Early the next morning, Black Fur woke and, out of habit, gave the little wildcat a kick before leaving the cave on its own.
It wandered in a loose circle, found a few tender green leaves of rabbit grass, and started chewing. Before it had swallowed, it heard a rustling sound behind it.
The little wildcat had followed it.
With the murderous air of the previous day gone, the youngster looked dazed and surprisingly obedient. It trailed Black Fur wherever it went, and when the rabbit lowered its head to graze, the wildcat simply lay nearby and stared into space.
Black Fur was in no mood for a fight and could not be bothered with it. The little fool could take the rabbit for its mother, father, or even grandmother. What did any of that matter to Black Fur? Not a single blade of grass. So long as it did not come crowding close and causing trouble, Black Fur treated it as a fluffy patch of empty air.
Once its belly was full, Black Fur resumed looking for the way home. The grass here might be delicious, but this was not its territory. It preferred its own rabbit hole, with its stores of good food; the great stone where it could stretch out and bask in the moonlight; and, when the weather turned too hot, cold, windy, or wet, that green-robed immortal who was always so useful.
Thus it traveled in fits and starts through the whole day without encountering danger. The little wildcat behaved itself, following behind at a respectful distance and never coming too close.
By the time the moon had risen above the branches, Black Fur raised its head to look around. For rabbit’s sake! That same cave again!
It had walked in circles all day, only to end up where it started!
The mountain mice’s rotting bones were still inside. After lying there all day, they stank terribly.
Black Fur had no desire to go back in. It withdrew a good distance, found a small hollow in a tree, and had barely pushed aside the thick fallen leaves to bury itself inside when the little wildcat blundered into the hollow after it.
The hollow was cramped, so Black Fur kicked the wildcat out.
The little wildcat rolled over as it usually did after a kick and landed with a splat. Its fluffy rump stuck up, and it turned its head to stare blankly back at Black Fur.
Its tail lifted slightly, revealing the fleshy hole underneath—yesterday it had been bullied badly by Black Fur, and now it was still red and swollen.
It let out a blank yet somewhat ingratiating whimper; its flower-furred tail swayed left and right, as if showing off the round, red little flesh ring below.
Still in the posture of kicking its legs, the black-furred little beast—without feeling any cold or dry heat inside—boiled over again!
It suddenly pounced and pinned down this little idiot that dared to provoke it. Black Fur once again raised its gun onto the cat and felt it was only right and proper—its heat was not over yet, and besides, this flower-furred little one tasted pretty good, tight and soft; poke once and it trembled, tremble once and it cried out, far more fun than those female rabbits that were either lifeless or tried to resist!
The little wildcat let out a big choked sound with the impact, then began to whimper softly in a very rhythmic way, its four claws restlessly digging into the ground.
Black Fur’s strength was too great; each thrust drove it forward into the ground until it could barely stand. Later Black Fur simply pulled out, scratched a small pit on the spot with its two legs, jumped down into it itself, then dragged the little wildcat back a bit and pressed it at the edge of the pit. This time the bottom-up posture was smooth, and it thrust slap-slap-slap-slap without any restraint.
The little wildcat was in fierce pain; the claws digging into the ground even faintly oozed blood, yet it did not struggle at all. Its chaotic little brain had suddenly fully opened its spiritual apertures the night before, then been pinned and done by Black Fur, and somehow a clear concept had formed in its mind: although this Black Fur’s food often kicked it and also poked strange places that hurt, after the other poked it could poke the other back and that felt very good, and the other would bring lots of mice for it to eat (mistakenly), and use its thick-furred belly to warm it, and finally hold it while sleeping…
And now that it had gotten used to this kind of pain, it seemed like nothing much; the other’s thick belly fur covering its back and rear was actually quite warm.
So it submitted obediently without any resistance, letting Black Fur thrust into it without restraint. By the middle of the night, when Black Fur climbed down from its back in satisfaction, it was immediately flipped over and pinned by the little wildcat, its tiny stick foolishly and dazedly rubbing around in search of the entrance.
Black Fur lay on the ground, letting it slap-slap away, idly chewing a blade of grass that grew by its mouth. Finding the taste rotten, it spat it out with a pu and turned its head to look for another.
Suddenly a tiny bit of interest came over it—finding the little wildcat lying on its back monotonously thrusting thrust-thrust very stupidly amusing—and it abruptly raised its rear!
The little wildcat was immediately thrown off its back, landing with a plop on the ground, four claws to the sky, its wet little stick sticking straight against its furry belly, extremely blank.
