Chapter 87: The Crimson Moon's Blood Debt
The road to the Central Region was becoming worse with every passing day.
The farther east Han Feng traveled, the more the world seemed to lose its stability.
It was no longer just a matter of occasional spatial fissures or strange fluctuations in spiritual energy. The changes had begun to affect the lives of ordinary people, altering the rhythm of entire settlements and turning familiar roads into places of uncertainty.
Fear had become a constant companion.
Small villages stood abandoned, their doors hanging open and their cooking pots left untouched. In some places, overturned carts lay beside the road, surrounded by footprints that abruptly disappeared. Other settlements had barricaded their gates, refusing entry to anyone who could not prove their identity.
Even the merchants had changed.
Caravans that once traveled with noisy escorts and openly displayed their wealth now moved in smaller groups. Their guards kept their weapons close, their leaders avoided unfamiliar roads, and their journeys ended before nightfall whenever possible.
Han Feng observed everything without comment.
The Gu World had always been cruel.
But cruelty alone was predictable. Powerful cultivators preyed upon the weak, sects competed for resources, and ambitious individuals killed for opportunities that might never come again.
An unstable world was different.
When the natural order itself began to fluctuate, established rules lost their meaning. Formations failed without warning. Gu became unpredictable. Spiritual beasts migrated into inhabited regions, while cultivators who had once feared certain dangers began taking desperate risks.
The result was a world where even experienced people could no longer trust their knowledge.
And desperate people were often more dangerous than powerful ones.
Han Feng adjusted the collar of his black robe and continued along the stone road.
His cultivation remained concealed beneath the Art of the Celestial Veil. The Soul Chameleon Gu altered the finer details of his appearance, making his features less memorable to anyone who glanced at him.
Neither technique was perfect.
A sufficiently skilled cultivator could still notice inconsistencies.
That was why Han Feng avoided drawing attention in the first place.
Recently, however, he had begun to notice something more troubling.
Sometimes, when he passed certain cultivators, their gazes lingered on him for a moment longer than expected. They did not appear to recognize him, nor could he detect any deliberate probing of his aura.
It was more like hesitation.
As if something about his presence made them uncomfortable without giving them a reason they could articulate.
Han Feng could not determine whether the cause was the golden seal beneath his chest, the lingering resonance of the foreign flame, or the gradual changes taking place within the Celestial Diagram.
He disliked all three possibilities.
A secret was only useful while he controlled who knew about it.
If his existence itself began attracting attention, concealment would become much more difficult.
He needed answers.
But first, he needed to reach the Central Region alive.
By midday, Han Feng arrived at a small trading post built between two narrow canyons.
Calling it a trading post was generous.
Several crooked wooden buildings stood around a nearly dry well. The surrounding walls were little more than piles of stone reinforced with timber, and the only defensive formation consisted of a few crude talismans nailed above the entrance.
Dozens of travelers had gathered there.
Some rested beside their carts. Others inspected their weapons or exchanged rumors in low voices. A handful of cultivators occupied the more sheltered corners, keeping their distance from everyone else.
Han Feng entered without attracting attention.
He found a place beside a stone wall and sat down.
He had barely settled when a conversation reached his ears.
"The Gray Moon Caravan disappeared entirely."
A thin merchant spoke while examining a cracked water flask.
"Disappeared?" another man asked. "A caravan that size?"
"They found the bodies yesterday."
"Who did it?"
The merchant glanced around before lowering his voice.
"The Bloody Mountain Bandits."
The surrounding conversation died almost immediately.
Even the travelers who had not been listening seemed to become aware of the name.
Han Feng remained still.
He had heard of the Bloody Mountain Bandits before. They operated along several western trade routes, preying on isolated caravans and small settlements. Unlike ordinary bandits, they did not simply steal goods and disappear.
They took prisoners.
Some were sold to underground markets. Others were delivered to demonic cultivators who practiced forbidden refinement methods involving living human bodies.
The group was infamous for leaving few survivors.
It was also known for choosing its targets carefully. Large sect caravans and heavily guarded merchant houses were usually avoided unless the bandits had received reliable information about their movements.
