As the fox turned to leave, the attendant hesitated—then stepped forward once more.
"Honored guest," he said quickly, lowering his voice. "Please wait a moment."
From his sleeve, he produced a **jade card**, smooth and faintly warm to the touch. Intricate silver lines traced its surface, forming the sigil of the **Heavenweight Exchange Pavilion**. At its center was a single engraved character:
**VIP**
"This is a **Heavenweight VIP Card**," the attendant said respectfully.
"It grants priority access to private auctions, reduced transaction fees, and direct appraisal services. Future trades may also be converted without delay."
He paused, then added carefully, "It is not given lightly."
The fox's ears twitched.
It took the card, turning it once between its claws. The jade was genuine—high-grade—and the pavilion's imprint was deep and unmistakably official.
"Heh," the fox chuckled softly. "Looks like you've finally learned how to do business."
The attendant forced a polite smile and bowed again.
"Please accept it as a token of goodwill."
The fox slipped the VIP card into its storage pouch, already considering how useful it would be. With one last glance around the pavilion, it stepped forward—
As they exited the chamber and blended back into the flow of the exchange, the fox sent a casual, satisfied voice transmission.
*"Alright, just like before, now we just need to—"*
It was cut off.
*"The numbers don't add up,"* the lizard's voice slipped in—flat, calm.
The fox paused mid-step.
*"Huh? What numbers?"*
*"The spirit stones,"* the lizard replied. *"The amount is wrong."*
For a heartbeat, the fox stared ahead—then a low chuckle escaped it.
*"Heh. Look at you, actually paying attention to something that isn't food."*
It shook its head, amused. *"I thought you only counted when corpses were involved."*
The fox resumed walking, tone light.
*"You mean the credit total, right? Why it's so much higher?"*
A brief pause—then smug satisfaction crept into its voice.
*"That's because I transferred all the **credit sheets** I found in those pouches to myself."*
The lizard went silent.
The fox's eyes gleamed faintly beneath the illusion.
*"Those cultivators weren't just carrying tools and pills. Some of them had long-term credits registered with Heavenweight—unfinished transactions, stored balances, deferred exchanges."*
It clicked its tongue. *"What a waste that would've been if no one claimed them."*
It continued, utterly unapologetic.
*"Once the imprints were erased, the credits were basically ownerless."*
*"I just… helped myself."*
A soft laugh followed.
*"See? Killing people isn't the most profitable part."*
*"It's cleaning up after them."*
They disappeared into the night market—one pleased with its cleverness, the other quietly recalculating just how dangerous its partner truly was.
The fox's steps never slowed as it spoke, voice calm, almost lazy, as if explaining something obvious.
*"As I was saying… just like before, we only need to move the hook."*
A faint smirk edged its tone. *"The bait's already dangling. The fish just don't know they're hungry yet."*
It glanced ahead, toward the brightly lit entrance of the Heavenweight Exchange Pavilion.
*"And unlike last time, we're not using the back entrance."*
*"We're walking straight out the **front door**—the same way we came in."*
The lizard remained perched on its head, invisible and silent, listening.
*"Yes, it might look suspicious,"* the fox admitted calmly. *"A woman—no, a **boy**—walking straight out into the open instead of slipping away."*
A faint scoff followed. *"But we already used the other method once."*
The fox's reasoning flowed smoothly, practiced.
*"If we vanish through some hidden route again, it'll be too clean. Too deliberate."*
*"Everyone who followed us last time disappeared. No bodies. No aftermath."*
It gave a quiet chuckle. *"Do that twice and even idiots start calling it a trap."*
The lizard stayed silent.
The fox's eyes narrowed slightly.
*"Doing it again would only confirm their suspicions."*
*"They'd think we're trying to scare them. Or bait them too obviously."*
*"But this?"*
The fox gestured casually as they passed through the pavilion doors and into the night market.
The illusion brushed past a pair of cultivators who didn't spare them a second glance.
*"This time, we do the opposite."*
*"We walk straight. Open. Visible."*
Its tail swayed lazily.
*"If the prey sees us leaving normally, they'll think we're trying to shake them by acting natural."*
*"And some of them…"*
A faint, amused breath escaped it. *"They'll convince themselves it's safe precisely because it looks careless."*
Crowds pressed in—vendors shouting, lanterns swaying, footsteps overlapping.
*"We won't rush. We won't hide."*
*"We'll walk straight ahead, like we don't care who's watching."*
A pause.
*"That's the real bait."*
Its eyes glinted beneath the illusion.
*"The moment they notice we aren't doing anything clever, they'll start thinking."*
*Why isn't he running?*
*Why isn't he hiding?*
*Is he confident… or is he bluffing?*
The fox's voice dropped—smooth, sharp.
*"And the moment doubt creeps in, they're already hooked."*
It smiled to itself as the crowd swallowed them whole.
*"Because curiosity always beats caution."*
Its voice lowered further.
*"Whether they think it's bait or not doesn't matter."*
*"Fish that hesitate still follow."*
Ahead, the main avenue of the night market opened wide—bright, crowded, impossible to miss.
The fox didn't slow.
*"So keep your senses open,"* it told the lizard softly.
*"Let them choose to bite."*
Together, they walked straight into the open—inviting eyes, greed, and danger to trail behind them.
They kept moving—
not hurried, not slow.
Just enough confidence to look untouchable.
Lantern light gradually thinned behind them, the noise of the market fading into a distant hum. A few more steps and they emerged beyond the market's outer boundary, slipping into a quieter stretch of River M—stone streets damp with night mist, tall buildings casting long, uneven shadows.
The fox did not pause.
With a light bend of its legs, it **leapt**, landing cleanly atop a nearby rooftop. Tiles barely shifted beneath its weight.
It straightened, tail low, ears pricked—not scanning obviously, not revealing intent. Just standing there, as if this were the most natural path in the world.
Through the voice transmission, calm and sharp:
*"Good."*
Another step carried it toward the roof's edge, gaze drifting over the streets below—dark windows, narrow alleys, perfect.
*"If anyone followed, this is where they'll hesitate."*
*"Leaving the market means no witnesses. Rooftops mean commitment."*
A faint, dangerous amusement slipped into its tone.
*"And anyone who still comes after this…"*
*"…will be delivering themselves alongside their pouches."*