightning serpent burrowed in, his entire right arm felt as though it had been clamped in iron tongs, burning from deep within flesh and skin. He did not cry out or move. He only clenched his teeth hard, his Adam's apple sliding once.
Mo Feng stood at the edge of the side beam, his folding fan held horizontally before his chest, his fingertips pale. He stared at the blue light embedded in flesh, cursed under his breath, then snapped the fan shut and slammed it against a pillar. "Are you still alive?"
"Not quite dead yet." Chen Wuya finally withdrew his hand. When his arm dropped, it trembled slightly, a layer of charred markings floating across the skin like a dried riverbed. He braced his left hand against the ground, bent one knee, and forcibly straightened himself again, sitting cross-legged at the center of the formation.
Mo Feng jumped down and crouched before him. He reached out to test the temperature of Chen Wuya's right shoulder, then frowned. "This force is wrong. It isn't dispersing outward—it's shrinking inward."
"It's looking for a path." Chen Wuya closed his eyes. "Misaligned Force never travels through proper meridians. Once the lightning enters, it'll only choose the most crooked route to run through."
"So you've basically lit gunpowder inside your meridians. Now you're just waiting to see which side blows up first." Mo Feng stood and walked to the corner. From the inner pocket of his cloak, he took out a small ceramic jar and poured out several dark green pills. "This is Vein Condensing Powder, made with Deep Pool Cold Grass. It can temporarily suppress your surging qi and blood. It won't last long, but it should be enough to keep you steady through the first two bolts."
Chen Wuya opened his eyes but did not take the medicine. He only asked, "Are there any side effects?"
"There are. You can't circulate force for half an hour after taking it, or it'll rebound into your heart meridians." Mo Feng put the pills back into the jar. "Do you want your life, or do you want a chance?"
Chen Wuya fell silent for a moment, then reached out and took the jar. He poured one pill into his mouth. It melted the instant it entered, a chill sliding down his throat. The moment it reached his stomach, the restless Misaligned Force inside him seemed to be pressed down by the head and abruptly stilled.
He immediately seized the opening. Pressing his left hand over his dantian, he guided the remaining force into circulation. The Misaligned Force had originally galloped like a wild horse, but under the medicine's suppression, it became somewhat docile, slowly gathering along a twisted path. A line of notification flashed through the system in his mind:
[Qi Inversion Path Calibrated, Governing and Conception Vessel Connection Completed: 73%]
"Thirty percent left." He spoke in a low voice.
"That's enough." Mo Feng had already returned to the ground. Crouching at the edge of the water formation, he dipped a fingertip into the rainwater and added several strokes to the curves traced in silver powder. "This formation can only divert the lightning's force. It can't take the blow for you. You'll have to pave the path yourself."
Chen Wuya nodded, tore off the hem of his outer garment, soaked it, and wrapped it around his right arm in circle after circle. The instant the cloth touched his skin, a stab of pain came from the charred marks, but he did not stop. One circle, two circles, three—until his entire forearm was tightly bound. At last, he untied the faded blue cloth belt around his waist, wound it over his elbow, and cinched it down viciously.
"Are you preparing to lose the arm?" Mo Feng watched him.
"I'm preventing a dislocation." Chen Wuya rotated his wrist, his voice steady. "When the lightning comes down, the muscles will spasm uncontrollably. If the joint loosens, the force will break."
Mo Feng said nothing more. He turned and walked behind the shrine, then pulled a slender copper tube from between the bricks. Spiral patterns were carved into both ends. He inserted the tube into the intersection of the water formation and gave it a gentle twist. The silver lines on the ground immediately lit with a faint glow, as though they had come alive.
"This is a drainage pin. It can drag the lightning's force out for half a breath longer." He backed away several steps and surveyed the whole arrangement. "The formation core is beneath your butt, the water lines make three circuits, and the copper tube draws it in. When the lightning comes down, I'll use the fan to block it and make it slash into your right hand at an angle. Nod when you're ready."
Chen Wuya did not nod. Instead, he slowly closed his eyes.
He remembered the academy's final examination. The teacher had stood before the lectern, holding his paper, and read aloud in front of the whole class: "Chen Wuya, you managed to copy 'benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trust' as 'people, ants, leave, moles, and stench.' Are you truly stupid, or are you pretending to be?"
