The end of the corridor had collapsed. Rubble blocked the way back, sealing off Lin Yi's last shred of hope. Leaning against Shi Meng, each breath tore at his lungs like a broken bellows. His left arm was beyond pain now; it was numb, frozen from fingertips to shoulder. The dark purple patterns beneath his skin pulsed like living roots, swelling and contracting, sucking away the last remnants of his warmth. "Ahead… the corner." His voice was hoarse and strained. Shi Meng didn't speak, only shifted his shoulder to bear more weight. The man was covered in blood on one side—his own, mixed with wounds from the earlier falling debris. His left hand supported Lin Yi, his right dragged the notched giant axe behind him, its blade scraping against the ground with an intermittent, grating screech. The corner was three steps away. Lin Yi's fingers unconsciously tapped against Shi Meng's shoulder blade, once, then again. It was an old habit when he was thinking, the rhythm carrying a near-cruel precision. He was calculating—how many breaths of spiritual power remained? Could he use that "power" in his left arm, that "sliver of life" stolen from the brink of death, tainted with rust and a cloying, putrid sweetness, one more time? How much strength did Shi Meng have left? All the answers were bad. But they had to find a place to catch their breath. The depths of the ruins were like a disturbed giant beast, each tremor growing more violent. The air was thick with dust and a certain… scorched sweetness, like incense burned too long. Fine sand and gravel trickled down from above intermittently, landing on their shoulders with a faint yet undeniable threat. They turned the corner. The wind stole his breath away. At the far end of the passage ahead stood five men. All wore identical enforcement hall robes adorned with blue cloud patterns, starched stiff, glowing with a cold, hard indigo in the dim light. They stood ramrod straight, like five iron stakes driven into the passageway, their auras merging into one, completely blocking the way forward. The air changed. The previously damp passage, smelling of dust and ancient stone, instantly became dry, icy, filled with an unquestionable, murderous chill. The leader's face was as cold and sharp as a blade-carved cliff. Elder Xuan Yin. In his hand, he held a palm-sized compass, bronze in material, its edges worn bright. At its center, a silver needle pointed straight and unwavering towards Lin Yi, its tip trembling slightly, emitting a continuous, low hum. The sound wasn't loud, yet it seemed to drill directly into the skull, vibrating in the inner ear, carrying a distinct, heart-palpitating sense of being locked on. Lin Yi's heart stopped in that instant. It was not a metaphor. It was a genuine, sudden stop—a missed beat in his chest, followed by a frantic, rib-cracking pounding. Xuan Yin… How could he be here? The Enforcement Hall… Tracking secret arts… The retreat. He sensed it almost simultaneously—the subtle yet clear spiritual energy fluctuations coming from behind. Not one, but at least three, sealing off the collapsed entrance they came from. Encircled. They were trapped in this passage less than thirty feet long. Tigers ahead, wolves behind, and he and Shi Meng were two exhausted, wounded rabbits. The wire was about to snap. "Careful!" Shi Meng's low roar exploded in his ear like muffled thunder. He roughly yet decisively yanked Lin Yi behind him. Gripping the giant axe with both hands, he held it horizontally before his chest, its blade aimed at the five ahead. His broad back tensed, muscles bulging like a fully drawn hard bow. Sweat mingled with blood dripped down his bronze neck. Elder Xuan Yin's gaze passed over Shi Meng and settled on Lin Yi. There was no warmth in that gaze, as if he were examining a tool—a tool that had developed a "fault" and needed "correction" or "disposal." His eyes lingered for a moment on Lin Yi's dangling left arm, its abnormality evident. The corner of his mouth pressed down almost imperceptibly. "Take them." He said. Two words. Clear. Steady. Devoid of any emotion, yet carrying more authority than any roar. It was an order, a verdict, the unquestionable "rule" itself. The two enforcement disciples to Elder Xuan Yin's left moved. Their actions were synchronized. Swords slid from their scabbards with a sharp, cold *shing*—the metallic friction particularly jarring in the narrow passage. The blades reflected a faint light from somewhere, flowing with a mercury-like