The spy had barely finished speaking when Chen Wuya had yet to respond. Dust rose in the distance, and a black horse charged through the haze. Its hooves struck the ground without a sound, as if treading on cotton, leaving only shallow marks. The rider dismounted in one fluid motion. His black robe hung to the ground, and the iron plate at his waist gleamed with a cold metallic sheen in the morning light. A mask covered half his face, revealing a pair of eyes as black as wells. When he fixed them on Chen Wuya, it was as if he meant to nail him to the spot.
"You're the brat who ruined three of my plans?"
His voice was not loud, yet it pressed against the chest and made breathing difficult. Chen Wuya did not move. He merely swallowed the dry rations in his mouth, brushed the crumbs from his hands, and said with a grin, "The leader himself came to arrest me. Aren't you giving me too much credit? Or is your foreign race's intelligence network only capable of plugging leaks when the boss himself steps in?"
The man did not grow angry. He merely tilted his head slightly, as if he had heard something amusing. Yet the two attendants behind him had already spread out unnoticed. One had a hand on his bundle, while the other's five fingers gripped a protrusion at his waist. Clearly, weapons were hidden beneath their clothes.
Chen Wuya swept a glance over them from the corner of his eye and understood at once: his retreat had been sealed off.
But he did not retreat.
Instead, he stepped forward half a pace and pointed at the spy. "This brother here wears a gray cloth robe and old hemp shoes. Even his knife is hidden all crooked. But you're something else—black robe, iron plate, quite the imposing presence. What a pity. No matter how impressive the outfit, it still can't cover up that guilty conscience underneath."
He paused, then spread his mouth in a grin. "Last night, they were still muttering in the tent, saying, 'The water tastes no different,' and, 'We can't find out who switched it.' Listen to that. Is it a thief's guilty conscience, or a proper constable investigating a case?"
The spy's expression changed, and his hand shot toward his waist.
But the leader raised a hand to stop him.
He stared at Chen Wuya and slowly said, "You can detect poison, switch water without leaving a trace, and even guess that I would come... Not bad. But do you know why I insist on killing you with my own hands?"
"I don't." Chen Wuya shook his head. "But I guess it's because I always manage to stay alive in ways you people never expect."
"Because you broke the rules." The leader's voice dropped low. "The martial world has its order, and spies have their laws. Yet you refuse to follow either one, and you're still living just fine."
"Rules?" Chen Wuya laughed. "I was expelled from the academy when I was little. I couldn't recite the Four Books and Five Classics properly, couldn't learn martial arts, and was even told that my posture was wrong when I walked. Yet here I am, standing right here, alive and well, and I've led your people around by the nose. Tell me—are the rules wrong, or are you people simply too rigid?"
The leader's gaze shifted slightly.
In that instant, the wind stopped.
He raised his right hand, palm upward. A streak of black light slid from his sleeve—it was a short blade, entirely black, with a dark-purple sheen along its edge, as if it had been steeped in poisoned blood.
Chen Wuya's pupils contracted.
There was something wrong with this weapon. It was not made in the Central Plains style, nor was it something ordinary spies used. It did not look like a weapon meant for killing people. Rather, it seemed to be a murderous implement prepared for some kind of ritual.
"You're very good with words." The leader slowly advanced. "But the more you talk, the shorter your life becomes."
Before the words had even left his mouth, he was already there.
He moved too fast to seem human, more like a shadow skimming along the ground. Chen Wuya instinctively retreated, but the old injury in his left leg caught, slowing him by half a beat. The black blade swept past his neck, bringing a thread of chill, followed immediately by searing pain.
Blood came out.
He staggered backward and crashed into a canopy post, his shoulder going numb.
"First cut, so you can keep talking." The leader stood where he was, his voice calm. "Second cut, I take your tongue."
Chen Wuya drew a breath, wiped his neck, and found red on his fingertips. He lowered his head to look, then raised it with a smile. "Your blade is pretty sinister, but you swing it like you're chopping firewood. No artistry at all. If you ask me, a weapon's value isn't in how sharp it is, but in how it's used—for example, using it backward."
As he spoke, he actually raised his right hand. His five fingers twisted, and in an extremely awkward posture, he pointed toward his own chest.
System instantly vibrated: [Error judgment: Reversing the true qi of the 'Canglang Art' to force it through the meridians, causing an extremely chaotic route. Rationalization activated... Derived martial art: Canglang Misaligned Thunder, generating.]
A scorching current exploded from his dantian and surged against the meridians toward his extraordinary acupoints. Every muscle in Chen Wuya's body tensed. Bluish-purple patterns surfaced across his skin, as if what flowed through his veins was no longer blood, but molten iron.