Back then, he had kept his head lowered and offered no defense. But on the day he walked out through the gates, he had found a rain-soaked copy of the Calculation Classic in the corner by the wall. When he flipped to the final page, he found a problem—everyone had worked it out in the proper order, and every result was wrong. On a whim, he calculated it backward and somehow got the right answer.
"So some paths only work when you walk them backward," he murmured.
Mo Feng heard him and turned around. "What did you say?"
"Nothing." Chen Wuya opened his eyes, his gaze falling on his right hand wrapped in layers of cloth. "I was just thinking—if I get it wrong this time, could that mean I'll get it right?"
Mo Feng bared his teeth in a grin. "The closer you get to dying, the more you talk."
The wind outside grew more urgent. Water dripping from the eaves had already joined into a curtain, smacking against the water formation and sending out ring after ring of ripples. The clouds pressed extremely low. Now and then, a streak of lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the four walls of the ruined temple. Shadows reeled across the mottled walls like countless people reaching out their hands.
Chen Wuya drew a deep breath and laid both palms flat on his knees. The Misaligned Force sank into his dantian, and his breathing gradually lengthened. He knew that every breath from this point onward could be his last. But he could not panic, and he could not stop. The only reason Misaligned Force could survive was that it never played by ordinary rules—others feared the heavenly tribulation, but he intended to use lightning as a restorative tonic.
Mo Feng retreated to the side beam and opened his folding fan, water patterns flowing across its surface. He raised his head toward the sky. The dark clouds had begun to spin, and the point of light at their center grew brighter and brighter.
"It's coming," he said.
Chen Wuya did not respond. He only raised his left hand slightly and rested it over the bindings on his right arm. That was his final safeguard—if his force went out of control, he would immediately sever the flow of blood through his meridians. Even if it crippled the arm, he could not let the lightning fire surge into his heart meridians.
Mo Feng held his breath, raising the fan horizontally and aiming it toward the temple entrance.
The first bolt had yet to fall when the wind arrived first. Carrying shredded leaves and dust, it slammed into their faces with a stinging bite. Chen Wuya's bangs were blown upward, revealing an old scar between his brows—the mark left when he had copied a character incorrectly as a child and his father had struck him with a bamboo switch.
He suddenly smiled.
"What? You want to smile even as you're dying?" Mo Feng asked in a low voice.
"I was thinking, if the academy teacher knew I had to rely on 'copying the wrong answer' to stay alive now, I wonder if he'd be angry enough to crawl out of his grave."
Mo Feng froze, barely managing to hold himself together. "You really are a madman."
Before his voice had faded, the light of the heavens split apart.
A bolt of violet lightning plunged straight down from the center of the cloud vortex. It moved too fast for its path to be seen. There was only a tremendous boom as the entire ruined temple shook violently and roof tiles pattered down.
Mo Feng swept his fan. The water formation lit up, and a semicircular curtain of light rose. The lightning serpent slammed into the barrier and was forcibly deflected three inches, grazing Chen Wuya's right shoulder before crashing into his outstretched palm.
His body stiffened. The Misaligned Force exploded in an instant, rushing backward along the lightning into the Jianjing Acupoint. Blue markings rapidly spread beneath his skin, as though something were crawling through his blood vessels.
The second bolt had already begun to gather in the clouds.
Mo Feng gasped for breath, tilting the fan slightly as he prepared to intercept it again.
Chen Wuya suddenly spoke. "For the next strike, don't deflect it too much."
"Are you insane?!" Mo Feng whipped his head around. "If I don't block it, you'll be cooked through on the spot!"
"I want it to enter the meridians." Chen Wuya lifted his face, his eyes clear. "Misaligned Force travels along a dead end, and lightning is a dead end too. If two dead ends collide, maybe they'll smash out a living path."
Mo Feng stared at him for two seconds, then suddenly folded the fan with a cold laugh. "Fine. I'll go wrong with you all the way."
He no longer reinforced the water curtain. Instead, he drew the fan back half a foot, leaving a gap.
Lightning flashed through the clouds once more, brighter than before.
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