chill. They didn't charge immediately, but maintained a pressuring formation, steadily advancing. Their footsteps fell on Lin Yi's fingers stopped their tapping. He leaned against the cold stone wall, the chill seeping through his thin robes. The numbness in his left arm was intensifying. Those dark purple patterns seemed to sense a threat, wriggling more actively, bringing waves of deep, bone-penetrating itching and stabbing pain. He mobilized the last remaining shreds of his spiritual energy—almost negligible—trying to sense his surroundings: the structure of the passage, possible weak points, the pattern of falling rocks overhead… Nothing. All dead ends. The aura of Elder Xuan Yin felt like an invisible net, covering this entire area, carrying the suffocating sense of confinement unique to "order." His compass was still humming, pointing unerringly at him, like a hunter locking onto its prey. Was this the end? The thought had just surfaced when he crushed it. His fingernails dug deep into his palms, the sharp pain clearing his foggy mind for an instant. Couldn't give up. At least… not like this. He raised his eyes, his gaze meeting Elder Xuan Yin's. There was no pleading, no fear, only a near-vacuum-like calm. He was assessing: assessing this high-ranking elder's determination, assessing any leeway in his words, assessing… whether his own broken body could still squeeze out one last shred of value to disrupt the situation. Just as the two Enforcement Disciples were three steps away from Shi Meng, their sword tips about to thrust forward— A gray shadow, without any warning, inserted itself between the two sides. Like a ghost, like a wisp of smoke scattered by the wind, instantly coalescing into form. Mo Chen. He stood with his back to Lin Yi and Shi Meng, his wide, tattered gray sleeves billowing without wind, stirring a faint current of air carrying the bitter scent of medicinal herbs. He simply stood there, blocking Elder Xuan Yin's icy gaze and the poised sword tips of the two Enforcement Disciples. He did not look back at Lin Yi. "Senior Brother Xuan Yin," Mo Chen spoke, his voice its usual hoarseness, yet now like iron scraping, firm and decisive. "This place is deep within the ruins. The trial has not ended. Acting against a trial disciple is against the rules." The air in the passageway congealed. The two Enforcement Disciples halted their steps, their sword-holding hands steady as rock, but their eyes shifted to Elder Xuan Yin, awaiting further instruction. Elder Xuan Yin narrowed his eyes slightly. The humming of the compass in his hand seemed to falter by an almost imperceptible degree due to this sudden development. He looked at Mo Chen—this "Silent Master" with a special status within the sect, long silent, nearly forgotten—a glint of cold light flickered deep in his eyes, along with… a trace of scrutinizing doubt. "The rules?" Elder Xuan Yin's tone remained steady, but each word was like a meticulously honed ice spike. "This boy is tainted by forbidden power, has triggered anomalies in the ruins, and is already a calamity. Mo Chen, are you shielding him?" The pressure instantly shifted from direct physical threat to a contest of words and rules. Lin Yi, shielded behind Mo Chen, looked at his master's slightly hunched yet now strangely upright back. What rose in his heart wasn't entirely the relief of being rescued. That back was too cold, stood too straight, carrying a kind of aloofness that kept others at a distance. And that tone… firm and decisive, yet he couldn't hear much concern for a disciple. It sounded more like stating a fact, defending a position. Why appear now? Where had he been before? Why… not look at him? Doubt, like a cold snake, slithered quietly into his heart, which had just begun to feel a flicker of warmth. Mo Chen did not answer immediately. His withered fingers seemed to move within his sleeves, but no one could see clearly. He simply met Elder Xuan Yin's gaze, his hoarse voice echoing in the silent passageway: "Whether it is forbidden power is not for you alone to decide. Within the trial, each has their own encounters, dangers are unpredictable. If Senior Brother wishes to apprehend someone—" He paused, his voice turning several degrees colder, "—please present conclusive evidence, not merely rely on the reaction of a magical tool and… conjecture." He said the word "conjecture" very lightly, yet it was like a needle, piercing the solemn facade of Elder Xuan Yin's "upholding the Heavenly