At the edge of the sandpit, the wind whipped scraps of grass against Chen Wuya's face. He propped himself up with Old Wu Tou's staff, his right arm still numb and his palm scorching hot, as if he had just pulled it from a fire. After catching his breath, he swept his gaze over the black blade embedded in the sand, then looked up at the spy leader leaping into the air.
Three blade shadows crashed down, so fast they nearly merged into one line.
Old Wu Tou raised his staff to block. Dull impacts rang out one after another. His feet slid backward, dragging two deep furrows through the sand. His shoulder trembled, but he never retreated half a step.
Chen Wuya gritted his teeth and twisted his left knee, borrowing the force to spin around. His steps were crooked, his body swaying like a drunk stumbling forward. Yet just as the blade was about to graze his clothes, his entire body tilted to the side like a marionette with its strings cut, and all three strikes missed.
The Universe Reversal Step was no longer the same beneath his feet. It had lost all structure and gained only chaos. Every step defied common sense, yet each time he narrowly escaped a killing blow at the critical moment.
Seizing the opportunity, he raised his right hand, palm facing the sky. The remaining Misaligned Force churned through his meridians. Bluish-purple patterns surfaced beneath his skin again, as though something were crawling under it.
"You said I practice heretical arts?" His voice was hoarse, and he bared his teeth in a grin. "Then I'll show you just how heretical I can be!"
Before his voice had even faded, he abruptly thrust his palm upward.
There were no dark clouds in the sky, yet an invisible force tore downward from heaven and earth. A thin but dazzling streak of lightning crashed down, striking the sand between them. The earth exploded, smoke and dust shot skyward, and waves of heat bore down on them, forcing the leader to withdraw his blade and defend himself.
The impact drove Chen Wuya to one knee. The web between his thumb and forefinger split, and blood dripped from his fingertips. But he smiled.
Before the smoke and dust had even dispersed, he was already moving.
He lunged toward Old Wu Tou and said in a low voice, "Don't take it head-on. Move in arcs."
Old Wu Tou paused, then understood. He shifted sideways with the aid of his staff, his steps also taking on a crooked quality, exactly like Chen Wuya's earlier movements.
The leader burst from the smoke screen, his black blade thrusting straight at Chen Wuya's throat. This strike was faster and fiercer. Before the blade arrived, its chill had already pierced his flesh.
Chen Wuya advanced instead of retreating, deliberately exposing his left shoulder.
The blade skimmed across his shoulder blade, spraying a string of blood droplets. Yet the instant it made contact, the Misaligned Force inside him erupted. It surged backward through the severed meridians, forcibly twisting the blade's momentum half an inch aside.
The leader's wrist jolted. The blade veered away from Chen Wuya's heart and sliced past three inches in front of his chest.
Chen Wuya's left hand curled into a claw, his five fingers twisting like hooks as he seized the opponent's sword-wielding wrist. His true qi flowed backward, pouring in along the incorrect pathway of the Canglang Art. The opponent's arm stiffened, and his blood vessels reversed their flow.
"You—!" The leader's pupils contracted sharply.
Chen Wuya's right palm had been gathering force for a long time. Now he struck with everything he had.
The Misaligned Force condensed in his palm. It was nothing like inner power; instead, it resembled a red-hot iron block being hammered into a man's body. Before the palm wind even arrived, the leader's robe over his chest burst apart, and charred marks spread across his skin.
"Bang!"
A muffled boom erupted, like a thunderstorm detonating inside his chest.
The leader was sent flying backward. When he landed, he rolled several times before spitting out a mouthful of black blood. His mask shattered, revealing a pale face filled with disbelief.
He struggled to rise. The moment he exerted force through his knee, the stone Chen Wuya had thrown struck the hollow behind it with pinpoint accuracy. He crashed heavily to his knees, fingers clawing into the sand, but he could no longer stand.
The two attendants in the distance paled. One of them turned and tried to flee.
Old Wu Tou gave a cold snort. A length of thin cord suddenly sprang from the end of his jujube-wood staff and lashed out like a spirit serpent, wrapping around the man's ankle. He yanked hard, and the man fell flat. His forehead struck a hard stone, knocking him unconscious on the spot.
The other man took off running.
Chen Wuya staggered after him. The Misaligned Force poured into his arm, and he struck the man's wrist with his palm. The short dagger in the man's hand clattered to the ground. Clutching his wrist, he let out a scream and fled with his head ducked.
"Go back and tell your master—" Chen Wuya stood at the edge of the dune, his voice neither loud nor soft, yet clear in the wind. "Next time, don't send people wearing such conspicuous black robes."
The man did not look back. He disappeared into the endless yellow sands.
Chen Wuya let out a long breath. His legs suddenly gave way, and he nearly collapsed. Blood seeped from the wound on his shoulder, ran down his arm, and dripped onto the sand in a steady patter.
Old Wu Tou came over and reached out to support his shoulder, his brows drawn tightly together. "Why are you acting tough? That palm strike just now tore your meridians again, didn't it?"
