Fierce Battle in the Wilderness, Misaligned Energy Shows Divine Might Again

On the edge of the sand pit, the wind whipped broken grass against Chen Wuya's face. He leaned on Old Wu Tou's walking stick, his right arm still numb, his palm searing as if he'd just pulled it from a fire. He took a breath, his gaze sweeping over the black blade stuck in the sand, then lifting to the spy leader leaping into the air.

Three blade shadows descended, so fast they were almost a single line.

Old Wu Tou blocked with his staff, dull thuds echoing one after another. He slid backward, dragging two deep furrows in the sand. His shoulders trembled slightly, but he didn't retreat a single step.

Chen Wuya gritted his teeth, twisting his left knee and using the momentum to spin. His steps were unsteady, his body swaying like a drunkard staggering forward. Yet, just as the blade was about to touch the hem of his clothes, his entire body tilted to one side like a puppet with a broken string, and all three strikes missed.

The "Universe Reversal Step" under his feet was no longer its original form. It lacked discipline, filled with chaos. Each step defied logic, yet at the critical moment, he always managed to evade the killing blow.

He seized the opportunity, raising his right hand, palm facing the sky. The residual misaligned energy churned within his meridians. The purplish-blue patterns beneath his skin reappeared, as if something were crawling beneath his skin.

"You say I practice evil arts?" he rasped, a grin splitting his lips. "Then I'll show you evil!"

Before his words fell, his palm suddenly pushed upward.

There were no dark clouds in the sky, but an invisible pulling force tore down from heaven and earth. A thin but blinding bolt of lightning struck down, hitting the sand between them. Earth exploded, smoke and dust surged to the sky, and a searing wave of heat forced the leader to retract his blade and defend.

Chen Wuya was thrown to his knees, his tiger's mouth split open, blood dripping from his fingertips. But he smiled.

The smoke had yet to dissipate, and he was already moving.

He lunged towards Old Wu Tou, whispering, "Don't meet it head-on, move in an arc."

Old Wu Tou froze, then understood. He shifted sideways with his staff, his steps surprisingly carrying a hint of the same unsteady gait Chen Wuya had just displayed.

The leader burst from the smoke, his black blade aimed straight for Chen Wuya's throat. This strike was faster, more vicious. Before the blade even arrived, its chill pierced his skin.

Chen Wuya advanced instead of retreating, deliberately exposing his left shoulder.

The blade grazed his shoulder blade, drawing a string of blood beads. But at the moment of contact, the misaligned energy within him erupted, surging upward along the severed meridians, twisting the blade's trajectory by half an inch.

The leader's wrist jolted, the blade veering away from his heart, slicing only three inches from his chest.

Chen Wuya's left hand formed a claw, his five fingers twisted like hooks, and he fiercely gripped the opponent's wrist. True energy surged backward, pouring into the opponent's arm along the erroneous path of the "Canglang Art," causing his arm to stiffen and his blood to flow backward.

"You—!" The leader's pupils constricted.

Chen Wuya's right palm, which had been accumulating power for a long time, now struck with full force.

The misaligned energy condensed in his palm, not like internal energy, but more like a red-hot iron block being slammed into a body. Before the palm strike even landed, the leader's chest clothing burst open, his skin showing scorched marks.

"Bang!"

A muffled sound, like a thunderstorm exploding within his chest cavity.

The leader was sent flying backward, tumbling several times before landing, spitting out a mouthful of black blood. His mask shattered, revealing a pale face, his eyes filled with disbelief.

He struggled to get up. The moment he put force on his knee, a stone thrown by Chen Wuya accurately struck the back of his knee. He collapsed heavily, his fingers digging into the sand, but he could no longer stand.

Two distant followers' faces changed drastically. One turned to flee.

Old Wu Tou snorted coldly. A thin rope suddenly shot out from the end of his date-wood staff, whipping out like a viper and wrapping around the man's ankle. He yanked hard, sending the man sprawling to the ground. His forehead hit a hard stone, and he fell unconscious on the spot.

The other man took to his heels.

Chen Wuya staggered after him, channeling the misaligned energy into his arm and striking the man's wrist with a palm. The short dagger in the man's hand clattered to the ground. He cried out in pain, clutching his wrist, and fled wildly, covering his head.

"Go back and tell your master—" He stood at the edge of the sand dune, his voice not loud, but clearly carried by the wind, "—next time, don't wear such conspicuous black robes."

The man disappeared into the endless yellow sand without looking back.

Chen Wuya let out a long sigh, his legs giving out, nearly collapsing. Blood seeped from the wound on his shoulder, flowing down his arm to his fingertips, dripping onto the sand.

Old Wu Tou walked over, reaching out to steady his shoulder, his brows furrowed. "Why push yourself so hard? That palm strike just now, your meridians must have split again, right?"

"It's fine." He grinned, bloodstains on his teeth. "Misaligned energy, the more misaligned, the more alive."