It turned its head to look at Black Fur—this big beast was lowering its head and leisurely munching grass—blankly not knowing what had happened. So without thinking further it climbed back onto Black Fur’s back, hugged tighter with its front claws, and slap-slap-slap-slap…
Afterward, Black Fur went back into the hollow in irritation. The cub poked its head in after it. Having had enough excitement, the rabbit could not be bothered to kick it away again. The little wildcat burrowed under the rabbit’s belly; Black Fur scratched at it impatiently with a forepaw but could not shift it. In the end the rabbit turned over, draped a hind leg across the cub’s rump, and the pair fell asleep in a heap.
This pattern went on for days. They searched for a way out by day and, having failed, returned to the tree hollow at night. After the familiar pa-pa-pa, they curled up together and snored. More than half a month passed in a blink. They had still not found their way out, but the two animals had grown increasingly familiar with each other.
Black Fur only noticed that the little wildcat was becoming clingier by the day. Even in broad daylight, when there was no reason to sleep, it liked to crawl under the rabbit’s belly for warmth. A kick merely sent it away for a moment before it returned to lick Black Fur’s thigh.
And Black Fur noticed a change in itself, too: each kick it gave the cub was gentler than the last.
But this was a carefree, heartless rabbit master without worries or sorrows, so it was very good at finding explanations for itself: this was a cat wife it had picked up that was extremely durable under use, far better than rabbit girls; if it kicked it to death, where would it find a new one?
The little wildcat stuck close to the rabbit all day, leaving only when food caught its eye. Since the battle against the mountain mice, its hunting had improved enormously. Before long it would come bounding down from the trees with a squirrel, pigeon or sparrow in its mouth, the prey still bloody.
Black Fur took it all in stride. So long as the cub kept the blood off its fur, it did not care. Would the wildcat’s sharpening teeth someday turn against Black Fur? For rabbit’s sake, would it dare?
It was not that the little wildcat would not dare. The thought had simply never occurred to it. It had grown up eating rabbits its mother brought home, and this enormous black-furred beast was certainly food, but apparently it was not meant to be eaten.
What it was meant for, the cub did not know. It only knew that Black Fur was kind to it (a misunderstanding, of course), that it liked nestling against the rabbit, and that the rabbit was warm.
Spring was nearly over, and the wild grasses were thick and lush. Black Fur rolled into a ball and tumbled through them. Watching the dappled shadows of leaves on the ground, it thought that remaining here might not be so bad after all.
It had searched for a way out for countless days without finding one. Perhaps it should simply make the tree hollow its home.
The little wildcat came darting from the far side of the grass, a plump, heavy quail in its mouth. Suddenly a shaft of sunlight broke through the trees and dazzled its eyes, and it ran headfirst into Black Fur.
Black Fur could not be bothered to kick it, merely sidling away and settling a little farther off. Such restraint was rare indeed in its long career as a tyrannical rabbit lord.
The cub tore its quail apart, ate every scrap, carefully licked the blood from its face and paws, and crawled into the hollow for a midday nap.
The sunlight felt so pleasant that Black Fur went inside too, pushing the wildcat aside and scratching out a space for itself.
As it curled into a ball and grumbled about the cramped quarters, it noticed that the little fool seemed bigger again. When they first met, the cub had been so thin and small. Lately, it almost seemed to have outgrown Black Fur.
Even the feeling of the little stick poking in was becoming more and more obvious; sometimes when it thrust hard, it stretched it uncomfortably.
For some reason, Black Fur suddenly felt like giving the fast-growing little fool a scratch, and promptly did. The cub whimpered in its sleep, tucked its head under the rabbit’s belly as usual, and even slid its hind legs willingly beneath Black Fur’s thigh.
Black Fur narrowed its eyes and drifted drowsily between sleep and wakefulness.
Then its long ears turned. It had heard an odd sound: voices talking.
The voices were faint, yet every word sounded like human speech, just like the green-robed immortal’s.
“So these are the rabbit and the lynx? They can’t even take human form. How could they possibly have eaten the Purple-Flesh Lingzhi? Maybe that mouse deceived our king. He’s waited two hundred years for it! Would it really have been eaten so easily by these two idiots?”
“Exactly! If you ask me, the Purple-Flesh Lingzhi was never here. It’s on the next mountain over. I heard a god lives on that mountain…”
“Shh! The rabbit’s coming out.”
Black Fur hopped lazily from the hollow, raised its head to examine the two great crows, one black and one white, and opened its gap-toothed mouth in a long yawn.
The crows cackled. Perched high in a tree, they continued whispering in human speech. “Just look at that stupid creature.”
