Lin Wuchen carried Gu Yan's petition like it was glass.
He held it inside a thin wooden tube sealed with string, but he still kept his hands steady and his posture careful. Spirit ink wasn't supposed to smear once dried, yet Gu Yan had warned him about folds. Warnings from Gu Yan were never only about paper.
Wei led him partway, stopping at a stone stair that climbed toward the upper inner halls.
"From here," Wei said, "you go alone."
Wuchen bowed slightly. "Yes."
Wei's face stayed flat. "Elder Qin doesn't like noise," he said. "If you annoy him, he won't punish you loudly. He'll just make you disappear into chores until you die old and useless."
Wuchen nodded. That sounded like mercy the way sects meant it.
Wei stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Also," he added, "don't mention Lan. Don't mention Luo Ping. Don't mention the market."
Wuchen asked quietly, "Then what do I mention?"
Wei looked at him for a long moment. "Only Gu Yan's name," he said. "And only once."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving Wuchen at the bottom of the stair.
Wuchen exhaled slowly and began climbing.
The upper inner halls were quieter, cleaner, and older. Stone steps were worn at the center, polished by years of feet. Carved lantern posts lined the path, their glass panes clean. The scent of incense grew stronger.
He passed a small garden where a thin stream ran over rocks. A servant knelt nearby trimming moss with scissors, movements precise as surgery.
No one looked up at Wuchen.
That was a kind of pressure too.
Up here, outer yard boys didn't exist unless someone important said they did.
Elder Qin's door sat at the end of a narrow corridor with two stone guardian lions carved into the wall. The lions were chipped but still fierce, mouths open as if ready to bite whoever knocked wrong.
Wuchen stopped three steps from the door and waited.
He listened first.
No footsteps. No voices. No coughing. Only the faint hiss of incense.
He lowered his head and knocked once. Not loud. Not timid. Just enough.
A breath passed.
Then another.
No response.
Wuchen didn't knock again immediately. Knocking again would mean impatience. Impatience was insult.
He waited until his legs began to ache from standing still. Then he knocked a second time, softer.
A faint sound came from inside.
Not a voice.
A scrape, like a piece of wood being set down.
Then the door opened a hand's width.
An old man looked out.
His hair was gray and thin, tied back with a simple cord. His robe was plain but clean, not embroidered like an inner disciple's. His eyes were the kind that had watched too many bodies die to waste emotion on any of them.
He didn't ask Wuchen's name.
He looked at Wuchen's hands.
Then he looked at Wuchen's posture.
Then he spoke.
"Who sent you," Elder Qin said.
Wuchen bowed low. "Senior Brother Gu Yan."
Elder Qin's gaze sharpened slightly, like a blade being tested on a fingernail. "Gu Yan," he repeated. "That boy likes ink."
Wuchen stayed silent. Silence was safer than agreeing.
Elder Qin opened the door wider, just enough for Wuchen to step inside. "Come," he said.
Wuchen stepped in.
The room was simple. A low table with scrolls stacked neatly. A brazier with incense. A wall shelf holding jars of herbs and small beast cores. No luxury, but everything felt controlled, arranged.
Elder Qin shut the door behind Wuchen and turned.
"Speak," he said.
Wuchen slid the wooden tube out of his sleeve and held it out with both hands. "A petition," he said. "Written with spirit ink."
Elder Qin took the tube without touching Wuchen's fingers and unsealed it. He pulled out the paper slowly, careful not to crease it, and scanned the lines with a glance that moved too fast for Wuchen to follow.
Wuchen kept his head lowered and watched Elder Qin's hands instead.
Old hands. Steady. Nails clean. No tremor.
A man with power didn't need to shout.
Elder Qin read for a long moment.
Then he laughed, once, quietly. The sound wasn't amused. It was like hearing a knife scrape stone.
"Beast Tide Season," Elder Qin murmured. "Outer ruins. Resource harvesting. Gu Yan wants to look helpful."
Wuchen didn't move.
Elder Qin looked at him. "Do you know what this means?" he asked.
Wuchen hesitated. "This one is ignorant."
Elder Qin stepped closer until Wuchen could smell incense on his sleeve. "It means bodies," Elder Qin said. "Outer disciples die. Inner disciples take credit. Elders pretend it's training."
