The cave sector was not a single cavern but a network carved and expanded over decades.
Zhao Zhiyu learned that quickly by walking it himself.
The main passages were wide enough for three people to walk side by side, their ceilings reinforced with blackened stone ribs and lamps embedded at fixed intervals.
These were the official routes—used by instructors, messengers, and higher-ranked members of Crescent Moon. Footsteps echoed here, but no one lingered without reason.
Branching off from these were narrower tunnels, uneven and darker. These were living areas. Rows of crude stone doors, some reinforced with metal, others barely fitted.
The further one went from the main passage, the worse the conditions became—less light, poorer ventilation, colder air.
'I'm near the bottom,' he thought calmly while walking.
That much was obvious.
The cave sector followed a simple hierarchy. Depth and height equaled status. Those closer to the central chambers had better lighting, warmer airflow, and more frequent patrols. Those further away were given silence and neglect.
He moved without rushing, keeping his steps natural.
Shadow Stalking was active, but restrained. Full concealment drew attention in places like this. Instead, he blended—reducing presence, softening sound, letting others overlook him rather than fail to notice him entirely.
...
He avoided asking questions.
That was deliberate.
In a place like Crescent Moon, curiosity traveled faster than sound.
Asking about Liu Qiang—especially someone at Anointed Realm 7th Layer—would reach him within hours.
So Zhao Zhiyu relied on patterns.
He noted which routes were cleaned regularly.
Which corridors had fresh footprints. Which lamps were replaced faster. These were signs of frequent use by higher-ranked members.
He also paid attention to airflow.
The deeper and more comfortable chambers had steady warm currents, likely connected to geothermal vents or formation arrays. Lower sections were stale and damp.
'Higher cultivation, better environment,' he reasoned.
'He wouldn't tolerate sleeping near mold and cold stone.'
As he moved upward through the sector, the stone changed. The walls became smoother. The carvings older and more deliberate. Even the silence felt different—less empty...
Patrols appeared here.
Pairs, sometimes trios. Their movements were disciplined. No idle talk. No wasted motion.
He kept his distance.
Every time he felt a flicker of pressure in the air, a cultivated presence—he adjusted his route, slipping into side tunnels, waiting, then moving again.
'Damn... Where the hell is he...'
He began forming a rough map in his mind.
Main corridor: instructors and messengers.
Upper-left spiral: high-ranking assassins.
Lower-right descent: trainees and expendables.
Liu Qiang, at Anointed Realm 7th Layer, would sit above the trainees but below the true controllers. Close enough to resources, far enough to be disposable.
That narrowed things.
He stopped near an intersection where three passages met.
The stone floor here was polished by use. The lamps burned steadily. The air was warm.
He leaned against the wall, appearing idle.
'If I were him,' he thought, 'I'd choose a place like this. Easy access. Controlled traffic. No unnecessary noise.'
Still, it was a guess.
And guesses could get him killed.
So he stayed cautious.
He watched who passed through. How often. From which direction they came and where they went. Over time, names were exchanged quietly. Respectful nods appeared in certain encounters.
He didn't hear Liu Qiang's name.
But he saw something else.
People slowed their steps here.
Not consciously but instinctively.
Zhao Zhiyu felt it too—a pressure in the air, faint but present, like standing near a coiled beast.
His heart rate increased slightly.
'This is close.'
Not certainty.
But close enough.
He withdrew without lingering.
'No confirmation means no risk, I want to live after all... Though this place sure is weird, we still have time... I have to make sure he lives here.'
As Zhao Zhiyu returned to his room, the thought surfaced again, uninvited.
'Why did I even volunteer for this?'
The corridor behind him was quiet. Too quiet. He kept walking anyway, posture relaxed, breathing steady, but his mind was anything but calm.
He hadn't been forced into this role. No one had pointed at him and said you scout. He had stepped forward on his own.
Regret came late.
'This is stupid,' he thought. 'One mistake and I'm dead before the plan even starts.'
Liu Qiang wasn't just stronger by a few layers. The difference between Anointed Realm first and seventh wasn't something effort could bridge. If discovered, there would be no struggle, no chance to flee. Just death.
His fingers clenched slightly.
Yet even as the regret grew, he understood the reason.
Head-on fighting was worse.
Much worse.
He had sparred with Mei Ling enough to know the truth. Even against someone close to his realm, a single mistake meant being overwhelmed. Against Liu Qiang, there wouldn't even be time to make that mistake.
'Information reduces risk,' he reminded himself.
If they knew Liu Qiang's habits, routes, guards, and timing, they wouldn't need to face him directly.
Poison, traps, isolation—anything was better than a frontal clash.
'I'm not fighting him,' he thought firmly. 'I'm trying to live longer as much as possible...'
Scouting was dangerous, yes, but taking this role will exempt him to other much dangerous role.
He exhaled slowly when he reached his door.
...
Back in his room, Zhao Zhiyu sat on the edge of the stone bed and stared at the dark wall in front of him. His mind refused to settle.
One question kept circling back.
How did Liu Qiang betray the sect?