For the first time, the leader's brow furrowed.
"Your true qi is running wild inside you. You won't survive three breaths."
"That may not be true." Chen Wuya gritted his teeth and suddenly spread both hands, palms facing the sky. "I happen to be good at staying alive in ways that make no sense."
Boom!
A blinding bolt of lightning split down from the heavens and landed squarely between his two palms. The air burst apart, and sand and stones flew everywhere. That force had not come from the clouds. It was more like a remnant thunderbolt forcibly torn from heaven and earth by the chaotic true qi within him!
The leader raised his blade to block, but the shockwave had already arrived.
The black blade shook violently. The web between his thumb and forefinger split open, and his entire body was flung away, crashing heavily into a mound of earth. One shoulder was charred black, thin wisps of smoke rising from it.
The two attendants rushed forward to support him, but the remaining force swept into them. They staggered back several steps in succession, and one of them dropped to his knees on the spot, clutching his arm and trembling uncontrollably.
Chen Wuya stood where he was, both arms still shaking. His palms were charred black, and blood dripped from his fingertips. He lowered his head to look, then laughed breathlessly. "Looks like... even crooked logic can strike people with lightning."
The leader slowly rose, blood seeping from the edge of his mask. He stared at Chen Wuya. His eyes were no longer cold; instead, a trace of shock and suspicion had appeared in them.
"What you practice isn't martial arts." His voice was low. "It's sorcery."
"No." Chen Wuya rotated his wrist. Every movement felt like needles drilling between his bones. "I merely practiced backward everything you people worship as truth. And yet, it works."
He stepped forward. His footing was unsteady, but each step brought him closer.
"You couldn't find out who switched the water because you only trust secret messages and informants. You never imagined that a lame boy could travel back and forth through the night. And you even less imagined that a useless wretch expelled from an academy could turn an inner art into a thunder art—because your heads are filled with nothing but 'should be' and 'impossible.'"
"And me?" He stopped and looked straight at the other man. "I've never cared about right or wrong. What I care about is whether I can survive."
The leader was silent for a moment, then suddenly sneered. "You think you've won?"
"At least I haven't lost." Chen Wuya turned around and looked toward the dunes beyond the camp. "Now it's my turn to run, and your turn to chase."
Before his voice had faded, he sprang into the air. Borrowing the last trace of force from the misaligned thunder, his body shot toward the western slope like a kite with its string cut. When he landed, he staggered a few steps, but did not stop. He sped toward the depths of the wilderness.
Behind him, the leader wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and waved a command. "Chase him."
The three of them quickly leaped beyond the camp and set foot on the yellow sand.
The wind whipped up dust and blocked their view. As Chen Wuya ran, he felt the Misaligned Force churning inside his body. It was like a wild horse that had broken free of its reins, charging recklessly through his meridians. Every heartbeat came with searing pain. He knew he could not use this move for long. Forcing his true qi to run backward would eventually damage his foundations.
But he had no time to worry about that now.
He glanced back and saw the three of them in hot pursuit. The leader in particular was moving even faster than before, as if his injured shoulder had not hindered him at all.
"This guy... he wasn't even using his full strength." Chen Wuya gritted his teeth.
Just as his attention wavered, his foot suddenly slipped.
The sand was loose—it was a pit! His body lost balance, and his right knee slammed heavily into a hard stone. Agony tore through him, nearly forcing him to his knees.
He braced himself and tried to climb out, only to discover several shallow marks carved into the bottom of the pit. They were runes, crooked and twisted, like marks hastily scratched into the ground.
He froze for a moment.
These were not the spy's handiwork.
They looked more like... the marks Old Wu Tou commonly used.
The thought had barely surfaced when the wind above him suddenly roared.
The leader had already dived down from midair, black blade raised high and aimed straight at his throat.
Chen Wuya had no time to dodge. He could only raise his arm to block.
The Misaligned Force surged again, but this time, the true qi circulated even more chaotically. A tearing pain spread through the meridians in his arm.
The blade tip was only an inch from his throat—
Suddenly, a walking stick thrust across the space and precisely caught the back of the blade.
Old Wu Tou stood at the edge of the pit, leaning on a jujube-wood staff, his gaze calm.
"You ran too fast," he said. "You forgot to watch your step."
Chen Wuya stared in shock. "Why did you come?"
"You didn't leave the shelter, and you didn't send a signal." Old Wu Tou's voice was deep and measured. "So I knew you were waiting for someone to chase you."
Before you continue