Wilderness Survival, Misaligned Energy Saves a Life Again

Chen Wuya withdrew his fingers from the edge of the rotting leaves, his fingertips stained with damp soil and broken grass. He didn't get up immediately. Instead, he pressed his palm against the ground, sensing the vibrations of approaching footsteps from afar. The two were searching separately. One went deeper into the dense forest, while the other doubled back along the valley path, their steps growing increasingly urgent.

He knew his trick of leaping onto a horizontal branch and moving upside down wouldn't fool them for long.

Especially the one holding the compass. He didn't know how it worked, but that thing was incredibly accurate at sensing auras. His fake footprints could only delay them for a moment. Once they noticed something was off, they would lock onto him again.

He slowly exhaled, the tattered pages in his chest still warm, like embers just ignited and hidden within his clothes. That last fight had drained him too much. His true energy hadn't fully recovered, his kidney meridian still felt sluggish, and his left leg was slightly numb.

But now wasn't the time to meditate.

He pushed himself up, his movements gentle, using the bushes for cover as he moved towards the forest's edge. He deliberately slowed his pace with each step, treading on the soft layer of fallen leaves to avoid making any crisp sounds. All the while, he listened to three distinct movements—the pursuers behind him, the white figure in the moonlight among the treetops above, and the faint sound of water ahead.

The river was close.

He didn't look back, but he could feel the person in the tree was still there, motionless, like a stone embedded in the night. She hadn't left, hadn't made a sound, and hadn't alerted the Qingfeng disciples. That was enough.

At least she wasn't an enemy right now.

He lowered his body and pushed through the last row of shrubs. The area in front of him suddenly opened up. Before him lay a wilderness, the terrain sloping downwards. The weeds grew taller than a person, undulating like waves in the wind. In the distance, a dark line snaked along, and the sound of water crashing against rocks came intermittently, sometimes strong, sometimes weak.

That was it.

Just as he was about to step forward, he suddenly heard a muffled shout from the direction of the valley: "There are tracks!"

It was the disciple with the sword. He had already rushed out of the path and was standing on a rock platform, looking around. His gaze swept over the edge of the overgrown grass, his brow furrowed.

Chen Wuya's heart tightened. He immediately crouched down, grabbing a handful of wet soil and smearing it on his face and collar, then wrapping a few long blades of grass around his arm. This was a trick he'd learned as a child, watching street performers escape the constables—disguising himself as a vagrant or a servant, the most inconspicuous.

Then, instead of hiding, he suddenly stood up and leaped onto a nearby boulder.

"Your Qingfeng Sword Sect is such a great sect, yet you can't even tolerate a passerby?" he shouted loudly, deliberately raising his voice with a hint of mockery. "You're going to cripple my meridians just because I picked up a piece of scrap paper? Should your Sect Master burn all the books in the world then, to prevent anyone from reading incorrectly?"

The rock was nearly ten feet off the ground. He stood on it, his figure completely exposed.

The pursuers indeed stopped.

The sword-wielding disciple squinted at him, his long sword lifting slightly. He clearly hesitated for a moment. Such blatant provocation wasn't something a person fleeing for their life would say. Either he was crazy, or... he had another motive.

This momentary hesitation gave Chen Wuya his chance.

He exerted force under his feet, but instead of running in a straight line, he jumped back off the rock. As his right foot landed, he deliberately slipped, falling into the grass at an angle. This fall, though seemingly clumsy, actually incorporated a new variation of the Universe Reversal Step—he wasn't pursuing speed but disrupting the rhythm.

A normal person fleeing would choose a straight line; he took a curved path. Others feared tripping; he actively stumbled. One faltering step, two chaotic steps, and then, on the third step, he suddenly accelerated, like a broken dance move abruptly connected to the next section.

The system seemed to sense his intention, and the cold voice in his mind sounded again: "Unconventional movement mode detected, path reconstruction initiated."

