At daybreak, the camp was still washed in gray-white light. Chen Wuya stepped out of his tent. The wound on his shoulder had stopped bleeding, but every time he raised his arm, it felt as though a fine thread were tugging beneath his flesh. He did not fetch water or chop wood. Instead, he stood beneath the lean-to, staring at the tattered tent where Old Wu Tou lived.
Last night, the old man had come carrying a lantern. He had not spoken plainly, yet he had exposed Chen Wuya's venture outside. It was more than a warning or a test. Chen Wuya had to find out exactly how much the other man knew.
Before long, Old Wu Tou came out of his tent leaning on his cane. His movements were slow, but his steps were steady. He walked to the well, set down the wooden bucket, and bent to pull the rope. The veins stood out on his hands, and his knuckles were thick and large. He did not look like an old man who had been unable to do heavy labor for years.
Chen Wuya walked over and took the well rope from him. "Let me."
Old Wu Tou glanced at him without objecting, then stepped back half a pace and leaned against the well.
Once the bucket came up, Chen Wuya poured it into the basin and lifted a second bucket. As he worked, he said, "The wind died down last night. I actually slept pretty well."
Old Wu Tou gave a quiet "Mm," his eyes settling on the bandages wrapped around Chen Wuya's right arm. "You didn't sleep all that peacefully."
Chen Wuya smiled. "I took a few falls in my dreams. I only realized they hurt after I woke up."
"You can practice martial arts in your dreams too?" Old Wu Tou asked.
"Why not?" Chen Wuya wiped the droplets from his face. "When walking, you don't have to follow the road. Stepping into mud can actually save effort. The same goes for martial arts—you don't have to follow the manuals. Even taking a tumble can produce true force. Wouldn't you agree?"
Old Wu Tou did not laugh. Instead, he nodded. "It sounds absurd, but when you think about it... it does make some sense."
Chen Wuya's heart stirred. An ordinary person would either take such words as a joke or think him deranged. Yet this old man had actually followed his line of thought.
He decided to probe further. "I've been thinking that things you can't achieve through proper training might instead come from crashing around blindly. Take the way I walk, for example. Some people say it's an illness. I say it's a martial art."
"Oh?" Old Wu Tou looked up at him. "Then who did you learn this 'martial art' from?"
Here it came.
Chen Wuya had expected the question. He lowered his head and stared at his toes, as if recalling something, then smiled. "No one taught me. In my dream, there was a lame old man hobbling around with a cane. I followed him for three laps, and when I woke up, I knew how."
Old Wu Tou stared at him, his gaze calm, as if he wanted to see through every word Chen Wuya spoke.
After a moment, he did not press further. He only said slowly, "You learned it in a dream? That's not so strange. Some things can't be mastered through proper training. Instead, you crash around blindly until you stumble upon a way."
Chen Wuya's fingertips trembled faintly.
That was not a casual response. Only someone who knew the field could say something like that.
He played dumb, but the other man used one seemingly flat remark to lightly lift the veil from his background—neither exposing him nor letting him off, as if waiting for Chen Wuya to take the next step himself.
The air fell silent for a moment.
Chen Wuya suddenly crouched and picked up a piece of gravel. On the ground, he drew two lines that crossed into a crooked "X."
"Look, according to common sense, when two roads intersect, you have to choose one." He pointed at the crossing. "But what if I refuse to choose? If I jump over the middle, wouldn't that count as another way of walking?"
Old Wu Tou lowered his head and looked at the crooked line. After several silent breaths, he suddenly laughed. "A slow walker hasn't necessarily taken the wrong path. And the fast one doesn't necessarily arrive first."
Chen Wuya looked up. "What... do you mean?"
"Nothing." Old Wu Tou planted his cane and turned to leave. "I just think some people look as though they're stumbling, but they know exactly where their feet are landing."
Chen Wuya did not move. He remained crouched where he was, his fingers unconsciously tapping against his knee. The rhythm was still wrong, but it was much steadier than it had been a few days ago.
Old Wu Tou walked several steps, then suddenly stopped.
"You went outside the woods last night," he said. His tone was calm, sounding less like an interrogation than a statement of something he had long known.
Chen Wuya did not deny it. "I did."
"Did you see it?"
"I did."
Old Wu Tou did not turn around. His voice dropped slightly. "Then you should understand that not everyone can come out of this place alive."
"So I'm still alive, which means I had no intention of telling anyone."
"But there are plenty of living people." Old Wu Tou spoke slowly. "Some keep their mouths shut, and some open them. Which kind do you intend to be?"
Chen Wuya gazed at his hunched back. "I want to live a little longer."
Old Wu Tou finally turned around. His gaze drove into Chen Wuya's face like a pair of nails. "Then you must think clearly about when to play dumb and when to speak. Don't wait until your words come too late and your life is gone with them."
With that, he left with his cane. His steps remained slow, yet each one landed solidly, as if he were stepping along an invisible formation line.
Chen Wuya stood beside the well without saying anything else.
He knew that exchange had been neither a warning nor an attempt to recruit him. It had been a test.
The old man had already sensed that he was no ordinary person and understood that he had taken action the night before. Yet he had not exposed Chen Wuya's identity or stopped him. Instead, he had left behind an ambiguous reminder.
This old man was no simple character.
Chen Wuya lowered his head and looked at the "X" the rain had washed pale. He reached out and wiped across it, and the mark vanished at once.
