Camp Training, Still Misaligned Energy Taught to Everyone

As dawn broke, before the camp's cooking smoke had even dispersed, Chen Wuya stood in the open space. He no longer held the pottery shard, instead tucking it into a crack in the stove, as if temporarily sealing away the previous night's vigilance.

Old Wu Tou approached, leaning on his cane, his steps a bit quicker than usual. He glanced at Chen Wuya, then swept his gaze over the villagers who were gradually gathering, and said in a low voice, "Everyone's here."

Chen Wuya nodded, raising his voice: "From today onwards, we train at Chenshi hour, manage accounts at Wushi hour, and take shifts at Weishi hour. Every one of you has a purpose."

The crowd quieted down. Several former spies stood at the edges, heads bowed, unsure where to put their hands. The young man straightened his back, but his shoulders remained stiffly tensed. The woman hugged her arms, her gaze fixed on a stone by her feet. The older man stood silently to the side, like a piece of deadwood.

"I know what you're thinking," Chen Wuya said, walking to the center. "They were still delivering messages for the foreign races yesterday, so how can they train with us now?"

No one answered, but many nodded slightly.

"I don't trust them either," he said. "But I trust even less that a person can only live one kind of life."

He suddenly lifted his right leg, taking a step back, while his left foot slid forward forcefully. He looked as if he were about to fall, but at the last moment, he stabilized his center of gravity and pushed out a palm. Dust swirled up, and a pile of firewood three zhang away shook.

"Universe Reversal Step," he said, dusting off his hands. "Walking doesn't always have to be forward. Sometimes, taking two steps back can let you step on the enemy's toes."

Someone chuckled, a soft sound, but the tense atmosphere eased a bit.

"Who wants to try?" he asked.

Old Wu Tou stepped forward, leaning on his cane: "I will."

Chen Wuya raised an eyebrow: "Aren't you afraid of throwing out your back, you old bone?"

"My back was thrown out long ago," Old Wu Tou grinned, dropping his cane and steadying himself.

"Do as I say," Chen Wuya instructed. "Move your right foot first, step to the left. Don't worry about it being smooth; the force should be angled."

Old Wu Tou followed his instructions, his steps uneven, as if he were drunk. But when he pushed out a palm, a nearby sack filled with sand was flung several zhang away, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

The crowd gasped.

"See?" Chen Wuya pointed at the sandbag. "It's not that you're incapable, it's that no one ever taught you to 'come at it crookedly'."

The young man stared at the sandbag for a long time, then finally stepped forward: "I'll try too."

He followed the commands, his movements precise, striving for accuracy with every step. But when his palm swept through the air, the sandbag remained completely still.

"Too straight," Chen Wuya shook his head. "Misaligned energy is about 'acting against reason'. The harder you try to hit accurately, the less distance you'll cover; the harder you try to stand firm, the easier you'll be knocked over."

"But... how do you know when it's 'misaligned'?" the young man frowned.

"When you delivered messages before, did you always follow the same route?" Chen Wuya asked.

"Yes."

"Was there ever a time you changed your route on a whim and managed to avoid a patrol?"

The young man was taken aback: "Yes... last winter, the snow was too heavy, so I took a detour around the west slope. As it turned out, the east forest path was blocked."

"That's 'misaligned'," Chen Wuya smiled. "It's the same with your training now. Don't think about whether it's right or wrong; think about which step looks the most out of place. That's the one that might be right."

The young man took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his steps suddenly became erratic. He no longer sought balance, but deliberately stumbled, and when he pushed out a palm, the sandbag wobbled and rolled a couple of steps away.

"He got it!" someone shouted.

Chen Wuya patted his shoulder: "Now that's acting like a person."

For the next half hour, the open space gradually became lively. Old Wu Tou became the leader, guiding everyone through the movements again and again. He summarized a few rhymes: "Steps are messy, don't panic in your heart; force is angled, hits farther." The rhymes spread quickly.

The older man stood aside, silently memorizing, occasionally correcting someone's posture. He didn't make many movements, but his eyes were sharp, able to spot at a glance who was just pretending.

The woman tried a few times, her stamina failing, and quietly withdrew from the group, sitting on the side to catch her breath.

Chen Wuya saw this and, as they finished training, deliberately walked up to her: "From tomorrow onwards, we'll train in groups. Those who are weak will learn 'Still Misaligned Energy' first – you can practice it even while sitting."

