Dust churned at the end of the official road, like a gray-yellow snake slowly crawling toward the refugee camp. Chen Wuya stood at the camp gate, with the wooden sign he had just planted in the earth beside his feet. The charcoal-written words still had ragged edges, and the wind made the plank sway faintly.
He no longer looked into the distance and turned toward the open ground.
Old Wu Tou straightened beside the stove, his cane tapping the ground once. He had been staring at that road the whole time. Only when Chen Wuya set off did he speak in a low voice. "They're here."
"Not 'they.'" Chen Wuya did not slow his steps. "One, two, three... There'll be more and more."
He reached the sandbag and patted the tear that had burst open yesterday. Yellow sand rustled down.
The young man was crouched nearby, mending it. At the sound, he looked up at Chen Wuya, then lowered his head and continued stitching.
"No new moves today," Chen Wuya said. "Today, I'll teach you how to kill."
The crowd fell silent. Several women distributing rough bowls stopped what they were doing, and even the older man sitting in the corner with his eyes closed and circulating his energy opened them.
Chen Wuya bent down and picked up a dead branch, drawing three lines across the ground.
"The first kind comes for money." He tapped the first line with the tip of the branch. "Fast with a blade, ruthless, but greedy. The moment they see reward money, their eyes turn red. When they attack, they hold nothing back. These people are the easiest to deal with—they're in a hurry, while you aren't. Then they'll lose their heads."
He snapped the branch and tossed it aside.
"The second kind comes bearing the banner of eliminating demons and defending the Way." He dug the second line deeper with a forceful stroke. "They speak of jianghu justice, but in truth, they want to seize the credit and make a name for themselves. These people love putting on airs and care about rules. Before striking, they'll always announce their sect and family. The more improper you look, the more they'll try to crush you beneath them. Then let them crush you—crush them until their backs bend, and you flip the table."
The crowd listened, spellbound. Old Wu Tou leaned against the woodpile, his brows faintly furrowed, but did not interrupt.
Chen Wuya rose and swept his gaze around. "The third kind is the most troublesome. They don't speak or make a move. They observe first. Only after you're exhausted from fighting will they strike. One blow, one kill, leaving no trace. These people... are the ones who truly take lives."
The young man finally spoke. "Then what do we do? Hide?"
"Hide?" Chen Wuya laughed. "We aren't prey anymore. We're bait."
He raised a hand and pointed toward the wooden sign. "Anyone who dares come is a student entering the school. As for tuition—leave behind one hand, or one life."
No one laughed. The air sank into heaviness.
After a while, Old Wu Tou approached with his cane. "You really plan to receive them here? Not leave?"
"Leave?" Chen Wuya countered. "If I leave, what happens to these people? Let them be driven around like livestock again?"
He walked to the center of the crowd. His voice was not loud, but every word struck the ground like a hammer. "I didn't learn martial arts just to stay alive. I did it so those bastards who only know how to chop off commoners' heads would understand—mud-legged peasants can unleash Shock Force, and fire-stokers can also crush a blade's edge."
The young man abruptly rose. "I'll train with you!"
"You don't count." Chen Wuya shook his head. "You're an instructor. From today onward, take a group and focus on practicing 'Inverted Step' to break straight charges. Remember, don't seek speed—seek stability. The fiercer the opponent, the more crookedly you must receive their force."
He then looked toward the older man. "Your memory is good. Memorize the faces of everyone entering and leaving the camp each day. Mark those in black, those traveling alone, and those who walk too lightly separately."
The man nodded and silently took out the small notebook he carried with him.
"The women's group will switch to practicing 'Still Misaligned Energy.'" Chen Wuya turned toward several physically weak people. "You can circulate force even while sitting. At a critical moment, you'll be able to stun an enemy charging at you. Don't underestimate that instant. It's enough time for someone else to slit their throat."
Once everything had been arranged, he clapped his hands. "Now, everyone take your places according to the new roster. Training at the hour of Chen, guard duty at the hour of Wu, rotation at the hour of Wei. Add extra sentries tonight, with double watches running in parallel."
The crowd began moving. Some carried sandbags, some organized ropes, and others brought out an old iron pot and hung it from a wooden frame to serve as an alarm bell.
Old Wu Tou did not move. He watched Chen Wuya walk toward the stove, then took the shard of pottery from his robes and rubbed it back and forth in his palm.
"Aren't you afraid?" he asked.
"Afraid of what?"
"Those coming aren't merely desperate outlaws." Old Wu Tou lowered his voice. "There'll be escort agency spies, sect disciples, even the court's informants. They won't attack openly. They'll sow discord and drive wedges between people, making you throw yourselves into chaos."
Chen Wuya lowered his head and studied the chip along the pottery shard's edge. Suddenly, he smiled. "Then let them sow it. I want to see who can take 'Misaligned Force' from this group of commoners who have only just learned to unleash Shock Force and call it an evil art."
He put away the pottery shard and turned toward the camp gate.
The wooden sign had been blown somewhat askew by the wind. He reached out to straighten it, his fingertip passing over the four characters of "Will Not Kneel, Will Not Surrender."
Night deepened, and lights lit up one after another inside and outside the camp. Figures already stood at several sentry posts, each holding a sharpened bamboo spear. The young man led a group in practicing footwork on the open ground. Their steps were disorderly but forceful. Old Wu Tou circled around outside the western wall, checked the footprints, and buried another tripwire behind the woodpile.
Chen Wuya sat on the edge of the stove, with a sheet of straw paper spread before him and a defensive map of the camp drawn upon it. He circled three weak points with a charcoal stick and was just about to mark out the countermeasures when he suddenly heard a faint sound in the distance.
It was not footsteps, nor the wind scraping against the tents.
It was the sound of metal scraping across stone.
He lifted his eyes toward the southern earthen wall. A low slope lay there, its surface eroded into grooves by years of rain, making it extremely easy to climb.
He did not move or call for anyone.
He merely lowered the charcoal stick slowly, his right hand sliding toward his waist. There was no blade there, only an iron poker used for turning firewood.
Old Wu Tou had somehow appeared behind him. His cane lightly tapped the ground.
Chen Wuya raised his left hand and made a gesture to stop.
The two exchanged a silent glance. Old Wu Tou slowly withdrew and noiselessly circled toward the eastern sentry post.
Chen Wuya remained seated, his gaze fixed on the shadows beneath the southern wall.
Ten breaths passed, and nothing happened.
He picked up the charcoal stick again, added a dotted line to the defensive map, and labeled it "Preferred Choice for a Night Raid."
Then he rose and walked to the wooden sign. He pulled out a short dagger stuck beside its base and drove it into the earth.
The hilt pointed outward, the blade edge facing up.
He retreated two steps and looked at the sign standing in the wind. Suddenly, he spoke.
"On the first day the school opens, there ought to be a welcoming gift."
Before his voice faded, a figure leaped from the shadows beneath the southern wall, a cold gleam in his hand shooting straight toward the center of the open ground.
Before you continue