Dawn had barely broken when the wind outside the tent died down. Chen Wuya opened his eyes, his fingertips still resting against the edge of his pack. The coarse cloth embroidered with the character "Zhao" had gone limp from being clenched in his fist. Last night's cat cries had been a signal, the spy had repaired the signal line, and Old Wu Tou had answered with three taps of his cane. He had taken in all three movements.
He sat up, the old wound in his shoulder pressing down on his breath, but he did not hurry to move. He ran through the enemy's attack route in his mind: men coming from the western slope, the eastern entrance sealed, the granary set ablaze, and the entire camp drugged. One man could not watch all four sides, but if someone could lead people out through a path of survival amid the chaos, they might still turn the tables.
He stared at the rough map of the camp he had sketched on the ground, his gaze settling between the well and the woodpile. There was a gap there. The spy had not marked it, but Old Wu Tou passed that way every night when making his rounds before circling back. His steps were steady, his route familiar, as though he had trodden it for more than a decade.
This man could be used.
Not through strength, but through brains. And brains were harder to guard against than martial skill.
He lifted the flap and stepped outside. Morning mist floated close to the ground, and smoke was already rising from the camp. Several children crouched by the stove, blowing on the fire. A woman carrying a wooden basin passed by, slipped underfoot, and nearly fell. At the entrance of the shed beside them, Old Wu Tou leaned on his jujube-wood cane and slowly coughed twice.
Chen Wuya rounded a corner and deliberately dragged his right leg as he approached him, limping along. The cane struck the ground harder than usual, as if his injury had worsened.
"Uncle." He leaned against the shed post and caught his breath. "I'm afraid this leg of mine is going to be useless."
Old Wu Tou looked up at him, his brow knitting slightly. "The wind was strong last night. You should've covered yourself better."
"It's not the wind." Chen Wuya shook his head. "I practiced the steps wrong."
Old Wu Tou did not answer. He merely took a puff of his pipe and lightly tapped the bowl against the stone edge.
"Do you believe in dreams?" Chen Wuya suddenly asked.
"Dreams?" Old Wu Tou snorted. "A living person's deeds can't be fixed by dreams."
"But I dreamed of an old man with a white beard." Chen Wuya grinned. "He said I'd practiced this Universe Reversal Step backward, and that had actually opened up my meridians. If I followed the proper route, I'd end up paralyzed instead."
Old Wu Tou narrowed his eyes. "You really practiced it?"
"I did, but no one taught me." Chen Wuya sat down against the post and slapped his knee. "I just stumbled around blindly. My left foot stepped on my right shadow, my right foot trod on my left soul. The more muddled my mind became, the steadier my feet were. Don't you think that's strange?"
Old Wu Tou fell silent for a moment, his gaze dropping to the footprints. Two lines of tracks crossed crookedly through the mud. They seemed chaotic, yet barely varied in depth, as though someone had merely skimmed over the ground.
"So now are you nursing an injury, or practicing a skill?"
"Both." Chen Wuya smiled, dimples appearing in his cheeks. "The injury is fake, but the strength is real. When you escorted caravans, did you ever see footwork like this?"
"Never." Old Wu Tou shook his head. "But I know that people who walk slowly often see the road clearly."
"Then would you like to give it a try?" Chen Wuya suddenly looked up. "Just to loosen your muscles and bones. I'll say one thing, and you take one step. It doesn't matter whether it's right or wrong. I've made my way through nothing but mistakes."
Old Wu Tou stared at him for a long while before finally straightening slightly on his cane. "Tell me."
"First retreat, then advance." Chen Wuya slowly rose and turned his back to him. "Draw your left foot back half a foot, but don't let your center of gravity drop. Slide your right foot sideways, skimming the ground. Your mind must be muddled. Don't think about where the next step will go."
Old Wu Tou hesitated, then followed his instructions. His movements were stiff, like joints that had not moved in years being forcibly twisted open.
"Wrong." Chen Wuya looked back. "You're taking it too seriously. This isn't practicing a skill; it's wrestling. Imagine you're drunk. The sky is spinning and the earth is turning, but you just don't fall."
Old Wu Tou frowned and tried again. His steps were a little looser this time, but still too rigid.
"Loosen up more." Chen Wuya simply began walking himself, deliberately weaving and staggering as he muttered, "My left foot steps on my right shadow, my right foot treads on my left soul. The more muddled the mind, the steadier the step... Ah, that's it! Sway like this!"
He suddenly stumbled and nearly crashed into the shed. Old Wu Tou instinctively reached out to steady him, but Chen Wuya grabbed his wrist.
"Don't worry about balance!" Chen Wuya shook off his hand. "Let it scatter! Only once it scatters can you gather it back!"
He started forward again. This time he looked nothing like someone walking. He seemed to be pushed along in a drunken stagger, veering left and right, sometimes fast and sometimes slow. Yet every footfall landed without the slightest sound.
Old Wu Tou stood where he was, and his expression changed.
"Give it a try." Chen Wuya stopped and panted. "Don't think about techniques. Just think of the time you escorted caravans: the horse panicked, the cart overturned, and how you rolled out of the fire."
Old Wu Tou's breathing grew heavier.
