200: Chapter 200 Abnormal Array Fluctuations, Traitor Emerges

The wind still swirled at the entrance of the mine shaft, but Chen Wuwang was already gone.

The platform beneath his feet was as empty as ever, leaving only a few boot prints in the dust, gradually blurred by the night wind.

He had already traveled far, his figure long since vanished into the brightly lit cluster of towers in the main domain.

The tail flame of his Hoverboard streaked a dark red trail across the sky, heading straight for the central high platform where the Formation hub was located.

There, Ling Zhenzi was staring at a crystal plate, his brow furrowed into a mountain.

On the energy flow map of the main control array, a pulse line that should have been straight and stable flickered slightly—seventeen times per minute was the standard value.

But just three-quarters of an hour ago, it had slipped to sixteen point eight, lasted for a full seven seconds, and then bounced back as if nothing had happened.

But Ling Zhenzi knew something was wrong.

He was a man who made his living by listening to Formations. Formations had sound, like breathing, like a heartbeat.

This fluctuation wasn't equipment aging, nor was it a shift in the ley lines, and certainly not external interference.

It was too clean, too precise, as if someone had taken a pen and lightly changed a decimal point in the ledger of the Heavenly Dao's operation.

His fingers slid rapidly across the crystal plate, pulling up the complete logs for the past twelve double-hours.

Line after line of data rolled past as he compared them frame by frame.

The anomaly had appeared three times; the intervals were getting shorter, while the magnitude of the deviation was increasing.

“It’s not random,” he whispered. “It’s a probe.”

He immediately cut off the external output channels to prevent any potential commands from leaking out along the energy flow.

Next, he opened a private encrypted channel and entered a string of runic secret code that only Chen Wuwang could decipher:

“Core array spectrum drift, suspected human intervention, please come quickly.”

After sending it, he leaned back in his chair, took off his dusty reading glasses, and wiped them with his cuff.

These eyes had seen too many scenes of Formation collapses and had personally buried colleagues who had suffered Qi Deviation due to tampering with Formation Foundations.

He knew that today's entry would be written as 'insider'.

In less than half the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, footsteps were heard outside the door.

Neither hurried nor slow, they stepped on the metal floor, one by one, like a knock on the heart.

The door opened, and Chen Wuwang walked in, still in his black combat suit, his face unwashed from the dust of travel, with a faint glow remaining in his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye after a scan.

Without asking a single question, he walked straight to the main control crystal plate and reached out to connect to the interface.

“Give me the raw data stream,” he said.

Ling Zhenzi nodded and temporarily transferred the permissions.

Chen Wuwang closed his right eye, and his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye suddenly lit up, blue light flowing like water ripples.

His consciousness sank into the depths of the data, and a virtual space composed of spiritual power frequencies expanded before his eyes—

Countless points of light moved like a galaxy, and every pulse turned into a visible ripple.

He traced back along the abnormal frequency.

Soon, he locked onto the source of the problem: a piece of hidden code embedded in the daily dispatch instructions. On the surface, it looked like an ordinary maintenance program used to calibrate the energy consumption of Formation nodes, but once triggered, it would quietly elevate the permission Rank of a certain sub-module and transmit an encrypted data packet back when no one was watching.

“Disguised quite well,” Chen Wuwang sneered. “Even I almost missed it.”

“The key is the timing.” Ling Zhenzi pointed to the timeline. “The first time this code was activated was yesterday at the third mark of the Xu hour—exactly the time that Puppet at the mine started its activities.”

Chen Wuwang's pupils constricted.

Two events, launched simultaneously. One infiltrating the periphery, the other opening a backdoor from the inside. They coordinated seamlessly.

“It’s no coincidence,” he said. “It’s an inside job coordinated with external forces.”

Ling Zhenzi was silent for a moment, then lowered his voice: “There are three people who have had contact with the core array updates recently. All are Elder-level Technical Deacons of the Chen family, with long seniority and clean backgrounds, who usually maintain the System on shifts.”

“The list.” Chen Wuwang held out his hand.

Ling Zhenzi handed over a secondary crystal plate. Three names were listed on it: Chen Yuanli, Chen Shouzhen, and Chen Jinghe.

Chen Wuwang stared at those three names, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the tabletop, one beat at a time, as if calculating some algorithm. He didn't immediately order an investigation, nor did he call anyone for questioning.

He knew that moving now would be alerting the enemy.

“Shut down all public surveillance records,” he said suddenly. “Enable the backup lines and secretly track every trace of these three people's operations. I want to know when they log in, what data they access, how long they stay, and if they've copied any files.”

“Understood,” Ling Zhenzi nodded. “I can add a ‘Shadow Log’ on my end. They won't see it, but I'll receive a complete backup.”

“Good.” Chen Wuwang withdrew his hand, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye deactivated, and the blue light faded.

He turned and walked toward the outer corridor of the secret room, his footsteps heavy.

Ling Zhenzi followed him out and stood by his side, looking at the distant lights of the main domain.

It was still bustling there.

The rhythmic hammering from the Artifact Refining Workshop could be faintly heard, the rising mist from the Medicinal Field shimmered in the night, and youngsters were practicing their swords on the Martial Arts Platform, their laughter drifting with the wind.

Everything seemed normal.

But he knew that some things had already changed.

“If it really is an inside job...” Ling Zhenzi said softly, “there must be someone highly placed involved. Pulling one thread might move the whole body.”

Chen Wuwang didn't speak.

He raised his hand and touched the three claw marks on his right cheek.

The wound had long since healed, but whenever a crisis approached, it felt like insects were crawling under the skin.

He drew a dagger from his waist, the blade glinting with a cold light.

He walked to a stone pillar by the corridor, his wrist sank, and the tip of the knife cut into the stone surface, carving a deep mark.

This was his habit. Before every deployment, he would leave a mark.

“I can tolerate an enemy's frontal assault,” his voice was low, yet it sounded like a blade scraping against iron, “but I will never allow a stab in the back.”

He paused, his eyes cold enough to freeze fire.

“No matter who you are, if you dare touch my Chen family's Foundation... I'll let you know what Cyber Cultivation ‘Source Tracing’ means.”

Ling Zhenzi looked at him and suddenly felt that this young man didn't resemble a Cultivator, but rather a programmer holding a knife—calm, precise, and ruthless.

He knew the storm hadn't arrived yet. But the wind direction had already changed.

Chen Wuwang sheathed his knife and took one last look in the direction of the Formation hub.

“Synchronize intelligence once every midnight,” he said. “Don't let anyone notice.”

“Understood.”

“I'm going to the Main Hall,” Chen Wuwang turned. “Prepare for a closed-door meeting.”

He strode away, his back merging into the night.

The corridor lights elongated his shadow like an unsheathed blade pointing straight ahead.

Ling Zhenzi stood where he was, unmoving.

He put his reading glasses back on, walked back into the secret room, and sat down at the console.

On the screen, the data stream was still rolling.

He opened the “Shadow Log” program and quietly activated it.

The surveillance had begun.

And in some inconspicuous corner of the logs, a new encrypted command was slowly generating, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, silent and invisible.