They were brutal, but not stupid.
"Why have they become so active?" a woman asked.
Her voice trembled despite her attempt to remain calm.
"Because everyone is becoming more active," another traveler replied bitterly. "The fissures open, the spiritual energy changes, and suddenly every fool believes there is a treasure waiting somewhere."
He spat onto the ground.
"Those with power want to become stronger. Those without it are trying to survive. And the people in between are being slaughtered."
No one disagreed.
Han Feng lowered his gaze.
The man had summarized the situation rather well.
When resources became uncertain, competition intensified. When competition intensified, weaker groups sought protection from stronger ones. When protection became expensive, desperate people turned to forbidden methods.
The process was neither new nor surprising.
What mattered was its speed.
The disturbances were accelerating the collapse of whatever order remained.
Han Feng had no intention of becoming involved in the affairs of every suffering village or every murdered caravan. He possessed neither the strength nor the resources to solve problems that entire sects were failing to contain.
But information was different.
Information could be gathered cheaply, and sometimes it was worth more than a rare Gu.
He continued listening.
Then, late in the afternoon, the atmosphere at the trading post changed.
Several travelers stood up.
Others moved away from the entrance.
A caravan had arrived.
Four black wagons entered the settlement, drawn by powerful spirit beasts whose scales were covered with protective plates. Around twenty armed cultivators accompanied them, all dressed in dark clothing.
A red crescent, split down the middle, had been painted on each wagon.
Han Feng recognized neither the emblem nor the organization.
But he immediately noticed the reaction of the people around him.
Nobody wanted to meet the newcomers' eyes.
A guard shoved a merchant aside to clear the road. The merchant stumbled, nearly dropping his goods, but did not complain.
Another traveler hurriedly pulled his child behind a cart.
The caravan's leader dismounted from a black horse.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a black eyepatch covering his left eye. Deep scars ran along the side of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar.
His remaining eye swept across the trading post.
It lingered on the travelers as though he were inspecting livestock.
Then he smiled.
"We require two additional cultivators for an escort mission to Dead Stone Valley."
Nobody responded.
The man chuckled.
"The pay is generous."
Silence.
"Or are the cultivators of this region afraid of a little mountain road?"
A few people lowered their heads.
Han Feng remained seated.
He had no interest in joining an unknown organization, particularly one that inspired such immediate fear.
The leader's gaze moved across the gathering.
Then it stopped on Han Feng.
"You."
Han Feng looked up.
"You seem capable."
"I'm not interested."
The answer was calm and immediate.
For a moment, the leader appeared surprised.
Then his smile widened.
"Most young cultivators become nervous when I look at them."
"Perhaps they have more reason to."
A few nearby travelers stiffened.
The leader's expression did not change, but the atmosphere around him grew colder.
He studied Han Feng for several breaths.
Han Feng met his gaze without challenging him.
He neither released his aura nor attempted to intimidate the man. There was no advantage in turning a passing encounter into a contest of pride.
Finally, the leader laughed.
"Fair enough. Everyone has a price, but not everyone is ready to name it."
He turned away.
The caravan's guards began unloading supplies. Two of them moved toward the rear wagons, where they checked the locks on the heavy wooden doors.
One of the wagons rocked slightly.
Han Feng noticed.
So did the guard.
He struck the side of the wagon with his spear.
"Stay quiet!"
A muffled sound came from inside.
The guard glanced around, then quickly covered the wagon with a heavy cloth.
Han Feng's expression remained unchanged.
But his attention sharpened.
The smell had reached him now.
Blood.
Not the faint trace left by an injured traveler. This was the stale, concentrated odor of a place where several people had been wounded and kept confined.
The wagons were carrying prisoners.
Possibly corpses.
Possibly both.
Han Feng watched the guards for another moment.
He could interfere.
He could also walk away.
The prisoners might be innocent travelers, captured cultivators, or people who had already been condemned by the laws of some local faction. He knew nothing about them.
What he did know was that the caravan's leader had noticed him.
That alone made remaining at the trading post unwise.