He slowly raised his left foot, drew it back, and slid his right foot sideways. His body tilted with it, as though he were about to fall, but then he twisted with the momentum and actually stabilized himself.
"That's it!" Chen Wuya slapped his thigh. "That's the feeling! Don't be afraid of crookedness. The crooked survive longer!"
Old Wu Tou walked through it again, his steps lighter this time. On the third pass, he suddenly stopped. His body froze for an instant, as though something had tugged at him. Then he slid half a step, perfectly avoiding the spot where a loose broken beam above would have crashed down.
He was stunned.
But Chen Wuya merely smiled. "That move just now was Reversing Heaven and Earth."
"I... I've never learned it."
"Who said you had to learn it?" Chen Wuya spread his hands. "You stumbled it out, crashed it out, and escaped it out. That's the real skill."
Old Wu Tou lowered his head and studied his footprints. Two lines of marks crossed the mud, just like Chen Wuya's—crooked and disorderly, yet so shallow they were nearly invisible.
"This footwork... can it save lives?"
"More than that." Chen Wuya lowered his voice. "Tomorrow, at a quarter past the hour of the Dragon, people will come from the western slope, and the eastern entrance will be sealed. If you can lead people out through the well, you can save at least half of them."
Old Wu Tou abruptly raised his head. "You know they're going to strike?"
"I know." Chen Wuya nodded. "But I can't hold them back alone. You're the steadiest person here. As long as you can use these steps, the others can follow you and survive the chaos."
Old Wu Tou remained silent for a long time, tapping his cane against the ground. "You had me learn some crooked logic, only to send me to my death?"
"Not to your death." Chen Wuya fixed his gaze on him. "To lead a path of survival out."
Old Wu Tou said nothing more. He turned and entered the shed. Chen Wuya did not follow, merely standing where he was and lightly tapping his fingers against his knee three times. He paused, then tapped three more times.
A moment later, the sound of a cane rang out.
Old Wu Tou emerged with a pair of old cloth shoes in his hands. The soles had been worn white.
"Put these on." He held them out.
Chen Wuya froze. "These..."
"Your soles are too soft. You won't get far." Old Wu Tou cut him off. "When I was young and escorting caravans, I could walk for three days and three nights without stopping. These shoes were what carried me. I'm giving them to you now. Don't complain that they're dirty."
Chen Wuya accepted them without refusing and changed into them on the spot. They were neither too large nor too small, as if they had been made to fit his feet.
"Back then... which caravan route did you actually travel?"
Old Wu Tou did not answer. He only said, "Go through those steps again."
Chen Wuya nodded and demonstrated once more. This time he slowed down, breaking down each step as he explained, "First retreat, then advance. My left foot steps on my right shadow, my right foot treads on my left soul. The more muddled the mind, the steadier the step..."
Old Wu Tou followed along. His movements remained stiff, but he was no longer bound by rules. On the fifth pass, he suddenly sped up. His whole body seemed to be blown along by the wind, yet he still made no sound at all.
Chen Wuya's eyes lit up.
System mutter: Error assessment: interpreted "Universe Reversal Step" as Drunken Step Afterimage. Rationalization complete. Derived effect: the user can unconsciously evade sudden dangers.
He said nothing, merely watching Old Wu Tou avoid another shower of fallen thatch from the shed roof, his movements even more natural than before.
It had worked.
This footwork had not been taught. It had been "mistaken" into existence. And Old Wu Tou happened to be someone who understood mistakes.
"Again!" Chen Wuya shouted.
Old Wu Tou did not stop. He continued walking. Once, twice, his steps grew smoother and smoother, as though he had found something long lost.
Chen Wuya sat beneath the shed and watched the morning light spill across the muddy ground, reflecting two crooked lines of footprints. He knew that tomorrow's battle could no longer be borne by one person alone.
He needed a way out.
And he needed someone who could lead others out of a dead end.
Old Wu Tou stopped and caught his breath, sweat beading at his temples.
"You remember it." Chen Wuya spoke softly. "Tomorrow at this time, wait for me by the well."
Old Wu Tou nodded and turned away on his cane. When he reached the shed entrance, he suddenly stopped.
"Your crooked logic..." With his back to Chen Wuya, he asked, "Can it really save lives?"
"I don't talk about logic." Chen Wuya smiled. "I only talk about survival."
Old Wu Tou did not turn around. His cane tapped the ground three times, each strike light.
Just like last night.
Chen Wuya lowered his head, his fingers lightly tapping the ground against his knee.
Three short taps, three short taps.
A silent reply.
Smoke curled up from the camp's cooking fires. Children played in the distance. A woman hung wet clothes, and droplets fell from the corners of the fabric, striking the mud and leaving tiny pits.
Chen Wuya suddenly remembered something. He pulled the escort agency's rag from his pack and spread it across his palm. Sunlight fell on the character "Zhao." The hemp threads had faded somewhat, but the stitches remained clear.
He stared at it for a while, then slowly folded it into a triangle and tucked it into the inner layer of his sleeve.
Then he raised his head and looked toward the camp's eastern wall.
There was a crack there, and the earth around it had been freshly turned.
He remembered that last night the spy had added a short horizontal stroke over it.
Now, that horizontal line was gone.
Before you continue