Lies Woven, Qingfeng Disciples Grow Suspicious

The sword tip stopped three inches away, the chill tightening Chen Wuya's throat. He didn't blink, nor did he retreat. He slowly withdrew his hand into his sleeve, the residual warmth of the surging energy still lingering on his fingertips.

He chuckled softly, his voice not loud, but like a pebble dropped into still water, "The way you drew your swords was quite impressive."

The disciple holding the sword's pupils constricted, his wrist sinking slightly as the blade advanced another half an inch. "Stop with the clever words! Your internal energy is in disarray, and your chest shows abnormalities. You're clearly refining a forbidden item. Hand over the tattered pages, and perhaps you can avoid the suffering of soul-searching."

Chen Wuya tilted his head, a dimple appearing on his left cheek. His tone suddenly became serious, "If I had truly stolen your things, would I be standing here waiting for you? I would run, I would hide, I would burn it for a meal. But I didn't do that—because I have no idea what it is."

He raised his hand and pointed to the compass on the other person's waist. "You tracked me here using that copper trinket, which means it can only sense people who have 'touched' it, right? Then let me ask—since this cultivation art is so precious, why wasn't it locked away within the sect gates, but instead ended up in the hands of robbers?"

The two men's expressions shifted slightly.

The one holding the compass subconsciously tightened his grip on the bronze disc, his knuckles turning white. "This is sect business, not for an outsider like you to comment on."

"Outsider?" Chen Wuya spread his hands. "But you just said I had energy fluctuations on me, that I was 'refining' it. If I were just a passing commoner, someone who hadn't even touched this thing, how could there be a reaction? Unless..." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the two of them. "You yourselves aren't sure who exactly triggered its change."

The wind swept through the treetops, carrying a few withered leaves that spun to the ground.

After a moment of silence, the sword-wielding disciple sneered, "Eloquent nonsense. You think a few rambling words can get you off the hook? The Canglang Art is one of our Qingfeng sect's foundational cultivation methods. Successive inheritors have all been personally verified by the Sect Master. How could a country bumpkin like you, who barely knows how to read, dare to question it?"

"Foundational cultivation method?" Chen Wuya retorted, "Then why is there only half a page left? Was it torn off by someone? Or... was it incomplete from the start?"

"Silence!" the other man shouted, raising the compass abruptly. The needle trembled violently. "If you dare to slander the sect's heritage again, don't blame me for showing no mercy!"

Chen Wuya, however, was unfazed. Instead, he took a step forward.

This movement caused the other man to tense up simultaneously.

But he simply placed his hand on his chest and frowned. "Have you ever considered—some things, precisely because they are incomplete, make it easier to see their original form? Like a piece of broken porcelain. You can't see the cracks in a complete vase, but once it's broken, every fissure tells its story."

He stared at the half-drawn sword. "You practice the complete cultivation method, emphasizing gradual progress and the proper flow of energy through meridians. But I received a tattered fragment, with broken characters and incomplete sentences. To practice it, I could only guess blindly. The result? Did you just feel a different kind of energy?"

The sword-wielding disciple's eyes flickered.

Indeed—in that instant, the energy emanating from him was not the chaotic surge of a demonic deviation, nor the stable flow of orthodox internal energy. It was something... indescribable. Like a disordered chess game suddenly finding a new path, clearly against the rules, yet subtly revealing a hint of strategy.

"Absurd!" the one holding the compass gritted his teeth. "Martial arts have their established forms, they cannot be twisted by you!"

"Twisted?" Chen Wuya smiled. "But don't you also often say that comprehension is more important than arduous practice? Some people study for ten years and don't understand a single word, while others grasp the whole text at a glance. Perhaps this cultivation method doesn't need to be 'complete'; what it needs is—someone who doesn't understand the rules."

After he finished speaking, he suddenly closed his eyes and softly uttered a phrase no one could understand.

The next instant, the surging energy within him rose again.

It still traveled against his spine, circled his neck, and branched out, but this time, the path was clearer. A subtle vibration spread from his dantian to his limbs, and his palms grew warm again.

The tattered pages in his embrace gave a slight jump.

The two men opposite him sensed the abnormality almost simultaneously.