Han Feng stood and left before sunset.
He did not look back.
The road beyond the trading post wound through a region of dark stone formations.
Moonlight spread across the narrow path, revealing patches of loose gravel and shallow depressions left by old wagon tracks.
Han Feng walked alone.
He had traveled for nearly half an hour when the Celestial Diagram vibrated.
He stopped.
The sensation was faint, but unmistakable.
Someone was following him.
Han Feng did not turn around.
He continued at the same pace, allowing his spiritual sense to spread through the surrounding terrain.
Three presences.
Possibly a fourth, farther behind.
Their auras were concealed, and their movements were coordinated. They maintained enough distance to avoid detection by an ordinary traveler, but they were not careful enough to escape Han Feng's attention completely.
He considered his options.
If he confronted them immediately, he might expose his real capabilities.
If he continued walking, they would eventually choose their own moment to attack.
There was no reason to give them a favorable battlefield.
Han Feng altered his route slightly, moving toward a stretch of uneven ground where the path narrowed between two rock formations.
He had barely reached the narrowest point when the attack came.
A black blade flashed from the darkness, cutting toward his throat.
Han Feng tilted his head.
The blade passed close enough to disturb his hair.
At the same instant, he stepped aside.
BOOM!
The attack struck the stone wall behind him, scattering fragments across the path.
Two more figures emerged from opposite sides.
A fourth remained concealed.
Their coordination was practiced.
One attacked directly, another moved to block the retreat, while the third approached from Han Feng's blind side.
They were not trying to rob him.
They wanted to kill him quickly.
Han Feng activated his movement Gu.
His figure blurred, and he slipped between the first two attackers before their formation could close.
A blade cut through his outer robe.
He answered with a palm strike to the nearest man's ribs.
The impact sent the attacker stumbling backward, but the man recovered almost immediately.
Then he smiled.
Han Feng's eyes narrowed.
The attacker ignored his injury and lunged forward, his body swelling as a violent surge of Qi gathered beneath his skin.
Self-destruction.
Han Feng reacted instantly.
He threw himself behind a rock outcrop.
BOOOOM!
The explosion shook the narrow pass.
Stone fragments struck his back and shoulders. Dust filled the air, obscuring the remaining attackers.
Han Feng emerged from behind the rocks with his senses already extended.
The dead man's companions had not retreated.
They had used the explosion to conceal their next attack.
A dark blade appeared through the dust.
Han Feng twisted away, but its edge still cut across his shoulder.
Pain flared.
Then came a burning sensation.
Poison.
He immediately circulated his primordial essence, slowing the spread of the toxin while forcing the affected muscles to remain functional.
The poison was not strong enough to incapacitate him immediately.
That was precisely what made it dangerous.
It had been designed to weaken a target during a prolonged fight.
Han Feng's expression hardened.
These were not ordinary mercenaries.
They were prepared assassins.
And they had no intention of surviving the mission.
He released a small quantity of Gu essence.
Two narrow streaks of blue light flashed through the dust.
His Blue Star Flame Gu struck the nearest assassin across the chest.
The blue flame spread over the man's clothing, disrupting the spiritual circulation protecting his body.
The assassin collapsed with a strangled cry.
Han Feng did not wait to confirm the result.
He pivoted toward the third attacker.
The man came at him with both hands gripping a short sword. His technique was crude, but his movements were unnaturally aggressive.
Han Feng stepped inside the sword's reach and struck his wrist.
Bone cracked.
The weapon fell.
Before the assassin could retreat, Han Feng drove his knee into the man's abdomen and shoved him against the rock wall.
The impact left him gasping.
Han Feng raised one hand.
The assassin's eyes widened.
"Wait—"
Han Feng struck his throat.
The man collapsed.
Silence returned to the pass.
Han Feng remained alert.
One attacker had died in the explosion. Another lay motionless beneath the blue flames. A third had stopped moving after the strike to his throat.
But the fourth presence was gone.
Han Feng frowned.
He extended his spiritual sense.
Nothing.
The surviving assassin had withdrawn during the confusion.
