Flint smoothly withdrew her wrist from Asher's grasp and apologized to the elder who was conducting the spiritual root test. "I have a spiritual beast companion who is injured right now," she explained, "and I hope to bring him here for the same test."

Sage North Thunder's words reverberated in her thoughts. Initially, she had planned to recover her forgotten memories, which might be from a past life, but Sage North Thunder claimed that achieving the Great Perfection of Deity was necessary for retrieving past lives' memories – a daunting task. She knew very little about cultivation. Did she truly need to cultivate in order to regain her memories…? Her mind was racing with these thoughts, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to take the test to join the Celestial Sword Sect. At the very least, she wanted Spark by her side for support.

The elder nodded, indicating agreement. Morning class was about to start, and the crowd gradually dispersed.

Jealous murmurs rippled through the dispersing crowd. "These spiritual beasts have disgustingly high talent," someone muttered with barely concealed bitterness. Another voice chimed in, "Sure, they cultivate quickly at first, but after reaching Master realm, advancement becomes nearly impossible."

Flint caught up to Asher before he could leave, her steps light and easy. "I wanted to thank you for earlier," she said with a small smile, referring to the steamed buns he had treated her and Spark to. Even though she was unexpectedly pulled into a spiritual test, she chose to see it as the price of sharing a meal together. It seemed like a fair exchange. "I'll see you again?" She pretended to be friendly and made a casual comment.

After exchanging farewells with Asher, Flint noticed Seedling, who had been watching the scene unfold. The Wind-Charm Fox's elegant white tail swayed with barely contained irritation, her purple eyes narrowed at the retreating forms of those who had made the jealous comments. She turned to Flint, misinterpreting her situation.

"You know," Seedling said, her fox ears twitching expressively as she spoke, "it's always the same tired arguments from them." With grace, she made a gesture with one hand while wearing light leather gloves that hugged her fingers, "They can't stand seeing others with natural talent, especially those they consider 'different.' I've heard it all my life as a Wind-Charm Fox." Her flowing white-wavy high ponytail caught the morning light as she shook her head, a confident smile playing on her lips. "But you know what? Let them talk. Their words can't touch us when we're excelling in our cultivation."

The young fox spirit's eyes sparkled with conviction as she continued, clearly finding a kindred spirit in Flint. "It's funny how they—"

"Disciple Seedling," the elder's respectful voice interrupted. "Please proceed to the inner sect for master selection." The summons held significance - it was well-known that First-tier spiritual root disciples had the esteemed opportunity to select their masters from among the sect elders, even if they were only at the Initiative level.

Seedling's ears perked up at the call, but she lingered for a moment, casting a warm, understanding look at Flint. There was clear reluctance in her expression as she prepared to leave, suggesting she had much more she wanted to share. She seemed to have found someone she could relate to, even if her assumption about Flint's nature wasn't quite accurate.

"We'll talk more later?" she suggested hopefully, her tail swishing with friendly enthusiasm before she gracefully turned to follow the elder's summons.

Flint made a vague sound of agreement to Seedling's suggestion, though her mind was already wandering elsewhere. Spark would probably have more to discuss with her, she thought, considering how they were both spiritual beasts. The whole conversation about cultivation talents and prejudices would likely resonate more with Spark than with her.

As Seedling disappeared towards the inner sect with the elder, Flint turned her steps back to the guest room, her mind drifting through multiple threads of observation. Everyone here seems so... outgoing, she thought, recalling the morning's interactions. First Asher providing her and Spark breakfast and dragging her to the spiritual root test, then Seedling launching into conversation as if they were old friends. The extroverted energy of the Celestial Sword Sect was a stark contrast to her own preferred quietude.

Passing through the training grounds, she paused briefly to observe disciples practicing sword control with natural aura. Her analytical mind automatically began breaking down their movements, noting the flow of energy, though she felt no particular urgency to join their ranks.

Returning to their room, she found Spark still sprawled on the floor, deep in sleep. The sight of him brought Seedling's swishing tail to mind. Almost unconsciously, Flint settled down beside Spark and ran her fingers through his tail fur. Different texture, she noted clinically, comparing it to what she imagined Seedling's elegant white tail would feel like. Coarser, more wild. The familiar sensation was comforting though, even if it wasn't as refined as a Wind-Charm Fox's would be.

She continued absently stroking Spark's tail, her mind already processing the morning's events and calculating their next moves. The quiet moment allowed her thoughts to settle, away from all the social interactions that had filled her morning.

Spark's eyelids fluttered at Flint's touch, consciousness gradually returning though the world around him remained hazy. Despite his disorientation, her gentle stroking of his tail brought a sense of peace. His body felt stiff after being unconscious for so long, and his stomach felt painfully empty after a full day without food.

