As a chef, Bu Fang had absolute confidence in his dishes. Since those exiles did not want to eat it, he would eat it himself.
He reached out a hand and picked up a soft bun. White and delicate, it came in the shape of a little fox. Bu Fang had put a drop of honey on where its eyes should be, which glinted and made the bun look alive.
In the distance, Foxy, lying on Whitey's shoulder, cried out. She widened her eyes and stared at the little fox in Bu Fang's hand, which was as lifelike as if it were coming to life. She seemed a little confused.
Foxy looked carefully. She wanted to see if the big brother in Bu Fang's hand was here to compete with her for favors. Suddenly, she froze, because Bu Fang held the bun and violently ripped it apart.
The skin of the torn bun was soft and fluffy like cotton and filled with holes, which were emanating wisps of hot steam. Shafts of colorful light shot out from the bun as well, flashing brilliantly.