Black Fur languidly turned its back, lifted its rump and let out a fart at them.
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Ignore it. Let’s catch them and take them back to report to the king.” With that, the white crow plunged like an arrow from its perch toward Black Fur.
“You take the rabbit, and leave the wildcat for…” The black crow swooped down too, ready to claim its share of the prey. Suddenly its words stopped.
Before its eyes, the fat rabbit that had seemed so languid a moment before sprang into the air and spun in one clean movement. A flying kick sent the white crow hurtling several meters until it struck a tree headfirst.
“No! Old White!” The black crow flapped desperately upward, screaming as it looked down. Black Fur bounded over to the fallen bird and stood on it with all four paws, crushing it until its eyes bulged and its tongue hung out, then raised its head in triumph.
Still shrieking “Old White!”, the black crow fled at top speed.
The little wildcat woke in the warmth of an early-summer afternoon. It stretched all four legs contentedly, opened its bright golden eyes, and found an enormous crow’s head directly in front of it.
The white crow was gravely wounded but still conscious. In a hoarse, feeble voice it protested, “No, you can’t kill me… Our king won’t spare you… No…”
Black Fur hopped onto the bird’s neck and stamped out its voice. King, lord, whatever: the rabbit had just one thought. For rabbit’s sake, food for the missus! And such a big one!
The little wildcat’s eyes went wide. Its thoughts were simpler still: Food! So much food!
When it came to the pa-pa-pa at night, the little wildcat that had eaten too much during the day was thrust so hard it kept hiccupping. One thrust, one hiccup; the claws lying on the ground were weak and listless.
Black Fur was annoyed by the hiccups. It pressed the little wildcat’s rear and thrust hard a few times. After releasing, it scratched and flipped it over, four feet to the sky.
Black Fur pressed a paw firmly into the little wildcat’s swollen, round belly. The cub writhed in discomfort and let out an enormous belch, sending a faceful of crow-scented air straight at the rabbit.
After that great belch came five little ones. When they finally ended, the cub whimpered weakly, curled into a ball, and covered its head with both front paws.
Black Fur pulled the paws away, flattened out the cub’s curled body, and lowered its head to lick its round, fluffy belly.
The little wildcat kicked its hind legs feebly. The sensation was strange but pleasant, and it gave another soft hiccup.
Black Fur continued lowering its head to lick it, first carefully licking along the belly until it was all wet, then moving down to lick its two little balls.
The cub shrank back in discomfort and covered its head with both forepaws once more.
Being licked felt extremely comfortable; its already half-hard little stick grew more and more swollen. Softly hiccupping, it could not help twisting its body to push its lower belly toward the tip of Black Fur’s tongue, wanting Black Fur to finish the balls and lick the stick.
Black Fur indeed gently began licking the little stick that had recently grown in size. The little wildcat was so comfortable its claw tips spread open, whimpering lowly, opening its mouth to hiccup again—when suddenly Black Fur bit down hard!
“Awooooooooo!”
The terrible scream startled birds from the nearby trees, and they fluttered far away.
The little wildcat dashed into the tree hollow, its injured little member limp and marked with teeth. It hurt when touched with a paw and hurt when it tried to lick it. In the end, it could only curl into a ball, trembling helplessly with pain. Tears streamed endlessly from its golden eyes. It felt terribly wronged.
Black Fur followed into the hollow with a swagger, pushed the cub farther inside with its rump, and settled down beside it.
Trembling with anger, the little wildcat kept its sharp little teeth pressed to the rabbit’s neck for a long while, but hardly used any force. Whether it did not dare bite harder or simply did not want to was anyone’s guess.
It did not even notice that the hiccups had stopped.
But clearly, even if it had noticed, given a choice between hiccuping all night and having its little member bitten, it would certainly have chosen the hiccups.
And today it hadn’t even had the chance to thrust into Black Fur yet before its tool was cruelly taken away!
In short, Black Fur was a great bully of a beast, forever picking on it.
Its little member burned painfully. Crying, it curled into a ball and fell asleep. Half-asleep, it felt someone lick its damp face.
With a plaintive whimper, the wildcat gave Black Fur a halfhearted scratch and burrowed under the rabbit’s belly to sleep again.
Deep in the valley, the night held only low birdcalls and the occasional chirp of insects. Black Fur was snoring when the cub scratched it again in the middle of a nightmare. The rabbit turned over instinctively, pinned it beneath a hind leg as usual, and continued to snore.
