The rabbit distrusted the fox’s compliment, but could only nod in thanks. “And where is your feast?” the rabbit asked.
“Over there,” the fox said, nodding her head at a covered mound. She saw the rabbit frown at the drapery. “It’s still a long way until night, you know. I don’t want all my food getting dried up and flyspecked. I’m surprised you’re leaving yours all out in the open like this.”
As she left, the rabbit’s nose twitched and he looked up at the sky. The fox was right; there was still a while until nightfall. The rabbit hopped away and returned with a cloth of his own. Quickly and carefully, he covered his food as well.
So when night finally fell, the rabbit felt quite confident about his food offerings. And with this assurance, he was almost eager when the first beggar arrived in the animals’ area. The beggar was obviously a pauper—an old bent man, with unattractive boils on his face and a long dirty beard. His clothes reeked so much of dung and dirt that the dog, sitting a li away, perked up his nose in interest.
“Supposed to be food for me tonight,” the pauper cackled, his voice like a crow’s. “What do you animals have for me?”
The monkey presented her chestnuts while the old man inspected the otter’s fish.
“Can’t eat those,” the beggar yawped. “Raw nuts? Raw fish? How am I gonna eat that? I should’ve stuck to the people’s area. Stupid of me to come here. You animals don’t know how to be hospitable.”
The animals looked at each other anxiously. Would they all face dishonor this evening?
“If you only give us a moment,” the monkey chattered nervously while giving the otter a panicked look, “we’ll get your meal cooked right away.”
The man grunted as the monkey and otter rushed to set up a fire. He investigated the dog’s radishes and the pig’s turnips. “RAW!” the beggar bawled again, which caused those animals to join the monkey and otter in building an even larger fire.
“If you please,” the rabbit said, speaking over the man’s various noises of disgust, “I have food that you might enjoy.”
The rabbit led the beggar to his covered feast. With a flourish, the rabbit removed the sheltering cloth, only to hear all the watching animals gasp in unison. Alarmed, the rabbit moved to take a quick look at his feast, then stared in horror.
All his food was gone!
Instead of mounds of rice and fruit, there were only bundles of grass. They were strewn across the ground cloth like fallen leaves, and the aghast rabbit felt as if he had turned to stone.
“GRASS?” the beggar howled. “YOU EXPECT ME TO EAT GRASS?! YOU ANIMALS ARE—”
“Come with me.” The fox’s coaxing voice broke the beggar’s rant, and he turned to look at her. Giving him a beguiling look, she led him over to her covered display. Then, with a wink in the rabbit’s direction, she plucked off the cloth.
It was the rabbit’s feast!
There was no mistaking it. The pink apples, the white rice, the pot of milk…it was the rabbit’s hard-won collection of food. The fox had somehow stolen the rabbit’s offering. The beggar fell upon the feast with ravenous voracity, bits of rice and juice falling as he chewed openmouthed. The rabbit could only gape, struck dumb by shock.
“Don’t know what that rabbit was trying do,” the beggar grunted between bites. “It’s insulting! Giving a man grass to eat!”
“Well, the rabbit does have a poor sense of propriety,” the fox said, her voice dripping with condescension, “but we must pity his worthlessness. He has nothing he could feed you.”
At that, the rabbit stirred. The grey rocks, the beggar’s bellow, the blazing fire—everything seemed to be swimming around him faster and faster, a rope suffocating him with shame and humiliation. He has nothing he could feed you. The fox’s words drummed in his ears. He has nothing he could feed you.
“Sir!” the rabbit spoke. He did not speak loudly, but the intensity in his voice cut through the crackling of the fire, and all, including the beggar, turned to him.
“I apologize for having nothing to feed you,” the rabbit said, looking directly at the beggar. “But, perhaps, you could eat ME!”
And with those words, the rabbit leapt into the fire.
For the rabbit, there was pain and blackness and then death. Which should have been the end. But it was not.
Because as the rabbit perished, the beggar stood in alarm. His matted beard suddenly began to smooth and darken; the blemishes on his face disappeared. The beggar raised himself to his full height and his filthy robes fell from him, revealing sky-colored, dragon-embroidered clothes. Imperial robes! He lifted his head, pearl tassels swinging from his hat, and began to shine with a radiance stronger than the fire. All could see that he was no beggar. This was the Jade Emperor. The Ruler of the Heavens himself.
As everyone fell to the ground in humble kowtows, the Jade Emperor approached the fire. With a wave of his hand, the fire extinguished with the charred form of the rabbit lying among the vestiges. The Jade Emperor looked down at the sea of bowed heads and spoke.
“Yes, it is I,” the Jade Emperor said. “I disguised myself to test you, to see if you would follow the decree and how generous you would be. I see I have discovered the most unselfish of you, as well.”
He bent down and plucked the blackened remains of the rabbit from the ground with a grotesque tearing sound. Ashes and coals fell from the wretched mass, but the Jade Emperor looked at it with tenderness. He pressed his hands around the sooty, misshapen form, and the burned body of the rabbit began to change. The scorched, brittle limbs softened and plumped. The covering soot turned to fur that lightened to silver and grew fine and lush. The rabbit’s chest began to rise and fall gently, like the tender rocking of a sleeping baby, as breath returned to his body. Then the rabbit’s nose twitched and his eyes opened, wide and wondering. In the time it would take for an incense stick to burn, the rabbit had returned to life.
“Rabbit,” the Jade Emperor said, shaking his head at the newly woken animal in his arms, “you should not have harmed yourself. But I am truly touched by your generosity.”
The rabbit’s head rose. The full moon had scaled the sky and its soft light embraced him, basking the rabbit in a gentle glow.
“Ah, yes,” the Jade Emperor said, looking up at the moon, “that would be a good place for you, now that I’ve made you immortal. She’s been lonely up there, and you’d be the perfect friend. I will take you to her.”
Five-colored clouds suddenly appeared, and the Jade Emperor stepped upon them as if entering a sedan chair. Then, illuminated by the splendor of the Heavens, they began to float upward into the night. As the Rabbit crossed the sky, all the animals watched in awe and wonder—except for the white fox.
Instead, she burned with jealousy and fury and vowed to become as powerful as the newly immortal Rabbit. Her eyes glittered with a cold light that gleamed as brightly as the Rabbit’s new home, the moon.
“You’re the Rabbit on the Moon? The Moon Lady’s companion?” gasped Mulan. “My father told me stories about you! You’re…you’re the Jade Rabbit!”
“That’s what some call me,” the Rabbit replied, the amusement returning to his eyes.