"Where are we?" he asked groggily, still lying there due to his stiff muscles.

"We were rescued on the road by Sage North Thunder from the Celestial Sword Sect," Flint explained, her hand still absently running through his fur. "This is their guest room." She glanced at the table, remembering the steamed buns. "Oh, and I brought you some buns."

The moment she mentioned food, the rich aroma of freshly steamed buns wafted to his sensitive nose, making his stomach clench with desperate hunger. He could smell the savory meat filling, and his mouth began to water involuntarily.

She reached over to grab a bamboo food container from the table, opening it with practiced ease. As she lifted the lid, an even stronger wave of the delicious scent hit him, making it almost impossible to resist. Taking out a bun, she held it close to his muzzle, ready to feed him, just like when she fed him the skewer of meat on the edge of the cliff.

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Spark struggled to push himself up, his mouth opening slightly before freezing mid-motion. His royal pride warred fiercely with his gnawing hunger. The bun was right there, so temptingly close, its warmth and aroma nearly overwhelming his senses. But the image of himself being hand-fed like a common pet suddenly struck him. Wait a minute... I'm acting like some common dog! I'm a prince of the Inferno Wolves, for heaven's sake!

"Ah... could you step outside for a moment?" he asked, fighting against both his hunger and his wounded dignity. Each word was a struggle as the scent of the bun continued to torment him. "I need to change into my human form and put on some clothes."

His ears twitched with embarrassment as he attempted to salvage what remained of his royal pride, even as his stomach protested loudly at delaying the meal.

Flint arched an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. With a knowing "Mm," she rose smoothly and stepped outside, giving the proud wolf prince his privacy. She leaned against the wall outside, arms crossed, mentally counting down how long his dignity would last against his hunger.

Inside, Spark transformed with practiced ease, though his movements were still somewhat stiff from his earlier unconsciousness. He quickly donned his clothing - the sleeveless vest with its intricate moon patterns settling perfectly over his black long-sleeved shirt, his dark gray hair falling into its usual low ponytail. After ensuring every detail was properly in place (as befitting a prince, of course, although also a traveler who has journeyed a long distance), he settled himself at the table with as much royal dignity as he could muster while his stomach continued its increasingly urgent protests.

"You can come in now," he called out, trying to keep his voice steady despite the mouthwatering aroma that seemed to be filling the entire room.

Flint slipped back in, her analytical eyes taking in his carefully composed posture - noting how he was trying just a bit too hard to appear casual. Spark reached for one of the buns with what he hoped was princely restraint, bringing it to his lips. Just as he was about to take that first desperately-needed bite, a thought struck him. His hand froze mid-motion, the bun hovering tantalizingly close to his mouth.

"Did you..." he cleared his throat, fighting against every instinct screaming at him to just eat already, "want some?"

"Already ate," Flint replied simply, her tone neutral though there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she watched his internal struggle.

"Oh." The single syllable was filled with barely-contained relief. Having fulfilled his social obligations, Spark finally surrendered to his hunger, biting into the bun with an enthusiasm that rather undermined his earlier attempts at maintaining royal dignity. The warmth of the bun and the rich flavors of the filling were almost overwhelming after going so long without food, and he found himself having to consciously slow down to avoid choking in his eagerness to satisfy his hunger.

Spark suddenly realized he had already devoured five buns in what felt like mere moments, and all the while, Flint had been sitting beside him in contemplative silence, observing his rather un-princely display of appetite. A faint warmth crept up his neck that had nothing to do with the steamed buns. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

His hand, seemingly moving of its own accord, pulled the second bamboo container closer. His eyes lit up with poorly concealed delight upon discovering six more buns nestled inside. Attempting to distract from his earlier wolfish eating habits (and perhaps justify opening a second container), he decided to broach the subject that had been nagging at his mind.

"About that cave," he began, carefully picking up a fresh bun with what he hoped was princely grace, "what was that scream we heard?" His golden eyes flickered with curiosity as he remembered that chaotic moment. Flint had only given him a brief warning about someone's approach, urging them to leave the cave quickly and. He'd carried her on his back as they fled, his four legs proving far more efficient for a hasty retreat than any two-legged alternative.

The memory of Flint clinging to his fur as they raced through the forest made him pause mid-bite. For a third prince of the Inferno Wolves, allowing someone to ride on his back should have been beneath his dignity. Yet somehow, in that moment of crisis, it had felt... natural. He quickly took a large bite of the bun to cover his sudden confusion about that realization.

