The fox and Little White continued listening to the conversations around them while eating.
Fragments of speech drifted through the restaurant.
"…border patrol reported increased activity near the demonic sect territories…"
"…the city is on edge. They say cultivators were involved in that village incident."
"…if demonic cultivators were responsible, the authorities will tighten control."
The fox's hand paused slightly as she lifted a spoon of stew.
Demonic sect territories.
That changed the context.
If the city bordered those lands—
Then they were far from ordinary jurisdiction.
A region where cultivators operated with less oversight.
Where demonic sects held influence.
Her turquoise eyes narrowed faintly.
Useful information.
Risky location.
Little White, listening as well, processed the words.
"City near demonic sect territory," he thought.
That explained the heightened security.
Cultivators and demonic practitioners often clashed in such zones.
Human authorities would be wary.
Patrols would increase.
Travel would be monitored.
Not ideal for remaining unnoticed.
The fox set her spoon down and sent a voice transmission.
"We are near demonic sect lands."
Her tone remained calm and factual.
"That explains the rumors and heightened security."
Her gaze shifted toward the window.
Beyond the glass, the city moved in its usual rhythm—merchants, travelers, and guards going about their duties.
Structured.
But tense.
The village incident had drawn attention.
Their escape through the spatial talisman had placed them close to these contested territories.
Not deep within demonic lands—
But near enough to create risk.
She exhaled softly.
Her expression remained composed, though internally she analyzed the situation.
This complicated matters.
They were still within territory influenced by the righteous sects.
News of the village had spread.
Which meant the governing sect of this region would respond.
Disciples and investigators would be dispatched.
They would search.
Question witnesses.
Examine the site.
If they discovered traces—
Qi residues.
Spiritual signatures.
Evidence of spatial distortion.
Anything linking the event to its perpetrators—
It could eventually point back to them.
Not immediately.
But investigations created risk.
Cultivators specialized in tracking spiritual remnants.
Even subtle traces could be reconstructed.
The fox considered it.
"We cannot allow them to trace anything to us," she thought.
Precaution was necessary.
Evidence had to be erased.
Exposure minimized.
However—
There was an advantage.
They were near demonic territory.
This aligned with her original plan.
After leaving the river settlement, her intention had been to move toward the demonic regions.
Places where righteous cultivators hesitated.
Where jurisdiction weakened.
A golden core cultivator might investigate the village—
But pursuing suspects into demonic lands carried significant risk.
Conflict between factions made deep pursuit unlikely.
Not impossible.
But undesirable.
The fox's turquoise eyes gleamed faintly.
"This aligns with my plan."
Once they gathered information in the city—
They would not linger.
No prolonged presence.
No unnecessary interactions.
Departure as soon as preparations were complete.
Into demonic territory.
There, tracking would become more difficult.
Righteous sect investigators would hesitate to follow.
Even a golden core cultivator would weigh the danger.
She sent a voice transmission to Little White.
"We will move toward demonic territory."
No embellishment.
Only fact.
"It is safer. Investigators from the righteous sect will not pursue easily."
Little White processed the information.
Demonic lands.
Different governance.
Less oversight from righteous authorities.
Potential danger.
But also opportunity.
No immediate risk of sect disciples uncovering traces in a region beyond their control.
The child continued eating stew, oblivious to the strategic considerations.
The fox watched her for a moment.
Nourishment.
Stability.
Important.
Then her gaze returned to the surroundings.
Plans adjusted.
Next steps clear.
They would finish eating.
Gather resources.
And leave the city before investigators arrived in force.
The demonic territory awaited.
Within it—
Less scrutiny.
More freedom.
Survival remained the priority.
The atmosphere shifted abruptly.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Pressure descended over the city like a silent weight.
A presence.
High above—
A figure hovered.
Robes fluttered in the morning wind.
Cold eyes scanning the streets below.
Then—
Its gaze locked onto the restaurant.
A hand moved.
Casual.
Dismissive.
An attack was launched.
A beam of condensed force tore downward.
The fox sensed it the moment it formed.
So did Little White.
No warning cry.
No hesitation.
Impact.
The building exploded inward as the attack struck.
Wood shattered.
Stone cracked.
