The fox nodded once, decision made.
"Alright," it said. "Time to get going."
On the bed, the lizard stirred. Its wings unfolded with a soft rustle as it lifted smoothly into the air, drifting down to settle atop the fox's head. The moment it landed, its body shimmered—edges blurring, presence thinning—until it **faded into invisibility**, the weight still there, unmistakably real.
The fox smirked faintly.
"Good."
But it didn't move right away.
Its eyes narrowed as it released its **divine sense**, sweeping through every corner of the room—walls, floorboards, ceiling seams, even the lingering qi traces suspended in the air.
"Can't be sloppy," it muttered. "That's how people get tracked."
A flicker of irritation crossed its face.
"…Hm."
Stepping forward, it reached down and plucked something from the narrow gap between two jade tiles—a **blood-stained scrap of cloth**, darkened and stiff with dried essence.
The fox clicked its tongue.
"Still carrying qi residue. Sloppy on my part."
With a flick of its paw, it slipped the cloth into its storage pouch.
"Still useful," it added casually.
Satisfied, it straightened and drew out a **jade token**, its surface etched with faint Moonveil Pavilion sigils—the key to the room.
A thread of qi flowed into it.
*Click.*
The door slid open without a sound.
Before stepping through, the fox's tails swept once through the air, and an **illusion bloomed behind it**—the same one it had used upon arrival. Inside the pavilion, a faint image of the fox remained: seated, breathing softly, cultivation aura suppressed, as if nothing had changed.
A perfect disguise.
The real fox stepped out.
The door closed behind them with a soft *thud*, the jade token dimming as the lock re-engaged.
---
Moments later, the illusionary fox appeared at the **front counter** of Moonveil Rest Pavilion, as though it had never left its room.
The attendant looked up calmly, his gaze sliding over the familiar figure without suspicion.
The fox placed the **jade room token** on the counter with a soft *tap*.
"I'm checking out," it said casually. "I paid for a full week. Stayed six days. I'll be taking a refund for one day."
Its tails flicked once.
"And during my stay, I was only fed **once**. That should be added to the refund as well."
The attendant didn't blink.
"We do not give refunds," he replied evenly, voice smooth and practiced. "Moonveil Pavilion rules—"
The fox tilted its head.
"Oh?"
A faint pressure rippled through the air.
"So you're saying," the fox continued softly, "that my spirit stones are just going to… *float away*?"
The attendant's pupils shrank.
The fox's tone sharpened—not loud, not aggressive, just **cold**.
"I wasn't asking for your opinion," it said. "Hand over my spirit stones."
A thread of aura slipped free.
Not unleashed.
Just enough.
The air around the counter tightened, like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
Sweat beaded instantly at the attendant's temple. He swallowed hard, instinct screaming as his body reacted before his mind could.
"Are you," he asked carefully, forcing steadiness into his voice, "trying to pick a fight with Moonveil Pavilion?"
The fox smiled.
"No," it replied lightly. "I'm just reclaiming what's mine."
Its eyes narrowed a fraction.
"But if you insist on keeping it…"
"…then things might change."
At the same time, without moving its lips, the fox sent a **voice transmission** upward.
*Get ready.*
*If this turns south—go invisible.*
Above its head, unseen by all others, the lizard's body tensed.
Wings flexed.
Breath slowed.
The attendant hesitated, fingers tightening beneath the counter as he weighed his options—rules versus survival.
The fox waited patiently.
Still smiling.
Still polite.
Still dangerous.
After a moment, it let out a quiet breath, easing its stance just slightly—**not retreating**, but no longer pressing forward.
"Relax," it said, voice smoothing out. "I'm not here to start a fight. That would be stupid."
Its tails lowered, posture turning casual again—almost lazy.
"If anything actually comes up," the fox added lightly, "I'll leave immediately. No delays. No trouble. I have no interest in clashing with Moonveil Pavilion."
A pause.
"I'm just seeing whether I can recover a few spirit stones."
Yet even as it spoke calmly, the **pressure didn't fully disappear**.
Outwardly, the fox pressed—not with brute aura, but with presence. A precise, controlled weight that settled on the attendant's chest, making every breath feel just a little heavier than it should.
Enough to remind him:
This fox wasn't bluffing.
And it wasn't weak.
The fox leaned forward slightly, claws resting on the counter.
"One day's lodging. One missed meal," it said evenly. "Hardly worth escalating over."
Its eyes met the attendant's—sharp, unblinking.
"So," the fox finished, voice calm but edged,
"do we resolve this quietly… or do we waste everyone's time?"
Above its head, unseen, the lizard remained perfectly still—every sense stretched, ready to vanish at a thought.
The hall seemed to hold its breath.
The choice rested entirely with the attendant.
---
The attendant held the fox's gaze for a long heartbeat.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached beneath the counter.
Two **spirit stones** slid out and were placed on the desk between them.
"One day's lodging," the attendant said stiffly. "That's all you're entitled to."
The pressure in the air eased—just a little.
The fox reached out, hooked the stones with a claw, and drew them in. It glanced down… then back up.
Its ears twitched.
"…That won't do."
The fox tilted its head, expression sharpening.
"One still remains."
The attendant's jaw tightened. His eyes flicked briefly toward the surrounding hall before returning to the fox.
"You shouldn't push this," he warned quietly. "Moonveil Pavilion is not a place—"
The fox stepped closer.
Not enough to touch.
Enough to **invade**.
Its eyes locked onto the attendant's, pupils narrowing.
"Are you trying to scare me?" the fox asked calmly.
The temperature around the counter dipped again—subtle, but unmistakable.
"Because if you are," it continued evenly, "you're wasting both our time."
A faint ripple of aura leaked out—still controlled, still restrained, but now **undeniably real**.
"Just finish it," the fox said, claws resting lightly on the desk. "Hand over the last stone."
"Then I'll be on my way."
Behind its calm tone lay an unspoken promise:
*This is your last chance to end this cleanly.*
The attendant swallowed, sweat tracing a slow line down his neck.
His fingers hovered beneath the counter once more.
The hall remained quiet.
Watching.
Waiting.