"Hey! Gotcha! You little rascal—I *knew* you were slacking off!" The sun-scorched old farmer, stubble rough on his jaw, rolled up his parchment and smacked it straight onto his son’s forehead as the boy lazed in the cornfield.

"Ow! Dad, stop! I *am* busy!"

"Haul corn? You’re lying in the field humming with a foxtail grass dangling from your mouth! Busy? Were you busy *in the womb*? Should’ve shot you on the wall! How’d I birth such a good-for-nothing brat?!" Fuming, he chased the scrambling boy, whacking relentlessly.

"Ow! Dad, please—I *was* busy!"

"Don’t lie! Baskets are empty! Expect them to harvest corn themselves?!"

"I *was* pulling radishes! Tired, so I rested!"

"Radishes in a cornfield?! I never planted any! Forget radishes—I’m pulling *you*!"

"Look ahead! I’m not lying!"

"Feeding me ghosts?!" The old man shot a glance—rage flared, then froze. His swing halted. Ahead, a giant white "radish" shot from the soil.

The son gasped in relief, panting.

"See? Real radish," he said, pointing with innocent eyes.

"A radish doesn’t excuse laziness," the farmer grumbled, squinting at the odd shape. "Wait… I never planted this. Radishes don’t grow overnight!"

"Maybe you forgot, Dad?"

"Ridiculous!" He rolled his eyes. "What *is* this thing?"

A lifelong farmer, he knew every crop. But this? Smooth at first glance—then velvety fur covered it. Pink base, white tip, fluffy… like a giant dandelion.

A breeze stirred it. It swayed—soft as silk, alive.

Even the "useless" son knew: not a radish. He stared at his dad.

Then—soil cracked beneath it. Something stirred.

"Burrowing rodent! Run!" The old man yanked his son and vanished.

Silence.

The "radish" stilled. Two fluffy fox ears popped up, swiveling like satellite dishes. Soil churned. A mud-caked fox girl emerged.

"Nya… So dirty," Feitao murmured. She shook her ears and tail fiercely, flinging mud like a drenched cat.

She pursed her lips.

She never wanted to use her Fox Demon Bloodline. But her human bloodline had weakened—Xinjue wouldn’t activate. No magic. No Xinjue. She couldn’t smash the tomb; too risky.

Desperate, Fate awakened the bloodline, transformed into Feitao, and burrowed like a groundhog. She hated it—but silence was vital.

She knew the Imperial Palace grounds well. Certain she’d tunneled beyond them, she dug upward.

Mistakes happen. A rock jammed her chest near the surface. She pushed her tail out first, shattered the stone, then wriggled free.

"Nya… Did I hear something?" She twitched her ears; dirt clumps fell.

She blinked her jewel-bright heterochromatic eyes. Mud smeared her frost-pale face. Her sakura-and-white dress—woven from fox blood—was stained. Snow-soft skin, milky split-toe socks, all grimy. She looked utterly battle-damaged.

*Sniff… Achoo!* Her delicate nose twitched. Ankle bell jingled.

"Nya…" She covered her flushed cheeks, glanced around, sighed in relief. *No one saw.*

*Change back quick…*

*Gurgle… Gurgle…*

"…"

Not a fox. Not a person. Her stomach.

So hungry. Hours of digging. Belly hollow.

Feitao clutched her tiny stomach, gaze drifting toward the lush, golden cornfield ahead…