The contrast between his thoughtful expression and his chipmunk-like cheeks stuffed with bun created quite a picture, Flint thought. Though Flint, true to her character, maintained her usual calm demeanor as she prepared to answer his question, pressing down on the corners of her mouth that were about to laugh.

"There was a wooden puppet at the cave entrance..." Flint began slowly, her voice measured. Before she could continue, Spark inhaled sharply, nearly choking on his bun.

"Like the little boy who stole my money pouch?" His golden eyes widened, momentarily forgetting about the half-eaten bun in his hand. The memory of that peculiar puppet-child who had snatched his money pouch from mid-air him was still fresh in his mind.

Flint nodded, but before she could elaborate further, Spark eagerly cut in, his excitement making him forget his usual princely reserve. "I saw a pile of wood shavings when we left the cave. Did you destroy them?" His eyes sparkled with curiosity, reminding Flint more of an eager puppy than the dignified wolf prince he claimed to be.

Looking at his inquiring gaze, Flint felt an unexpected mischievous impulse stir within her. "Yes," she replied with her characteristic calm, "I struck it down." The words came out smoothly, even as she recalled the truth of that moment - how she had simply reached out, and for some inexplicable reason, the puppet had crumbled into wood shavings before her eyes.

To her private amusement, Spark's expression transformed into one of rare admiration. He nodded appreciatively while taking another bite of his bun, managing somehow to look both impressed and hungry at the same time. "You're really something," he said between mouthfuls, his usual arrogant attitude momentarily forgotten in his admiration. "Were you a cultivator before you lost your memories?"

The irony of his newfound respect being based on her little white lie wasn't lost on Flint, but she found herself enjoying this unexpected shift in their dynamic. She maintained her calm face, though internally, she was rather entertained by how easily the proud wolf prince had been impressed by her fabricated feat.

"I'm not sure," Flint replied thoughtfully, absently watching Spark reach for yet another bun. "Actually, I don't think it's memory loss exactly. I guess I'm searching for memories from a past life."

Spark's hand froze halfway to his mouth, his golden eyes widening. "Past life memories? You mean you're aiming for the Great Perfection of Deity?" There was a note of astonishment in his voice that made his princely facade slip even further.

Flint leaned back in her chair, her expression pensive. "That's what I'm uncertain about," she admitted. "Is it worth investing so much effort for what might just be a vague intuition?" Her practical nature was clearly at odds with the enormity of such an undertaking.

Spark set down his bun, suddenly looking more like the prince he was meant to be."But you can destroy wooden puppets with a single strike!" he exclaimed, still thoroughly impressed by what he believed was her feat in the cave. "That shows you have excellent foundation." He brushed a few crumbs from his moon-patterned vest, warming to his topic. "It would be a waste not to cultivate with that kind of talent."

He leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes showing an intensity that betrayed his casual tone. "Even if reaching the Great Perfection of Deity is challenging, having power makes everything else more convenient." He gestured expansively with his hands, nearly knocking over the empty bamboo container. "Think about it - if we had both been at a higher cultivation level, that puppet child wouldn't have dared to steal my money pouch in the first place!"

Catching himself getting carried away, he quickly tried to recover his dignity, smoothing down his dark gray ponytail. Something in his chest tightened at the thought of Flint leaving - an unfamiliar sensation he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge. These time traveling together, despite all the chaos, had somehow felt... right.

"What I mean is," he said, attempting to sound composed and disinterested, "you should join the Celestial Sword Sect." He paused, fighting an internal battle between his pride and his growing reluctance to part ways with her. Finally, he added with forced casualness, "We could... train together."

The last part came out almost mumbled, as if the proud wolf prince couldn't quite believe he was suggesting such a thing. But there was a hint of vulnerability in his golden eyes as he watched for her response, even as he tried to maintain his princely facade of indifference. He busied himself with straightening his sleeves, pretending the answer didn't matter to him at all, while his heart betrayed him by beating just a little faster as he waited for her reply.

Flint rested her head on her hand, closing her eyes in contemplation. After a moment, she opened them again and voiced the thought that had been lingering in her mind: "But that strange person we met on the road, Lenient Pine - the one without legs - he said he felt familiar with me somehow. Maybe I should go to that place... what was it called... Abyssal Pavilion, to ask him about it."

Spark's golden eyes widened, and his jaw clenched visibly. The mere mention of Lenient Pine's name seemed to ignite a surge of anger in him, completely erasing his previous awkward tenderness. His fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"You want to go looking for the people who tried to capture me?!" he snapped, his carefully maintained princely composure cracking. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, laden with barely contained fury. "And do you even know what the Abyssal Pavilion is?!"