Wuchen kept his gaze down.
Elder Qin's eyes narrowed. "Gu Yan sent you because you're convenient," he said. "Or because you're interesting."
Wuchen's throat tightened. "This one only delivered."
Elder Qin's mouth twisted. "Everyone says that," he said.
He returned to the table and tapped the petition with one finger. "Gu Yan is clever," he said. "But clever boys get hungry. Hungry boys pull at nets."
He looked up again. "Do you know why Beast Tide Season happens?" he asked.
Wuchen shook his head slowly. "Beasts breed," he said, offering the simplest village truth.
Elder Qin's smile was thin. "Beasts breed," he repeated. "Yes. And mountains shift. And territories change. That's what peasants say."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharpening. "But cultivators know another word," he said. "Intent."
Wuchen's fingers tightened.
Elder Qin continued, "When enough beasts gather, their intent gathers too. Fear intent. Hunger intent. Blood intent. It presses on the land. It drives weaker beasts out. It drives humans into mistakes."
He tapped the petition again. "Gu Yan wants permission to step into that chaos and harvest from it."
Wuchen's voice was careful. "Is that wrong?"
Elder Qin stared at him for a long moment, then laughed quietly again. "Wrong?" he said. "Wrong is a village word. Here we say 'cost.'"
He rolled the petition and slid it back into the wooden tube. "Tell Gu Yan," Elder Qin said, "that I will not block his petition."
Wuchen's throat tightened. "Elder agrees?"
Elder Qin's gaze stayed cold. "I said I won't block it," he corrected. "That's different."
He stepped closer, voice lowering. "I want to see what beasts come," he murmured. "I want to see what the outer yard produces when it's terrified. And I want to see whether Gu Yan knows how to pay for what he wants."
Wuchen swallowed. He understood just enough to feel uneasy.
Elder Qin reached out suddenly and placed two fingers on Wuchen's wrist.
Not hard.
But cold.
A pulse of pressure slid through Wuchen's arm and into his chest, like a hand reaching toward his dantian without touching it.
Wuchen's breath caught.
Elder Qin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Thin," he murmured.
Wuchen didn't move.
Elder Qin released him and stepped back. "Your Origin is thin," he said, echoing Deacon Han's earlier assessment, but with less cruelty and more interest. "Not broken. Not strong. Thin."
Wuchen bowed quickly. "This one was born poor."
Elder Qin's mouth twisted. "Poverty isn't an excuse," he said. "It's a method."
He walked to the shelf and took down a small jar. He tossed it to Wuchen without warning.
Wuchen caught it with both hands.
The jar was warm. Heavy for its size.
Elder Qin said, "Bronze Body marrow paste. For your lashes. Use it or don't. I don't care."
Wuchen stared at the jar, stunned.
A gift from an elder was never free.
He bowed deeply. "Gratitude."
Elder Qin waved a hand. "Don't waste gratitude," he said, almost annoyed. "Gu Yan likes obedient tools. I like tools that don't shatter before they're used."
Wuchen's throat tightened. "Elder wants this one to serve Gu Yan?"
Elder Qin's eyes narrowed. "I want you alive," he said. "Alive tools carry messages better than dead ones."
He opened the door and pointed out. "Go," he said. "Before I change my mind."
Wuchen bowed again and stepped out into the corridor.
As he walked back down the stair, the jar hidden in his sleeve felt like a new weight.
Not comfort.
A hook.
Elder Qin hadn't refused Gu Yan.
He'd approved him without saying the word.
Which meant Beast Tide Season and outer ruins were coming.
And Lin Wuchen, with thin Origin and fresh lash scars, had just been noticed by a man who spoke about intent like it was weather.
Back in Gu Yan's courtyard, Gu Yan took the tube and read Elder Qin's short response note.
Gu Yan smiled, satisfied.
Then he looked at the jar in Wuchen's sleeve.
"Elder Qin gave you something," Gu Yan said softly.
Wuchen bowed. "A paste," he said. "For wounds."
Gu Yan's smile widened. "You're becoming expensive," he murmured.
Wuchen kept his head lowered.
Inside, he felt the leash tighten again.