Han Feng could pursue him.
He chose not to.
The poison in his shoulder had spread slightly, and his Blue Star Flame Gu had consumed a portion of its already limited reserves. Chasing an unknown enemy into unfamiliar terrain would be a poor exchange.
Instead, he inspected the bodies.
The first assassin's clothing had been burned beyond recognition. The second carried several concealed blades, a small vial of poison, and a black token bearing a familiar symbol.
A red crescent.
Split down the middle.
Han Feng's expression grew cold.
The caravan leader had not merely noticed him.
He had decided to eliminate him.
Perhaps the man had recognized an irregularity in Han Feng's aura. Perhaps he suspected that Han Feng had seen something inside the wagons. Or perhaps the attack had nothing to do with Han Feng's true identity at all.
The leader might simply have disliked being refused.
Han Feng examined the token again.
There was no way to determine the reason from the symbol alone.
But he now had enough information to make one conclusion.
The caravan had intended to kill him from the beginning.
He placed the token in his storage pouch.
Then he looked toward the darkness where the fourth assassin had disappeared.
"You should have brought more people."
He did not raise his voice.
There was no need.
The surviving assassin was already beyond his reach.
Han Feng treated the poison in his shoulder with a medicinal powder and used a small amount of Gu essence to slow its circulation. The wound still hurt, but he could move without difficulty.
He had no intention of returning to the trading post.
Instead, he followed the caravan's tracks.
If the leader had sent assassins after him, then leaving the matter unresolved would only invite another attack.
More importantly, the wagons contained prisoners.
If the caravan truly belonged to a demonic organization involved in human refinement, its activities might reveal something about the growing instability in the region.
Han Feng would not risk his life to rescue strangers blindly.
But he was willing to investigate an enemy who had already tried to kill him.
That was a different calculation.
Half an hour later, Han Feng reached the edge of a rocky ridge.
Below him lay a small encampment surrounded by enormous boulders.
The four black wagons had stopped beside a narrow stream. Armed cultivators moved between the wagons and a cluster of tents, while two sentries watched the surrounding slopes.
A campfire burned near the center.
The one-eyed leader sat beside it, drinking from a metal cup.
He appeared entirely relaxed.
As if the ambush on the road had been nothing more than an ordinary task.
Han Feng crouched behind a boulder and observed the camp.
Fifteen armed cultivators.
Possibly more inside the tents.
At least three possessed cultivation near the peak of Rank 3. The leader's aura suggested early Rank 4, although the eyepatch and the scars around his neck made it difficult to assess his condition accurately.
A direct attack would be costly.
Han Feng had already used some of his Gu essence, and the poison had not been fully neutralized.
He could retreat.
He could also wait for an opportunity.
He chose to observe.
A guard approached the leader and whispered something.
The leader set down his cup.
"Four?"
The guard nodded.
"And the one on the road?"
"We haven't received confirmation."
The leader's expression darkened.
"Then send someone to check."
"Should we bring him back alive?"
The leader laughed.
"Why? Did he look like someone who would be useful to us?"
The guard hesitated.
"No."
"Then why waste the effort?"
He picked up his cup again.
"If he is dead, leave him there. If he is alive, finish the job."
The guard bowed and withdrew.
Han Feng's eyes narrowed.
So the leader had ordered the attack personally.
There was no possibility of misunderstanding.
He had been marked for death simply because someone had decided he was a potential problem.
Han Feng looked toward the wagons.
A faint sound came from inside one of them.
A knock.
Then another.
The guards ignored it.
Han Feng's expression remained still.
He had no interest in becoming a hero.
But there was a practical question he could not ignore.
If the prisoners were transported to Dead Stone Valley, what would happen to them there?
The answer might involve human Gu refinement, forbidden experiments, or something connected to the foreign disturbances.
He did not know.
And acting without knowing was dangerous.
He studied the camp more carefully.
The guards were disciplined enough to maintain watch, but they relied heavily on the surrounding rocks to protect their flanks. The eastern side of the camp overlooked the stream, where the terrain descended sharply.
Two sentries stood near the wagons.
