Tattered Art Reversely Cultivated, System First Displays Spiritual Power

The night wind swept through the treetops. Chen Wuya stood deep within the bushes, his breathing gradually calming. He leaned against the trunk of a tree, his palm pressed against his chest. The tattered pages were hidden inside his inner garment, close to his skin, still warm from his body.

He closed his eyes and reviewed the conditions for the system's response from the last two times in his mind. The first time was reciting the incantation backward, and the second was proposing the absurd hypothesis that "practicing it wrong is right." Both times triggered the flow of true energy. The paths were different, but both were real.

This thing recognized not the cultivation method itself, but "errors that make sense."

He slowly exhaled and refocused his thoughts: If the Canglang Art was inherently incomplete, then the so-called correct way to practice it didn't actually exist? True completion could only be achieved by filling in the gaps with mistakes?

As soon as this thought formed, the cold voice immediately sounded in his mind:

"Logical paradox established, initiating path reconstruction."

A warm current rose from his dantian, clearer and more stable than the previous two times. It didn't surge randomly but followed a new route he had never traveled before—first sinking to his tailbone, then rising against his spine, circling three inches behind his neck before splitting into two streams. One stream rushed directly to Baihui, while the other turned toward Jianjing.

Five breaths later, the warm current receded, leaving his limbs slightly numb, as if he had just pulled his hands and feet out of cold water.

It worked.

He opened his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. This was not a coincidence, nor an illusion. As long as he could come up with a sufficiently outrageous yet barely plausible twisted logic, the system would patch up the loopholes for him.

He reached into his robes and took out the yellowed tattered pages. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, falling upon it. The writing was still illegible, but looking at it now, there seemed to be a hidden connection between the broken sentences. It was like a jigsaw puzzle missing a few pieces, but the shape of the edges already allowed one to guess the overall outline.

He murmured to himself, "You talk about gradual progress, about the importance of foundation... But what if martial arts were never meant to be practiced according to common sense?"

Before he could finish speaking, hurried hoofbeats echoed from a distance.

He immediately put away the tattered pages, hid them close to his body, and flipped behind an old locust tree, holding his breath.

The hoofbeats grew louder, stopping on the path outside the woods. Then came the sound of boots crushing dead branches as two people entered the forest.

"The compass needle is still trembling," one person whispered, holding a bronze disc engraved with Bagua patterns. The needle in the center was shaking violently. "It's nearby, hasn't gone far."

The other person's hand rested on their sword hilt, their gaze sweeping the surroundings. "Those tattered pages are forbidden knowledge of our sect. They must never fall into the hands of outsiders. If they fall into the hands of the Demonic Cult or foreign races, the consequences would be unimaginable."

Chen Wuya's heart sank.

Qingfeng Sword Sect.

The foremost sword sect in Jiangnan, with strict rules. Its disciples walked the martial world wearing white robes and silver sashes, enforcing the law with an iron fist. He had once heard the teacher at the Academy mention that the sect's cultivation methods were never passed down, and any leak would be investigated to the end.

He looked down at his coarse cloth clothes and then touched the tattered pages in his arms. Cold sweat broke out.

He was just a expelled failure, who hadn't even practiced a proper internal energy technique. How did he get caught up in something like this? Why would robbers want to steal it? Why couldn't the escorts protect it? The secrets behind these tattered pages were probably far more than just a lost cultivation method.

The footsteps grew closer.

He dared not make a move, only slowly adjusting his breathing, trying to slow his heartbeat. He knew that once they discovered he had this item, the other party would never listen to his explanation.

But at this moment, a strange sensation suddenly arose within him.

It was as if an invisible thread extended from his dantian and vibrated slightly.

He froze.

This was... the system activating again?

He didn't have time to think. A thought quickly formed in his mind: If I pretend now that this cultivation method can't be practiced correctly and can only be activated by using the wrong method, will the system give me more time to deal with this?

