Hua Cheng had a problem.

A rabbit kept straying close to his den.

As a wolf, Hua Cheng knew what he ought to do—he ought to lunge at the sweet thing, plunge his claws into the soft stomach, and kill. He had imagined it many times already, while watching the rabbit from his hiding spot in the shrubbery; the rabbit was so pretty, with flowing brown hair and wide eyes, he looked delicious, he looked delectable.

Hua Cheng’s gaze would devour the rabbit’s plump thighs, the mounds of supple flesh with the round tail in between. He would stare and lick his lips, his tongue roaming over the sharp pricks of his canines.

Though the bunny was cute, he thought, he must also be stupid.

The rabbit never smelled the wolf. He chewed on grasses and curls up for a nap only inches from Hua Cheng’s snout. One would think that if the rabbit didn’t smell him, if his nose was somehow defected (what a cute nose as well, rosy and soft!), he would at least see the wolf’s glowing red eyes, but no. The bunny was none the wiser. He came to the spot once, twice, ten times, a hundred times, and somehow Hua Cheng always let him—even when his mouth was still salty from the last living meal he had, he did not lunge forward, though it would have been so easy, to eat this foolish rabbit as well.

But here, things got confusing.

One evening, when the air was chilly and everything was dark blue with dusk, the rabbit returned; and this time he was much more alert, his nose twitching and his eyes scanning the area. Hua Cheng tensed up where he is hidden. Was the bunny being chased?

Then, his eyes met with the prey.