Dao." Elder Xuan Yin's expression darkened. His left thumb unconsciously rubbed the meticulously neat lapel of his daoist robe. Mo Chen's sleeves fell back down. The bitter scent of medicinal herbs spread in the stagnant air. He stood with his back to Lin Yi, like a silent wall. "The rules?" Elder Xuan Yin repeated His withered fingers curled slightly within his sleeve—Lin Yi saw it, an unconscious gesture his master made when deep in thought, as if calculating, or perhaps enduring. Then, that hoarse voice sliced through the silence: "Whether it is forbidden is not for you alone to decide. Within the trials, each has their own encounter." Elder Xuan Yin smiled. The smile held no warmth, only a scrutiny bordering on pity. "Encounter? Tell me, what kind of encounter would allow a cripple with shattered spiritual roots and withered meridians to draw the gaze of the 'Eye of Heavenly Law' deep within the ruins? What kind of encounter—" He took half a step forward, the sole of his boot grinding a piece of rubble into dust, "would leave such... profane marks on his left arm?" Lin Yi's breath hitched. The numbness in his left arm was suddenly pierced by those words. The dark purple patterns beneath his skin gave a violent twitch, like a snake startled awake. He clenched his teeth, swallowing a groan back into his throat. Mo Chen's shoulders tensed. "Trials within ruins naturally carry backlash," his voice grew colder, like frozen iron. "Anomalies are unavoidable during body refinement. Senior Brother Xuan Yin, having presided over the Discipline Hall for a century, do you need me to remind you of such basic knowledge?" "Backlash?" Elder Xuan Yin shook his head, his left thumb slowly rubbing the cloud patterns on his robe sleeve—a habitual gesture. Lin Yi had read in the sect's records that this was called "Straightening Sleeves, Clarifying the Heart," the posture a Discipline Elder assumed before passing judgment. "Mo Chen, you cannot hide it from me." He lifted his gaze, his eyes passing over Mo Chen's shoulder to nail Lin Yi's face. "That aura... I am all too familiar with it. Stealing heavenly secrets, defying natural law, carrying the rotten stench of 'that which should not exist.' Three years ago, during that Heavenly Punishment, we both witnessed the fate of those tainted by such power—utter annihilation, not even entering the cycle of reincarnation." The air in the passage suddenly grew heavy. Lin Yi felt as if a stone were pressing on his lungs, each inhalation pulling painfully at his chest. Three years ago... Heavenly Punishment... utter annihilation... Mo Chen's back abruptly stiffened. "If Senior Brother is so certain," he spoke slowly, each word seeming squeezed from between his teeth, "why not act directly? Let us see whether your 'Heavenly Law Edicts' will first subdue my unworthy disciple, or whether this collapsing ruin will swallow us all first." The moment his words fell, a dull roar echoed from deep within the passage. Not from a fight—a tremor from even deeper. The ruin was groaning. More dust and rubble rained down from above, landing on everyone's shoulders. A Discipline Hall disciple instinctively took half a step back, the tip of his sword trembling slightly. Elder Xuan Yin did not move. He stared at Mo Chen, the light in his eyes like needles tempered in ice. "Are you threatening me?" "I am stating a fact," Mo Chen said. "The structure here is on the verge of collapse due to the earlier disturbance. If Senior Brother insists on taking action here, triggering a full collapse... none of these elite Discipline Hall members, nor you or I, will leave alive." "So you want me to let this calamity go?" "I want you to follow the rules." Mo Chen's voice suddenly rose, the hoarseness pierced by a rare sharpness. "The trial is not over, the disciple has not left the ruins, the sect has no right to interfere with what is obtained or encountered within—this is the ironclad law the Azure Cloud Sect has upheld for three hundred years! Xuan Yin, will you personally shatter this rule today for the sake of a mere suspicion?" He uttered the word "suspicion" lightly, yet it pierced like a needle through Elder Xuan Yin's solemn facade of "upholding the Heavenly Way." Lin Yi leaned against the cold stone wall, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the uneven rock surface. Once, twice, thrice. His master was lying. No, not entirely—the ruin was indeed close to collapse, and the rule did exist. But his master was avoiding the most