Another pair watched the northern slope.
The leader had positioned his strongest cultivators near the center, close enough to respond quickly to any attack.
It was a reasonable arrangement.
But it contained a weakness.
The wagons themselves blocked the guards' view of the eastern slope.
If a disturbance began on the opposite side, several defenders would have to move around the vehicles before they could intervene.
Han Feng's gaze shifted toward the stream.
The water was shallow.
The stones beneath it were loose.
And the current flowed directly toward a narrow ravine.
An idea began to form.
He would not fight fifteen cultivators at once.
He would make them fight in smaller groups.
First, he needed to separate the sentries.
Then he needed to disable the wagons without harming the prisoners.
Finally, he needed to isolate the leader.
If he could not achieve those objectives, he would abandon the attempt.
He had already decided that much.
Han Feng reached into his storage pouch and removed three ordinary spirit stones.
He placed one near a narrow trail leading away from the camp, then used a thread of Qi to disturb the spiritual residue around it.
He placed the second beside a cluster of loose rocks overlooking the stream.
The third remained in his hand.
These were not powerful decoys.
They would not fool a skilled formation master.
But they might attract the attention of guards trained to react to unfamiliar spiritual fluctuations.
Han Feng waited until the wind changed direction.
Then he sent a small burst of Qi into the first stone.
A faint pulse spread through the rocks.
One sentry immediately turned.
He whispered to his companion and pointed toward the trail.
The two exchanged a few words before one of them began moving away from the camp.
Han Feng waited.
When the sentry reached the narrow path, he released another pulse.
The man stopped.
He crouched to examine the stone.
That was when Han Feng moved.
He slipped down the slope, crossed the shadow of a large boulder, and approached from behind.
One hand covered the sentry's mouth.
The other struck the base of his neck.
The man collapsed without a sound.
Han Feng lowered him carefully behind the rocks and removed the small whistle hanging from his belt.
He did not kill him.
A missing sentry would eventually be discovered, but a corpse found beside the camp might cause an immediate alarm.
He had bought himself a few minutes.
That was enough.
Han Feng continued toward the stream.
He released a narrow thread of Qi into the second spirit stone.
A faint vibration traveled through the loose rocks.
Several stones shifted.
The noise drew the attention of the two guards near the eastern edge of the camp.
One approached cautiously.
The other remained beside the wagons.
Han Feng waited until the first guard crossed the stream.
Then he pulled the whistle from his storage pouch and blew a short, sharp note.
The sound echoed from the northern slope.
The guard froze.
He turned toward the noise.
A moment later, he started running in the wrong direction.
Han Feng crossed behind him and reached the wagons.
The closest vehicle had a reinforced door secured by an iron lock and two formation talismans.
He did not break it.
Instead, he examined the talismans.
They were designed to prevent the prisoners from forcing their way out, not to detect interference from outside.
Han Feng removed a thin metal pick from his storage pouch and carefully worked the lock.
It took longer than he wanted.
The mechanism was old, but it had been repaired recently.
Finally, the lock clicked.
Han Feng opened the door just enough to look inside.
Six people were crowded in the darkness.
Two were unconscious.
One had a bandage wrapped around his forehead.
The others stared at Han Feng with hollow eyes, too frightened to speak.
Han Feng kept his voice low.
"Can you walk?"
A young man nodded weakly.
"Some of us."
"Then listen carefully. When the door opens, stay behind the wagons. Do not run toward the campfire. If you hear fighting, move toward the stream and follow it east."
The man swallowed.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who doesn't want to die here."
Han Feng closed the door.
He could not free all the prisoners and guarantee their safety at the same time. The other wagons still contained people, and opening every lock before the camp noticed would be impossible.
He needed the guards distracted first.
He returned to the shadow of the nearest boulder.
Then he released a controlled pulse through the third spirit stone.
The spiritual fluctuation spread across the eastern side of the camp.
Several guards turned toward it.
One shouted for the others to investigate.
The leader stood up beside the fire.
"What is it?"
A cultivator hurried forward.
"An unfamiliar fluctuation near the stream."
