Sun Jiao didn't move when the stranger said it.
He kept his body pressed behind the rock outcrop, breath quiet, eyes fixed on the shelf path. His fingers rested on his saber hilt, but he didn't draw.
Drawing meant admitting fear.
The other team had six men, maybe seven. Their leader carried a polished spear and wore a cleaner outer robe with a strip of dark trim that suggested inner hall backing. The man who'd sniffed them out was thin, with narrow eyes and a long nose. He smiled like he enjoyed being right.
"Come out," the thin man said softly. "No need for this."
Tu Shun shifted behind the rock, impatient. Wuchen stayed still, watching Sun Jiao's shoulders. Sun Jiao's posture hadn't changed. That meant he was thinking.
The spear leader laughed. "If they hide, it means they have something," he said. "Hiding is confession."
The thin man's smile widened. "Smell is confession too," he said. "Boar blood. Fresh."
Wuchen's stomach tightened. The carcass scent on their clothes had betrayed them.
Sun Jiao finally spoke, voice calm, carrying just enough to reach the shelf. "We're passing through," he said. "So are you. Keep walking."
The spear leader's laugh turned sharper. "Passing through with boar tusks?" he asked.
Sun Jiao didn't answer.
The thin man stepped closer to the rock outcrop and placed his palm on stone, as if feeling it. "Outer boys," he murmured. "Always thinking they can hide under rocks."
He leaned in and spoke louder. "Throw out your pack and we won't break bones."
Tu Shun snorted, loud enough that the other team heard.
The spear leader's gaze sharpened. "There," he said. "I heard that pig."
Sun Jiao's hand tightened on his saber hilt. His voice stayed calm. "We don't want trouble," he said. "Move."
The thin man chuckled. "Trouble is already here," he said.
He reached down, picked up a stone, and tossed it casually at the rock outcrop.
It wasn't aimed to hurt.
It was aimed to force movement.
The stone clacked against rock and bounced into the shadow where Wuchen crouched. Wuchen didn't flinch. But Ma Qiao did. His shoulder shifted.
The thin man's eyes brightened. "There," he said. "I saw you."
Sun Jiao's voice went cold. "Then leave," he said.
The spear leader spat. "Not leaving until we see what you have."
He stepped forward.
Sun Jiao drew his saber.
The sound of steel sliding free was soft, but it changed the air.
The other team's leader smiled, almost relieved. "Good," he said. "I was tired of talking."
He lifted his spear.
The shelf was narrow. Cliff wall on one side, drop on the other. No space for wide swings. That favored spears and knives, and men who didn't panic.
Sun Jiao stepped out from behind the rock outcrop first, saber held low, stance compact. Qin Sui slid out beside him with her short spear, tip angled toward the spear leader's throat.
Ma Qiao moved left, eyes narrow, knife in hand.
Tu Shun came out last, grinning, fists clenched.
Wuchen stayed half-hidden, crouched behind the rock, letting his posture look small. He wanted them to forget him.
The thin man laughed. "Seven on five?" he asked. "You're brave."
Sun Jiao's eyes stayed cold. "Six," he corrected.
The thin man blinked, confused.
Sun Jiao's saber flashed.
Not at the thin man.
At the ground.
He chopped a rope.
A rope that had been looped around a rock spike at the cliff edge.
Wuchen's eyes narrowed.
Sun Jiao had seen the rope earlier. A hunter's snare line, half-buried under gravel, likely meant for deer.
Sun Jiao had tied it when they hid.
Now he cut it.
The rope snapped loose and whipped across the shelf at ankle height.
Two men from the other team stepped forward at the same time.
Their feet caught.
Both stumbled.
One fell hard and slid toward the drop, arms flailing. He managed to catch a rock lip with his fingertips, legs dangling in air.
The other stumbled into Qin Sui's spear.
She didn't stab deep. She drove the spear butt into his stomach, knocking breath out of him, then jabbed the tip into his thigh.
He screamed and dropped.
The spear leader's face hardened. "Tricks," he snarled.
Sun Jiao's saber cut upward in a tight arc toward the spear shaft, trying to chop it.
The spear leader twisted, using the wall to his advantage, and thrust low toward Sun Jiao's knee.
Sun Jiao hopped back, barely avoiding it, and his boot scraped the cliff edge.
One wrong step and he'd be dead without anyone touching him.
Tu Shun lunged forward with a roar and grabbed the spear leader's arm, trying to drag him off balance.
The spear leader slammed his elbow into Tu Shun's face. Tu Shun staggered, nose bleeding.
Ma Qiao slipped behind the thin man, knife moving like a rat bite, stabbing at ribs and kidney.
The thin man twisted away, faster than he looked, and caught Ma Qiao's wrist. His fingers pressed hard, and Ma Qiao grunted, pain flashing.
"Qi Condensation," the thin man said softly, pleased. "You're dead."
Wuchen's stomach tightened.
So the thin man had cultivation. Not high, but enough to break an outer disciple's wrist.
Ma Qiao struggled, face twisting. The thin man tightened his grip, beginning to crush.
Wuchen moved.
Not like a hero.
Like a boy who didn't want Ma Qiao's death to turn the fight into a slaughter.
He scooped a handful of gravel and flicked it hard into the thin man's eyes.
The thin man hissed and blinked, loosening his grip for a breath.
Ma Qiao yanked his wrist free and stumbled back, clutching it.
The thin man's gaze snapped toward Wuchen.
His smile vanished. His eyes sharpened with sudden anger.
"There you are," he said.
