The fox's smile lingered—
then **stilled**.
Its ears twitched.
"…Hm?"
It extended its divine sense again, slow and deliberate, sweeping across the linked pouches.
Most were clean.
Empty.
Neutral.
But—
The fox's brow furrowed.
Several pouches still resisted.
Not strongly.
Not openly.
Yet faint, stubborn knots of soul resonance clung to their interiors—like old scars that refused to fade.
The fox's eyes narrowed.
"…So that's it."
It withdrew its divine sense and opened its eyes fully, gaze sharp and calculating as it studied the Yin-thread network and the single talisman anchoring it.
"One talisman carried the load," it muttered, "but the strain was too high."
Its tail tapped once against the bed.
"Small batch—fine. Medium batch—stable."
A pause.
"Large scale…"
The fox exhaled quietly.
"…Not enough."
It leaned closer, inspecting the remaining imprints.
"They didn't resist," it said thoughtfully. "They were *missed*."
Its gaze flicked to the soul-thread talisman.
"The talisman acted as a conduit, not a source," it reasoned. "Its output was capped. Once it hit its limit, the excess imprints simply fell outside the effect."
A slow grin returned—sharper now, more satisfied.
"So it's not a failure."
It straightened.
"It's a capacity issue."
Interest gleamed in its eyes, replacing frustration entirely.
"…Which makes the solution obvious."
Its gaze slid toward the remaining bundle of talismans.
"More anchors," it said softly. "Or a higher-grade talisman."
Its tail swayed.
"Either I distribute the load—"
A pause.
"—or I raise the ceiling."
The fox looked back at the half-cleansed pouches, clearly pleased.
"Not bad for a first large-scale test," it said lightly. "I erased *most* of them in one go."
A quiet chuckle escaped it.
"…Formation masters would cry if they saw this."
Without hesitation, it began gathering the remaining talismans, already planning the next iteration.
"This isn't a dead end," the fox concluded calmly.
"It's refinement."
---
Once the flaw was understood, the solution followed naturally.
The fox reached into the bundle and **pulled out a second soul-thread talisman**, placing it carefully along the Yin-thread network—opposite the first, balancing the flow. Its claws moved with practiced precision, adjusting angles, tightening ties, correcting alignment by instinct rather than conscious thought.
"Two anchors," it murmured. "Let's see if that evens the load."
The Yin threads hummed faintly, cold resonance spreading across the bed as the network stabilized. The pouches lifted higher, drifting into a slow, deliberate orbit.
The fox closed its eyes.
This time, it didn't rush.
A single strand of divine sense slipped into one of the remaining pouches—calm, steady, controlled. The moment the imprint began to dissolve, the reaction rippled outward.
The Yin threads **lit up**, pale and ghostly.
Both talismans flared in unison.
For a brief moment, the room felt… *empty*.
Then—
The resistance vanished.
Every remaining imprint shattered at once, fading like smoke in still air.
The fox's eyes snapped open.
Silence.
Perfect, clean silence.
It inhaled slowly, then exhaled through its nose, a satisfied curve forming at the edge of its mouth.
"…Done."
The pouches drifted down gently onto the bed—**completely ownerless**.
---
The fox didn't linger.
One pouch after another opened.
Spirit stones spilled out—low-grade, mid-grade, even a handful of high-grade ones. Bottles clinked softly as pills rolled free: healing, qi recovery, detoxification, concealment. Talismans followed—fire, earth, barrier, escape—some crude, others finely crafted.
Weapons came next.
A few mortal-grade blades. Several decent spirit tools.
And one or two pieces that made the fox pause, eyes lingering appreciatively before storing them away.
"Not bad," it muttered. "Not bad at all."
It worked efficiently, **sorting and compressing**, transferring everything into its own storage pouches with methodical ease. No greed-driven rush—just clean, practiced looting.
When the last pouch was emptied, the bed was bare again.
The fox sat back on its haunches.
"…Alright."
Its ears flicked.
"That was the obvious test."
