Unreasonable Arguments Break the Stalemate, Spy Leader Appears

The spy's words had barely fallen silent when, before Chen Wuya could respond, dust swirled in the distance, and a black horse emerged from the haze. Its hooves struck the ground silently, as if treading on cotton, leaving only shallow imprints. The rider dismounted, their black robe trailing to the ground, an iron plaque at their waist glinting with the cold color of metal in the morning light. A mask covered half their face, revealing a pair of eyes, as black as a well, that stared at Chen Wuya as if intending to pin him to the spot.

"You're the brat who ruined three of my plans?"

The voice wasn't loud, but it pressed down on the chest, making it hard to breathe. Chen Wuya didn't move. He swallowed the dry rations in his mouth, brushed the crumbs off his hands, and chuckled, "Is it really necessary for the leader himself to come catch me? Or is it that your foreign race's intelligence system can only be salvaged by the boss showing up in person?"

The man didn't show anger, merely tilting his head slightly as if hearing something amusing. However, his two escorts had already spread out subtly. One hand rested on a bundle, the other's fingers were curled around a bulge at his waist, clearly indicating weapons hidden beneath their clothes.

Chen Wuya's gaze swept over them, his heart knowing: his escape route was sealed.

But he didn't retreat.

Instead, he took a step forward, pointing at the spy and saying, "This brother here wears a grey cloth robe and old straw shoes, and even his knife is hidden crookedly. But you, sir, with your black robe and iron plaque, look quite imposing—too bad, all this grandeur can't hide the guilty conscience underneath."

He paused, a grin spreading across his lips. "Last night, they were still muttering in the tent, 'The water tastes normal,' 'Can't figure out who switched it.' Listen, does that sound like the guilty conscience of a thief, or a proper officer investigating a case?"

The spy's expression shifted, his hand shooting towards his waist.

The leader, however, raised a hand to stop him.

He stared at Chen Wuya and spoke slowly, "You could see through the poisoning, switch the water without a trace, and even guess I would come... Impressive. But do you know why I must kill you myself?"

"I don't know," Chen Wuya shook his head. "But I guess it's because I always manage to survive in ways you can't imagine."

"Because you broke the rules," the leader said in a low voice. "The martial world has its order, and spies have their laws. You defied them all, yet you're still alive and well."

"Rules?" Chen Wuya laughed. "I was kicked out of the Academy when I was young. I couldn't memorize the Four Books and Five Classics, I couldn't master any martial arts, and even my posture was criticized. But here I am, alive and kicking, and I've played your men for fools. So, are the rules wrong, or are you too rigid?"

The leader's eyes flickered.

In an instant, the wind died down.

He raised his right hand, palm facing upwards. A dark gleam slid out from his sleeve – a short blade, entirely black, its edge tinged with a dark purple, as if soaked in poisoned blood.

Chen Wuya's pupils contracted.

This weapon was unusual. It wasn't of Central Plains make, nor was it something a common spy would use. It didn't look like it was meant for killing, but rather like a ritualistic murder weapon.

"You speak very well," the leader said, slowly closing in. "But the more you talk, the shorter your life."

Before he finished speaking, he was already there.

His speed was unnatural for a physical body; it was more like a shadow lunging across the ground. Chen Wuya instinctively retreated, but an old injury in his left leg caused a momentary hesitation, slowing his movement by half a beat. The black blade grazed his neck, bringing a chill, followed by a searing pain.

Blood welled up.

He stumbled back, hitting a tent pole, his shoulder going numb.

"The first strike was to let you speak," the leader said calmly, standing his ground. "The second strike is to cut out your tongue."

Chen Wuya took a breath, wiped his neck, his fingertips stained red. He looked down, then looked up and smiled. "Your blade is quite sinister, but it cuts like chopping wood, with no elegance at all. If you ask me, a weapon isn't about how sharp it is, but how it's used—for example, using it in reverse."

As he spoke, he actually raised his right hand, fingers contorted, and pointed towards his own chest in an extremely awkward manner.

The System instantly vibrated: [Error Detected: Reversing 'Canglang Art' true energy to surge through meridians, path extremely disordered. Rationalization initiated... Derivative martial art: Canglang Misaligned Thunder, generating.]

A scorching torrent of energy exploded from his dantian, surging against the flow of his meridians towards his acupoints. Chen Wuya's muscles tensed, his skin developing purplish-blue patterns, as if his veins were no longer carrying blood, but molten iron.

