Rainwater dripped from Chen Wuya's fingers, while the sensation of his palm pressed against the muddy ground remained vivid. He could sense the direction of the underground chains as they spread like a spiderweb, every node concealing murderous intent. Misaligned Force circulated slowly through his meridians. It was no longer frenzied, but instead had become steady and keen, as if it could burrow deeper through the cracks in the earth.
There were three pressure points and two tension-trigger mechanisms. The main shaft's path was buried deepest, clearly meant to force people down the middle. But the more conspicuous a path was, the less it could be touched.
He slowly withdrew his hand, wiped the wet mud on his fingertips against his trouser leg, and rubbed them clean. The wound on his right arm was still oozing blood, but he had no time to deal with it now. He stared at the path ahead, half-hidden by wild grass—the place Old Wu Tou usually entered and left from. The ground there was slightly higher, with less standing water, and the grass blades had fallen in a different direction from those elsewhere, as if people often trampled them.
This was the path.
He braced himself and rose, moving slowly without taking a step right away. First, he lightly tapped the mud ahead with the tip of his left foot. The ground sank slightly, but no strange sound was triggered. He moved another half-foot forward and tested it again. One step, one pause, as if measuring the distance between life and death.
As he neared the first flip-board trap, the earth beneath his feet grew noticeably soft. He remembered the academy teacher saying, "If your center of gravity does not shift, your body will not tilt." But now, he deliberately intended to do the opposite. He drew in his waist and back, pulled his center of gravity rearward, and dragged his left foot along the ground. His sole skimmed diagonally over the mud, like sand carried away by water at low tide, leaving no trace.
His body tilted slightly, almost toppling over, yet in the instant before he triggered the mechanism, he unloaded all his weight. He rotated Misaligned Force through his body, guided the force to his left, and lightly tapped a half-buried stone slab beside him with his right foot. With a small leap, he cleared the edge of the pit.
He landed without a sound.
The second trap was a suspended bell and tripwire. A copper bell hung from the top of a broken wooden stake, swaying lightly in the wind. Beneath it, an iron wire ran almost level with the ground, easy to overlook without a close look. He crouched and pulled a pebble from his robes. With a flick of his knuckle, he sent the stone flying toward the open ground ahead.
The bell rang out sharply.
The instant the sound exploded, he had already dropped low and rolled into the grass on his right. He slid several feet forward with the momentum, avoiding any possible blind spot in their vision. Grass blades cut across his cheek, carrying the coolness of rainwater. Only after the bell fell silent and the surroundings returned to stillness did he slowly raise his head and sweep his gaze across the camp entrance.
Several dilapidated tents stood scattered about. Some had been patched with oiled cloth, while others were simply propped up with branches. The outer stakes leaned crookedly, and the trenches had caved in, making the place look utterly decrepit. Yet he knew that beneath this surface desolation lurked fresh murderous intent.
He stood, patted the muddy water from his shoulder, and deliberately made some noise, even making his footsteps heavier. Just as he reached the inner side of the camp gate, a cough came from behind him.
When he turned, a thin old man stood before the nearest tent, leaning on a jujube-wood cane. His gray-white hair clung to his temples, and his face was crosshatched with wrinkles, yet his eyes were not muddy like those of an ordinary old man. Instead, they held an indescribable clarity.
The two stared at each other for a moment.
Chen Wuya smiled and raised a hand to wipe the rain from his face. "Damn weather. I almost fell into a pit."
Old Wu Tou did not answer. His gaze fell on the ground Chen Wuya had just crossed. His lips moved slightly as he muttered, "That step of yours... crooked in a clever way."
Chen Wuya's heart tightened, but not a trace of it showed on his face. He scratched his head. "What're you saying, sir? I was just wandering around blindly. After falling enough times, you naturally learn how not to fall."
Old Wu Tou narrowed his eyes and examined him from head to toe. Then he suddenly nodded. "Anyone who can make it here alive is no simple person." With that, he turned and walked inward with his cane, his steps steady and utterly unimpeded.
After walking a few paces, he stopped again. With his back to Chen Wuya, he said, "The third tent on the eastern end is empty. If you want to stay, go in yourself."
As soon as his voice faded, he vanished into the curtain of rain.