Its gaze drifted toward the remaining Yin thread, the talismans, and the now-empty pouches.
"But if this works on *storage*…"
A pause.
"…What about something else?"
Its eyes gleamed faintly as a new idea surfaced.
"Imprints aren't the only things that bind objects," it murmured. "There's **ownership**. **Control**. **Resonance**…"
The fox didn't rush.
"…Let's see," it said quietly, tail swaying,
"how far this little trick really goes."
---
It reached into its storage pouch and **laid several spirit tools onto the bed**—a jagged saber, a ring-blade, a short spear, a pair of hooked daggers, and a heavy hammer. Each radiated a different pressure, different temperament, different history.
Weapons.
Not containers.
"…Storage pouches are passive," the fox muttered. "They hold. They don't *resist*."
Spirit tools were different.
They remembered their wielders.
They clung to intent.
Some of them almost *resented* being touched by another.
The fox's gaze dropped to the thin strand of Yin thread between its claws.
"This alone won't hold," it said calmly. "Not against tools like these."
Without hesitation, it pulled out **a second Yin thread**.
Instead of laying them parallel, the fox **twisted the two together**, slow and deliberate, letting Yin qi seep into both strands. Cold energy coiled tighter with every turn, forming a thicker, darker cord.
It knotted the braid at measured intervals—not simple knots, but binding loops modeled after formation patterns. Each acted as a stabilizer, spreading strain rather than concentrating it.
"A rope carries weight better than a line," the fox murmured. "And weapons carry weight."
It tied the braided Yin cord around each spirit tool in sequence, spacing them evenly, ensuring no single tool bore more pressure than the others.
Then came the soul-thread talismans.
The fox used **three**, anchoring them at opposing points along the cord. This time, it didn't seal immediately—it paused, adjusting angles, testing balance with faint pulses of qi.
The spirit tools trembled.
Not violently.
But uneasily.
Some hummed.
One vibrated sharply, offended.
Another went completely still, feigning docility.
The fox narrowed its eyes.
"…You can feel it," it said softly. "Good."
---
It settled back and closed its eyes.
This time, it chose **one**.
The short spear.
A thin strand of divine sense slipped into its core, brushing against the lingering soul imprint inside—faint, stubborn, clinging like dried blood.
The fox began to erase it.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The moment the imprint weakened—
The braided Yin cord **tightened**.
Cold energy surged through the knots, distributing backlash across the entire construct. The talismans flared—not explosively, but with a deep, steady glow.
The other tools reacted.
The saber rang sharply.
The hammer pulsed once.
The ring-blade spun half an inch.
The fox's fur bristled.
It didn't stop.
The spear's imprint cracked.
Then—
The effect rippled outward.
Not clean.
Not instant.
But **shared**.
Resistance bled in from the other tools—friction, drag, echoes of intent—but the Yin rope held, absorbing the strain, smoothing it out.
One by one, the imprints weakened.
The fox's breathing stayed steady.
*So it works,* it thought. *But they fight back.*
Finally—
The spear's imprint vanished.
A heartbeat later, the saber's fractured.
Then the ring-blade.
Then the daggers.
Last came the hammer—heavy, stubborn, unwilling—
—but even it yielded.
The imprint dissolved.
---
The fox's eyes snapped open.
Silence.
The spirit tools lay still.
Ownerless.
For a long moment, the fox didn't move.
Then a low, incredulous laugh escaped its throat.
"…It actually works."
Its tail swayed slowly.
"Not perfectly," it added. "Not cheaply. And not without risk."
It studied the braided Yin rope—now faintly frayed, several knots dimmed, the talismans cracked along their edges.
"But it works."
Its gaze lifted, sharp and thoughtful.
"…This changes a lot."
Somewhere behind it, the lizard continued eating, utterly unbothered by the quiet revolution unfolding in the room.
The fox gathered the newly freed spirit tools into its pouch, movements careful, almost reverent.
Then it looked back at the remaining materials.
"Alright," it murmured.
"Next question."
Its eyes gleamed.
"How far can I push this… before it pushes back?"