Spy's Probe, Twisted Logic Averts Disaster

As dawn broke, Chen Wuya woke up. He didn't open his eyes, but his ears twitched, catching the sound of footsteps approaching the woodpile outside. The steps were light, yet each landing was a beat slower than normal, as if deliberately paced to draw attention.

He knew who it was.

After Old Wu Tou's words last night, he understood today wouldn't be peaceful. As expected, less than an hour later, the person had arrived.

He rolled over and sat up, his shoulder tightening, a dull ache radiating from his ribs as if an iron wire were being pulled back and forth inside. He made no sound, merely threw on his outer coat, lifted the curtain, and stepped outside.

The spy was standing by the well, holding an empty wooden bucket, but his gaze was fixed on Chen Wuya's feet. Seeing him emerge, the spy smiled, "Up early, aren't we?"

"Couldn't sleep soundly," Chen Wuya rubbed his temples. "Someone was chasing me in my dreams."

"Oh?" The spy put down the bucket and took two steps closer. "The person chasing you, did they also walk strangely? Wobbling this way and that, like a drunkard?"

Chen Wuya's heart sank.

Here it comes.

He forced a smile. "You're actually right! That person was limping, leaning on a cane, walking all crooked, but I couldn't shake him. I got desperate, so I started walking like him—hey, I learned it just like that!"

The spy's eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "So your current footwork, you learned it from someone in your dream?"

"Isn't that right?" Chen Wuya patted his pant leg, casually picking up a carrying pole. "He's an immortal, specializing in teaching life-saving skills. Isn't it funny? I fell into a pit a few days ago, about to be crushed to death, when I suddenly remembered the limping immortal's gait. With a twist and a slip like that, I actually rolled out!"

As he spoke, he demonstrated a few steps, dragging his left foot and rising on his right toes, his body tilting so precariously he almost fell.

The spy stared at him, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.

"Aren't you afraid people will think you're crazy?"

"What's wrong with being crazy?" Chen Wuya grinned. "A living crazy person is smarter than a dead genius. Want to try it too? I'll take you to meet my master tomorrow, tell him you're my junior brother, and I guarantee you'll dodge swords and arrows, foolproof."

The spy's expression shifted, then he snorted, "Stop trying to fool me with these absurd stories. That footwork of yours is clearly the technique for bypassing traps, not something learned in a dream."

Chen Wuya shrugged. "You say bypassing traps? I can barely read a few characters, how would I understand traps? All I know is, if I walk a little crooked, the pits underfoot are less likely to swallow me. If you don't believe me, why don't you jump a couple of times yourself later?"

He spoke casually, as if it were the absolute truth. The spy opened his mouth, but for a moment, he couldn't retort.

To press the issue further would make him seem too serious; yet, to let it go felt wrong somehow.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment before the spy finally turned to leave, tossing back a parting shot, "Don't think you can get away with pretending to be stupid."

Chen Wuya watched his retreating back, his smile slowly fading.

He knew he had passed this hurdle. But the other party wouldn't give up easily.

He looked down at his feet. Those few steps earlier, though seemingly casual, had each secretly contained the flow of misaligned energy, the trajectory for borrowing and releasing force already ingrained in his instincts. The System whispered in his ear, "Error judgment: 'Universe Reversal Step' interpreted as learned from a dream. Rationalization complete, logical loop closed."

Ignoring the System's nagging, he turned towards the kitchen area.

Old Wu Tou sat on the edge of the well, holding his pipe, tapping its stone rim rhythmically. Three taps, a pause, then three more.

The same rhythm as last night.

Chen Wuya walked over and placed the hot water kettle he was carrying by the old man's feet. "Old man, have some hot water."

Old Wu Tou looked up at him, his expression unreadable through the smoke.

"Your immortal in the dream..." he began slowly, "does he have a surname?"

Chen Wuya smiled. "His surname is 'Misaligned,' and his name is 'Misaligned Practice Connects to Spirit.'"

Old Wu Tou paused, then let out a short sound from his nose, like a laugh, or perhaps a sigh. He tapped his pipe on the ground, got up using his cane, and walked away.

One step, two steps, three steps.

Each step landed on the dirt path, not fast, but incredibly steady.

Chen Wuya stood in place, his fingers tapping his knee unconsciously. The rhythm was still erratic, but this time, he felt a sense of response.

He knew Old Wu Tou had understood.

Not that he truly believed Chen Wuya had an immortal in his dreams, but that he understood Chen Wuya was using absurdities to hide the truth. And more importantly, he understood that by not exposing him, Old Wu Tou was reciprocating that trust.