"He's activating it!" the one holding the compass roared. "Quick, restrain him! Don't let him fully activate the forbidden art!"

The sword blade suddenly unsheathed another three inches, its cold light flaring.

Chen Wuya opened his eyes and looked directly at them. "Are you scared?"

"Insolent!" the sword-wielding disciple was furious. With a flick of his wrist, the sword tip hummed. "If I don't capture you today, how will I explain to the Steward when I return!"

"Explain?" Chen Wuya shook his head. "You haven't even asked who I am, nor checked if I have malicious intent. Based solely on a piece of paper and a compass, you want to arrest me and take me back to the sect. You're not enforcing the law; you're blindly following orders."

He took half a step back, his palms spread open in a peculiar starting stance. "I can return this thing to you right now. But you have to answer me one question first—if one day, you discover that the cultivation method passed down by your Patriarch is actually wrong, will you continue to be wrong, or will you find someone daring enough to make a mistake to correct it?"

The forest fell silent.

Even the wind stopped.

The sword-wielding disciple's face turned ashen. "You're not seeking survival; you're provoking us."

"I'm just speaking the truth," Chen Wuya said calmly. "You think I'm a thief because I touched something I shouldn't have. But have you ever considered—perhaps it chose me on its own?"

"Heretical words to mislead the masses!"

Before the words were even finished, the sword was drawn!

A silver light cut through the dim forest, aiming directly for his throat.

Chen Wuya didn't dodge. Instead, he raised his right hand against the sword's momentum, his fingers spread, palm facing the sky.

Just as the sword tip was about to touch his skin, the surging energy within him suddenly paused, then rushed upwards towards the Jianjing acupoint, traveling down a meridian that had never existed before, converging into the Taiyin Lung Meridian.

A strange power erupted from his palm.

It wasn't an external release of force, nor a breakdown of a technique. It was a kind of... distorted pull.

The long sword, which had been stabbing forward, at an inch from his throat, actually deflected slightly.

The amplitude was minuscule, but it truly happened.

It was as if invisible threads in the air had gently nudged the trajectory of the metal.

The sword's edge grazed his neck, cutting a few strands of hair, and embedded itself into the tree trunk behind him with a "clang."

Chen Wuya stood still, his breathing slightly heavy, sweat beading on his forehead.

He knew this wasn't something he had done.

It was the System—once again completing an impossible route.

And at this moment, the two Qingfeng disciples were frozen in place.

"This... is impossible." The one holding the compass stared at the slanted sword. "He didn't move, how could the sword be off?"

"Witchcraft!" The other man abruptly drew his sword and turned, killing intent surging in his eyes. "What method did you use to interfere with the weapons?"

Chen Wuya slowly lowered his hand, his palm still tingling. "I didn't interfere. I just... used the wrong method."

"Wrong?" The other person laughed in fury. "You dare mention the word 'wrong'?"

"Yes," Chen Wuya nodded. "Because what you practice is correct, so you'll never imagine—sometimes, the wrong way is the key to opening the door."

He looked at their still-shocked faces and suddenly asked, "When you practiced the Canglang Art, did you ever feel something was off? For example, did your qi pause when it reached the Tanzhong point? Or did you always feel a stagnation when turning at Guanyuan?"

The two men froze.

These details had indeed appeared in the early stages of their training, later explained by their master as "unstable foundations" that would resolve with diligent practice.

Yet this young man before them, who hadn't even entered a sect, had pinpointed them?

"How do you know?" the one with the compass blurted out.

Chen Wuya smiled. "Because you practice the 'complete version.' What I practice is how it was originally meant to be."

"Arrogant!" the sword-wielding disciple roared, raising his sword again. "Even if you're a prodigy today, you won't leave here alive!"

The sword momentum rose again, faster and more vicious than before.

Chen Wuya finally took a step back, crossing his palms in front of his chest as a surge of heat rushed through his body.

He knew this sword strike wouldn't miss.

He had to block it.

But just as he prepared to take the hit head-on, the tattered pages on his chest suddenly burned intensely, as if ignited.

At the same time, a cold voice echoed in his mind:

"Error cognition superposition, path reconstruction complete."

An unprecedented power exploded along his disordered meridians.