Jianghu Shaken, Various Factions Gather

Dust swirled at the end of the official road, crawling like a grayish-yellow snake towards the refugee camp. Chen Wuya stood at the camp entrance, a wooden sign he had just planted in the ground at his feet. The charcoal writing on it was still rough-edged, and the wooden plank trembled slightly in the wind.

He didn't look into the distance anymore and turned to walk towards the open space.

Old Wu Tou straightened up from beside the stove, his cane tapping the ground. He had been staring at the road until Chen Wuya moved, then he spoke in a low voice, "They're here."

"It's not 'they'," Chen Wuya's footsteps didn't stop. "It's one, two, three... there will be more."

He walked to the sandbag and reached out to pat the crack that had been blown open yesterday. Yellow sand rustled down. The young man was squatting nearby, mending it. He looked up when he heard the sound, then lowered his head and continued sewing.

"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 their actions, and even the elderly man sitting in the corner, meditating and channeling energy, opened his eyes.

Chen Wuya bent down and picked up a dry twig, drawing three lines on the ground.

"The first type of person comes for money," he said, pointing the tip of the twig at the first line. "Their knives are fast, their hearts are cruel, but they are greedy. They'll go blind at the sight of bounty and strike without holding back. These are the easiest to deal with—they're impatient, you're not, and they'll panic."

He broke the dry twig and threw it aside.

"The second type of person comes under the banner of exorcising demons and protecting the righteous," he said, scratching the second line deeper with force. "They talk about justice in the Jianghu, but in reality, they want to gain merit and fame. These people like to put on airs, value etiquette, and always announce their lineage before attacking. The more unimpressive you are, the more they'll want to put you down. Let them—let them press you down until they bend over, then you flip the table."

Everyone listened intently. Old Wu Tou leaned against the woodpile, his brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

Chen Wuya stood up and scanned the crowd. "The third type is the most troublesome. They don't speak, they don't attack, they observe first. They wait until you're tired from fighting, then they strike. A single fatal blow, leaving no trace. These people... are the truly dangerous ones."

The young man finally spoke, "Then what do we do? Hide?"

"Hide?" Chen Wuya smiled. "We're not prey anymore, we're bait."

He raised his hand and pointed in the direction of the wooden sign. "Whoever dares to come is a student of the training institute. The tuition fee, well—leave behind a hand, or a life."

No one laughed. The air grew heavy.

A moment later, Old Wu Tou approached, leaning on his cane. "You really plan to meet them here? Not leave?"

"Leave?" Chen Wuya retorted. "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 not loud, but each word struck the ground like a hammer blow. "I didn't practice martial arts to save my own life. I practice so that those who only know how to chop off the heads of commoners will know—that even a peasant can unleash shock force, and a cook can shatter a blade."

The young man stood up abruptly. "I'll train with you!"

"You don't count," Chen Wuya shook his head. "You're an instructor. From today onwards, lead a group and specialize in practicing the 'Inverted Step' to counter direct charges. Remember, don't aim for speed, aim for stability. The fiercer the opponent, the more you need to deflect their attack."

He looked at the elderly man again. "You have a good memory. Memorize the faces of everyone entering and leaving the camp each day. Mark those wearing black, those traveling alone, those who walk too lightly."

The man nodded and silently took out a small notebook he carried.

"The women's group will practice 'Still Misaligned Energy'," Chen Wuya turned to a few frail individuals. "You can channel energy while sitting. At a critical moment, you can stun an attacking enemy. Don't underestimate that brief moment; it's enough for someone to slit your throat."

After finishing the arrangements, he clapped his hands. "Now, everyone, return to your positions according to the new roster. Training at Chen Shi, guard duty at Wu Shi, rotation at Wei Shi. Tonight, we'll add extra guards, double patrols."

The crowd began to move. Some carried sandbags, some tidied ropes, and others brought out old iron pots to hang on wooden frames as alarm bells.

Old Wu Tou didn't move. He watched Chen Wuya walk towards the stove, take out a piece of pottery from his embrace, and rub it back and forth in his palm.

"Aren't you afraid?" he asked.

"Afraid of what?"

"It's not just desperate outlaws who will come," Old Wu Tou lowered his voice. "There will be scouts from escort agencies, disciples from sects, even spies from the imperial court. They won't attack openly; they'll instigate, sow discord, and make you fall apart from within."

Chen Wuya looked down at the chipped edge of the pottery shard and suddenly smiled. "Then let them try. I want to see who can convince these people, who have just learned to unleash shock force, that 'misaligned energy' is an evil art."

He put the pottery shard away and turned towards the camp gate.

The wooden sign had already tilted slightly in the wind. He reached out to straighten it, his fingertips brushing over the four characters "Will Not Kneel, Will Not Surrender."

As night deepened, lights gradually lit up inside and outside the camp. Figures stood at several guard posts, holding sharpened bamboo spears. The young man led a group practicing footwork in the open space, their steps clumsy but forceful. Old Wu Tou circled outside the west wall, checked the footprints, and buried another tripwire behind the woodpile.

Chen Wuya sat on the edge of the stove, a piece of rough paper spread before him, depicting a map of the camp's defenses. He circled three weak points with charcoal, about to mark down countermeasures, when he suddenly heard a faint sound from afar.

It wasn't footsteps, nor the wind rustling the tents.

It was the sound of metal scraping against stone.

He looked up towards the earthen wall on the south side. There was a short slope there, eroded by years of rain, making it easy to climb.

He didn't move, nor did he call out to anyone.

He just slowly put down the charcoal, his right hand sliding towards his waist—there was no knife there, only an iron rod used for tending the fire.

Old Wu Tou appeared behind him at some point, his cane tapping the ground lightly.

Chen Wuya raised his left hand, making a "stop" gesture.

The two exchanged a silent glance. Old Wu Tou slowly retreated, silently circling towards the east guard post.

Chen Wuya remained seated, his gaze fixed on the shadows of the south wall.

Ten breaths passed, and nothing happened.

He picked up the charcoal again and added a dashed line to the defense map, labeling it "Preferred Night Attack Route."

Then he stood up, walked to the wooden sign, pulled out a short dagger stuck next to its base, and inserted it into the ground.

The hilt facing outwards, the blade pointing upwards.

He took two steps back, looking at the sign standing in the wind, and suddenly said:

"The training institute opens its doors today. There must be an opening gift."

Before his voice fell, from the shadows of the south wall, a figure leaped out, a cold glint in hand, lunging directly at the center of the open space.