The leader's brow furrowed for the first time.

"Your true energy is in chaos; you won't live for three breaths."

"That's not certain," Chen Wuya gritted his teeth, his hands suddenly opening, palms facing the sky. "I'm someone who excels at living in ways that defy logic."

BOOM!

A blinding flash of lightning struck down from the sky, landing precisely between his palms. The air exploded, sand and stones flew, and the force didn't come from the clouds but seemed to be pulled from the very fabric of heaven and earth by the chaotic true energy within him – a residual bolt of thunder!

The leader blocked with his blade, but the shockwave had already arrived.

The black blade vibrated violently, his hand cracking, and he was sent flying backward, crashing heavily onto a dirt mound, his shoulder scorched black and emitting wisps of smoke.

His two escorts rushed forward to help him, but were caught by the residual force, stumbling back several steps. One of them immediately knelt, clutching his arm and trembling uncontrollably.

Chen Wuya stood there, his arms still shaking, his palms scorched black, his fingertips dripping blood. He looked down, breathing heavily, and laughed, "Looks like... absurd logic can also strike people."

The leader slowly stood up, blood seeping from the edge of his mask. He stared at Chen Wuya, his eyes no longer cold, but filled with a hint of astonishment.

"You're not practicing martial arts," he said in a low voice. "You're practicing dark arts."

"No," Chen Wuya flexed his wrist, each movement feeling like needles drilling between his bones. "I've taken everything you hold as truth and practiced it in reverse. Yet, it works."

He stepped forward, his gait unsteady, but he pressed on.

"You couldn't find out who switched the water because you only trust secret messages and informants; you didn't expect a lame boy to be able to move back and forth at night; you certainly didn't expect a good-for-nothing kicked out of the Academy to turn a cultivation technique into a lightning technique—because your mind is filled with 'should' and 'impossible'."

"And me?" he stopped, looking directly at the leader. "I never care about right or wrong. What I care about is whether I can survive."

The leader was silent for a moment, then suddenly let out a cold laugh. "You think you've won?"

"At least I haven't lost," Chen Wuya turned, looking towards the sand dunes outside the camp. "Now, it's my turn to run, and your turn to chase."

Before his words faded, he leaped up, using the last bit of residual power from the misaligned thunder. His figure shot towards the western slope like a kite with a broken string. He stumbled a few steps upon landing but didn't stop, sprinting towards the depths of the wilderness.

Behind him, the leader wiped the blood from his mouth and waved his hand, ordering, "Chase."

The three quickly leaped out of the camp and onto the yellow sand.

The wind whipped up dust, obscuring their vision. As Chen Wuya ran, he felt the chaotic energy churning within him. It was like a wild horse that had broken free of its reins, rampaging through his meridians, each heartbeat accompanied by a burning pain. He knew this move couldn't be used for long; forcibly reversing the true energy would eventually damage his foundation.

But now, he couldn't afford to.

He glanced back and saw the three pursuing him relentlessly. The leader, in particular, was moving even faster than before, as if his shoulder injury didn't bother him at all.

"This guy... he wasn't even trying his best," Chen Wuya gritted out.

Just as he was distracted, his foot suddenly slipped.

The sandy ground was soft, and it turned out to be a pit! His body lost balance, and his right knee slammed heavily onto a hard stone. Intense pain surged through him, almost making him collapse.

He forced himself to try and get up, only to find several shallow marks carved at the bottom of the pit—runes, drawn crookedly, like hastily made signs.

He froze for a moment.

This wasn't the work of a spy.

It looked more like... Old Wu Tou's usual way of marking things.

The thought had barely formed when a gust of wind rushed from above.

The leader had already lunged down from the air, his black blade raised high, aiming straight for Chen Wuya's throat.

Chen Wuya had no time to dodge and could only raise his arm to block.

The misaligned energy surged again, but this time, the circulation of his true energy was even more chaotic, and his arm's meridians felt a tearing pain.

The tip of the blade was only an inch from his throat—

Suddenly, a cane thrust in, precisely blocking the back of the blade.

Old Wu Tou stood at the edge of the pit, leaning on his jujube wood staff, his gaze calm.

"You were in too much of a hurry," he said. "You forgot to watch your step."

Chen Wuya stared, stunned. "How did you get here?"

"You didn't leave the shed, and you didn't give the signal," Old Wu Tou said in a low voice. "So I knew you were waiting for someone to chase you."