Foreign Race Reaction, Bounty Order Issued to Jianghu

The morning light had just spread across the open space when Chen Wuya stood at the front of the formation, watching everyone return to their positions. Old Wu Tou walked from the small path behind the mountain, leaning on his cane, his steps a bit quicker than usual. He clutched a piece of oiled paper in his hand, its edges softened by the dew.

He walked to Chen Wuya's side and, without a word, handed him the oiled paper, tapping it twice with his finger.

Chen Wuya took it and glanced down. The handwriting was messy, the ink uneven, as if written in haste. A dark red seal was pressed onto it—a wolf's head howling at the sky. Though worn, it exuded a wild aura.

He didn't frown or look up at anyone. He simply folded the paper into quarters and tucked it into a gap in the stove, placing it next to a pottery shard.

"Understood," he said, his voice low, as if replying to a casual greeting.

Old Wu Tou stared at him. "Aren't you going to ask who sent it?"

"A woodcutter type. His left shoe was torn, and he walked with a slight limp." Chen Wuya dusted off his hands. "You stopped him outside to question him, he stammered a few words and left, saying he was just passing by to rest. You got suspicious, so you brought this back."

Old Wu Tou was taken aback. "You didn't even see him."

"You said last night during the extra watch to keep an eye on the path behind the mountain." Chen Wuya turned and walked towards the center of the open space, his tone calm. "This morning, I saw you deliberately detour to check for footprints and squat down to feel the soil's moisture. If you hadn't found something, you wouldn't have been so meticulous."

Old Wu Tou opened his mouth, but in the end, he said nothing more, only sighing softly. "Their reaction is faster than I thought."

Chen Wuya smiled. "It would be strange if they weren't. If a spy doesn't send a message within three days and the wax pellet is reburied untouched, they're not an alien army, they're statues in a temple."

He paused and looked up at the earthen wall surrounding the camp. "It's not a question of them coming to us now, but of them wanting the entire Jianghu to know—that I, Chen Wuya, am worth a thousand taels of silver."

Old Wu Tou's heart tightened. "You really plan to accept this bounty?"

"Why not?" Chen Wuya countered. "They're advertising for me, saving me the trouble of shouting it myself."

Old Wu Tou glared at him. "This is no laughing matter. How many desperate fugitives in the Jianghu make a living by their heads? Your skills, here, are teaching 'misaligned energy' to our people. To others, it's flesh that can be cut off for money."

Chen Wuya didn't answer. Instead, he raised his voice towards the open space. "Today, we practice new moves! Whoever can unleash the shock force of the 'Breaking the Flow Palm' first gets an extra egg for lunch!"

The crowd immediately stirred. The young man stepped forward first, struck a stance, and slid forward with a wobbly step. His palm wind swept past the sandbag, emitting a dull thud. The women, along with some weaker individuals, sat in a circle, closing their eyes and circulating their energy. The older men, meanwhile, silently recorded the number of participants, the tip of their pens rustling on the paper.

Everything was as usual.

But the moment Chen Wuya turned, he sensed several gazes—from the woodpile in the corner, the slit in the tent flap for the cookhouse, and a figure shrinking back behind the clothesline to the west. Someone was listening, someone was recording, someone was already calculating.

He knew the news would spread like rice water poured onto sandy soil, seeping away silently. Before sunset, every village within ten li would know: the young man teaching strange martial arts in the refugee camp was wanted by the Northern Border Royal Court, his head worth a thousand gold.

Just past noon, training paused. Everyone sat around the open space, gnawing on dry biscuits, their conversations gradually dying down.

"Did you hear?" a young man whispered. "They're all saying outside that the notice has been posted at the official road post station, with a portrait. It's him."

Another person chimed in. "Yesterday, I went to town to buy salt, and the teahouses were buzzing. Some say he's already killed three swordsmen who were chasing him, others say he's a remnant of the Demonic Cult, practicing evil arts."

