Suspicion did not explode like thunder.
It seeped.
After the meeting, the joint encampment resumed its outward appearance of order. Disciples trained, patrols rotated, healers treated the wounded, and scouts came and went as usual. To any observer—human or beast—it appeared that the sect alliance was merely consolidating after a difficult engagement.
Only the leaders knew the truth.
A trap was being woven.
And the most dangerous part of it was that the prey did not yet know it was being hunted.
Mo Yun gathered the Mountain Sect elders first, his expression steady and unreadable.
"We will continue operations as planned," he said evenly. "However, from this point forward, our internal decisions will not be shared in full. Each leader will receive incomplete information."
No one questioned him.
They understood.
Across the encampment, Shen Yue did the same with the Star Sect, distributing altered scouting routes, false timeframes, and deliberately flawed formation adjustments. Each variation was subtle—plausible enough to be real, but distinct enough to act as a marker.
Han Zhi took a different approach.
He deliberately miscalculated a water-routing plan during a public briefing, then corrected it privately with only two other leaders present. The correction was minor, but crucial. If the manipulator responded to the corrected version, the circle would tighten.
Li Chen observed all of this from the margins.
He offered no strategy, no command.
This was not his snare.
It was theirs.
The Bait
Three days later, the alliance received a report.
A scout claimed to have seen signs of beast congregation near the Ashthorn Ravine, a narrow valley notorious for poor visibility and unstable terrain. It was an ideal place for an ambush—and a perfect opportunity to test the theory.
Publicly, the decision was simple.
"We will investigate cautiously," Mo Yun announced. "Small units only. No full engagement."
Privately, however, three different versions of the plan were circulated:
Version One: Mountain Sect would probe from the north ridge at dawn.
Version Two: Star Sect would deploy detection arrays at dusk.
Version Three: River Sect would redirect underground water flows overnight to disrupt beast movement.
Each version was shared with a different combination of leaders and elders.
Only one version was real.
The others were bait.
The following night, the forest changed.
Not dramatically—not loudly.
But Li Chen felt it first.
The faint hum of coordinated beast qi shifted direction, flowing toward Ashthorn Ravine with unmistakable intent. Scouts reported increased movement, but more telling was how the beasts moved.
They did not approach randomly.
They avoided the false routes.
They bypassed the decoy formations.
And they reacted only to the real plan.
Shen Yue's jaw tightened when the report reached her.
"They ignored the dusk arrays," she said quietly. "They moved before activation… as if they already knew."
Han Zhi's expression darkened. "And the water flow I 'corrected'—the beasts adjusted their paths to compensate."
Mo Yun closed his eyes briefly.
That narrowed it down.
Too precisely.
Still, no accusations were made.
Instead, the leaders refined the trap.
A second layer was added.
A message was deliberately leaked—through controlled channels—that the alliance suspected a traitor among the outer disciples. Patrols were visibly tightened around junior members, and several were publicly questioned.
All of it was theater.
The real watchers were the leaders themselves.
Because if the traitor felt safe, they would act again.
And they did.
That night, a subtle pulse rippled outward from the encampment—too faint to be an attack, too controlled to be accidental. The beasts near Ashthorn Ravine shifted before any orders were issued.
Someone had sent a signal.
Mo Yun's eyes snapped toward the command area.
Shen Yue felt it too.
"So," she murmured, "they're nervous."
Li Chen, standing under the shadow of an old pine, finally spoke.
"Good. Fear sharpens mistakes."
From that moment on, every leader became both hunter and prey.
They watched how others reacted to small changes. Who asked too many questions. Who sought reassurance. Who subtly redirected discussions away from certain topics.
The traitor was careful.
Very careful.
But no one was perfect.
And somewhere in the alliance—perhaps believing they were still unseen, perhaps guided by whispers not entirely their own—a cultivator was about to make a move.
The trap had been set.
The bait had been taken.
Now, all that remained was patience.
Because when the net finally closed, it would not just expose a traitor.
It would reveal who they truly served.