crucial question: What exactly was the mutation in his left arm, that aura of "theft"? Why didn't he dare answer Elder Xuan Yin's question about the "nature of the power" directly? Why was he hammering the topic onto "rules" and "risk," as if building a wall to block the real answer behind it? And... that momentary stiffness in his master just now. When Elder Xuan Yin mentioned the "Heavenly Punishment three years ago" and "utter annihilation," Mo Chen's shoulders had tensed like “Mo Chen, we both know well that above rules, there is the Heavenly Dao.” His voice regained its steadiness, but was colder than before. “The abnormality in this boy’s left arm matches perfectly with the energy fluctuations of the ruins—that is a fact. He attracted the gaze of the ‘Heavenly Law Eye,’ triggering the chain collapse of the restrictions—that is also a fact. As for what exactly he comprehended…” He paused, his gaze sweeping over Lin Yi once more. That look was like a dissection. “I can wait. Once we leave the ruins, the ‘Heart-Mirror’ and ‘Trace-Origin Array’ will verify the truth. But before that—” Master Xuan Yin raised his right hand, palm upward. A pale golden talisman slowly materialized, rotating, emitting a heart-palpitating aura of rule power. “He must wear the ‘Spirit-Binding Shackles’ and be placed under close surveillance by the Enforcement Hall. This is the bottom line.” Mo Chen’s sleeves stirred without any wind. “And if I refuse?” “Then that is defiance of orders.” The golden light in Master Xuan Yin’s palm suddenly blazed intensely. “According to Sect Discipline Article Seventy-Three, those who shield taboos and defy orders… may be executed on the spot.” He spoke the last four words with utter casualness. The temperature in the passage plummeted. Lin Yi saw Shi Meng’s hand tighten around the axe handle, knuckles turning white. He saw Mo Chen’s gaunt back cast a long, distorted shadow under the golden light. He saw his master slowly raise his right hand—that hand was trembling slightly. Not from fear. It was something more complex, like anger, like despair, like… guilt? “Master.” Lin Yi spoke. His voice was terribly hoarse, like sandpaper grinding over stone. Mo Chen’s back jolted violently, but he did not turn around. “The ‘Spirit-Binding Shackles’ he mentioned,” Lin Yi slowly straightened his body. The numbness in his left arm was replaced by a sharper, stabbing pain—those patterns were heating up, as if resonating with the golden light in Master Xuan Yin’s palm. “After putting them on… what happens?” Mo Chen was silent for a long time. So long that Master Xuan Yin narrowed his eyes slightly. “…Spiritual power sealed, five senses weakened, movement restricted.” He finally spoke, the slight hoarseness in his voice turning utterly parched. “Until the investigation concludes.” “Will I die?” “If you are innocent, of course not.” “And if I am not innocent?” This time, Mo Chen did not answer. He was facing away from Lin Yi. Lin Yi couldn’t see his expression. But that back, under the dim light, seemed exceptionally heavy, as if carrying an invisible mountain. The golden light in Master Xuan Yin’s palm grew brighter and brighter. “Lin Yi, your master cannot protect you.” He said slowly. “In this world, once certain things are tainted, they can never be cleansed. That power within your left arm… it does not belong here. It is a mistake, an ‘anomaly’ that must be corrected. Put on the Spirit-Binding Shackles, return to the sect with me for trial, and perhaps you can still keep your life. If you insist on resisting…” He did not finish. But the four Enforcement Hall disciples behind him simultaneously took a step forward. The metallic rasp of swords being drawn was perfectly synchronized, echoing in the narrow space. Lin Yi’s fingertip tapping stopped. He lowered his head, looking at his left hand—the dark purple patterns beneath the skin were now pulsing slowly to the rhythm of the golden light, as if alive. Theft, defiance, something that should not exist… Master Xuan Yin’s words were like nails, hammering into his mind one by one. Then he raised his head and looked at Mo Chen’s back. “Master.” He called out again, his voice terrifyingly calm this time. “You knew from the very beginning, didn’t you? You knew what was wrong with this arm, what this power is, knew that it… is dangerous. So dangerous that even you are afraid.” Mo Chen’s shoulders tensed even tighter. “You didn’t tell me, were you afraid I would collapse after learning the