For the rest of the day, he continued his work as usual. Carrying water, chopping wood, mending the leaky roof. His movements were a little slower than usual, his walk deliberately a bit unsteady, as if he hadn't slept well last night and his injuries had flared up.

The spy passed by several times, his gaze always lingering on Chen Wuya's feet. Once, as Chen Wuya bent down to pick up firewood, the spy suddenly asked, "Where did you work before?"

"A restaurant in the south of the city," he replied without looking up. "Served dishes, then I broke a bowl and got kicked out."

"A restaurant?" the spy sneered. "A waiter could learn this kind of footwork?"

"I didn't learn it," Chen Wuya straightened up, feigning innocence. "Like I said, I learned it in a dream. If you don't believe me, why don't you try dreaming tonight too? Maybe you'll dream of my master, and he'll teach you a few moves."

The spy's face darkened, and he asked no more questions.

The sun began to set, and smoke rose from the campfires. A few children chased each other in the open space, their laughter intermittent. Chen Wuya leaned against the woodpile, pretending to nap, his eyelids half-closed, but his ears perked.

He knew the real test wasn't over yet.

As expected, in the evening, the spy returned. This time, he carried a broken ceramic bowl, half-filled with murky soup.

"Here," he handed the bowl over. "We all chipped in, have some."

Chen Wuya took the bowl and sniffed it. It smelled of pickled vegetables mixed with a hint of moldy rice, nothing unusual.

But he didn't drink it.

"Thanks," he placed the bowl beside him. "I'll drink it later, I'm not hungry right now."

The spy stared at him, "You don't believe me?"

"How could I not," Chen Wuya smiled and shook his head. "I've just been eating too much coarse grain these past two days, and I get nauseous at the sight of soup. Please don't mind."

The spy let out a cold laugh, then turned and left.

Chen Wuya looked at the bowl of soup, his expression unreadable. Only after the other person was far away did he gently stir the bottom of the soup with his chopsticks. A few grains of fine sand settled at the bottom of the bowl, grayish in color, unlike naturally mixed dust.

He narrowed his eyes.

This wasn't poison, it was marking powder. Once consumed, the urine would change color, and any place he urinated when going out at night would leave a trace, making it easy to track him.

What a dirty trick.

He quietly moved the bowl behind the pile of firewood, then grabbed a handful of wet mud and smeared it on the rim of the bowl, pretending he had accidentally knocked it over.

As the sky completely darkened, the camp became much quieter. Most people had already fallen asleep, with only a few oil lamps still lit. Chen Wuya lay in his tent, eyes closed, his breathing steady.

In reality, he was wide awake.

His fingers tapped lightly on his knee, repeatedly simulating the power-up sequence of the "Universe Reversal Step." Misaligned energy flowed slowly within him, like a lurking snake, ready to strike at any moment.

He knew there might be new tricks tomorrow. Perhaps someone would pretend to fall to get him to help, seizing the opportunity to test his reaction speed; perhaps a stranger would suddenly call his name from behind, to see if he would instinctively dodge.

But he wasn't afraid.

The more absurd the question, the more absurd the answer to shut it down. As long as he didn't tell the truth, no one could find a flaw.

He turned over, his hand touching the broken stone at the corner of the tent. He had left it there when drawing the "X" during the day, and he had even deliberately added an extra diagonal line, making the shape look messier.

If the spy truly understood the terminology of mechanical arts, they would know that it represented "two lines parallel, main path illusory." But he wouldn't admit to understanding it, otherwise, it would be like exposing his identity.

This game wasn't about martial arts, it was about brains.

He suddenly remembered the rhythm of Old Wu Tou tapping his pipe.

Three taps, a pause, three taps.

Not a signal, but a code. It meant "someone is watching you, be careful."

But why three?

He pondered for a moment, then suddenly opened his eyes.

There had been three suspicious individuals in the camp: A Qi, that skinny fellow with the basket, and this spy right in front of him. Three people, three lines, each operating independently.

And Old Wu Tou had seen through it all long ago.

He slowly exhaled, clenching the broken stone in his palm.

Outside the window, the wind rustled through the tent roof, making a swishing sound.

He sat up and gently moved his shoulders. The pain was still there, but it no longer hindered his actions.

Tomorrow, he had something to investigate.

Every time the spy approached the east wall, they would lower their head to look at a specific spot on the ground. There must be something there, a key marker they used to confirm contact signals.

He had to see for himself what it was.