The iron spike stood embedded in the muddy ground, its tip still trembling faintly. Chen Wuya stared at that tiny shudder, his fingers unconsciously curling.
Old Wu Tou was bent over, bandaging his right arm. His movements were steady as he wound the cloth around the forearm again and again, pressing down the long diagonal gash. The blood had already dried, its edges tinged blue-black, as though some force had scraped past it and carried internal injuries along with it.
"Your body's like a hemp rope that's been twisted through your meridians." The old man spoke quietly, pressing his fingertip into a hollow behind Chen Wuya's shoulder. "You took a heavy blow here too. The bone isn't cracked, but your qi and blood are clogged. Leave it for two more hours, and your whole arm will stiffen."
Chen Wuya said nothing, merely drawing a slow breath. That battle had drained him badly. The Misaligned Force had surged backward through his channels; though it had broken his enemy and won the fight, the backlash had come swiftly. Now it felt as if a red-hot iron plate had been stuffed beneath his ribs, every breath carrying a sluggish, grating pain.
Old Wu Tou took a small porcelain bottle from his medicine chest, pulled out the stopper, poured out a dark-red pill, and held it to his lips.
"Swallow it. Don't ask what it is."
Chen Wuya glanced at him, took the pill, and swallowed it directly. Bitterness exploded at the root of his tongue, followed by a warm current that slid down his throat and slowly seeped into every limb and bone.
"You know about this?" His voice was somewhat hoarse.
"You see a lot when you live long enough." Old Wu Tou did not look up. He continued wiping the bruising on Chen Wuya's shoulder with medicine-soaked cotton. "When I was escorting caravans, I saw plenty of people go astray while practicing martial arts. Some even fought until they crippled themselves. Your path is strange. Your force doesn't follow the usual route, yet somehow it can still build momentum—those moves just now weren't won through sheer strength, were they?"
The corner of Chen Wuya's mouth twitched. "They used their force to follow through with their moves. I struck by reversing the force. The harder they pushed, the fiercer the rebound."
"That's why you hurt yourself." Old Wu Tou gave a cold laugh. "Did you think outsiders couldn't tell you were forcing yourself to hold on? The moment your blade broke, your knees were already shaking."
Chen Wuya did not deny it. He knew he could not fool this old man. From the very first glance, the man had seemed unlike an ordinary refugee. His footwork was steady, his eyes clear, and whenever he spoke, he carried the seasoned composure of someone who had weathered countless storms.
Old Wu Tou put away the medicine bottle, then took out a copper needle. After passing it briefly over the fire, he swiftly drove it into Chen Wuya's Jianjing Acupoint. A wave of prickling numbness raced along his sinews and channels. Chen Wuya let out a muffled groan, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.
"Endure it." The old man's fingers twisted the needle gently. "I'm drawing out the congested qi. Otherwise, you won't sleep soundly tonight."
The copper needle trembled faintly, as if sensing some hidden fluctuation within his body. After a moment, Old Wu Tou pulled out the needle and withdrew his hand, nodding. "It's flowing again. For the next three days, don't forcibly reverse your true qi. Otherwise, your meridians will be left with cracks, and in the future, even lifting your hand to pour water will hurt."
Chen Wuya tried moving his shoulder, and it was indeed much easier. He lowered his head to look at his bandaged arm, then suddenly asked, "What do you think they'll say about this battle?"
Old Wu Tou was putting away his medicine chest when his movements paused.
"No one in the martial world will say you won. They'll only say you used an evil art." He shut the lid of the chest, his tone flat. "Some will say you used talismans to control weapons. Others will say you were taught by the Demonic Cult. Those broken blades and shattered swords will all become evidence of 'demonic sorcery at work.'"
Chen Wuya smiled. "Then let them talk. As long as the reasoning sounds convincing, who cares whether it's crooked reasoning?"
"But you'd better think carefully." Old Wu Tou raised his eyes to him. "You're not bearing this alone anymore. The people in the camp trust you to protect them, but once the rumors outside change and people start calling you the root of all calamity, will they still dare to stand up?"
Chen Wuya did not answer. He knew there was no answer to that question.
Several barks drifted over from the distance. The night wind swept ashes across the open ground. The scraps of iron left behind by the day's fierce battle still lay scattered everywhere—some twisted like fried dough, others broken cleanly in two, their cuts so smooth they seemed beyond the work of human hands.