The leader's expression changed.
"How many?"
"We don't know."
He looked toward the wagons.
"Leave two guards here. Everyone else, check the perimeter."
The order was immediate.
The camp began to move.
Han Feng waited until the guards had separated.
Then he struck.
A narrow stream of Blue Star Flame shot from behind the rocks and hit the formation talisman attached to the nearest wagon.
The talisman flared blue.
Its protective pattern collapsed.
At the same instant, Han Feng released the lock.
The door swung open.
"Move!" he whispered.
The prisoners stumbled out.
Han Feng pointed toward the stream.
"East. Stay low."
They obeyed.
One of the guards turned at the sound.
"What—"
Han Feng crossed the distance before the man could finish speaking.
A palm strike sent him crashing into the wagon.
Han Feng caught the guard's falling weapon and threw it toward the darkness.
The clang drew the attention of the remaining sentry.
The man charged.
Han Feng stepped aside, caught his wrist, and drove him into the side of the wagon.
The guard fell unconscious.
But the commotion had already attracted attention.
A shout rang out from the center of the camp.
"Intruder!"
The leader rose from his seat.
His one visible eye swept across the wagons.
Then he saw Han Feng.
Recognition flashed across his face.
"So you survived."
Han Feng said nothing.
The leader's expression twisted into a smile.
"Good. I was beginning to think my men had become useless."
He raised one hand.
The remaining cultivators immediately abandoned the stream and converged on the wagons.
Han Feng retreated toward the eastern slope.
He had achieved his first objective.
The prisoners were moving.
The guards were scattered.
Now he needed to escape before the entire camp could surround him.
But the leader was faster than he expected.
The man crossed the distance with a burst of Qi and struck toward Han Feng's chest.
Han Feng blocked with his forearm.
The impact sent him backward.
Pain spread through his injured shoulder.
His expression hardened.
The leader was stronger than the assassins.
Much stronger.
"You're hiding your cultivation," the man said.
Han Feng gave no answer.
The leader's smile widened.
"I knew it. No ordinary traveler would remain so calm when I offered him work."
He attacked again.
Han Feng evaded the strike and retreated between two boulders.
The leader followed.
That was precisely what Han Feng wanted.
The narrow passage forced the man to approach from one direction, reducing the advantage of his greater strength.
Han Feng released a small burst of Qi into the loose stones beneath his opponent's feet.
The ground shifted.
The leader stumbled for half a breath.
Han Feng struck his elbow.
The man's arm twisted aside, but he recovered immediately and swept his leg toward Han Feng's knees.
Han Feng jumped backward.
The strike hit the ground.
Stone cracked.
The leader looked at him with growing interest.
"You're not bad."
Han Feng did not reply.
He was already calculating the next move.
The leader's cultivation was higher, his combat experience greater, and his physical strength superior.
A prolonged fight would favor the other man.
Han Feng needed to end it quickly or create an opportunity to escape.
He released a thin arc of Blue Star Flame.
The leader raised his arm.
A dark barrier formed around his body.
The flame struck it and scattered.
Han Feng's eyes narrowed.
The man carried a defensive Gu capable of resisting his current attack.
The remaining Gu essence within Han Feng's aperture was limited.
He could not afford to keep testing the barrier.
The leader laughed.
"Is that all?"
Han Feng glanced toward the ground.
A narrow crack ran beneath the man's left foot.
Beyond it, the slope descended toward the stream.
The stones were unstable.
Han Feng shifted his stance.
The leader lunged.
At the last instant, Han Feng moved sideways and struck the rock beside him with a concentrated burst of Qi.
The stone fractured.
The slope collapsed.
For one moment, the leader lost his footing.
Han Feng used the opening to drive a palm strike into the man's chest.
The impact pushed him backward.
He stumbled over the broken edge and fell several meters down the slope, crashing into the stream.
The water erupted around him.
Han Feng did not wait to see whether the fall had caused serious injury.
He turned and ran.
Behind him, the leader roared in fury.
"Find him! I want him alive!"
Han Feng accelerated.
