Lin Wuchen washed his forearm in cold water until the blood stopped running.
He used a strip of cloth to bind it tight, then pulled his sleeve down so the wound disappeared. The inner service courtyard had a wash basin for servants, cracked stone and icy water, but it was cleaner than the outer yard's well.
Clean didn't mean safe. It only meant the dirt was harder to see.
When he returned to the servants' storeroom corner where he slept, Wei was waiting.
Wei didn't ask how Wuchen was injured. Wei didn't look at the bandage. Wei only looked at Wuchen's eyes, as if checking whether they still belonged to him.
"You brought it back," Wei said.
Wuchen bowed slightly. "Yes."
Wei nodded once. "Then you live," he said. "For now."
Wuchen didn't answer.
Wei stepped closer and lowered his voice. "The man with the scar," he said. "His name is Luo Ping. He serves Senior Sister Lan."
Wuchen's fingers tightened under his sleeve. "He tried to take the ink."
Wei's expression stayed flat. "He tests people," he said. "And he removes problems."
Wuchen let out a slow breath. "What happens now?"
Wei looked at him for a long moment. "Now Gu Yan smiles," he said. "And Lan gets angry."
As if summoned by the words, the inner bell sounded from higher up the mountain—three slow strikes. Not the outer yard's schedule bell. A private signal for inner disciples.
Servants stiffened. A few hurried down corridors with heads lowered.
Wei's gaze sharpened. "Gu Yan is calling the inner hall," he said. "He's going to write with that ink."
Wuchen's throat tightened. "Write what?"
Wei didn't answer.
He turned and walked toward the corridor. "Stay close," he said. "And don't speak unless spoken to."
Wuchen followed.
They moved through the inner service path until they reached a side hall that overlooked a small courtyard. The courtyard was paved stone, ringed with bamboo, and too quiet. A place built for meetings that pretended to be casual.
Inner disciples were already gathering.
Not many. Five.
Gu Yan stood near a stone table, robe clean, hair tied neatly. He held the spirit ink vial and a brush like a man about to sign a contract.
Senior Sister Lan arrived last.
She walked in with her chin lifted, hair pinned with silver, eyes cold. Luo Ping followed behind her like a shadow, cloak folded back to reveal the scar on his neck.
Luo Ping's gaze met Wuchen's for half a breath.
No expression.
Just a flat acknowledgement that they'd already tried to kill each other in a drainage tunnel.
Lan's gaze slid to Gu Yan's hand. "New ink," she said.
Gu Yan smiled. "Fresh from the lower market," he replied.
Lan's eyes narrowed. "So you sent a dog to fetch it."
Gu Yan's smile stayed polite. "A runner," he corrected.
Lan's lips tightened. "Words don't change blood," she said.
Gu Yan uncorked the vial calmly. The scent of spirit ink spread, sharp and clean. He dipped his brush once and drew a single line on a talisman paper laid on the stone table.
The line didn't look special.
But when the ink touched paper, a faint heat shimmer rose, like the paper had inhaled.
A few inner disciples watched with interest. Not awe. Calculation.
Gu Yan set the brush down and said, "I've drafted a petition."
Lan's eyes narrowed. "For what?"
Gu Yan turned the talisman paper slightly so the others could see. Wuchen could not see the words from where he stood, but he heard the phrase Gu Yan spoke aloud.
"Beast Tide Season," Gu Yan said.
The courtyard quieted further.
Even Lan's expression shifted, a tiny tightening at the corners of her eyes.
Beast Tide Season was a rumor in the outer yard, spoken of like famine. It meant beasts moved in waves, territories shifted, and sects lost disciples by the dozen.
Gu Yan continued, voice mild. "The outer ridge has shown signs," he said. "Blackridge Ravine is restless. A king beast may be near. If we don't prepare, we lose face and resources to the neighboring sects."
Lan's gaze flicked to him. "You want to lead the outer hunt," she said, tone accusing.
Gu Yan smiled. "I want the sect to profit," he said. "Leading is just a detail."
Lan laughed once, sharp. "Details get people killed," she said. "Especially when you use outer trash as bait."
Gu Yan's eyes brightened. "Bait is useful," he said.