"Then... will this place get into trouble?" an old woman holding a child asked, her voice trembling. "If someone really comes for the reward money, can we stop them?"

At these words, many lowered their heads in silence. Some quietly shifted their positions, moving a little further away from Chen Wuya.

Chen Wuya listened without moving until he swallowed the last bite of his biscuit, then stood up and clapped his hands.

"Did you all hear?" he asked.

No one responded.

"That's right," he said. "The alien race wants my life and has offered a thousand taels. You do the math, is that enough for fifty taels each? To buy land, build a house, get married—more than enough."

The crowd was stunned.

Then, someone let out a laugh, followed by a second, and finally, the whole place erupted in laughter.

Chen Wuya also smiled. "You're laughing correctly. They think the bounty order is a killing move, but it's actually their most foolish step."

He walked to the sandbag, stepped back with his right foot, and pushed out with his left palm. The movement seemed scattered, lacking any discernible pattern, yet as the palm wind passed, the sandbag gave a violent tremor, then exploded with a "bang," sending sand flying.

"This is the 'Universe Reversal Step' combined with the 'Breaking the Flow Palm'," he said. "You've been learning for three days and can unleash half its power. The alien race? They could practice their whole lives and still not find the door."

He surveyed the crowd. "They're not afraid of me being alive, they're afraid of me teaching these 'crooked tricks' to the water carriers, the fire stokers, the farmers. They fear that one day, when their swords strike, the ones standing opposite won't be people waiting to be slaughtered, but living beings who understand misaligned energy and the principles of reversal."

The crowd fell silent.

"So, let them come," Chen Wuya said, brushing the sand off his clothes. "I won't hide, and I won't run. I want to show every person who comes for the reward money—what kind of soldiers I train."

Applause erupted from a corner. It was Old Wu Tou, leaning on his cane, tapping it rhythmically on the ground.

Then, the young man led the shout. "Misaligned Energy Training Institute—earn your keep, Will Not Kneel, Will Not Surrender!"

At first, only a few people joined in, but then the voices grew louder and louder. Even those who had been thinking of slipping away stood up and shouted at the top of their lungs.

Chen Wuya said nothing more. He walked to the stove and took out a newly whittled wooden plaque from his pocket, writing a line on it with charcoal.

He carried the plaque to the camp entrance and stuck it into the ground.

The wind lifted the hem of his clothes, and the wooden plaque swayed slightly.

In the evening, Old Wu Tou sat by the open space, staring at the plaque lost in thought.

"Aren't you really afraid?" he asked.

"Afraid?" Chen Wuya sat on the edge of the stove, rubbing a rough pottery shard in his hand. "What I fear most is no one coming. The more people who come, the more it proves we're on the right path."

Old Wu Tou was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, "The Jianghu doesn't play fair. It won't just be desperate fugitives coming, but also escort agencies, sects, and imperial spies. They'll come under the guise of 'eliminating a menace' but act like robbers."

"Then let them all come," Chen Wuya said, looking up towards the distant official road. "I don't care what banner they fly. As long as they dare to reach out, they'll taste the 'misaligned energy'."

He stood up and brushed the dust off his pants. "Do you know why they have to kill me? Not because I'm strong, but because I let them see another possibility—martial arts don't have to be orthodox, principles don't have to be ancient. As long as it works, it's a good move."

Old Wu Tou nodded slowly. "That's why you're not afraid of the bounty order."

"I'm just afraid it's too late," Chen Wuya's lips curved slightly. "Now, it's our turn to make a move."

The night wind began to pick up, rustling the cloth banners in the camp. A wooden sign stood by the entrance, its charcoal lettering clear:

"Misaligned Energy Training Institute -- Earn your keep by skill. Will Not Kneel, Will Not Surrender."

Old Wu Tou leaned on his staff, standing beside Chen Wuya. They gazed side-by-side towards the end of the official road.

Dust began to rise.