'It doesn't make sense,' Zhao Zhiyu thought.
The crescent moon tattoo wasn't symbolic. He had felt it himself—how it pulled at Hun energy, how it sat unnaturally beneath the skin, like something alive. The spider-masked woman had been very clear. Betrayal meant death.
And yet Liu Qiang was still alive.
'So either she lied,' Zhao Zhiyu reasoned, 'or there's something she didn't say.'
He leaned back against the cold wall, eyes unfocused.
The first possibility was control.
'Maybe the tattoo isn't absolute.'
'It could require activation. A trigger. A command. If the person controlling it was absent, distracted, or dead, the tattoo might remain dormant. That would mean betrayal wasn't impossible—only dangerous if discovered.'
But that didn't sit well with him.
'She wouldn't rely on something that fragile.'
The second possibility felt more realistic.
'Authority levels.'
The sect might not treat everyone equally. Liu Qiang was Anointed Realm seventh layer. That alone placed him far above expendable tools like them. Perhaps higher-ranked members had restrictions placed on the tattoo, or additional conditions attached to it.
'Or his tattoo is different,' Zhao Zhiyu thought.
The one on his neck felt uniform, standardized and simple. A mass-produced shackle. It wouldn't be strange if senior members received more refined versions—or ones that could be suppressed temporarily.
Then another thought surfaced, colder than the rest.
'What if betrayal doesn't mean what I think it means?'
'The spider-masked woman said betrayed the sect. That could mean many things. Disobeying orders. Acting independently. Hiding information. Attempting to leave without permission...'
It didn't necessarily mean he attacked the sect or openly rebelled.
'Maybe he crossed a line that wasn't fatal,' Zhao Zhiyu thought. 'At least not immediately.'
There was also the chance that Liu Qiang found a method to interfere with the tattoo itself.
Soul techniques existed. Zhao Zhiyu knew that better than anyone now. His own eye was proof that the soul could alter the body in irreversible ways.
'If someone could isolate the soul from the tattoo…'
The idea was terrifying.
If Liu Qiang managed to partially sever the connection between his soul and the mark, the explosion might not trigger—or might be delayed.
'That would explain why they want him dead instead of letting the tattoo handle it.'
The sect didn't trust the mechanism anymore.
Another, darker thought crept in.
'What if this is a test? The spider-masked woman enjoyed control. She enjoyed fear. Sending six newly made immortals to kill someone far beyond them could be a deliberate trap.'
'If we succeeded, they proved usefulness. If they failed, we die. Either outcome benefited the sect.'
Zhao Zhiyu clenched his jaw.
'And Liu Qiang might not even be the real target.'
He might simply be bait. A lesson or a warning to others who might think of stepping out of line.
In the end, Zhao Zhiyu realized something unsettling.
'No matter which explanation was true, one fact remained unchanged. The crescent moon sect was not omnipotent—but it was cruel, calculating, and experienced. And if Liu Qiang had found a way to turn his back on them, then he was far more dangerous than his cultivation level alone suggested...'
Zhao Zhiyu lowered his head slightly.
The thought came to him suddenly, without warning.
If Liu Qiang died immediately, it would be a loss.
Zhao Zhiyu stopped walking.
'If he's really found a way around the tattoo… killing him outright means losing the method,' he thought.
That realization made his stomach tighten.
They weren't just being ordered to remove a traitor. They were being forced to destroy a living answer. Whatever Liu Qiang knew, about the tattoos, the sect's control, or even escape—would vanish the moment he died.
'But if I don't kill him,' Zhao Zhiyu continued, 'I die instead.'
There was no room for hesitation in that equation.
For the first time, Zhao Zhiyu became fully aware of how his thinking had shifted. He wasn't just considering survival anymore. He was calmly weighing torture, interrogation, and execution as steps in a process.
That scared him.
'I'm really thinking about killing someone… not as a last resort, but as a plan.'
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
He exhaled slowly and forced himself to slow his breathing. Panic wouldn't help. Neither would denial. This place didn't allow innocence to survive. If he clung to it, he would die—and so would the others.
'I don't have to decide alone,' he thought.
Xi Sheng was cautious, strategic. Mei Ling was sharp, experienced, and far more familiar with violence than she let on.
If anyone could help him judge whether extracting information was possible—or even worth the risk—it was them.
Zhao Zhiyu reached up and adjusted the black cloth wrapped tightly around his left eye.
The fabric scratched against dried blood near the edge, a quiet reminder of how close he had already come to losing everything.
He stepped out into the corridor.
The cave sector was dim as always, torchlight flickering against uneven stone walls. Shadows stretched long and distorted along the floor.
'I can't afford to act alone anymore,' he thought. 'Not when one mistake means everyone dies.'
His footsteps were light, controlled, almost silent by habit. But his thoughts were heavy.
'I need their suggestions so we can plan this thoroughly,' Zhao Zhiyu admitted to himself.
With that, he headed toward where he last saw Mei Ling and Xi Sheng, his expression calm on the surface, but his mind already standing at the edge of something irreversible.