A Dog Out of Nowhere Chapter 27

Ma Liang stood by the window, smoking as he watched him. “You didn’t do something… unspeakable, did you… was it… forced…?”

“Who would I force?” Sun Wenqu got out of bed, poured himself a glass of milk. “Fang Chi?”

Ma Liang stared at him for a while. “You probably didn’t. You can’t beat him anyway.”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t go too far.” Sun Wenqu held the glass. “Am I that kind of person, pulling sleaze on a high schooler?”

“You can once he graduates,” Ma Liang nodded, stubbed out the cigarette. “So what did you do?”

Sun Wenqu gave him a look, cleared his throat, and said quietly: “Kissed him once.”

“What?” Ma Liang spun his head so fast he choked on smoke, coughing nonstop.

Sun Wenqu walked out of the bedroom, flopped onto the sofa, legs up on the coffee table. “Is that worth all this fuss?”

“You’re a grown man,” Ma Liang pointed at him, still coughing. “How can you be so shameless.”

“Get lost, who are you calling a grown man?” Sun Wenqu clicked his tongue.

“Then just shameless,” Ma Liang said.

“I just felt like he was… but he says he’s not… forget it, let’s drop this,” Sun Wenqu waved a hand. “You came here with other instructions?”

“Tomorrow,” Ma Liang said, “come by my place.”

Sun Wenqu stayed silent.

“Not for pottery,” Ma Liang sat down beside him. “Wouldn’t need to drag you in for that.”

“What is it then?” Sun Wenqu asked.

“It’s related to pottery,” Ma Liang gave him a look. “Come help me with a big cl–client. Do a design.”

“You setting me up?” Sun Wenqu narrowed his eyes.

“Think what you want,” Ma Liang patted his leg. “I came here specifically to ask. The guy wasn’t happy with the previous designs.”

“I’ll think about it.” Sun Wenqu yawned.

After Ma Liang left, Sun Wenqu didn’t bother moving. Instead of going back to bed, he just lay down on the sofa.

This time his dad was serious, more serious than sending him to dig dirt last time. He wasn’t panicked yet, but sometimes he thought about what came after.

The house wasn’t even under his name, it was Sun Yao’s. So if it was sold, he’d have no say at all.

He mulled it over. He still had plenty of savings; otherwise, he couldn’t have tossed a hundred grand at Fang Chi for fun. But buying a place outright wasn’t possible. A down payment and mortgage?

Might as well just rent.

Either way, it all sounded like a hassle.

Finding, viewing, packing, moving, unpacking, settling.

A pain in the *ss.

“You got any spare rooms?” The next afternoon Sun Wenqu sat in Ma Liang’s office. “Rent me one.”

“No.” Ma Liang said.

Ma Liang and his wife were hardworking and frugal. Their studio was doing well, but they still drove an old van and never bought a place. To save money, they’d fixed up a room above the studio and lived there ever since.

“Want me to ask around for you?” Ma Liang’s wife, Hu Yuanyuan, came in with a pot of coffee and set it on the table.

“No need, thanks, sis-in-law,” Sun Wenqu poured himself a cup. “I can ask myself.”

“You? On your own?” Hu Yuanyuan said. “What if you get scammed, where would we even dig you out from? Better leave us a code word first. It hasn’t been easy growing up this long.”

Ma Liang laughed from behind the desk, and Sun Wenqu gave a helpless click of his tongue. “Sis-in-law, we’re talking business here.”

“Go on, talk then. I was just wondering why the sun didn’t rise from the east today.” She laughed, patted his shoulder, and left.

The favor Ma Liang asked wasn’t easy or hard. A wealthy client wanted a custom set of teapots, specific materials, specific demands, but hadn’t been satisfied with their previous designs. Ma Liang wanted Sun Wenqu to design one. Easy? Not really, teapot aesthetics are subjective.

“What are his requirements?” Sun Wenqu looked at the old drafts on the computer.

“Deep roots, culture, weighty, but also modern, minimal, stylish.” Ma Liang said.

“What kind of bullsh*t requirement is that.” Sun Wenqu frowned, thought for a while. “First tell me what kind of guy this sucker is. You’ve been to his place, right? What’s his decor style?”