truth? Or were you afraid that after learning the truth… I would become something even you couldn’t control?” “Lin Yi.” Mo Chen finally spoke, his voice carrying a weariness Lin Yi had never heard before. “Now is not the time for this.” “Then when is the time?” Lin Yi laughed, the corner of his mouth pulling into an ugly curve. “When I’m shackled, dragged back to the sect, and thrown into the Heart-Mirror until my soul scatters Mo Chen did not respond. He merely shifted slightly, using his shoulder to more completely block True Master Xuanyin’s line of sight. This subtle movement made Lin Yi’s heart sink again—it wasn’t protection, it was **concealment**. Like hiding a piece of loot that couldn’t see the light. The tearing sensation in his left arm continued. The dark purple patterns beneath his skin were no longer writhing violently, but they lay coiled deep within his flesh like dormant vipers, bringing an icy sting with each breath. Lin Yi gritted his teeth, trying to push himself up with his right arm, but his arm trembled violently. Shi Meng pressed a hand down on his shoulder. "Don’t move." Shi Meng’s voice was extremely low, carrying a panting breath. He tore off another relatively clean strip from his inner garment and, with rough but swift movements, wrapped it tightly around Lin Yi’s left wrist where the bleeding was worst. The fabric was coarse, bringing fresh pain as it tightened, but it also temporarily blocked his skin from direct contact with the air—and with the increasingly dense, unsettling indigo chill-light within it. "That thing…" Shi Meng’s bandaging hand paused briefly. He shot Lin Yi a quick glance, then looked down and continued his work, his voice dropping even lower. "...is it ‘eating’ you?" Lin Yi’s breath hitched. Shi Meng said no more. He just tied a firm knot, then pulled out the flattened waterskin from his robes and shook it. Two mouthfuls remained. He pulled the stopper and, instead of handing it over, brought it directly to Lin Yi’s lips. "Drink." A command. Unrefusable. Lin Yi parted his dry, cracked lips. The clear water slid down his throat, carrying the faint, distinctive taste of leather from the skin and the residual warmth of Shi Meng’s body heat. Only two mouthfuls, but it felt like sweet rain. He swallowed greedily, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The waterskin was empty. Shi Meng tossed the empty skin aside casually, then dug out a piece of dried meat from his belt, flattened and misshapen. Dark brown, hard as stone, its edges stained with grime that could be blood or dirt. He wiped it with his palm—making it dirtier—then broke off a small piece and shoved it into Lin Yi’s hand. "Eat." The same word. Lin Yi looked down at the ugly morsel of food in his palm. His stomach churned with nausea and weakness, but from a deeper place came a hollow, all-consuming hunger. He hesitated no longer, stuffing the meat into his mouth and biting down with all his strength. ***Crunch.*** His teeth hit the tough fibers, sending a numbing shock through his cheekbones. A salty, bloody, coarse texture with a faint hint of mold exploded in his mouth. He chewed mechanically, swallowed, as if completing a necessary task. Shi Meng crouched beside him, his gaze sweeping the surroundings vigilantly. His great axe lay across his knees, its blade still stained with the blood of the Enforcer disciple from earlier, now dried to a dark brown. From beyond the corner, True Master Xuanyin’s voice rang out again, this time laced with undisguised mockery. "Silent Master? Hah. You truly do resemble a mute now." He took a step forward, rubble shifting underfoot. "Do you think shielding him can hide the ‘Mark of Theft’? That is the brand of Heaven’s Law, Mo Chen. The indelible filth upon a ‘Fate-Stealer’. You cannot hide it, nor can you protect him." Mark of Theft. Lin Yi’s chewing stopped. He raised his eyes to look at Mo Chen’s back. The grey-robed elder’s shoulders tensed imperceptibly for an instant. He still did not turn around. "The disturbance within these ruins is caused by the triggering of an ancient forbidden formation." Mo Chen finally spoke, his voice terribly hoarse yet unnaturally steady, steady to the point of being deliberate. "It is a separate matter from a disciple, in the course of trial, stumbling upon a fortuitous encounter and suffering backlash. If Senior Brother Xuanyin insists on conflating the two, might I suggest we wait until the ruins stabilize and invite the Sect Master and