The notice went up at sunrise.
Not in the outer yard first. The outer yard was too noisy to deserve the first word. The notice was posted in the inner hall registry corridor, stamped with the Azure Fang wolf, signed with two elders' names, and sealed with a strip of silver wax that meant punishment for tearing it down.
Servants read it first.
Then inner disciples glanced and smiled.
Then outer disciples heard and started acting brave.
By the time Lin Wuchen came down from Elder Qin's door, the whole sect already knew what was coming.
Beast Tide Season.
Wuchen carried the wooden tube back to Gu Yan's courtyard and delivered it without looking up. Gu Yan read Elder Qin's brief reply, the copied map inside, and nodded once as if confirming a deal.
"He didn't refuse," Gu Yan murmured.
Wuchen kept his head lowered. "Elder Qin didn't block."
Gu Yan's smile widened slightly. "Same thing," he said.
Wei stood at the edge of the courtyard, face flat. His eyes flicked once to Wuchen's sleeves, checking for stains, then away. Tools were counted by whether they returned intact.
Gu Yan rolled the copied map and tucked it into his sleeve. "Now," he said, "the outer yard will be fed to the mountain."
Wuchen's throat tightened. He didn't speak.
Gu Yan looked at him. "You're going too," he said.
Wuchen didn't flinch. Flinching was a gift. "Yes," he said quietly.
Gu Yan chuckled. "Good," he said. "At least you don't waste time pretending otherwise."
He turned and waved a hand at Wei. "Take him," Gu Yan said. "Register him for the outer hunt. Make sure his name sits in a good group."
Wei bowed once and motioned for Wuchen to follow.
They walked down into the outer yard as the morning bell rang.
A crowd had gathered near the training yard. Outer disciples stood in lines, some with spears, some with crude blades, many with nothing but thick sticks. Their faces were a mix of excitement and dread.
Excitement was loud.
Dread was quieter and more honest.
Deacon Han stood near the whipping posts, speaking with two outer disciple captains. His expression was calm, which meant he already had plans for whose bodies to spend.
When he saw Wei and Wuchen, his eyes narrowed slightly.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Wuchen lowered his gaze and kept walking.
Wei stopped before the registry clerk's table and spoke flatly. "Lin Wuchen," he said. "Inner hall errand runner. Assigned to outer hunt team."
The clerk blinked, then looked at Wuchen. His eyes flicked to the lash marks under Wuchen's collar and the bandaged forearm. He swallowed, then began writing the name.
Deacon Han walked over, smiling politely. "Wei," he said. "Inner hall needs outer trash now?"
Wei didn't bow. He didn't need to. He only said, "Senior Brother Gu's order."
Deacon Han's smile stiffened. "Of course," he said. "Gu Yan likes new toys."
Wei's gaze stayed flat. "Don't break it," he said.
Deacon Han's eyes flashed. "Outer yard discipline is my duty."
Wei stepped closer, voice still calm. "If Lin Wuchen returns dead," he said, "Senior Brother Gu will ask why."
Deacon Han's jaw tightened.
He looked at Wuchen, and his smile turned thin.
Wuchen bowed quickly. "Deacon."
Deacon Han's eyes moved over him like a knife measuring meat. "You'll be useful in the mountain," he said softly. "Beasts don't care who owns you."
Wuchen kept his head low. "This one will try to live."
Deacon Han chuckled. "Try again," he murmured, echoing Gu Yan's earlier mockery. "Try is boring."
Then he turned away, smile returning for the crowd.
The registry clerk handed Wuchen a thin wooden tag stamped with a number.
Team Twelve.
Wei glanced at it and nodded. "Good enough," he said.
Wuchen followed him to the team assembly area.
Team Twelve was a miserable collection of people.
Two older outer disciples with narrow eyes and scarred hands, the type who had survived because they stepped over others. Three younger boys with shaking mouths, one of them still bandaged from a training injury. And one broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and a chipped tooth who looked like he'd been pulled out of a prison.
The leader was an outer disciple captain named Sun Jiao. His robe was patched but clean. A cheap saber hung at his waist, and his eyes were sharp in a way that suggested he liked counting what others carried.
Sun Jiao looked Wuchen up and down. "You're new," he said.
Wuchen bowed. "Lin Wuchen."
Sun Jiao snorted. "Fresh meat," he said to the group. "Good. Beasts like fresh meat. It distracts them."
A few boys flinched.
Wuchen didn't.
Sun Jiao's eyes narrowed at the lack of reaction. "Not scared?" he asked.
Wuchen lowered his gaze. "Scared," he said. "But fear doesn't change the mountain."
Sun Jiao laughed. "At least you speak like you've been slapped enough," he said. "Listen, Team Twelve. We don't play hero. We don't chase king beasts. We take what we can and leave."
One of the younger boys whispered, "What about the ruin?"
Sun Jiao's face tightened. "Ruin opens when it opens," he said. "And when it opens, inner disciples take what they want first. We take scraps and pretend they're treasure."
The shaved-head man spat. "Scraps keep you alive," he muttered.
Sun Jiao nodded. "Exactly."
A horn sounded from the outer gate.
The sect was sending the teams out.
Wuchen felt a small tightening in his chest, not from excitement, but from memory. Blackridge Ravine. Horned boar. Blood. Mud. The mountain didn't care about sect notices.
As they began walking toward the gate, a messenger sprinted up with a rolled parchment. He handed it to Deacon Han, who climbed onto the training platform and raised his voice.
"Beast Tide Notice," Deacon Han announced, tone proud. "For the glory of Azure Fang Sect, for resources, for cultivation!"
The outer disciples shouted weakly. Some meant it. Most didn't.
Deacon Han continued, "Teams will hunt common spirit beasts and gather herbs. Any discovery of ruins, beast cores, or treasures must be reported immediately. Concealment will be punished as theft against the sect."
Wuchen kept his eyes down.
Concealment would be punished. Reporting would be punished too, depending on who wanted the prize.
Sun Jiao leaned close to his team and whispered, "If you report immediately, you're a fool. If you conceal stupidly, you're dead. Learn the difference."
Wuchen listened without reacting.
The sect gate opened.
Cold mountain air poured in.
Team Twelve stepped out.
Behind them, the outer yard noise faded. Ahead, Blackridge Mountain waited, silent and indifferent, ready to collect bodies and spit out a few survivors with something worth carrying.
Wuchen adjusted his rope belt, checked the small herb pouch under his shirt, and walked with the team.
He didn't have a weapon worth naming.
He had his eyes, his fear, and his habit of living when others chose pride.
Beast Tide Season had begun.