Old Wu Tou said nothing, merely unfastening the cloth belt at his waist and tearing it into strips. With practiced movements, he began to bandage Chen Wuya's shoulder wound. His fingers were rough but steady, each wrap secured just right.

"You knew I was coming?" Chen Wuya asked.

"You didn't follow the agreed-upon signal." Old Wu Tou lowered his head, tightening the knot. "Instead, you ran towards the west slope and deliberately left footprints. What else is that but luring them?"

Chen Wuya blinked. "You… you saw I was setting a trap?"

"You think you're the only one who can scheme?" Old Wu Tou looked up at him, his gaze sharp as a knife. "I've been a caravan guard for thirty years. I've seen more schemes than you've eaten meals. You switched the water, left the traces, faked a limp, lured the enemy—which part didn't I understand? I just didn't expect you could actually turn your cultivation method into a lightning technique."

Chen Wuya chuckled dryly. "That was a fluke."

"Could a fluke save the entire camp?" Old Wu Tou shook his head. "You kid, you act all nonchalant on the surface, but you know yourself better than anyone. I just don't understand why you have to push yourself this far."

Chen Wuya looked towards the distant sand dunes, where the black blade still stood, solitary, like a failed tombstone.

"Because I'm not good enough," he said. "The Academy doesn't want me, sects won't take me, and I can only survive by practicing 'wrongly.' But as long as I can win, who cares if I'm unorthodox?"

Old Wu Tou was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, "Do you know why half my leg was crippled back then?"

Chen Wuya shook his head.

"Because I used a footwork technique no one had ever seen before." Old Wu Tou sneered. "My fellow disciples said I'd gone mad, my sect said I'd betrayed the orthodox path. But in that battle, if not for my 'evil' footwork, the entire caravan would have died at the hands of the Northern Desert Wolf Riders."

He paused, looking at Chen Wuya. "The path you're walking now is the same as mine back then. Others say you're wrong, but you're alive, and you're living more defiantly than anyone."

Chen Wuya was stunned.

The wind blew across the wilderness, whipping up a few dry grasses that brushed against them.

"So you planned to help me all along?" he asked.

"I'm not helping you," Old Wu Tou straightened up, leaning on his staff. "I'm just helping you out since you refuse to admit defeat yourself."

After he finished speaking, he turned to leave.

Chen Wuya quickly followed, his steps unsteady, leaning half his body against Old Wu Tou for support. The two limped slowly towards the refugee camp.

The sun sank low, casting their shadows long.

Several villagers were already peeking out from the camp entrance. Upon seeing the two figures, someone immediately ran off to deliver the news. Smoke curled from cooking fires, and the clatter of pots and pans could be faintly heard.

As they reached the camp gate, Chen Wuya stopped and looked back at the wilderness.

The scorched earth was mottled, the sand pits still visible, and the black blade remained stuck in the ground, no one daring to pick it up.

He smiled and stepped over the threshold.

Old Wu Tou suddenly spoke, "New people will arrive tomorrow."

Chen Wuya nodded, "Then we'll do it again."

"Can you handle it?"

"I have to, whether I can or not." He flexed his wrist, his fingertips still bleeding. "They think wearing black robes makes them stealthy, but the most eye-catching thing is that outfit."

Old Wu Tou said no more, merely patting Chen Wuya's shoulder lightly.

Chen Wuya walked into the camp and bumped into a young man carrying a bowl of medicine. The youth nearly dropped the bowl in fright, stammering, "Brother Chen...Brother Chen, this is for your wounds..."

"Just put it down there," he waved his hand, his gaze falling on the youth's back. Old Wu Tou was quietly retracting the rope into the hidden groove in his staff, his movements as natural as if he had never used it.

A faint smile touched Chen Wuya's lips.

He sat by the pile of firewood, took off his outer shirt, and let the village women change his dressing. The wound on his shoulder wasn't deep, but the edges were blackened, clearly indicating the blade was poisoned. Fortunately, the poison wasn't potent and had already been mostly expelled by his misaligned energy.

The crowd gradually gathered, asking about the events in a flurry of questions.

He just smiled and said, "It's nothing, just someone who didn't believe in fate and insisted on testing if my unorthodox methods could actually hurt someone."

The crowd burst into laughter.

Amidst the laughter, he secretly circulated his misaligned energy, sensing the sluggishness in his meridians. That palm strike earlier had indeed injured his foundation, but he couldn't show weakness now.

He looked up at the sky.

The afterglow of the sunset was fading, and the stars were beginning to appear.

A bird flew across the sky above the camp, the sound of its wings beating clearly audible.

Chen Wuya narrowed his eyes, staring at the bird's silhouette. He suddenly noticed its flight path was rather strange—not a straight line, nor a common arc, but rising and falling erratically, as if dodging something unseen.

His heart skipped a beat.

That bird was flying with the rhythm of the Universe Reversal Step.