the various Grand Elders for joint deliberation." "Joint deliberation?" True Master Xuanyin sneered. "Wait until these ruins collapse completely and bury you all along with that ‘filth’? Or wait until this ‘Mark of Theft’ completely erodes this boy’s mind, turning him into a monster that knows only plunder?" Monster. Lin Yi’s fingers curled, his nails digging into his palms. The coarse fibers of the dried meat "Fine talk of an unstable foundation." Master Xuan Yin's voice abruptly sharpened, brimming with suppressed fury. "Mo Chen! Do you take me for blind?! The moment his spiritual power scattered, there were clear traces of 'rules' being briefly twisted! That is the embryonic form of the 'Plunder' authority! A 'Seed of Rebellion' that the Heavenly Dao absolutely will not permit to exist!" He suddenly raised his hand, the phantom jade seal in his palm blazing with intense light. A vast, righteous aura surged forth like a tidal wave, momentarily repelling the surrounding, pervasive indigo chill-light and the ceaselessly falling rubble. "Today, I shall enact Heaven's punishment in its stead and eradicate such an 'aberration'!" The phantom jade seal flew from his hand, swelling as it moved, transforming into a massive seal that radiated magnificent golden light and covered half the passageway. It **slammed down** towards the corner where Mo Chen and Lin Yi were! This was not an attack. It was **suppression**. It aimed to use the purest power of "Order" to **crush and purify** everything within that area that was "abnormal," "rebellious," or "plundering," along with the space itself. Shi Meng roared in anger, grabbing his giant axe and surging up to block it head-on. "Stand back!" Mo Chen shouted sharply, turning around for the first time. His face was pale, a trace of dark red blood even seeping from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes shone with a terrifying intensity. His hands rapidly formed seals before his chest, his ten fingers flying so fast their afterimages nearly blurred into one. No incantation. No chant. Only the ground beneath his feet, the originally chaotic rubble and dust, suddenly **came alive**. As if pulled by invisible threads, they gathered, piled, and solidified at an astonishing speed. In the blink of an eye, a thick, earthen-yellow stone wall covered with twisted sigils rose before Mo Chen. The moment the stone wall formed, the phantom jade seal **smashed** down. "BOOM——!!!" A deafening roar. Not the clang of metal, but the dull impact of a collapsing mountain. The entire corner shook violently. The supporting stone pillars overhead groaned under unbearable stress, cracks spider-webbing across them. The sigils on the stone wall flashed madly, flickering wildly. A large amount of rubble and dust crumbled from the wall's surface. Mo Chen's body convulsed violently. He grunted, the bloodstain at the corner of his mouth widening. But his feet seemed rooted, stubbornly planted in place. His hands maintained the seal-forming posture, fingertips trembling slightly. Golden light and earthen yellow light locked in stalemate, wrestled, and corroded each other. The passageway emitted a painful **creak** under the pressure of the two forces. More rocks peeled away from above and the sides. The indigo chill-light surging from the ground cracks grew denser, almost condensing into a tangible icy mist that spread along the floor. Wherever it passed, everything was covered in a thick, squirming layer of indigo-blue ice crystals. Lin Yi was pinned firmly by Shi Meng in the deepest part of the corner. Rubble and ice crystals continuously splattered onto them. Through the gap beside Shi Meng's broad shoulder, he watched Mo Chen's slightly hunched but unyielding back, watched that stone wall constantly disintegrating and reforming under the golden light. And that glaring red at the corner of Mo Chen's mouth. His heart felt clenched by a cold hand. This silent man... *** The aftershocks of the tremor still hummed in his bones. Lin Yi slumped against the wall, his back against the cold stone. Every breath tugged at his left arm. It wasn't pain anymore; it was something worse—numbness, freezing from his fingertips all the way to his shoulder. The dark purple patterns beneath his skin pulsed like dormant vipers, expanding and contracting, sucking away the little warmth he had left. He lifted his gaze. Mo Chen stood with his back to him, at the entrance to the passageway corner, half-blocked by rubble. His grey robe