The fox kept walking.
Its steps were smooth, unhurried, as if nothing had happened—yet its voice was lower now, measured.
"…Still," it muttered, more to itself than to the lizard, "you really should pay attention. After all that, you weren't exactly at your brightest either."
The lantern light thinned as they moved deeper into the side streets. The air here smelled different—less incense, more damp stone and old wood.
Then—
The lizard spoke.
Calm.
Flat.
Certain.
"…Where are we going?"
The fox didn't answer immediately.
"This isn't the same way," the lizard continued, claws resting lightly now, no threat in them. "We didn't pass this street when we came in."
The fox slowed.
Just a little.
Its ears twitched once.
"…Good," it said at last.
It stopped beneath a hanging lantern, letting the light paint half its illusioned face in gold and the other half in shadow.
"You noticed."
It turned its head slightly, just enough that the lizard could feel the shift beneath its feet.
"We're not going back the way we came," the fox said. "That path is watched now. Heavenweight never lets a buyer, seller, or special guest leave the same way they enter—especially one who traded Earth-grade tools without a backing seal."
Its tails swayed, slower now.
"This route," it continued, "is a **clean exit**. Fewer eyes. Fewer ears. Fewer people who remember faces."
A pause.
"…And before you ask," it added, "no, we're not being led into a trap."
It took another step forward.
"If they wanted us dead, we wouldn't be walking."
The fox glanced upward, scanning rooftops, then resumed its pace.
"So yes," it said calmly. "This is a different way."
Then, softer—almost approving:
"And that you caught it?"
"…Good."
The fox let out a soft, amused breath.
"…I thought you couldn't see," it said, tone light but sharp with curiosity. "So how did you notice?"
It kept walking as it spoke, lantern light sliding over its illusioned sleeves.
"Did you smell it?" the fox asked. "Something off? The street? The people?"
A beat.
"…Was that it? You smelled the difference?"
The fox slowed again, nostrils flaring subtly as it drew in the air. The scent here *was* different—less incense ash, more cold stone, old moisture, faint metal from hidden formations.
It stiffened slightly.
"…Huh," it muttered. "You're right. The air does smell different."
Another step.
Then a quiet chuckle.
"I guess that makes sense," the fox said, voice lowering. "Now that you're blind… you're leaning harder on everything else."
It tilted its head just enough to glance up at the lizard perched there.
"Smell. Vibration. Flow of qi. The way sound echoes off walls."
A pause.
"…Patterns."
Its tails swayed thoughtfully.
"That's not a weakness," the fox added. "Most cultivators never bother sharpening those once their divine sense opens."
It walked on, tone calm but serious now.
"If this keeps up," it said, "you might end up noticing things *before* I do."
The street curved ahead, darker, quieter.
And without eyes—
the lizard was already seeing the world in a different way.
The fox continued walking, voice steady, almost instructional now.
"And as for why we didn't leave through the front," it said, "that would've been far too suspicious."
Its tails made a slow, deliberate sweep behind it.
"Walking straight out the main entrance after winning half the auction and trading Earth-grade tools?"
A soft scoff.
"That's like standing by a river and shouting that you've got bait."
It glanced sideways at a closed shopfront as they passed.
"You don't *cause* trouble by being weak," the fox went on. "You cause it by letting others know exactly where the profit is."
A brief pause.
"If you act like you expect to be followed," it said, "you scare the fish away. If you act like you don't know the risk at all—"
Its smile sharpened slightly.
"—then the greedy ones swim closer."
The fox adjusted its pace, unhurried, natural.
"We want them comfortable," it continued. "Curious. Confident. Thinking they've already won."
Another pause, softer this time.
"It's fine if you don't understand all of it yet," the fox said. "You will."
It reached the end of the street, where the lantern light thinned into shadow.
"This isn't something you learn by being told," it added. "You learn it when someone tries to cut your throat for profit."
The fox didn't sound bitter.
Just… experienced.
"So remember this," it finished quietly. "When you have value, you never leave by the door everyone expects."
They kept walking.
And somewhere behind them—unseen, unheard—interest was already beginning to stir.
The lizard's voice was calm, measured, almost casual, but its words carried a weight that made the fox pause mid-step.
"…So that's why you didn't ask to turn invisible," it said, claws flexing lightly on the fox's fur. "If there's no bait on the hook, there's no reason for the fish to follow. You never actually intended to buy anything to heal my eyes. You were just… setting the trap."
The fox stiffened slightly, ears twitching beneath the illusion.
The fox stopped.
Actually stopped.
Its steps cut off cleanly, tails freezing mid-sway.
"…Wow," it said.
It turned its head slowly, really looking up at the lizard this time—as much as one could look at a blind, invisible creature perched on their head.
"…Huh," it muttered, almost to itself, a slow grin forming beneath the human guise. "…so you *did* catch that."
"That's how you put it together."
A short, incredulous laugh slipped out.
It paused, letting the lizard's observation sink in. Its tails flicked subtly, a mixture of amusement and approval.
"…Exactly," the fox admitted quietly, voice low, controlled. "That's exactly what we were doing. I wanted them to think they were the hunters. That the tools, the trade, even the auction—they thought *they* had the advantage."
It resumed walking, but slower now, thoughtful.
"If I'd stayed invisible the whole time," it said, "there'd be no hook. No scent of profit. No mistake for them to latch onto."
Its smile returned, this time genuine.
"I *did* buy things," it corrected, "but not because I needed them tonight. I bought them so people would **mark me**."
A pause.
"You don't hunt by hiding forever," the fox continued. "You hunt by letting yourself be seen *just enough*."
It glanced upward again.
Another slow step forward.
"And you," it added, voice softening just slightly, "…noticed it before I even told you. Smart."
The lizard didn't respond, just flexed its claws and adjusted its stance atop the fox's head, blank-eyed but alert.
Its ears flicked, impressed.
"…You're sharper than I thought."
Then, lightly, teasing:
"Careful. At this rate, I'll have to stop calling you 'not the brightest.'"
The street ahead opened into a wider junction, shadows layered and deep.
The fox chuckled under its breath, a low, almost dangerous sound.
"Good," it said. "…Very good. Keep paying attention like that, and maybe someday, you'll set the trap *yourself*."
The shadows stretched longer down the alley as they moved, silent but deliberate, two predators walking together—one teaching, one learning, and both already calculating the next move.
The fox's voice lowered.
"Now you know," it said. "The trap's already set."
And somewhere behind them, unseen—
The fish had begun to bite.