She looked up, somewhat surprised.

"People carrying water don't necessarily have to stand straight-shouldered," he said. "Bending over allows you to walk longer."

She nodded gently, not speaking, but the tension in the corners of her eyes eased.

As it neared Wushi hour, the training ended. The young man voluntarily went to move firewood, reassembling the sandbag rack for practice. The older man took out an old booklet and began registering the trainees. Old Wu Tou squatted in a corner, drawing and writing on a wooden board with charcoal, organizing a set of simple rhymes to prepare for teaching the next day.

Chen Wuya turned and walked towards the cooking tent.

As he passed, the curtain was pulled open a sliver, and a hand dusted with flour quickly retracted. He didn't stop, but his right hand subtly slid into his sleeve, confirming the pottery shard was still there.

Inside the tent, the pot was already hot, and the rice soup bubbled noisily. A man was adding firewood to the stove, and the bottom of a basket revealed a corner of fabric. He was the stranger who had entered the camp with a load that morning.

Chen Wuya stopped and leaned against the doorframe: "New here?"

The man turned around and smiled: "Heard you provide food here."

"We provide food," Chen Wuya said, "but you have to work."

"I'll work," the man nodded. "I can carry water, chop wood, and stand guard."

"What martial arts do you know?" Chen Wuya asked.

"Just some basic moves. Worked odd jobs for a few years," the man rubbed his hands. "Just got some strength."

Chen Wuya stared at him for a few breaths, then suddenly said: "Gather in the open space at Chenshi hour tomorrow."

"Huh?" The man was taken aback. "Training?"

"Yes," Chen Wuya turned and walked out. "You come too."

A few steps out, he stopped again. "Don't be late."

The man watched his retreating back, the smile on his face slowly fading as his fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the basket's inner lining.

In the evening, Old Wu Tou found Chen Wuya and handed him the wooden board with the mantra written on it. "Just as you said, I've figured it all out."

Chen Wuya took it and looked. The handwriting was crooked but clear, and the mantra was concise and easy to remember.

"Good," he said. "We'll use this to teach tomorrow."

Old Wu Tou nodded, then lowered his voice. "That person... did you investigate?"

"Not yet," Chen Wuya glanced at the cook tent. "But he will come to see me."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then I'll go see him." Chen Wuya handed the board back. "Add an extra guard tonight, keep an eye on the path behind the mountain."

Old Wu Tou acknowledged with a sound and left, leaning on his cane.

Chen Wuya stood where he was, looking at the footprints on the open ground. They were messy, but they vaguely pointed in a direction.

The next morning, just as the sun peeked over the horizon, over twenty people had gathered in the open space. Old Wu Tou stood at the front, holding the wooden board and loudly leading the recitation of the mantra. The young man led a group in practicing the footwork; their movements were clumsy, but they were no longer hesitant. The women and several other frail individuals sat in a circle, slowly circulating their energy under Chen Wuya's guidance, practicing "Still Misaligned Energy."

The older man held a booklet, checking names one by one, occasionally whispering reminders about positioning.

Chen Wuya surveyed the group, finally stopping outside the cook tent.

The man carrying the load was chopping vegetables, his knife strokes steady, his hands unwavering.

"You're early," Chen Wuya said.

The man looked up. "I was afraid of missing it."

"Do you know the rules?"

"I do," the man put down his knife. "Obey orders, maintain discipline, and don't ask about origins."

"Very good," Chen Wuya looked at him. "Now, go line up in the open space."

The man wiped his hands and walked out.

Chen Wuya followed and stood before everyone.

"We have one more person today," he said. "Remember, no matter who he was before, from now on, he is like all of you—he must learn skills and protect our home."

The crowd quieted for a moment.

Old Wu Tou raised the wooden board and shouted, "Steps are messy, don't panic!"

Everyone chanted in unison: "Energy is off, strike further!"

Their voices weren't perfectly synchronized, but they were loud.

Chen Wuya's lips twitched. Just as he was about to speak, he caught sight of the man standing at the end of the line, his right hand hanging down, his fingertips tapping his thigh three times.

Three short, one long, then two short.

It was the rhythm of the secret signal they had agreed upon last night.

He remained composed, only saying calmly, "Let's begin."