Fragments blasted outward.
Dust and splinters filled the air.
Yet—
Where their table had been—
A barrier shimmered.
A dome of condensed energy wrapped tightly around their position.
Debris struck it and ricocheted away.
The fox now stood, no longer seated.
Her posture sharp and controlled.
Both corpse puppets stood at her sides, cloaks discarded, eyes dull but alert.
Guard formation.
Weapons drawn.
The barrier pulsed once under the fading shockwave.
Across from her—
Little White was no longer small.
Invisible still—
But returned to his true size.
White scales gleamed faintly beneath distortion.
Wings spread wide.
Curved protectively around the child.
And the child—
Gone from sight.
Invisible beneath his concealment.
His claws held her securely against his chest.
His wings folded inward slightly, creating layered protection.
Dust swirled around the dome.
Cracks splintered across the restaurant walls.
Screams echoed outside.
Above—
The hovering figure remained.
Unmoving.
Watching.
Little White opened a narrow gap between his wings.
Golden eyes shone through.
Focused.
Sharp.
Locked upward.
Analyzing.
Assessing.
The fox's turquoise gaze followed his line of sight.
"A golden core cultivator," she murmured.
Recognition was immediate.
Not the same one from before.
Different aura.
But similar strength.
The barrier flickered once as debris slid away.
The fox's expression remained unchanged.
But her mind moved quickly.
This was no random strike.
The attack had been targeted.
Precise.
A direct assault on the building.
Which meant—
They had been found.
Little White's golden eyes narrowed.
Lightning whispered across his scales.
Not released.
Contained.
Waiting.
The city descended into chaos.
People screaming.
Guards shouting.
Dust beginning to settle.
Above—
The cultivator raised his hand again.
Preparing a second strike.
Intent was clear.
The fox did not move.
Her turquoise eyes remained fixed on the figure.
She sent a voice transmission.
"Do not attack."
Her tone left no room for argument.
"Remain hidden."
Little White's lightning quieted slightly, though it did not disappear.
He remained invisible.
Wings still wrapped tightly around the child.
Acknowledgment.
He would not strike first.
Golden eyes continued watching.
Analyzing.
The fox's thoughts sharpened.
At first she had assumed—
It was the same golden core cultivator from before.
The one who had attacked them in the village.
That he had tracked them again.
A blood tracking talisman.
But this aura was different.
Darker.
Twisted.
Not righteous.
Demonic.
Cold qi saturated the air.
Recognition crystallized.
This was likely the one who had observed through the puppet the previous night.
The unseen presence.
The distant watcher.
She had suspected then—
That whoever controlled the puppet might be a golden core cultivator.
Now the suspicion solidified.
This was him.
Her expression remained calm.
"I severed all traces from the puppets," she thought.
She had examined them thoroughly.
Scanned for imprints.
Erased lingering connections.
There had been no tracking marks.
No tethers.
Nothing leading back to her.
Which meant—
Either the connection had been hidden far deeper than she could detect.
Or—
It was never the puppet.
Her gaze flickered briefly toward the child.
The invisible form within Little White's wings.
Was it the child?
A hidden mark.
A spiritual brand.
Something she had overlooked.
The fox's expression remained unchanged outwardly.
But her thoughts tightened.
"No… I checked her."
There had been no sign of a tracking imprint.
If something existed, it was concealed beyond ordinary detection.
Above, the demonic cultivator hovered calmly.
Robes swaying.
Eyes scanning the dust-covered street.
He did not attack again.
He was searching.
Confirming.
Testing.
The fox lowered the barrier slightly—not completely, but enough to avoid appearing aggressive.
It remained functional.
But not imposing.
Her puppets stood ready.
Silent.
Waiting.
She sent another voice transmission.
"Do not reveal yourself unless necessary."
Simple.
Direct.
If this was the one who had observed through the puppet—
He would proceed cautiously.
Probing.
Not reckless.
Her thoughts continued beneath the composed exterior.
She kept her gaze steady.
"Wait," she transmitted again.
"If he moves, I must confirm his target."
Above, the cultivator's hand lifted slightly higher.
A second strike gathering.
The fox's thoughts narrowed to a single point.
How had he found them?