“Dad, what the heck was that moving giant radish just now?”

“Radish my ass! Was that a radish? That was clearly a giant mountain rat!” Panting, the old man leaned on his knees, face flushed red, shooting a glare at his good-for-nothing son.

“Just a mountain rat? Then why’d we run?”

“What the hell do you know? I told you to learn more! That tail alone—size of a hunting dog! How d’you fight something that big barehanded? One bite, we catch plague, and this family’s ruined!”

“Oh…” The young man shrank back a little.

“Move! Grab the rake, the hoe, leash the hound—we’re taking that thing down!”

“Hurry! That rat’s stealing our corn!”

The boy hurried after his dad, snatching the tools by the house, leading the dog straight to the field.

But when they arrived—no rat, no radish, no corn.

Father and son froze, staring at the ravaged field.

Harvest season should’ve meant golden ears everywhere. Now only green stalks remained, bent and bowed like hunchbacked elders.

“Argh!” The old man nearly fainted, waving his hoe wildly.

The son wisely stepped back—who knew if the old man’d take his rage out on *him*?

“Damn it! Playing dirty tricks, huh? Ruin *one* ear? Fine, call it charity for that damn pest! But *half the field*?!”

“Dream on! If I catch you, I’ll curse your whole damn family—”

Ranting incoherently, the old man fumed. The son stayed calm.

*Wait…* Even the biggest mountain rat couldn’t strip half a field this fast.

*What if it wasn’t a rat?*

Sunlight glinted off something in the dirt. He hesitated, then pushed aside the outer stalks.

A glittering golden goblet hung from a corn branch.

“What…?” Stunned, he examined it. The surface shimmered; colorful “stones” embedded in it dazzled the eyes.

He’d never grasped “artwork”—to farmers, pretty-but-useless things meant nothing.

Yet today… he felt a faint whisper of its meaning.

Luxury radiated from it, stirring raw desire.

*Why’s it here?* Not coincidence.

*Did some rich traveler leave it as payment?*

…Too absurd. Who pays for corn with a goblet?

Baffled, he brought it to his dad.

“Boy, why’s you holding a mini chamber pot?” the old man snapped.

“Found it in the field, Dad.”

“Put it down! That shiny thing’ll blind me!”

“Uh… I don’t think it’s a chamber pot.”

“Not a pot? With that wide mouth? *Goblet*? Pfft. Trash it. We’ve got enough pots.”

“But… it feels wasteful.”

“Keep it yourself.” The old man sighed. A year’s labor—gone. Half the crop vanished.

*Unprovoked disaster…*

(If only he knew: sell that “pot” on the black market, and he’d never farm again.)

“Tomorrow I’m burning that rat’s nest down!”

***

Meanwhile, on a mountain path.

*Jingle, jingle…*

“Hu hu…” A fox girl with hair white as frost nibbled a golden ear of corn, sleeves flowing, a sack bigger than herself slung on her back.

“That goblet… should cover the corn, right?” She tilted her head. Tiny *geta* clicked; the bell on her ankle chimed softly.

After sucking every kernel clean, Feitao tossed the cob, wiping crumbs from her lips with her sleeve.

She didn’t grasp money. Didn’t know a solid-gold, gem-encrusted goblet’s worth.

She’d meant to take *two* ears.

But her Fox Demon Bloodline had broken its limits—appetite surged. Two ears? Never enough.

So…

She took a few more, I say.

Shaking the Santa-sized sack, guilt flickered. *Was the goblet enough?* She’d called for the farmer… no one came. Hunger won.

Appetite was her one unshakable joy.

She feared emptiness.

Childhood memories: forced fasting, locked in the Nine-Tailed Heavenly Prison.

That hollow burn—like a tiny flame eating you alive—*unbearable*.

“Sorry… Once I have money, I’ll pay double, I promise… I say.” Hands clasped in her sleeves, she whispered to the wind.

She shook her head.

Corn wasn’t tasty, but better than hunger.

Now… where to go?

She’d never wondered: *What happens when the knight’s stipend runs out?*