Lady Shen's White Rice Cakes

In the third year of Qingli, a breeze swept through Loquat Lane in Bianjing. Shen Yan, the young daughter of a secretary who had just transmigrated to the Northern Song, had barely begun to figure out how life in ancient times worked when she found an injured little fox in the woods outside Daxiangguo Temple. The tiny creature was white as snow, with pale brown tips on its ears, and it trembled beneath a tree root like a pear blossom in the wind. Her heart softened, and she brought it home, naming it Tuangao. From then on, her quiet life gained a soft, fluffy little companion to cherish.

The osmanthus cakes she'd saved half a month's allowance to buy had to be shared with it. She couldn't bring herself to scold it even when it left plum-blossom paw prints on a freshly copied poem. The clever little creature remembered what she liked, too. When she casually mentioned wanting fresh lotus seeds, it brought back a dew-covered lotus pod. Others said wild animals couldn't be tamed, but it followed her everywhere. Even when she went to the countryside to collect rent, it perched on the carriage shaft, chasing wild rabbits and still remembering to bring her a sweet fruit afterward.

There are no treacherous household intrigues or political schemes here, just the small, warm rhythms of everyday life in the Northern Song. Among Bianjing's countless lights, one always shines for her. And this soft little fox, always curled up on her lap, is her own most vivid and healing little joy. She thought that transmigrating to an unfamiliar era would leave her lost and bewildered, but this small bond gradually made her fall in love with the warmly bustling life of ancient times.