“A village-raised nouveau riche, studied overseas,” Ma Liang summarized. “Crystal chandeliers with rosewood furniture, sunglasses indoors, even at night.”

Sun Wenqu gave him a glance. “Got it.”

As someone about to be kicked out of his home, with no income, never held a real job, no degree, no skills except flashy ones, lazing around nearly thirty years as an unemployed bum, besides Sun Wenqu, who else could still take it this easy?

He didn’t feel he wasn’t anxious, it was more that he didn’t know how to be anxious, or where to direct it.

Anyway, he still lived in a big house, had food and drink, felt good. Even the black eye didn’t stop him from moving slow and lazy.

When he ran into Little Ji at the gym, he even booked a hair appointment for the next day.

“Try dyeing it?” Little Ji’s sky-high pompadour had turned purple. He was still insistent about dyeing Sun Wenqu’s.

“No.” Sun Wenqu’s answer was short as ever.

“Shame, such a handsome face,” Little Ji sighed. “Even with a black eye, still hot.”

“Shut up and work,” Sun Wenqu said. “I’m gonna nap.”

“How about a perm? Your hair’s long enough now.”

“You looking for a beating?” Sun Wenqu closed his eyes.

“Man, never seen anyone like you. With such a simple style, I’ve got no room to show off.” Little Ji muttered. “You could get this at a regular barbershop, cheaper too.”

“I don’t want to move,” Sun Wenqu said. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll hit someone.”

“I wasn’t even talking to you.” Little Ji turned to his assistant. “Right, Amy?”

“Yes, yeah,” Amy said listlessly.

Sun Wenqu couldn’t sleep, but at least Little Ji finally shut up so he could rest his eyes.

Annoying as he was, Little Ji’s skills were top notch, quick too. With care and speed, he finished styling Sun Wenqu’s hair.

“All done.” Little Ji patted him. “Open your eyes, see the world.”

“Looks good. Thanks.” Sun Wenqu opened his eyes, checked the mirror.

“Brother Sun Wenqu, you seem out of it,” Little Ji packed up his tools. “Let me hook you up with a great massage parlor. Really solid work.”

“Mm.” Sun Wenqu answered.

Little Ji handed him a card. “Say my name, no membership card, straight to member price.”

“Say I’m Doggie, friend of Little Ji?” Sun Wenqu glanced at the card, he’d actually been to this place before, with Ma Liang.

“Yang Dingbang,” Little Ji said. “My name’s Yang Dingbang.”

“D*mn, nice name.” Sun Wenqu studied his face. “Doesn’t suit you though.”

Little Ji laughed. “They said a fortune-teller gave it. My parents thought it sounded ambitious, so they used it.”

That made Sun Wenqu think about his own name, what his father had in mind when he gave it. Whatever the intent, one thing was certain: he hadn’t lived up to it.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. Whatever his father told him to study, even if he didn’t like it, he studied seriously. But all along he thought, this is all there’ll ever be.

“You’ll be my greatest work.”

His father had said that when he was small. Later, he said: “You’re my greatest failure.”

As a kid, he hadn’t understood. A “work”? He had no concept.

Later, shaping clay in his hands, he began to get it. The pottery he made, the words he wrote, the paintings, those were his works.

Living a lifetime as someone else’s “work” filled him with fear and anger.

Now, the conflict between him and his father went far beyond that. The more tangled the content, the harder to resolve.

Especially since no one seemed to really want to resolve it.

Sun Wenqu yawned, pulled out his phone, and called Luo Peng. “Let’s go out.”

“Wenqu?” Luo Peng sounded surprised. “You okay?”

“What could happen to me?” Sun Wenqu said.

“Didn’t your old man just come down on you?” Luo Peng said. “I didn’t even dare call. Bowen told us not to contact you, afraid you’d get in trouble if your old man had you under lock.”

For a moment, Sun Wenqu felt like exploding, like a thousand hooves trampling in his chest.

“Not that dramatic.” He chuckled.

“Good, good,” Luo Peng sighed in relief. “Next week, then, Zhang Lin’s birthday party.”

“Where?”

“At Bowen’s place, easy.”

“Mm. Fine.” Sun Wenqu ground his teeth.

“Wenqu,” Luo Peng lowered his voice. “No one from your dad’s side is around, right?”

