Faking Death to Escape, Hidden Mysteries in the Ruined Temple

Rainwater streamed down through the gaps in the dilapidated temple's broken walls, splashing onto Chen Wuya's face and mixing with blood as it slid into the corner of his mouth. He remained still, his eyelids lowered, his breath so faint it was almost imperceptible. The scorched patterns on his chest still radiated a faint heat, but that power of lightning and fire had been suppressed deep within his dantian, lying dormant like a snake.

Three Qingfeng disciples stood before him, rainwater dripping from their scabbards, creating faint sounds on the muddy ground.

"Still breathing," the one who had crouched down withdrew his hand and said in a low voice. "But looking like this... he probably won't last long."

"The Sect Master wants the item, not the person," the third one sneered, reaching into Chen Wuya's embrace.

The moment his fingertips brushed the coarse cloth of Chen Wuya's robe, Chen Wuya's right-hand knuckles trembled infinitesimally—like wind rustling through dead leaves, unnoticed by anyone. The misaligned energy within him flowed silently, suppressing his heartbeat to near stillness, relying only on that wisp of electric snake in his dantian to sustain his life. Mo Feng remained perched on the beam, a silver nail held between his fingers, his gaze calm, not moving an inch.

That hand finally found the corner of a tattered page and tugged forcefully.

BOOM!

The ground suddenly trembled. A crack opened beneath the shrine, and rusted chains clattered. Several bronze spears shot out from underground, aiming for the roof! One of them struck a disciple's shoulder blade, pinning him to the ground, his scream abruptly cut short.

Chen Wuya had known about the traps here. When the stone slabs rose during the lightning tribulation and the array patterns appeared, he had already noticed the anomaly in the structure beneath his feet. Now, using the momentum, he relaxed his strength and rolled, dodging the second wave of darting spearheads, while simultaneously letting out a low cry: "Brother Mo, lend me some light!"

Mo Feng flicked his fan, and a diagram on the fan's surface flashed, casting a blue light onto the tattered pages. The silk scroll vibrated in response to the light, resonating with the array beneath the ground. The entire dilapidated temple emitted a low hum, as if sleeping bones were being awakened.

"What's going on!" The remaining two disciples retreated several steps in alarm, drawing their swords.

"You caused this trouble, you clean it up." Chen Wuya pushed himself up with his hand on the ground, his left arm supporting his body, his right hand flat on the floor. The misaligned energy flowed in reverse, guiding the residual lightning power into the array's core, following the still-pulsating earth veins.

Green light erupted from the ground fissures, mixed with sparks and the smell of scorched earth. The lightning and fire surged upwards, forcing the two disciples to leap back in panic, the hems of their robes instantly scorching.

"Since you want to see the Canglang Art..." he slowly stood up, his voice hoarse but devoid of any weakness, "then I'll give you a taste of 'Heavenly Lightning and Earth Fire'."

Before he finished speaking, he slammed his right palm onto the ground.

The entire temple foundation shook violently, the array patterns lit up completely, and bolts of lightning and fire shot out, sweeping through the hall. The incense burner exploded, the wooden pillars collapsed, and roof tiles rained down. One person, unable to dodge in time, was struck on the arm by a gout of flame, his sword flying from his grasp.

Chen Wuya seized the opportunity to flip and leap up, tearing off a blue cloth band with his left hand and quickly wrapping the tattered pages tightly around his waist. His right arm ached as if being sliced by a knife, but he could already sense the Canglang Misaligned Thunder circulating within his meridians; a mere thought could detonate it.

He looked at the disciple who had been pinned, his face filled with terror, struggling in vain.

"Next time..." he said coldly, "don't touch what doesn't belong to you."

His figure flickered, and he slammed into the ruined side wall. Bricks and stones collapsed in response, and he shot out like an arrow into the downpour.

Behind him, the two disciples roared and drew their swords, attempting to pursue, but were forced back by a new wave of erupting lightning and fire. Mo Feng stood on the beam, watching the figure disappear into the rain curtain, and chuckled softly: "This kid... he's not undergoing tribulation, he's defying fate." He closed his fan and leaped down, his figure merging into the night.

On the wilderness, the rain poured down.

Chen Wuya strode through the mud, sinking half a foot with every step. The rain stung his face, and the wound on his right arm continued to bleed, turning a faint red as it was washed by the rain. He dared not stop, relying on the misaligned energy circulating slowly within his body to maintain a semblance of consciousness.

