The fox's gaze lingered on the silk.
Longer.
More carefully.
Its pupils narrowed a fraction as its spiritual sense brushed across the surface of the bundles—testing density, tensile integrity, residue, purity. The feedback came back clean.
No foreign imprint.
No contamination.
No instability.
Its tails stilled.
Then, slowly…
A smile formed.
Not wide.
Not obvious.
But **sharp**.
*…This might be the best deal I've ever made,* it thought.
Ten jars of wine.
That was all.
Cheap.
Common.
Easily replaced.
And in return—
Five massive bundles of **mid-grade spirit silk**. Clean. Dense. Perfectly wound. Enough to line defensive robes, reinforce talismans, weave barrier flags, or sell for an obscene profit.
The fox's ears twitched.
*To think…* it mused, barely containing its amusement, *I'd get this much for ten jars of wine.*
It glanced at the lizard again.
Still.
Blank.
Watching.
Unaware.
The fox had to restrain a soft laugh.
"…Unbelievable," it muttered, though this time the word was… fond.
It reached out and lightly tapped one of the silk bundles with a claw. The surface barely gave, firm as packed jade fiber.
*It still doesn't even have an idea what this is worth,* the fox thought, half-curious, half-amused.
The lizard did not answer.
It simply stared.
The fox's smile deepened slightly.
*Of course it doesn't.*
And that only made it better.
It drew its paw back and folded its tails neatly around itself, posture relaxing now that cultivation was done and profit was in sight.
"…Alright," the fox said, tone shifting to business. "With this, you didn't just pay me for the wine—you paid more than you owed."
Its eyes gleamed faintly.
"So I'm guessing you want more wine," it added casually, glancing at the lizard. "Don't worry. You can drink yourself stupid again."
The lizard's head tilted a fraction.
Wine.
The fox caught the micro-movement.
It smirked.
"Yes, yes," it said lightly. "More wine."
The lizard remained still.
But something in its posture… eased.
The fox watched it for a moment, then shook its head with a quiet huff.
"…Honestly," it muttered. "I thought you were just a walking disaster that leaves treasures in its wake."
It glanced back at the silk.
"…Turns out you're a walking gold mine."
Silence returned to the room.
But it was different now.
Not tense.
Not wary.
Balanced.
Two creatures sat side by side—one calculating profit routes and market angles, the other satisfied that the **debt ledger was no longer red**.
The fox's eyes lingered on the silk.
Not as a merchant.
As a **weaver**.
As a survivor.
As someone who had once wrapped itself in crude, uneven webbing just to **not die**.
Its mind drifted.
*…Compared to the cocoon it made back then…*
The memory was faint, but sharp.
Ragged threads.
Uneven tension.
Inconsistent density.
A desperate rush to layer and seal before the pain caught up.
Functional.
But ugly.
*These…* the fox thought, gaze tracing the smooth, gleaming curves of the bundles, *are far higher quality.*
Its ears angled forward.
The weave was **perfect**.
No slack.
No overlap.
No weak points.
Each strand laid with precise tension. Each layer aligned. Density uniform all the way through. It was the kind of silk master weavers paid fortunes for—because it saved time, saved effort, saved lives.
*Woven perfectly…* the fox mused. *No flaws. No waste.*
It glanced at the lizard again.
The creature sat there, blank-eyed, motionless, as if producing silk of this quality was no more remarkable than breathing.
The fox felt something… shift.
Not greed.
Not amusement.
Respect.
Small.
Reluctant.
But real.
"…You don't even realize how absurd this is, do you," the fox muttered quietly.
The lizard did not respond.
It did not need to.
The fox's tails swayed slowly as its gaze returned to the silk.
Then it looked back at the lizard.
Three days.
The realization settled quietly in its mind.
"…Alright," it said calmly. "We've been in this room for about three days now."
Its tails shifted as it glanced briefly toward the sealed door, then back.
"There's still four days left on the rental."
Between cultivation, recovery, refinement, and whatever strange internal furnace the lizard had been running… time had slipped by almost unnoticed.
The fox straightened slightly.
"Alright," it said at last, voice calm but decisive. "That's long enough. We need to start moving."
It scanned the room—the spent spirit stones, the empty pill bottles, the crushed jade boxes, the faint scarring on the floor where earth and ice techniques had been tested.
Then its eyes returned to the lizard.
The creature sat there, blank and still as ever… but different.
No tremor.
No stiffness.
No residual weakness.
Its breathing was even.
Its posture balanced.
Its presence… solid.
The fox studied it carefully.
Clinically.
Its ears flicked.
"…You're healed," it said. Not a question.
It let its gaze travel over the lizard's body again.
"…You know," it said slowly, "the rest of you looks completely fine."
The lizard did not react.
The fox's ears twitched.
"No limp. No instability. No aura fluctuation," it continued. "Your qi flow is smooth. Your body's settled."
Its gaze sharpened.
"Honestly… it looks like you weren't injured in the first place."
A pause.
Then the fox's eyes lifted—meeting the lizard's blank, unfocused stare.
"…Except your eyes."
The words were not mocking.
Not cruel.
Just… observant.
The fox tilted its head.
"Have they healed at all?" it asked. "Or are you still seeing the world as a blur—or nothing at all?"
The lizard was silent for a breath.
Then answered simply.
"No. I still can't see."
Its voice was flat.
Unbothered.
Factual.
The fox exhaled softly through its nose.
"…Figures," it muttered.
It leaned back slightly, tails curling around its body as it regarded the lizard with a mix of calculation and something quieter.
"You took backlash from your own attack head-on," it said. "That kind of damage doesn't vanish just because you're hard to kill."
A brief pause.
Then, more lightly:
"…Still. You heal fast. Too fast."
The fox's eyes narrowed with interest.
"Three days ago you were bleeding and barely standing," it said. "Now you look like you could go pick another fight."
It glanced at the lizard's claws.
Its scales.
Its wings.
The lizard did not deny it.
Did not confirm it.
It simply stood there.
The fox did not press immediately.
It waited.
Then:
"But your eyes are still wrong."
A beat.
"…How bad is it?"