As the thought landed, the voice sounded again:

"Hypothesis accepted, entering temporary stable mode."

The warm current reappeared, this time lasting for a full five breaths. His palm felt slightly warm, and his fingertips even gained some strength. Even stranger, as the energy flowed, the tattered pages on his chest seemed to grow slightly warm as well, as if resonating with the true energy within him.

He suddenly realized—the system not only completed the cultivation path but was also helping him cover his tracks. Otherwise, the compass held by those two disciples wouldn't have just sensed a "residual aura" without directly locking onto him.

An opportunity had arrived.

He took a deep breath and slowly stood up from behind the tree, raising his hands slightly in a gesture of harmlessness.

The two youths had already approached within ten paces. The one on the left held the compass, his brow furrowed. The one on the right had his hand on his sword hilt, his eyes sharp as knives.

"Who's there?" the swordsman asked sternly. "Why are you hiding here suspiciously?"

Chen Wuya didn't answer, just stood there quietly, his gaze sweeping over their attire, confirming their identities.

Moon-white sword robes, the characters "Qingfeng" engraved on the scabbard, steady footwork, and solid aura. They were indeed Qingfeng disciples.

"I was passing by," he finally said, his voice not loud, but not flustered either. "I heard fighting and hid in here. I don't know what you two senior brothers are looking for."

"Stop playing dumb!" the compass holder sneered. "There's a residual aura of the Canglang Art here. Only those who have come into contact with the tattered pages would leave a trace. Since you are here, how could you be unaware?"

Chen Wuya's heart skipped a beat.

So, this compass didn't detect the item itself, but "people who had touched it."

He remained composed and continued, "Canglang Art? I've never heard of it. If it's a lost item of your sect, I'm willing to help you search."

"Help?" the other person scoffed, his hand already on his sword hilt. "A country bumpkin who hasn't even cultivated internal energy, and you dare talk about helping? Hand it over, and perhaps we'll spare your life."

The wind died down.

The only sounds in the forest were the intermingled breaths of the three of them.

Chen Wuya knew that his lies wouldn't hold for long. Since these people dared to pursue him alone, they must have some tricks up their sleeves. If a fight broke out, he wouldn't even be able to withstand a single move.

But he still had one last resort.

He stared at his palm and silently recited: If this cultivation method was never meant to be mastered by anyone, then the more someone tries to control it, the more they will be backlashed? And people like me, complete outsiders who don't understand the rules, are the ones truly suited to cultivate it?

The thought was absurd, yet it perfectly aligned with the system's consistent judgment logic—the more it defied common sense, the closer it was to the truth.

As expected, the voice in his mind sounded again:

"Paradox verified, true energy circuit extended to seven breaths."

A stronger surge of heat coursed through his entire body, his arm meridians aching with a faint swelling, as if being stretched open by something. He felt a peculiar balance forming within him, like a chaotic game of chess suddenly presenting new moves.

At this very moment, the expressions of the two people opposite him shifted slightly.

"He's... reacting!" the one holding the compass exclaimed in a low voice, "His aura is fluctuating abnormally!"

"Trying to play tricks!" the other suddenly drew his sword, a cold glint flashing, "Take him down first!"

The sword tip pointed directly at his throat, less than three feet away.

Chen Wuya did not retreat.

He met the sword's edge, raising his right hand, palm facing up, allowing the surge of heat to gather at his fingertips. His skin surface flushed a faint red, as if blood was flowing rapidly beneath it.

"You say this cultivation technique belongs to you," he stared into the other's eyes, his voice not loud, but exceptionally clear. "But have you ever considered—why would it be in the hands of robbers? Why would I be the one to pick it up?"

The disciple holding the sword froze, his movements slowing slightly.

"Perhaps," Chen Wuya spoke slowly, "it was never waiting for your conventional inheritors."

Before he could finish speaking, his chest suddenly felt warm, and the tattered pages within his clothes vibrated slightly, as if responding to his words.

The pupils of the two opposite him constricted sharply.