was like a solidified shadow, utterly motionless. Only the cuffs occasionally stirred, gently brushed by the indigo-chilled air seeping from deep within the passage. His master hadn't looked back, hadn't spoken. The words "Regulate your breath. Do not act recklessly again," still hung in the air, each syllable hard and heavy, seeming to echo when they hit the ground. Lin Yi's fingertips unconsciously tapped the ground. Once. Twice. The rhythm grew erratic. He remembered the look in Mo Chen's eyes just now—in that instant when he was forced to use that "plundering" power to disrupt the spiritual energy flow of the law Shi Meng crouched in front of him, partially blocking the view of Mo Chen's back. The sturdy man's face was still smudged with dust from the earlier fight, a small cut at his temple oozing beads of blood. He unscrewed a leather waterskin, his movements a bit clumsy as he carefully controlled the flow of water and brought it to Lin Yi's lips. The sensation of cool water flowing over his parched lips made Lin Yi jolt. Cold. With a hint of the unique sweetness of mountain spring water. The liquid slid down his throat like a faint ray of light, piercing through the chaotic numbness and burning pain within his body. He gulped greedily, choked, and coughed until his eyes stung. Shi Meng didn't speak, just moved the waterskin closer again. After Lin Yi finished drinking, Shi Meng fished out a piece of dried meat wrapped in oiled paper from his chest. The paper was crumpled, the dried meat inside dark and hard, its edges sharp to the touch. He broke off a piece with force and shoved it into Lin Yi's hand. "Eat," Shi Meng's voice was muffled, as if squeezed from deep within his chest. "Gain strength." Lin Yi looked down at the dried meat in his hand. Its texture was coarse, the muscle fibers visible. He took a bite. It was so hard it nearly cracked his teeth. He chewed slowly, the rough fibers grinding between his teeth, carrying a salty taste and a smoky, primitive meaty aroma. The flavor was unfamiliar, yet grounding. Like stone, like earth. "Brother Shi..." he swallowed the mouthful of meat, his voice terribly hoarse. "Thank you." "Nonsense," Shi Meng turned his face away, scratching the back of his head, the tips of his ears slightly red. "Hurry up and eat." From the other end of the passage, the faint voice of Xuan Yin Zhenren could be heard, carrying a certain rhythm, as if chanting a spell to stabilize the space. The figures of a few Law Enforcement Hall disciples flickered in the distance, vigilantly monitoring this side, but for now, they made no move to approach. The tremors from the ruins had subsided, but fine sand and gravel still occasionally rustled down from above, reminding everyone that the peace beneath their feet was as fragile as a thin layer of ice. Shi Meng shifted his body, more completely blocking the line of sight between Lin Yi and the direction of Xuan Yin Zhenren. He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper: "Your master... has his difficulties." Lin Yi's chewing halted for a moment. He raised his eyes to look at Shi Meng. This straightforward man's gaze held something different now—not pity, but a heavier understanding born from experiencing similar predicaments. Shi Meng wasn't looking at him; his eyes were fixed on his own rough palms, covered in thick calluses and old scars. "Survive first," Shi Meng said again, his voice even lower. "The rest... we'll talk later." Lin Yi remained silent. He bit down on the dried meat again with force. This time, his teeth broke through the hard outer layer, tasting the deeper meat inside with its faint hint of metallic sweetness. He chewed, bite after bite, swallowing down the salty, metallic flavor and the roughness. Strength seemed to return a little, though negligible; the suffocating numbness in his left arm seemed slightly diluted by this crude act of eating. He looked again at Mo Chen's back. That figure remained frozen. The wide sleeves of his robe hung down, utterly motionless. His master was on guard, calculating, weighing options. Lin Yi knew that. But he also knew that the aura emanating from that back right now wasn't just the solemnity of guarding against external threats. There was also... a distance. A distance born from knowing a dangerous truth, yet being unable or unwilling to speak of it. Plunder. Transgression. Xuan Yin Zhenren's words were like nails hammered into his mind. Master, what exactly are you hiding? Are you afraid of