Thunder Tribulation Descends, Misaligned Energy Completes the Cultivation Method

The instant the lightning tore through the clouds, Chen Wuya yanked his left hand back, the blue cloth band digging deeply into his flesh. His right arm had long gone numb, but he could feel the searing heat crawling from his fingertips to his shoulder, as if countless red-hot needles were threading through his meridians.

Mo Feng stood at the edge of a side beam, his folding fan half-lowered, his gaze fixed on the temple entrance. He didn't attack again, nor did he retreat. He simply lowered his body, as if he had become part of the dilapidated temple.

The lightning snake struck the residual light screen of the water formation, was diverted three inches to the side, and lunged straight for Chen Wuya's outstretched palm. This time, he didn't dodge. Instead, he spread his fingers and pushed an inch further into the lightning fire.

"Boom—"

His entire arm felt as if it had been smashed from the inside out with a sledgehammer, his bones emitting faint cracking sounds. His skin split open with tiny bloody wounds, and the blood that seeped out was instantly vaporized by the intense heat the moment it left his body. But he gritted his back teeth, forcing the violent power downward, pushing it towards his dantian.

The misaligned energy surged back within him, no longer a passively fleeing wild horse, but actively turning around to collide with the lightning flow. The two entirely different forces clashed fiercely at the intersection of the Ren and Du meridians, shaking his internal organs out of place. A sweet taste rose in his throat, and a mouthful of blood surged to his lips, only to be forcibly swallowed back down.

"Not done yet," he whispered, his voice so hoarse it was barely audible.

Mo Feng squatted on the beam, watching Chen Wuya's trembling fingers still steadily pressed at the center of the formation's eye. He couldn't help but clench the ribs of his fan. He had initially thought he was just there to help, at most a witness. But at this moment, he suddenly understood—this wasn't a tribulation, this was tampering with the rules.

The lightning was still brewing in the sky, the vortex of clouds spinning faster and faster. The aura of the second strike had already pressed down.

Chen Wuya closed his eyes, and the tattered Calculation Classic from the corner of the Academy's wall appeared in his mind. Everyone calculated forward, but only he pushed backward. The teacher called him stupid, but in the end, he was the only one who got it right.

"Since the conventional path is blocked..." He opened his eyes, a faint azure flash crossing the depths of his pupils, "Then I'll write it backward."

He suddenly raised his hand and struck his own left shoulder with his palm. The misaligned energy surged upward from his dantian, exploding into a distorted vortex of energy at the Jianjing acupoint. It wasn't defense, nor guidance; it was more like digging a new riverbed in his meridians, specifically to welcome the incoming lightning.

Mo Feng's pupils contracted: "Are you crazy? That's a death point!"

Before his words could fall, the second bolt of lightning descended.

Thicker, brighter than the first, it carried the might to tear the heavens and earth, striking directly into the temple. The water formation completely disintegrated, silver powder scattering everywhere. The bronze pipes in front of the shrine emitted a piercing hum and instantly turned red.

Mo Feng did not intervene in this strike.

He knew that if he were to act now, it would only ruin Chen Wuya's rhythm.

The instant the lightning entered his body, Chen Wuya's entire form arched violently, his back lifting off the ground, supported only by his head and heels. His face contorted, but the corners of his mouth turned up.

When pain reached its extreme, one could only laugh.

The misaligned energy poured in with the lightning flow, scouring along the reverse meridians he had forcefully opened. Those originally broken and blocked meridians began to connect on their own under the dual impact of lightning and misaligned energy. Blackened lines spread from his right arm to his chest, then from his chest wound around his neck, finally converging at the Yuzhen acupoint at the back of his head.

He felt his sea of consciousness being pried open with a blunt knife, something being reassembled.

Just then, the tattered pages in his embrace suddenly grew hot.

It wasn't a surface heat, but a ancient aura emanating from within, as if something that had slept for many years had finally awakened. The silk book floated up on its own, hovering half a foot in front of his chest. Unseen characters appeared on the yellowed paper—the strokes were crooked, the trajectory bizarre, mirroring the flow of the misaligned energy exactly.

"So that's how it is..." he gasped, "The Canglang Art was never meant to be practiced as written."

The true incantation was inherently wrong. Only by using error to break error could one touch the true meaning.

He suddenly bit his tongue, and a mist of blood sprayed into the air. The misaligned energy, along with the blood droplets, suspended, forming a faint line that connected to his glabella at one end and pointed to the ground at the other.

The earth trembled, and a palm-sized stone slab slowly rose, inscribed with a half-missing formation diagram that fit perfectly with the patterns on the tattered pages.

"Rise!" he commanded in a low voice.

The stone slab soared into the air, colliding with the tattered pages. The moment they touched, a blinding azure light erupted. The entire dilapidated temple shook violently, most of the roof tiles crashing down, revealing a stretch of churning black clouds.

The azure light surged into Chen Wuya's body, circulating madly along the path of the misaligned energy. The System's voice echoed in the depths of his consciousness: [Detected complete cultivation method template, beginning reconstruction of "Canglang Art" operational logic... Error rationalization judgment passed, completion progress 100%].

In an instant, all the fragments pieced together.

He finally saw the complete form of this cultivation method—it wasn't a fixed way of practicing, but a "correction mechanism." As long as the user could activate their true energy through unconventional paths, even if the movements were absurd and the routes reversed, the System would automatically complete the missing steps, turning crooked moves into killing blows.

And now, the lightning tribulation was the final puzzle piece.

The misaligned energy merged with the lightning power, transforming into a coiled electric snake dormant in his dantian, ready to be unleashed at any moment. A new skill formed in his sea of consciousness, three words: Canglang Misaligned Thunder.

He slowly exhaled, and the restless energy within his body finally calmed. But just then, footsteps were heard from outside the temple, approaching from a distance, making a sticky sound on the wet mud.

More than one person.

Mo Feng immediately looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Chen Wuya didn't open his eyes. He quietly released his left hand, letting his body go limp. A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth, his breathing becoming weak and intermittent. He looked as if he had been struck by lightning and was barely clinging to life.

Mo Feng understood. He lowered his body and silently retreated into the shadows of the beam, even his breathing becoming as light as possible.

The temple door creaked open.

Three figures stood at the entrance, rainwater dripping from their sword scabbards. The one in front was a young disciple, his face pale, his right hand bandaged—the one who had been accidentally injured in the narrow alley earlier. He stared at the figure on the ground, his brow furrowed: "It's him? Was he really struck dead by lightning?"

Another person crouched down, checked his breathing, and whispered, "He's still breathing, but probably won't last long."

The third person sneered, "It's better if he's alive. The Sect Master wants the tattered pages of the Heavenly Machine Scroll, not necessarily a dead body. Search him and take it directly."

As he spoke, that person reached out to search Chen Wuya's bosom.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch the tattered pages, Chen Wuya's right index finger moved, ever so slightly.

Mo Feng narrowed his eyes on the beam, gripping the fan handle tightly.

The rain outside intensified, pattering noisily against the remaining eaves of the dilapidated temple.