In the days that followed, he continued fetching water, carrying firewood, and repairing the shelters. By day, he worked like everyone else. At night, he sat cross-legged and regulated his breathing, letting Misaligned Force circulate slowly through his meridians and mend the hidden injuries left by the thunderfire's lingering power.
He also began paying attention to Old Wu Tou's routine. Every morning at the fifth watch, the old man would walk alone to the foot of the camp's eastern wall and sit against the packed-earth wall for a while. He held his jujube-wood cane in his hand and remained there for the time it took half a stick of incense to burn.
Once, Chen Wuya deliberately got up late and took a detour past that spot. Old Wu Tou had already left, but a shallow mark remained on the ground—a small depression made by the tip of his cane. Its depth was consistent, and its spacing even, like some kind of signal.
He crouched down and measured the distance with his finger.
Seven inches and three tenths.
Not more, not less.
He remembered that a fragment of the Canglang Art had mentioned how old martial-world couriers often used "seven-inch steps" as a cipher unit. One step represented one person, while seven inches represented one sentry post. If this truly was a signal, then perhaps what Old Wu Tou left behind each day recorded changes in numbers?
Once the thought arose, he could no longer suppress it.
That night, he quietly approached the eastern wall under cover of darkness. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and the camp was unnaturally quiet. He lay behind a stack of firewood, watching the stretch of packed-earth wall.
Just after midnight, Old Wu Tou appeared.
Leaning on his cane, he walked over step by step, his movements still unhurried. When he reached the corner, he stopped, raised his cane, and lightly tapped the ground three times.
The sound was extremely faint, almost scattered by the wind.
But Chen Wuya heard it clearly.
Three taps, evenly spaced and identical in force.
Then Old Wu Tou sat down against the wall and closed his eyes, as if waiting for someone.
Chen Wuya held his breath, not daring to move.
After roughly the time it took to drink a cup of tea, a shadow flashed past the edge of the distant woods.
It was not A Qi.
The newcomer wore coarse cloth and had a small, thin build. Carrying a bamboo basket, he furtively climbed over the wall and headed straight for the granary on the northern side.
Old Wu Tou opened his eyes and glanced at the figure before closing them again.
Chen Wuya's heart jolted.
So there was more than one spy.
A Qi was from the Northern Desert, but this newcomer clearly belonged to another faction. And Old Wu Tou seemed to have known about him all along.
He quietly retreated to his tent and sat on the edge of the bed without lighting a lamp.
In the darkness, he circulated Misaligned Force once more, his true qi slowly traveling through his limbs. This time, he guided a thread of force toward the soles of his feet, imitating the method of exertion used in the Universe Reversal Step.
His left foot dragged lightly, his center of gravity shifted back, and his right foot tapped down before lifting away—
Just as he was about to complete the third step, footsteps sounded outside the door.
They were very light, but their rhythm was distinct.
He immediately retracted his force and leaned against the wall.
The door flap was lifted. Old Wu Tou stood at the entrance without a lantern, but his eyes gleamed in the darkness.
"Are you practicing that footwork?" he asked.
Chen Wuya did not move. "Just practicing for fun."
Old Wu Tou walked in and swept his gaze around the tent, his eyes settling on Chen Wuya's feet. "Your footwork is crooked indeed, but somehow... it avoids the Gate of Death."
Chen Wuya's heart tightened.
The Gate of Death? That was terminology from the Thirteen Routes of Tiangang, referring specifically to the core trigger point of a mechanism or trap. Ordinary refugees would not understand it. Even many people from the martial world might never have heard of it.
How did Old Wu Tou know about it?
"What Gate of Death?" Chen Wuya asked, feigning confusion. "I'm only afraid of falling, so I walk a little crooked."
Old Wu Tou stared at him for a long while before suddenly saying, "Twenty years ago, an escort convoy traveled the Northern Desert route. Seventy-two people set out. Only three returned."
Chen Wuya said nothing.
He knew this was not idle conversation.
Old Wu Tou's voice lowered. "The wind was this strong that night too. They lay in ambush behind a slope, waiting for the escort convoy to cross a bridge. The leader wielded a Fang Tian Ji and guarded a chest wrapped in red silk, fighting to the death without retreating."
He paused, his eyes growing distant. "But no one expected the last survivor to be an old escort master with a broken leg. He knew no martial arts. He only knew how to walk—crookedly, backward, sliding along the ground."
Chen Wuya's breathing hitched.
A Fang Tian Ji? A red-silk-wrapped chest? An old escort master with a broken leg?
Taken together, those words pointed to an incident that had long since vanished into the dust of history—the destruction of the Sky Eagle Escort Agency.
It had been a major event fifteen years ago. The Sky Eagle Escort Agency had been transporting a batch of secret documents north when it was ambushed by foreign tribes on the way. The entire convoy had been wiped out. The sole survivor was said to have been a menial servant who later disappeared without a trace.
Could it be...
Old Wu Tou slowly raised his hand and used the tip of his cane to draw an arc on the ground, crookedly rising from left to right.
"Look at this road," he said. "Walk it straight, and it's a dead end. But if you veer a little and take a bend... perhaps you can still get out."
Chen Wuya stared at the line for a long time without speaking.
He knew the other man had finally revealed the first glimpse of his true face.
It was neither a warning nor a test, but a handoff.
With a past, a sentence, and a crooked line, he was telling Chen Wuya: I have walked a dead end too. I survived by walking crookedly as well.
Outside the tent, the wind swept across the roof, whispering through it.
Old Wu Tou turned with his cane and walked to the entrance, where he suddenly stopped.
"If you want to know more," he said, "then you must first survive tomorrow."
Before you continue