me too? The tapping of his fingertips stopped. Instead, his left hand unconsciously clenched the remaining dried meat, the rough fibers digging into his palm. Deep within that palm, it seemed the aftertaste of that bizarre power from forcibly "stealing" a sliver of life still lingered—cold, slippery, carrying a nauseating, predatory pleasure. Deep in the passage, the faint blue cold light flickered again. Brighter than before. The rustling sound of spreading ice crystals also seemed closer. The cloyingly sweet, metallic smell in the air was thick and unshakeable. Mo Chen's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly for an instant. He finally moved, turning his head slightly, his peripheral gaze sweeping over Lin Yi's direction. That gaze still held no warmth, but Lin Yi caught a fleeting, He opened his mouth, wanting to ask "what are the worse things," wanting to ask "what exactly happened to my left arm," wanting to ask "how much do you really know." But all the questions were stuck in his throat, crushed by Mo Chen's cold and distant back, by the pressure of Xuan Yin Zhenren's menacing presence not far away, by the unknown threat drawing ever closer from the depths of the passageway. In the end, he just nodded, forcefully swallowing the last bit of dried meat in his mouth. Then, he closed his eyes, trying to guide the nearly depleted, scattered wisps of energy within his body. It was difficult. Every time his spiritual power attempted to flow through the meridians of his left arm, it was like crashing into a wall covered in ice spikes, the pain instantly soaking his undergarments with cold sweat. But he forced himself to continue. Again, and again. Shi Meng stood guard silently nearby, like a mute rock. He no longer spoke, only occasionally sweeping his vigilant gaze across both ends of the passageway, his hand always resting on the handle of the battered great axe at his waist. Time crawled slowly through the oppressive silence. The incantations from Xuan Yin Zhenren's side stopped. The passageway was temporarily stabilized by some force. But the feeling of being watched, like a clinging bone disease, did not diminish in the slightest. Xuan Yin Zhenren himself stood at another bend about thirty zhang away, his daoist robe spotless, his expression solemn. The compass-like magical instrument in his hand had been put away, but his gaze was like a tangible chain, firmly fixed on Mo Chen, occasionally sweeping over Lin Yi with undisguised scrutiny and disgust. Mo Chen remained with his back to them, like a stone statue guarding the door. His shadow was stretched long and twisted on the mottled wall by the eerie blue cold light behind him. Lin Yi noticed that his master's right hand, hanging by his side, was subtly flexing its thin, bony fingers within the sleeve—extremely faint, almost invisible spiritual light flowed at the fingertips. Was he calculating something? Deducting something? Or... preparing something? Lin Yi regulated his breath, feeling the pitifully weak power within him gathering bit by bit. His body was still in terrible shape, the mutation and pain in his left arm followed him like a shadow, and the trauma to his soul sent waves of needle-prick dizziness. But at least he could still breathe, still think, still... doubt. A cold, clear understanding settled in his chest with every heartbeat. He was no longer that disciple who could only rely on his master's protection and flee in weakness. He was now a trapped person... who had developed suspicions toward his protector, whose heart was being gnawed by loneliness, yet who had unexpectedly gained a sliver of support from a companion's clumsy but solid actions. Ahead, there was Xuan Yin Zhenren leading the sect's law enforcement hall to intercept; behind, there was the unknown crisis activated deep within the ruins, drawing closer; internally... there was the chasm of trust between him and Mo Chen that had just cracked open, and he did not know if it could be repaired. A stalemate. Fragile as a spider's web, suspended over an abyss. And beneath that abyss, the eerie blue, sweetly pungent, deathly silent cold light was silently, step by step, rising. "Junior Brother Mo Chen." Xuan Yin Zhenren's voice suddenly pierced through the silence, steady, yet carrying an undeniable penetrating force. "The passageway has been temporarily stabilized. But the root cause of the anomaly here has not been eliminated. Delaying is pointless. How long can you protect that scum?"