Old Wu Tou rose with the support of his cane, his gaze sweeping toward the official road.
"You felt it too?" he asked suddenly.
Chen Wuya nodded. "The iron spike is trembling. It isn't the wind, and it isn't some beast running past."
"The footsteps are too orderly." The old man's voice dropped lower. "More than one squad. They aren't rushing, but they haven't stopped."
Chen Wuya reached out and gripped the iron spike, pulling it free with a light tug. The instant it left the ground, the vibration grew clearer—like pulses rising from deep within the earth, regular and heavy.
"Not a rabble of stragglers," he said. "It's a trained force. They may be wearing heavy armor."
Old Wu Tou fell silent for a moment, then turned and fetched an old leather flask from in front of his hut. He handed it to Chen Wuya. "Drink some water and suppress the medicine's effects. You've just suffered a shock. Don't let your mind become unsettled."
Chen Wuya took the flask and tipped back two mouthfuls. The water was cool, with a faint grassy astringency mixed in.
"Have you encountered something like this before?" he asked.
"Thirty years ago, on the night the northern frontier pass fell." Old Wu Tou gazed into the distance. "The shaking was the same. First the ground went numb, then firelight flared along the horizon. By the time we realized what was happening, half the village had already burned."
Chen Wuya tightened his grip on the flask.
"What did you do afterward?"
"Those who survived could only keep moving forward." Old Wu Tou's voice was very soft. "Whether for revenge or to save their lives, they still had to choose one road and walk it to the end."
The camp's lights gradually dwindled, with only a few watch posts still glowing with oil lamps. A young man and several strong fellows were clearing the battlefield, piling the broken blades into iron barrels to melt down and reforge the next day. The women silently gathered up the bamboo spears and cooking spatulas. No one spoke, but no one complained either.
The battle had been strange, but its result was real.
Chen Wuya sat with his back against the southern wall, the iron spike laid across his knees. The medicine's effects gradually spread, easing the burning pain within his body, yet his mind grew clearer and clearer.
"You shouldn't know this much," he said suddenly.
Old Wu Tou turned to look at him.
"Not just medicine." Chen Wuya stared at him. "You know that the backlash from Misaligned Force can injure the sinews and channels. You know that blocked meridians need qi drawn through them to break the stagnation. You could even tell that I used an unconventional method of directing force just now. These aren't things an ordinary escort guard could understand."
Old Wu Tou did not avoid his gaze.
"When I was escorting caravans, I once protected a physician's entire family." He spoke slowly. "Before that man died, he passed all his skills on to me and said, 'Saving people is harder than killing them.' I couldn't remember that many names, so I picked a few practical things to learn."
Chen Wuya watched him for a long time, but ultimately said nothing more.
He knew the answer was suspicious, but he also knew this was not the time to press him.
The tremors in the distance continued, their frequency steady, but the distance was shrinking.
Old Wu Tou walked over and sat beside him, lightly planting his cane against the ground as if measuring the rhythm.
"They won't attack the camp in the middle of the night." The old man spoke quietly. "Regular troops pay attention to the hour. They'll usually act around the Hour of the Hare, when people have just woken and aren't steady yet."
"So we have several hours left."
"Enough for you to sleep once, and enough for me to stick you with another needle."
Chen Wuya shook his head. "I'm not tired."
"Then sit." Old Wu Tou did not try to persuade him. "But remember, when they come, don't charge out alone. Whoever's coming this time probably isn't here for the bounty."
Chen Wuya looked at the iron spike across his knees, then suddenly reached out and ran his hand along its shaft. A hairline crack lay hidden in the metal's grain. It would have been impossible to notice without feeling for it carefully.
Even the weapon had been unable to withstand the backlash of the Misaligned Force in that battle.
He gently traced the crack and said nothing.
Old Wu Tou rose and brushed the dust from his knees. "I'm going to check whether the woodpile on the western side has been moved into place. The wind has shifted. If a fire starts, we can't let it spread into the camp."
Chen Wuya nodded.
The old man leaned on his cane and walked toward the corner of the camp. His back was hunched, but his steps were astonishingly steady.
Chen Wuya sat alone at the foot of the wall, his fingers still resting on the iron spike.
The trembling came again.
This time, he clearly saw the tip of the spike give a slight hop.
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