The night wind brushed through the courtyard, stirring a stray lock of hair before Chen Wuya's forehead. He stood where he was, the fine golden thread in his palm not yet fully faded, moving beneath his skin as though alive. The scent of food from the distant stove had long since dispersed, and the children's laughter had sunk into dreams. Only the old dog in the corner of the yard gave an occasional low bark, tearing through the silence.
He slowly raised his hand and gazed at the faint glow flowing through his palm lines. It was neither the blazing ferocity of Misaligned Force erupting nor the boiling heat of battle, but a gentle yet unfathomable rhythm, as if some door within him had quietly been pushed open, leading to a realm he had never set foot in.
Bai Zhi passed beneath the eaves, her footsteps soft. She glanced at him but said nothing, merely removed the outer robe draped over her shoulders and gently laid it over the bamboo rack by the door before turning inside. The door closed with barely a sound, yet it seemed to draw a boundary, leaving him outside.
Chen Wuya lowered his head and sat cross-legged, his back against the old locust tree. Its bark was rough against him, but he did not move. The instant he closed his eyes, four words surfaced in his mind—Martial Path True Explanation.
It was not a system prompt, nor did any voice sound. It was like a stone stele that had lain at the bottom of the water for years, finally pushed ashore by the tide. He did not rush to touch it. Instead, he let his memories surge forth: the academy instructor slamming the desk and raging, "This boy cannot comprehend the classics. He is beyond