From the direction of the dilapidated temple behind him, flames flickered, illuminating the silhouette of its collapsed corner. The lightning and fire had not extinguished, and the residual earth vein waves continued to reverberate, faintly visible as green light flashing beneath the ruins.

He lowered his head and glanced at his waist. The tattered pages were tightly wrapped by the cloth band, and the spot touching his skin still felt warm. When he resonated with the array patterns earlier, he had clearly seen the characters on the silk scroll twist and rearrange themselves, their strokes exactly matching the trajectory of the misaligned energy's circulation. It wasn't a martial arts incantation, but more like some kind of power that... guided rules.

"So the Canglang Art was wrong from the start?" he muttered. "Only by using the wrong method can one open the right door?"

As the thought arose, the System sounded in his consciousness: [Detected external energy interference, suspected residual array signal continuously tracking].

His heart tightened, and he quickened his pace.

This place couldn't be lingered in. Since the Qingfeng Sect had sent people to seize the tattered pages, it meant the news had already leaked. From now on, more people would be after him.

Ahead lay a low-lying wooded area, the shadows of the trees blurring into clumps in the rain. He gritted his teeth and stepped in, branches slapping against his shoulders, the cold dampness piercing his bones. Suddenly, his foot slipped, and he stumbled forward.

His palm pressed into the muddy water, but touched something hard.

He frowned, pushing aside the silt, revealing the edge of a stone slab. Carved on it was half of a fragmented array pattern, its lines fitting perfectly with the one he had seen beneath the dilapidated temple.

"Another one?" His heart trembled.

This was no coincidence. Three hundred years ago, three hundred and sixty altars were distributed across the Central Plains. This one before him was clearly one of them. And the reaction of the mechanism in the dilapidated temple just now was perhaps not merely defensive, but a kind of awakening mechanism—only when someone carrying the tattered pages touched specific nodes would clues be activated.

As he was about to examine it closely, the moment his fingertip brushed the carving, the stone slab suddenly vibrated slightly.

The soil loosened, and the entire stone slab slowly sank, revealing a deep, dark hole beneath. A warm current surged from the hole, carrying the scent of metal and ancient paper. On the inner walls of the hole, faint, intricate inscriptions could be seen, their arrangement matching the blank area on the back of the tattered pages.

Chen Wuya held his breath and reached in.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch the inscriptions, a whistle sounded from a distance.

He abruptly withdrew his hand and looked up. In the depths of the rain curtain, two points of light flickered, approaching. The sound of footsteps splashed through puddles with a rhythmic cadence, unlike ordinary martial artists.

Someone was tracking the lightning and fire.

He quickly pushed the stone slab back into place, covering the traces with mud, and then rolled into the bushes in the woods. Just as he concealed himself, two figures stepped into the edge of the woods.

Both wore the Qingfeng Sect's standard short tunics, carried fine swords at their waists, and had silver-thread cloud patterns embroidered on their chests—the mark of the Sect Master's personal guards.

"That lightning and fire just now definitely came from the direction of the dilapidated temple," one of them said, looking around. "He's heavily injured, he can't have gone far."

The other squatted down, examining the footprints on the muddy ground: "The bloodstains aren't dry yet, still seeping. He went this way."

"No need to chase too eagerly," the former sneered. "He took something he shouldn't have, and the earth veins will backlash. As long as he hasn't handed over the tattered pages, every step he takes will burn his meridians a little more. He won't last the night."

"Then we wait for him to fall?"

"No." The man stood up and looked towards the depths of the woods. "I'll go back to relay the message. You stay here and guard this area. Kill anyone you see, leave no survivors."

With that, he turned and left. The remaining man stood in the rain, sword in hand, his gaze sweeping over the bushes.

Chen Wuya lay on the ground, holding his breath, his right hand quietly pressed into the mud, the misaligned energy slowly gathering in his palm. He knew that if he attacked now, he could at most take one of them down. But revealing his position would be a death sentence.

He couldn't move.

The person paced a few steps, then suddenly bent down and picked up a broken-off leaf.

At the broken vein of the leaf, a faint trace of bloodstains could still be seen.

He narrowed his eyes and walked two steps towards the bushes.

Chen Wuya's five fingers slowly tightened, and lightning began to flicker in his palm.