Confrontation on the Riverbank, Escaping with Lies

Chen Wuya's toes rested on a flat stone at the edge of the riverbank. As he tilted his weight slightly, pebbles tumbled into the water with soft splashes. The sound of the current hitting the rocks grew clearer, like an urgent summons or a stern warning. He didn't look back, but he could feel the footsteps of his pursuers closing in at the end of the depression, the crisp snapping of dry grass underfoot growing more frequent.

He placed his right hand on his knee and slowly straightened up, leaving a grayish-white smudge on the stone as his palm brushed across it. That fall hadn't been entirely faked—his left leg was still weak. Although his Kidney Meridian was open, it felt like a parched ditch; his true qi still flowed sluggishly. But he couldn't stop now.

"Halt!" A disciple holding a compass leaped onto the higher ground, his voice as cold and hard as iron. "You can't escape."

Chen Wuya didn't reply. Instead, he raised his right hand and made a sweeping gesture in the air, as if measuring the wind direction. In reality, he couldn't see anything clearly; he just wanted them to think he was hesitating, calculating his escape route. He knew that such indecisiveness was the surest way to provoke an opponent's killing intent and contempt.

As expected, the disciple quickened his pace, his long sword unsheathed halfway. "Don't give him a chance to breathe!"

Another disciple flanked him from the side, and the two formed an angle once more, clearly intending to force him into a desperate last stand.

Chen Wuya's lips twitched. He suddenly stumbled, his left foot sliding on the slick, mossy stones. He tilted and knelt down, using his hands to brace himself on the ground. His breathing grew heavier, a fine sweat beading on his forehead, his appearance utterly pathetic.

"Exhausted?" the swordsman sneered, but he unconsciously took two steps closer. "You're a good actor."

"I'm not acting," Chen Wuya looked up, his voice hoarse but tinged with a smile. "I genuinely didn't expect... your sect leader was still asking 'Where did Remnant Karma go?' last night? You guys don't know about that?"

The two froze simultaneously.

The compass holder frowned. "What nonsense are you spouting?"

"Does what I say matter?" Chen Wuya slowly pushed himself up, his right knuckles digging into a crack in the stone, using it for leverage. "What matters is—you're not even sure if I took anything, are you? The Enforcement Hall sent you to capture me, but no one told you the truth. You're just pawns running errands for others."

"Shut up!" the swordsman roared, drawing his sword completely. Its cold glint reflected the shifting shadows of the river.

But in that instant of hesitation, their formation loosened slightly.

Chen Wuya suddenly looked up, a flash of ferocity in his eyes. He pushed off with his feet, his body moving abruptly—not retreating in a straight line, nor dodging sideways, but pivoting on his right foot. His left leg swept out like a wave crashing against the shore, his entire body swaying to the left like a reed bent by the wind, then snapping back in the opposite direction as he landed.

This footwork was chaotic, he himself couldn't recall when he'd accidentally stumbled upon this rhythm. But the system seemed to sense an unconventional trajectory, and a warm current within him surged, flowing along a path he'd never taken before, straight to the soles of his feet.

Within three steps, he was beside the swordsman.

The opponent instinctively raised his sword to block. Just as the blade began to rise, Chen Wuya didn't attack. He dropped his shoulder, slamming hard into the man's ribs, using the momentum to heave him entirely towards the river.

"Ah—!"

Before the cry of surprise faded, the man crashed heavily into the turbulent black water and was instantly swept several dozen yards away, leaving only a swirling vortex among the rocks.

The remaining disciple's eyes widened with fury. He roared and lunged forward with his sword, its strike sharp and aimed directly at Chen Wuya's throat.

Chen Wuya moved forward instead of back, his feet shifting. He narrowly dodged the blade and retreated to the riverbank. Pebbles tumbled under his feet, and spray splashed onto his trousers, chilling him to the bone.

He stood there, his back to the rushing river, a faint smile appearing on his face.

"When you practice swordsmanship, you emphasize balance, fluidity, like flowing clouds and water," he said slowly, his voice not loud, but clear. "But have you ever considered—water is never truly compliant? It shatters against mountains, plunges over cliffs, but in the end, it still flows downward."

The man faltered, his sword strike momentarily pausing.

"So," Chen Wuya took half a step back, his shoe slipping on a wet stone. He leaned back slightly, as if about to fall into the river. "Those who go in a straight line die the fastest."

Before his words finished, he abruptly turned, spread his arms, and leaped into the raging current.

The river water was bone-chillingly cold, instantly engulfing him. A powerful force dragged him down, the turbulent water slamming him against submerged rocks. His shoulder scraped against a protruding stone, stinging fiercely. He held his breath, tumbling several times in the water before managing to steady himself, using the current's push to surge downstream.

On the bank, the sole remaining disciple rushed to the river's edge, pointing his sword at the water, furious but helpless. He watched the churning black water, Chen Wuya's figure long gone, only the sound of waves crashing against rocks echoing ceaselessly.

He gritted his teeth, sheathed his sword, and looked down at the compass in his hand. The needle still trembled, but its direction grew increasingly blurry, as if interfered with by some force, gradually losing accuracy.

"Who... exactly are you?" he murmured softly.

Meanwhile, Chen Wuya was already a hundred paces away.

He floated and sank with the current, one hand barely clinging to a drifting broken branch, the other pressed firmly against his chest. The remnant page was still there, still warm against his skin, as if in response.

He dared not look up, letting the river carry him forward. Above him was the dark night sky, occasionally pierced by faint light filtering through gaps in the clouds, shattering into countless shimmering silver spots on the water's surface.

He spat out the water he'd swallowed, his throat tight, his limbs heavy. Yet, strangely, his mind was exceptionally clear.

That collision, that leap, that step—each movement felt like walking on a knife's edge, yet every misstep was subtly corrected by the power within him. He even began to wonder—was it precisely because others thought he was wrong that he had survived this long?

The current suddenly intensified, and a roaring sound could be heard ahead.

He struggled to look up, seeing that the river channel narrowed here, the banks steep as cliffs, with a waterfall-like drop spanning the path ahead. The water's momentum plummeted here, forming a hidden cascade.

His pupils contracted.

There was no time to react.

His body was pushed towards the edge, the current swallowing him like a gaping maw. In his final moment, the hand gripping the broken branch strained, and then he was thrown into the void.

As he fell, he heard his own heartbeat drown out the sound of the water.

Then, darkness closed in completely.