Lan's gaze slid to Wuchen then, quick and cold. "That one," she said. "He came back filthy and bleeding. Your bait survived."
Gu Yan's smile didn't change. "He's stubborn," he said.
Lan's voice turned colder. "Or you staged it."
Gu Yan shrugged lightly. "If I had staged it, I would have staged a cleaner wound."
Luo Ping's mouth twitched faintly, almost a smile. It vanished immediately.
Lan stepped closer to the table and looked down at the petition. "You're asking the elders for permission to open the outer ruins," she said.
Gu Yan nodded. "Minor ancient ruins," he corrected. "The kind outer disciples can die in without embarrassing the sect."
Lan's eyes sharpened. "So you can harvest what they bring out," she said.
Gu Yan smiled. "So the sect can harvest," he replied.
Lan leaned in. "And your name will be on the petition," she said.
Gu Yan's gaze was calm. "Naturally."
Lan's hand rested on the table edge. "If you push this," she said softly, "you'll need bodies. You'll need people desperate enough to run into a ruin for a handful of herbs."
Gu Yan's eyes drifted toward Wuchen again, then back. "We have bodies," he said.
Lan's lips curled. "Then keep your bodies," she said. "Don't touch mine."
Gu Yan's smile thinned. "Your dog already tried," he said gently.
The courtyard went still.
Lan's gaze snapped to him. "Watch your tongue," she said.
Gu Yan's voice stayed mild. "Luo Ping followed my runner," he said. "He reached into his sleeve. That's not a misunderstanding."
Lan's eyes narrowed. "If your runner claims this, he should repeat it," she said, and her gaze cut toward Wuchen like a blade.
Wei stiffened slightly beside Wuchen, but he didn't move.
Wuchen's throat went dry.
Gu Yan looked at Wuchen, smile polite. "Lin Wuchen," he said, voice carrying. "Did Luo Ping try to take the ink?"
Wuchen could lie.
He could claim misunderstanding.
Either way he would be crushed by one of them later.
So he chose the truth that served survival best.
"Yes," Wuchen said quietly. Then he bowed. "This one was afraid to lose it. This one struggled."
Lan's eyes went cold. Luo Ping's face didn't change.
Gu Yan nodded as if satisfied. "There," he said softly. "Not staged."
Lan stepped forward, her presence sharp. "Outer trash," she said to Wuchen. "Do you know what you just did?"
Wuchen kept his head lowered. "This one answered Senior Brother Gu."
Lan's voice turned crueler. "You accused my man," she said. "You placed a stain on my line."
Wuchen's fingers tightened. He didn't raise his eyes.
Gu Yan cut in gently. "Senior Sister Lan, don't be angry," he said. "If your man didn't do it, you can punish him for being careless with his hands."
Lan's gaze snapped to Gu Yan. "You want me to punish my own man," she said, disgusted.
Gu Yan smiled. "Only if you want clean hands," he replied.
Lan's jaw tightened. For a moment, she looked like she might strike Gu Yan. She didn't. Inner disciples rarely struck in front of witnesses unless they were ready for consequences.
Instead, Lan turned toward Luo Ping. "Leave," she said.
Luo Ping bowed once and stepped back, but as he passed Wuchen he spoke softly, a whisper only Wuchen could hear.
"You should have let it go," Luo Ping said. "You can't hold ink forever."
Wuchen didn't answer.
Lan left the courtyard with her robe snapping behind her like a banner.
The other inner disciples murmured quietly, interest sharpened.
Gu Yan set his brush down and smiled, satisfied as a man who had just moved pieces on a board.
He looked at Wuchen. "You spoke," he said. "Good."
Wuchen bowed. "This one only obeyed."
Gu Yan nodded. "Obedience is useful," he said. "So I'll use you again."
He held up the petition paper. "Tomorrow," he said, "you'll carry this to Elder Qin."
Wei's shoulders tightened.
Wuchen's stomach tightened too.
Elders weren't inner disciples.
They were the hands that decided whether you lived long enough to become one.
Gu Yan smiled gently, as if offering Wuchen a sweet.
"Don't fold it," he said. "Ink hates creases."