"I'm fine." He grinned, blood threads clinging to his teeth. "It's Misaligned Force. The more misaligned it gets, the more alive it becomes."
Old Wu Tou said nothing. He silently untied the cloth belt around his waist and tore it into strips, then expertly bandaged Chen Wuya's shoulder. His fingers were rough, but his hands were steady. Each turn was tightened just right.
"You knew I'd come?" Chen Wuya asked.
"You didn't follow the agreed signal." Old Wu Tou lowered his head and tightened the knot. "Instead, you ran toward the western slope and deliberately left footprints. What else could that be but luring them after you?"
Chen Wuya froze. "You... saw through my plan?"
"You thought you were the only one who could scheme?" Old Wu Tou looked up at him, his gaze sharp as a blade. "I escorted caravans for thirty years. I've seen more plots than you've eaten meals. You switched water skins, left tracks, pretended to limp, lured the enemy—what step did I fail to see through? I just never expected you to turn a martial art into a thunder art."
Chen Wuya gave an awkward laugh. "That was just a lucky accident."
"A lucky accident can save an entire camp?" Old Wu Tou shook his head. "You little brat. You act carefree on the surface, but you know yourself better than anyone. I just don't understand why you insist on forcing yourself this far."
Chen Wuya gazed toward the distant dunes. The black blade still stood there, lonely and upright, like a failed gravestone.
"Because I'm not good enough," he said. "The academy doesn't want me, the sects won't take me, and even practicing martial arts requires me to rely on 'mistakes' to survive. But as long as I can win, who's going to care whether I follow a crooked, heretical path?"
Old Wu Tou fell silent for a moment, then suddenly said, "Do you know why half my leg was crippled back then?"
Chen Wuya shook his head.
"It was because I used a step technique no one had ever seen." Old Wu Tou sneered. "My fellow disciples said I'd gone mad from cultivation. My sect said I had betrayed the orthodox path. But in that battle, if it hadn't been for my 'heretical' footwork, the entire escort caravan would have died at the hands of the Northern Desert Wolf Riders."
He paused and looked at Chen Wuya. "The road you're walking now is the same one I walked back then. Others say you're wrong, but you're alive—and you're living with more backbone than anyone."
Chen Wuya was stunned.
The wind swept across the wilderness, lifting a few withered blades of grass and pelting the two of them.
"So you planned to help me from the beginning?" he asked.
"I'm not helping you." Old Wu Tou planted his staff and straightened. "I just saw that you refused to admit defeat, so I decided to give you a hand."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Chen Wuya hurried after him, his steps unsteady as he supported himself against half of Old Wu Tou's body. Limping along, the two of them slowly made their way toward the refugee camp.
The setting sun sank in the west, stretching their shadows long.
Several villagers were already peeking out from the camp entrance. When they saw the two figures, one of them immediately ran to spread the news. Wisps of cooking smoke rose into the air, accompanied by the faint clatter of pots and bowls.
When they reached the camp gate, Chen Wuya stopped and looked back at the wilderness.
The scorched earth was mottled, the sandpit remained, and the black blade was still embedded in its original spot. No one dared pick it up.
He smiled, then stepped over the threshold.
Old Wu Tou suddenly spoke. "New people will come tomorrow."
Chen Wuya nodded. "Then we'll do it again."
"Can you take it?"
"Even if I can't, I have to." He flexed his wrist, blood still seeping from his fingertips. "They think wearing black robes makes them hard to spot. In fact, the most conspicuous thing about them is that outfit."
Old Wu Tou said no more. He merely patted Chen Wuya's shoulder lightly.
Chen Wuya entered the camp and nearly collided with a boy carrying a bowl of medicine. The boy was so startled he almost dropped it, then stammered, "Brother Chen... Brother Chen, this is for treating your wounds..."
"Just put it there." He waved his hand, his gaze falling behind the boy. Old Wu Tou was quietly retracting the section of cord into the hidden compartment of his staff, moving as naturally as if he had never used it.
The corners of Chen Wuya's mouth lifted slightly.
He sat beside a stack of firewood and removed his outer garment, letting a village woman change his dressing. The wound on his shoulder was not deep, but its edges had turned black, clearly showing that the blade had been poisoned. Fortunately, the poison was not potent, and the Misaligned Force had already forced most of it out on its own.
The crowd gradually gathered around him, peppering him with questions about what had happened.
He merely smiled and said, "It was nothing. Someone refused to believe in crooked arts and insisted on seeing whether my crooked logic could beat a man."
Everyone burst into laughter.
Amid the laughter, he quietly circulated the Misaligned Force, feeling the sluggishness in his meridians. That palm strike had indeed damaged his foundation, but he could not show weakness now.
He raised his head toward the sky.
The evening glow was fading, and the first stars had appeared.
A flying bird skimmed over the camp. The sound of its beating wings was clearly audible.
Chen Wuya narrowed his eyes and watched the bird's silhouette. He suddenly noticed that its flight path was strange—not a straight line, nor an ordinary arc, but a rise and fall, as if it were dodging something invisible.
His heart jolted.
That bird was flying to the rhythm of the Universe Reversal Step.
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