The walk back to the sect felt longer than the walk out.
Not because the path changed.
Because their packs were heavier with herbs and their bodies were heavier with things they weren't carrying in cloth.
They moved fast, not running, staying off main trails where other teams might still be hunting. Sun Jiao didn't want another shelf fight. Qin Sui didn't want another spear in her hands. Ma Qiao's shin throbbed with every step and his swollen wrist made him hold his knife like it didn't belong to him anymore.
Liang Zhi stayed close to the middle, quieter now. Fear had finally taught him how to take up less space.
Wuchen walked with his hands visible and his sleeves tucked tighter than usual, keeping the memory of broken fingers buried deep. He had washed at a stream on the way, but the smell of metal still felt like it lived in him, not on him.
By late afternoon, the sect gate appeared through trees.
Gray stone. Clean lines. The same place that had felt like freedom when he left, and now felt like a mouth.
Two guards stood at the gate, spears in hand, faces bored.
When they saw Team Twelve, their eyes sharpened.
"You're early," one guard said.
Sun Jiao bowed with the kind of respect that kept boots from being kicked. "We have harvest," he said. "And injuries."
The guard's gaze swept their group and lingered on bandages. He looked pleased in a sour way. Injured teams proved the mountain was doing its job.
"Registry," he snapped, and waved them through.
Inside the sect walls, the air smelled different immediately. Less pine. More incense and damp stone. The mountain's cold breath was replaced by the sect's controlled breathing.
Outer yard noise drifted faintly from below, like a reminder of where they belonged.
They were herded to the registry platform.
Clerk Chen sat behind the table, ink-stained fingers moving fast. His bruises had faded, but his eyes still looked like a man who slept badly. He glanced up when Team Twelve approached, then quickly looked down again.
Deacon Han stood to the side, teacup in hand, as if the mountain's deaths were a performance he had paid to watch.
His gaze slid over Team Twelve and stopped on Wuchen.
A slow smile formed.
"Lin Wuchen," Deacon Han said softly. "Back so soon."
Wuchen bowed low. "This one survived."
Deacon Han chuckled. "Survived," he repeated. "You make that word sound like virtue."
Sun Jiao bowed. "Deacon," he said. "Team Twelve returns with herbs and one boar bile sac. We lost no men."
Deacon Han's eyes moved to Sun Jiao's pack. "No men lost," he said. "How careful."
Then his gaze sharpened. "And what did you conceal?"
Sun Jiao's jaw tightened. "We concealed nothing," he said.
Deacon Han smiled politely. "Everyone conceals something," he said. He lifted a finger toward Clerk Chen. "Search their packs."
Clerk Chen swallowed and motioned for two guards.
The guards rifled through packs with rough hands, tossing dried herbs onto the table, checking hems, shaking out cloth. They found bitter moon grass, redscale leaves, a small bile sac wrapped in cloth, and a few low-grade beast teeth.
No tusks.
Sun Jiao's face stayed blank.
Deacon Han's smile didn't fade. "Where are the tusks?" he asked casually.
Sun Jiao bowed. "We didn't bring tusks," he said.
Deacon Han's eyes narrowed, just a fraction. "The mountain didn't give you tusks?" he asked.
Sun Jiao's voice stayed calm. "We killed a boar," he admitted. "We took bile. The rest was left."
Deacon Han's smile turned thin. "Left," he repeated. "How generous."
He sipped tea, then looked at the guards. "Strip their boots," he said.
Liang Zhi's face went pale.
Ma Qiao's jaw clenched.
Qin Sui didn't move, but her eyes went cold.
Wuchen felt his stomach tighten. Resin. Blood. Mud. Everything had passed through their boots.
If Deacon Han found the wrong scent, the wrong ash, the wrong resin, he could spin any story he wanted.
The guards knelt and pulled at boots, shaking out pebbles and mud, checking soles for hidden paper.
They found nothing useful.
Deacon Han clicked his tongue, disappointed.
Then his gaze slid to Wuchen again. "Lin Wuchen," he said softly. "Step forward."
Wuchen stepped forward and bowed.
Deacon Han's eyes were bright. "Senior Brother Gu called you to meet in the mountain," he said. It wasn't a question.
Wuchen's throat tightened. "Yes," he said.
Deacon Han smiled. "So you're not just outer trash now," he murmured. "You're trash that gets carried into inner hands."
Wuchen kept his head lowered.
Deacon Han continued, voice mild. "Tell me," he said, "did you see the ruin mouth?"
Wuchen answered carefully. "This one smelled smoke from far," he said. "We didn't go."
Deacon Han's smile held. "And did you see Shen Lu?" he asked, the name coming out smoothly, as if he'd been waiting to use it.
Wuchen's skin prickled.
So Deacon Han knew the thin man's name too.
Information moved fast when people paid.
Wuchen kept his voice flat. "This one saw many teams," he said. "This one doesn't know names."
Deacon Han chuckled. "Liar," he said softly, but without anger. Like a man amused by a dog that had learned a trick.
He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Gu Yan protects you today," he murmured. "But the outer yard still owns your body. Don't forget."
Wuchen bowed deeper. "This one remembers."
Deacon Han straightened and waved a hand lazily. "Punishment," he said to the guards. "Team Twelve returns early. Two days latrine duty."
Liang Zhi's face crumpled.
Sun Jiao's jaw tightened, but he bowed. "Yes, Deacon."
Deacon Han's smile warmed slightly, satisfied. Punishment proved ownership.
Then he looked at Wuchen again. "Lin Wuchen," he said. "After latrine duty, you report to inner service. Senior Brother Gu wants his toy."
Wuchen bowed. "Yes."
Team Twelve was dismissed.
As they walked away from the registry platform, Sun Jiao didn't speak.
Neither did Qin Sui or Ma Qiao.
Liang Zhi wiped his face with his sleeve and whispered, "We came back and still got punished."
Ma Qiao muttered, "That's the sect."
Sun Jiao finally spoke, voice low. "We're alive," he said.
Then his gaze slid to Wuchen for a heartbeat. "Some of us more owned than others."
Wuchen kept his eyes down and walked on.
Returning to the sect hadn't ended Beast Tide Season.
It had only returned them to a cage with rules.
And Wuchen knew cages were more dangerous than mountains in one important way.
In the mountain, beasts ate you because they were hungry.
In a cage, people ate you because they could.