A warm current rose from his belt meridian, instantly flowing through both legs. His kidney meridian, previously blocked by forcibly reversing his breathing, also quietly cleared, and the numbness in his left leg vanished instantly.

Using the cover of the undulating grass, he disappeared into the depression in just a few leaps.

An angry roar came from behind: "Cunning! He's playing us!"

"Don't lose him! The deacon ordered it, dead or alive!"

But when the two arrived at the rock platform, they only saw a mess of footprints extending into the tall grass, varying in depth and direction, making it impossible to determine their authenticity.

"This footwork... it's not by the book," the one with the compass frowned, crouching down and lightly touching the ground. "But his internal energy clearly follows the path of the Canglang Art. Why is his footwork so strange?"

"Who cares what unorthodox method it is, just chase him!" The other had already leaped off the rock platform and charged into the grass with his sword.

However, after only a dozen yards, they suddenly felt the terrain underfoot becoming complex. The depression had formed pools of water, and reeds grew thickly. If they weren't careful, they could get stuck in mud pits. Further ahead, sheer cliffs and steep slopes crisscrossed, making it unsuitable for coordinated attacks.

"He led us here... intentionally," the one with the compass finally realized something was wrong. "This place isn't suitable for a two-person encirclement."

"Then let's split up and search!"

"No, those words earlier might not have been provocation, but a test of our reaction. This person likely understands sword principles."

The two exchanged glances, seeing the apprehension in each other's eyes.

Meanwhile, Chen Wuya had already crossed a low slope and was resting behind a dry riverbed, catching his breath. He leaned against a flat stone, his palm pressed against his chest, feeling the warmth of the tattered pages. The series of actions just now had nearly exhausted him, but clearer than the fatigue was a new understanding.

Misaligned energy wasn't about recklessness.

It was about using the opponent's blind spots as a weapon.

They assumed a fugitive would seek speed, but he deliberately moved slowly. They thought a master's footwork would be orderly, but he deliberately made it chaotic and reversed. They relied on the compass to track his aura, so he used fake movements to disrupt their judgment.

The more he defied common sense, the faster the system compensated.

Like water, it doesn't flow in a straight line.

He closed his eyes, recalling the leap, the fall, the slip, and suddenly understood—the so-called "Universe Reversal Step" shouldn't focus on posture, only on the result. As long as it could make the enemy misjudge, even crawling on his belly would be correct.

He opened his eyes and looked ahead.

The riverbank was now within sight. Dark water flowed, reflecting broken light. The bank was rugged with stones, and a few dead trees jutted out, like skeletal arms reaching for life.

He pushed himself up, leaning on the stone wall, preparing to move on. Suddenly, he heard a faint rustling sound from above.

He looked up. A horizontal branch swayed slightly, and through the gaps in the leaves, a corner of a white robe flashed again.

It was her again.

Chen Wuya stopped, not approaching, not making a sound. After a moment, he spoke softly, "You also think... they're practicing it wrong?"

The figure in the tree paused slightly.

Then, the hand wearing the deerskin glove slowly raised and made a "shushing" gesture.

Chen Wuya's lips curved into a slight smile, and he didn't press further. He turned and walked towards the riverbank, his steps much steadier than before.

He knew some people wouldn't easily state their stance, but they also wouldn't easily harm others. She stayed there, not to catch him, nor to save him.

Just to watch.

To see if this kid, whom everyone called a "heretic madman," could truly forge a new path no one had ever walked before.

The wind whipped up his coarse cloth tunic, and the faded blue sash around his waist fluttered noisily. He walked step by step towards the river, his feet making soft sounds on the gravel.

Just as he was about to step onto the riverbank, he suddenly stopped.

He looked down at his right hand.

Fine sweat had seeped into his palm at some point, and his fingertips trembled slightly. It wasn't from fear, but a premonition—as if taking one more step would fully awaken the misaligned energy within him, making it impossible to turn back.

He slowly clenched his fist, then loosened it.

Then, he murmured to himself, "The next step... where should I 'misalign'?"