Chen Wuya stood where he was and did not move at once. He watched the direction Old Wu Tou had gone, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the blue cloth sash around his waist. That footwork had been developed in the streets and alleys during his early days of escaping school. It was called the Universe Reversal Step, but in truth, it pieced together every awkward movement, forcibly linking them with Misaligned Force to form a bizarre yet effective way of moving. Even he could not explain its principles clearly. He only felt that the more awkward a movement was, the better it could evade danger.
But Old Wu Tou's glance just now had been far too accurate.
He shook his head and stopped thinking about it, then headed east. The third tent stood alone in a corner. Some firewood and straw were piled beside it, and the flap was a blackened hemp cloth that gave a faint ripping sound when he lifted it.
Inside were only a low bed and a broken earthen jar. A chipped oil lamp sat in the corner. He entered and casually lowered the flap, cutting off the wind and rain outside. The air smelled moldy, mixed with the scent of dried grass. It was not pleasant, but at least it kept out the wind and rain.
He sat against the edge of the bed, and only then did the pain in his right arm truly surge up. When he undid the cloth bandage, he saw that the wound had reddened, with slight swelling around its edges. He rummaged through his pack, took out a small porcelain bottle, sprinkled some pale-yellow medicinal powder over the wound, and bandaged it again.
Misaligned Force slowly completed a circuit through his body. The lightning serpent deep in his dantian was still lying dormant, but it was far more stable than before. The system gave no notification, yet he could feel the changes brought by the lightning tribulation gradually merging into him. With every breath, his meridians seemed to have been combed anew. Even while injured, they were more open and unobstructed than before.
He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing for a moment, when he suddenly heard movement outside.
It was not footsteps, but the faintest sound of metal rubbing against metal. It was so slight that he would have been unable to notice it had his mind not been so intensely focused. He opened his eyes and stared at the crack beneath the tent flap.
A shadow flashed past.
It was not a human shadow, but a strangely shaped device mounted between two tents. A crossbar extended outward, with a piece of black iron hanging from its end. Beneath it, a taut line pressed close to the ground and ran straight to somewhere below. He recognized that structure—it was a modified crossbow trigger. Once someone stepped on the ground wire, the iron weight would fall, pull the mechanism, and fire hidden arrows.
And there was more than one.
He had witnessed Mo Feng's mechanism arts at the ruined temple. These were not as intricate, but their arrangement was more patient, as if they were specifically waiting for someone to walk in step by step.
Who was it?
The Qingfeng disciples? Or someone else?
He recalled Old Wu Tou's words: "Anyone who can make it here alive is no simple person." The tone had not sounded like praise, but more like confirmation of something.
He stood and went to the entrance, gently lifting the flap a crack. The rain had eased somewhat. The camp remained quiet, with only cooking smoke rising from several stoves and twisting away through the damp, cold air. Several people who looked like refugees huddled before their tents, heads lowered as they gnawed on coarse-grain cakes. No one spoke.
Everything seemed ordinary.
But he knew that some things could not be hidden.
Such as the iron wire that should not have been there, the crossbow mechanism set at such a treacherous angle, and the way Old Wu Tou had looked at him.
He retreated into the tent, sat cross-legged, and placed his hands on his knees as Misaligned Force slowly sank into his dantian. He could not act rashly now, nor could he reveal that he had noticed anything unusual. He needed time, and he needed an identity.
At least within this camp, he had to survive first.
The rain outside continued to fall, pattering against the tent roof.
He suddenly thought of how he had fled for his life all along the way, been hunted, and accidentally learned an astonishing technique. Now he even had to calculate the mechanisms beneath his feet just to walk. Was it laughable? Perhaps.
But he had survived.
And he was beginning to understand one thing more and more: What others saw as a wrong path might not be impassable.
As long as one walked crookedly enough—crooked to the extreme—it could instead become the only path to survival.
He opened his eyes and looked toward the oil lamp in the corner.
The wick was nearly extinguished. Its flame wavered, reflected on the wall like a trembling crack.
He reached for the earthen jar, poured out half a bowl of clear water, and slowly took a sip. The water was slightly bitter, carrying the smell of mud, but he drank it steadily.
Then he set down the bowl and closed his eyes again.
Misaligned Force circulated silently through his meridians, following the new path opened by the lightning tribulation, one circuit, then another.
Outside the tent, the rain gradually died down.
Before you continue