The little wildcat dreamed that the black-furred big beast had turned into a hairless monster with a tiny head and long hands and feet. Its two long “front claws” pressed down its own “front claws”—eh?! Even it itself had turned into a long-handed, long-footed monster—lowering its head to lick its hairless chest, where there were two bright red protrusions. Every time Black Fur licked, it would tremble and could not help wanting to hiccup. Just as it opened its mouth, below it was fiercely thrust into by Black Fur. With that hairless flat face Black Fur said, “No hiccuping, or I’ll bite you.”
That voice had not been a wildcat’s call, yet the cub understood it perfectly. Understanding did nothing to make it happier.
Aowu… Even in dreams it bullies me… Aggrieved, it began to cry and swiped at Black Fur again. But its pointed claws had vanished. In their place were five long, thin little fingers.
It flipped over and pinned Black Fur down, imitating the action by licking the little red dots on Black Fur’s chest.
Black Fur, grabbed by its soft and weak “claws,” did not get angry; instead it smiled at it in a thoroughly wicked way and said, “Little idiot, you want to thrust into me? Make me feel good first.”
Then Black Fur used its “claws” to press its head downward. Its face suddenly bumped against that scorching thick thing and it startled, but after lowering its head for a look it felt greatly relieved—its own stick was also very big, no smaller than Black Fur’s. But there was a clear rabbit tooth mark on it!
It let out a wronged “ao-wu,” buried its head and bit down on Black Fur’s big stick. It bit hard several times yet heard no scream from Black Fur. With difficulty holding that thing in its mouth, it slightly raised its head. Black Fur looked down at it with a faintly flushed face, a light in its brown eyes that it could not understand. Black Fur panted as it stroked its face and said, “Harder, little idiot…”
Bite it off if harder! it thought, just about to put the idea into practice—when suddenly it heard a rumbling loud noise!
Looking up in astonishment, it saw an enormous boulder hurtling down toward them. The crushing weight and sudden fear of death jolted it awake.
Everything was dark. The familiar smell of rabbit filled its nose. Wriggling its head out from beneath Black Fur’s belly, it discovered that not only the rabbit’s thigh but most of its body was lying on top of it.
It struggled until all four limbs were free, then snuggled against Black Fur’s belly again. Just as it was about to close its eyes, it sensed something unusual outside the hollow.
Black Fur was still snoring thunderously. The little wildcat wriggled out from under it, climbed outside, and shook the fur that had been flattened by the rabbit’s weight.
More than a dozen dark silhouettes stood outside the tree hollow, and the air carried a distinctly dangerous scent.
The cub’s fur stood on end. A warning growl rumbled in its throat, and the effort of growling so hard made it give a tiny hiccup.
“My king! That’s the lynx! I can smell Old White on it! Old White!” The black crow shrieked in grief at the scent of the cub’s hiccup.
The tallest shadow at the center of the group grunted, and the crow instantly fell silent.
The great figure stepped into the moonlight, revealing a demon with a human body and a tiger’s head. Broad-shouldered, thick with muscle, and fierce of face, the demon was a terrifying sight.
When the wildcat was small, its mother had once carried it away to hide from a tiger. It knew this was one of its natural enemies. Instinctively it took a step back, its fur trembling in the cold night wind.
But its next step landed on Black Fur’s paw. Remembering that behind it lay a supply of food it could not bring itself to eat, the cub bounded forward two paces, arched its back, and let out a threatening growl.
It did not reach the tiger-headed monster’s knee. Its brave stance looked absurdly unequal. The huge demon and the beasts surrounding him, tigers, leopards, bears, wolves, foxes, and boars among them, all burst out laughing.
A mottled blur flashed across their sight. A choked cry rang out, and the laughter ended.
The cub landed lightly, stepped backward twice, and spat out the black crow from its mouth. The noisy bird’s neck had been bitten nearly in half, and blood spattered the grass.
The black crow had been on a nearby low branch. No one had even seen the wildcat leap up, seize it, and retreat.
The tiger demon king roared in fury. There was no need for any strategy: his followers surged forward in a mass.
The little wildcat pushed off with its hind legs and ran away into the distance.
The nighttime forest was gloomy and frightening, but for wildcats, accustomed to hunting after dark, it was an ideal place to show their skill. Small and nimble, the cub bounded up one tree, sprang across to another, and vanished in the dense dark canopy in the blink of an eye.
Enraged at being challenged by so tiny a wildcat, the tiger demon chased it with his followers for a short way before abruptly realizing that it might be luring him away from the rabbit. He swung a great paw. “You go and catch the rabbit! Neither of them escapes! Alive or dead, it doesn’t matter!”
He bent forward, assumed his original form as a gigantic, powerful tiger, and raced after the wildcat.