He crossed the stream and disappeared among the rocks, using the uneven terrain to break the pursuers' line of sight.
His shoulder throbbed.
The poison had not been completely removed.
His Blue Star Flame Gu was nearly exhausted.
And the surviving guards were spreading out across the valley.
This was no longer an operation he could control.
He had freed some of the prisoners, but the others remained inside the camp.
Returning to rescue them now would mean fighting the entire group while injured.
Han Feng clenched his teeth and continued moving.
He hated leaving unfinished business.
But dying for an objective he could no longer accomplish would save no one.
He would survive.
He would recover.
And if the Crimson Moon organization crossed his path again, he would be better prepared.
Several minutes later, Han Feng reached a ridge overlooking the eastern ravine.
He stopped beneath a dead tree and listened.
Shouts echoed from the camp.
The freed prisoners had not all escaped. Some were still too weak to move quickly, and the guards had already begun searching the stream.
But at least several voices were moving farther away from the camp.
The plan had not been a complete success.
It had not been a complete failure either.
Han Feng lowered himself onto a flat stone and examined his shoulder.
The wound had darkened around the edges.
He pressed two fingers against the skin and circulated a small amount of Qi through the affected meridians.
The poison resisted.
He would need medicinal treatment soon.
For now, he could only slow its spread.
He reached into his storage pouch and removed the black token taken from the dead assassin.
The split red crescent caught the moonlight.
Han Feng turned it over.
A line of tiny characters had been engraved on the back.
He recognized only part of the inscription.
...Dead Stone Valley...
Beneath it was another mark.
A small circle containing three vertical lines.
Han Feng frowned.
He had seen a similar arrangement before, though he could not immediately remember where.
The mark was not identical to the symbols associated with the Celestial Diagram, nor did it resemble the formations he had encountered at the ancient ruins.
It might simply be the insignia of a local organization.
Or it might indicate the token's intended use.
He placed it away.
One clue was not enough to establish a connection.
He would investigate when he reached a safer settlement.
Then he looked toward the distant camp.
A faint red glow rose above the rocks.
For an instant, he thought the Crimson Moon cultivators had lit another fire.
But the glow was too steady.
It came from beneath the ground.
Han Feng's Celestial Diagram vibrated.
The golden lines along its outer edge illuminated briefly.
Then the vibration ceased.
He stared toward the glow.
The camp was located near Dead Stone Valley.
The inscription on the token mentioned the same place.
And something beneath the ground had responded to the presence of the caravan—or perhaps to the disturbance caused by the fight.
Han Feng could not determine which.
He considered returning.
Then he remembered the leader's defensive Gu, the remaining guards, and the poison still circulating through his shoulder.
He would not survive a second confrontation if the situation turned against him.
Han Feng put the token away and stood.
"Not tonight."
He turned toward the Central Region.
The Crimson Moon organization had become another problem on his road, but it was not the most urgent one.
The fissures were spreading.
Foreign cultivators were crossing into the Gu World.
The Celestial Diagram was changing.
And somewhere beyond the boundaries, forces far beyond his understanding were beginning to notice the disturbances.
He could not afford to waste his life fighting every enemy he encountered.
He needed strength.
He needed resources.
And he needed to understand what the golden seal was doing to him before it became another weakness his enemies could exploit.
Han Feng disappeared into the darkness.
Behind him, the red glow beneath Dead Stone Valley pulsed once.
Then it went out.
Deep underground, an ancient formation shifted.
One of its markings briefly illuminated.
Three vertical lines inside a broken circle.
A faint voice echoed through the sealed chamber.
"Another resonance."
Silence followed.
Then a second voice answered.
"Not the one we are waiting for."
The formation dimmed.
And far above, unaware that anything had spoken, Han Feng continued toward the Central Region.
He had survived the Crimson Moon's first attempt to kill him.
But the inscription on the token had revealed something more troubling than the assassination itself.
The organization had been transporting prisoners to Dead Stone Valley for a reason.
And whatever lay beneath that valley had just reacted to the disturbance.
Han Feng intended to learn why.
Just not before he was strong enough to survive the answer.