The lizard's maw opened.
*Snap.*
The portion of wine meant for it vanished in a single, decisive motion—swallowed whole without the slightest hesitation.
For a heartbeat, it froze.
Then—
Its blank stare sharpened.
A faint light flared behind its golden eyes as it slowly, deliberately licked its maw, savoring what lingered.
"…Hnumn."
A low, satisfied sound slipped from its throat.
It kept licking—tongue brushing over its fangs again and again.
*This…* it thought, dim pleasure spreading through its mind. *This is wine?*
*I've never tasted anything like this.*
Warmth spread through its body—not burning, not chaotic, but smooth and steady. The faint ache in its core dulled. The tightness in its chest loosened, if only by a fraction.
*It tastes good.*
*Too good.*
Below it, the fox raised the other portion to its lips, taking the wine in controlled sips rather than swallowing it outright.
She smacked her lips once, thoughtful.
"Yeah," the fox said, licking her muzzle. "That doesn't taste bad."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she evaluated the aftertaste—the way the energy settled instead of scattering, sinking cleanly instead of resisting.
"Better than I thought it would be."
She glanced upward, sensing the subtle shift in the lizard's weight.
"Don't get carried away," the fox added dryly. "That was just a sample."
But even as she said it, she already knew.
The wine was genuine.
And the lizard—
The lizard wanted more.
It didn't hesitate.
"More," it said immediately. "I want more wine."
The fox flicked an ear.
"Just wait a minute, I—"
"Miss?" the vendor's voice cut in smoothly. "So, what do you think of the wine? Are you satisfied with the quality?"
The woman turned back toward him, the illusion steady and flawless. She handed the empty cup back with an easy, practiced smile.
"It's very good," she said. "Better than most I've had. You didn't exaggerate."
Her gaze drifted to the rows of neatly arranged jars.
"How much does a jar cost?"
The vendor's smile widened at once, business instincts snapping into place.
"That depends," he said. "How many jars are you looking to purchase—and what will you be trading with?"
The fox didn't pause.
"I won't be trading," she said calmly.
The vendor blinked.
"…You won't?"
"I'll be buying," the fox clarified, voice steady and confident.
She met his gaze without flinching.
"Name your price."
She continued without hesitation.
"I'll be paying with spirit stones."
The vendor's eyes brightened immediately.
"Oh?" he said pleasantly. "If that's the case, then a single jar costs **three low-grade spirit stones** of standard quality."
The fox froze.
For a brief moment, her expression went perfectly still.
Then she tilted her head, staring at him as if reassessing whether this was a market stall—or a roadside ambush.
"…Why don't you just outright rob me instead?" she said flatly. "That's an absurd price for a single jar of wine."
The vendor didn't bristle. He didn't argue.
He simply smiled, entirely unbothered.
"Miss," he said calmly, "this is spiritual bamboo wine, sold inside the Night Market. Three low-grade stones is not robbery."
He gestured toward the jars.
"Spirit bamboo alone takes decades to mature. Fermentation arrays, preservation talismans, transport costs, market fees—"
He shrugged lightly.
"And besides," he added, "you already tasted it."
The fox clicked her tongue softly, eyes narrowing.
Above her head, the lizard shifted, interest spiking the moment the word *three* was spoken.
*Three stones for one jar…* the fox thought. *That's outrageous.*
Then again—
She glanced upward, recalling how the lizard's body had responded to a single mouthful.
*…but not unreasonable.*
The fox exhaled through her nose.
"You drive a hard bargain," she said. "I'll admit that."
Her gaze sharpened.
"But we're not done negotiating yet."
She continued without hesitation.
"How about I give you **one** stone for a jar?" she said evenly.
The vendor's smile didn't vanish—but it stiffened, just a fraction.
"One?" he repeated, as if tasting the word.
He shook his head lightly, chuckling.
"Miss, one low-grade spirit stone wouldn't even cover the bamboo sap used in fermentation," he said. "I'd be running at a loss."
The fox met his gaze without blinking.
"And three would be daylight robbery," she replied calmly. "This isn't a sealed auction hall or a sect banquet—it's a market stall."
She gestured subtly to the jars before them.
"You're selling volume, not prestige."
Above her, the lizard leaned forward slightly, interest sharp but restrained—for once listening instead of drooling.
The vendor studied her more carefully now, fingers tapping once against the counter.
"…You're not a first-time buyer," he said.
"And you're not a desperate seller," the fox replied. "Which is why one stone is fair."
A pause.
Lantern light flickered between them.
The vendor exhaled slowly, weighing profit against turnover.
"One stone," he said at last, "is too low."
The fox's eyes narrowed—not annoyed, just attentive.
"But," the vendor continued, "if you're buying multiple jars…"
He raised two fingers.
"Two stones per jar."
The lizard shifted again, anticipation pulsing through its small body.
The fox considered it in silence.
Not bad.
Still high.
But acceptable—especially given *why* she was buying.
She tapped the counter once.
Then tilted her head slightly, expression calm but deliberate.
"Fine," she said. "I'll pay **three low-grade spirit stones**—"
The vendor's smile widened—
"—but **two jars per payment**," the fox finished evenly. "Not one."
The vendor blinked.
She didn't give him time to speak.
"If you agree," the fox continued, voice steady, "I'll take **ten jars**—but only from the front stock."
The stall went quiet for a breath.
The vendor's fingers paused mid-motion above the jars as the numbers settled in.
Three stones for two jars meant a lower margin per jar—but ten jars meant immediate turnover. No haggling. No lingering stock. No risk.
He glanced at the neat rows of sealed containers.
Then back at her.
"…Ten jars," he repeated.
"Yes," the fox said. "Front stock. Same batch you sampled. Properly sealed."
The vendor exhaled slowly, then let out a short laugh.
"You drive a hard bargain, miss."
He nodded once.
"Alright," he said. "Three stones for two jars. Ten jars total."
A deal.
Above the fox's head, the lizard stiffened, excitement flaring so sharply the fox felt it even through the illusion.
*Ten,* it thought, hunger coiling tight and eager. *Wine.*
The vendor began moving at once, carefully selecting jars and setting them aside in pairs, talisman seals intact.
"Payment?" he asked.
The fox's hand slipped into her sleeve.
The Night Market buzzed on around them, unaware—
—but for the lizard perched invisibly above, this was no simple purchase.
It was recovery.
And it was coming in abundance.