Wuchen ducked behind the rock outcrop again.
The thin man stepped toward him, controlled, one hand lifted, fingers curled like a claw. He wasn't using a technique yet. He didn't need to. His qi pressure alone made air feel heavier.
Wuchen's throat tightened.
If that hand landed on his throat, there would be no bargaining.
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out the smallest thing he had.
A copper coin.
Not as money.
As bait.
He flicked it out from behind the rock so it spun into the light and clinked against stone.
The thin man's gaze flicked reflexively to the sound.
Wuchen used the moment to roll out low and fast, sliding under the thin man's reaching arm.
He came up behind him, grabbed the man's belt knot with both hands, and yanked hard.
Not to pull him down.
To pull him off the narrow shelf line.
The thin man's foot stepped wrong. His heel found empty air for half a heartbeat.
His eyes widened.
He scrambled for balance, fingers scraping the cliff wall.
Wuchen didn't push him. Pushing would be murder, and murder made enemies who didn't stop.
Instead, Wuchen slammed his forearm into the thin man's ribs, driving him into the wall.
The thin man gasped, regained footing, and swung his hand back.
A slap.
Not a technique.
Still heavy.
It caught Wuchen's cheek and sent him spinning. His ear rang. His vision flashed white.
Wuchen staggered, biting down on pain, and retreated behind the rock again.
The thin man stepped forward, breathing controlled, eyes cold now. "You're annoying," he said.
On the shelf, the spear leader finally managed to cut Tu Shun open with a spear scrape across the arm. Tu Shun roared and grabbed the spear shaft again, refusing to let go.
Sun Jiao's saber flashed, chopping at the spear tip each time it came near.
Qin Sui jabbed, compact and brutal, keeping two men at bay with short thrusts.
One man still dangled at the cliff edge, screaming for help, fingers slipping.
No one helped him.
Not his team. Not Sun Jiao's.
Beast Tide Season didn't have time for pity.
Wuchen's cheek burned. The thin man's cultivation pressure pressed on him like a weight.
He needed the thin man distracted.
He needed him to turn.
Wuchen took out the only thing that could turn a greedy man faster than fear.
He shouted, loud and ragged, like panic.
"The tusks! He has the tusks!"
The thin man's head snapped toward Sun Jiao instantly.
The spear leader's eyes widened too, gaze flicking to Sun Jiao's pack.
Greed shifted the fight's shape.
Tu Shun, bleeding, laughed through blood. "See?" he barked. "They want the pack!"
Sun Jiao's eyes went cold. He jerked his chin at Qin Sui. A silent command.
Qin Sui stepped back half a pace, then thrust her spear forward suddenly, not at a man, but at the rope line Sun Jiao had cut earlier.
The loose rope tail whipped again, but this time it caught the dangling man's fingers.
The rope jerked.
The man screamed.
His grip slipped.
He fell.
His scream cut off when he hit the rocks below.
Silence punched the shelf.
The other team froze for half a heartbeat, horror flashing across a few faces.
The spear leader's expression hardened into rage. "You killed him!"
Sun Jiao's voice stayed flat. "He climbed," he said. "He fell."
Guards and deacons loved that sentence. Mountains made it true often enough.
The thin man's face tightened, eyes flicking down to where the body had vanished. Anger and greed wrestled in his expression.
Wuchen used that heartbeat.
He grabbed a stone the size of his fist and hurled it at the thin man's knee.
It wasn't a fair strike. It was a survival strike.
The stone cracked into the knee joint with a dull thud.
The thin man hissed and stumbled.
Ma Qiao, wrist hurting, surged forward with his knife and stabbed once into the thin man's thigh, deep enough to make blood spill.
The thin man screamed, finally losing calm.
Sun Jiao saw it and took the moment to slam his saber hilt into the spear leader's throat, not to crush windpipe, but to steal breath. Qin Sui jabbed low and caught the spear leader's calf.
The other team broke.
Not fully.
But enough.
Two men pulled back, dragging a wounded friend. The spear leader staggered, eyes furious, but Sun Jiao's saber point hovered near his chest like a promise.
The thin man, bleeding and limping, glared at Wuchen.
His eyes held a clear message.
This isn't over.
Sun Jiao stepped forward, saber still low. "Leave," he said. "Or we start throwing bodies."
The spear leader spat blood and backed away. "This mountain isn't yours," he snarled.
Sun Jiao nodded. "It's nobody's," he said.
The other team retreated down the shelf path, moving fast now, not because they feared beasts, but because they feared being trapped again.
When they were gone, Team Twelve stayed still for a long moment, listening for footsteps to fade.
Then Tu Shun laughed, breath ragged. "First human kill," he said.
Sun Jiao didn't laugh. He looked down over the drop where the body had fallen.
"It wasn't a kill," Sun Jiao said. "It was gravity."
Qin Sui wiped blood from her spear tip. "Same result," she muttered.
Ma Qiao clutched his wrist, breathing hard. He glanced at Wuchen, eyes narrow, not grateful, not angry. Just reassessing.
Tu Shun looked at Wuchen and grinned. "You threw gravel," he said. "You shouted about tusks. You're not useless."
Wuchen wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His cheek still rang.
He didn't answer.
On the shelf path, a fight had ended.
But the thin man's look had already planted the next problem.
Because in the mountain, beasts didn't keep grudges like humans.
Humans did.
And now a cultivator with Qi Condensation had a bruised knee and blood in his thigh, and he knew exactly which "outer trash" had made him stumble near the edge.