“No. Say it.” Sun Wenqu felt his hand shaking.

“If you’re short on cash, tell me. Bowen said your dad told us not to lend you anything. But quietly should be fine, he won’t find out.”

“No shortage. Don’t worry about it.” Sun Wenqu drew a breath.

“Alright. Anyway, if anything comes up, say the word.” Luo Peng’s voice returned to normal. “I’m in the sauna now, you coming?”

“Forget it, I can’t stand that stuff.”

“Then we’ll talk next week. Got a good bottle waiting for you.”

“Okay.” Sun Wenqu forced a laugh.

Luo Peng hung up.

Sun Wenqu sat on the sofa, staring at his phone.

The anger and suffocation with nowhere to go made him want to cough, but he couldn’t even cough it out. It just clogged inside.

Finally, he raised his hand and hurled the phone hard at the TV.

The phone smacked squarely into the upper left corner of the TV, bounced to the floor, and broke into several pieces.

He walked over and stomped on it a few times. Only after hearing the crunch of shattering plastic did he finally lean back into the sofa, satisfied.

The service contract was void. Fang Chi no longer had to go to Sun Wenqu’s house to wait on him during confinement, no more grocery shopping, no more cooking while guarding against Sun Wenqu’s tantrums. His days suddenly became much freer.

This life, not much different from before, suddenly felt a little unfamiliar.

Pathetic…

But even if Sun Wenqu asked him now, he definitely wouldn’t go again. That question of Sun Wenqu’s had already made him unable to face the man anymore.

No.

I’m not.

That was the answer he gave Sun Wenqu, the same one he had once given Xiao Yiming.

He just didn’t know why, this time, when facing Sun Wenqu’s question, the words hadn’t come as cleanly as they had with Xiao Yiming.

The only thing that hadn’t changed was the resistance, the reflexive avoidance.

That day when he spoke with Xiao Yiming, their relationship had eased a little. But running headlong into that lunatic Sun Wenqu, and being seen by Xiao Yiming on top of that, had suddenly made him uncomfortable again these past few days.

Luckily finals were coming up, review sessions getting tighter. He had no time to dwell on exhausting thoughts.

Better to think about Sun Wenqu’s money than about Sun Wenqu himself.

After taking money from Fang Ying last time, she hadn’t avoided him anymore. She still answered calls, still lived in the same place, but always said she hadn’t gathered enough yet.

That service contract had been depressing, but without it, Fang Chi felt increasingly uneasy about the debt hanging there.

“Why this way today?” Xiao Yiming turned back to ask.

“Going to my sister’s,” Fang Chi said.

Fang Ying’s place was in about the same direction as Xiao Yiming’s, so visiting her meant walking a good stretch together.

“Want chestnuts?” Xiao Yiming looked ahead, asked.

“Yeah.” Fang Chi was a little hungry, he had smelled the sweet-roasted chestnuts from afar already.

“My treat,” Xiao Yiming quickened his pace. “I’m starving.”

“Mm.” Fang Chi kept up with him. The feeling was familiar, they used to grab food together after school, always rushing like starving ghosts.

They bought a bag each, and just as they turned to leave, several motorcycles pulled up. A few people got off, probably to buy chestnuts too.

Xiao Yiming slowed a step. Fang Chi, head down eating, bumped into him. Looking up, he saw two guys from Class Six, and… Xiao Yiming’s ex-boyfriend.

Fang Chi felt irritable, swept his eyes over them without a word, and turned to leave. Xiao Yiming followed silently.

A whistle blew.

Fang Chi put on the headphones hanging around his neck. Before he could play music, someone drawled mockingly: “Sure enough, a bit better than you. No wonder you were just the substitute.”

“F*ck off,” the ex-boyfriend snapped. “He’s just my leftovers.”

Fang Chi spun around. Xiao Yiming grabbed him: “Fang Chi, what are you doing!”

Without answering, Fang Chi lunged forward and smashed a fist straight into the ex-boyfriend’s nose. The punch was heavy, unlike when he’d hit Sun Wenqu. This time it was aimed to break and bleed.

The boy clutched his nose silently, bending over, too pained to make a sound.

Then came a knee to the chin and a hard kick to the chest. Fang Chi didn’t stop until the guy crashed flat on his back. Only then did the others snap out of it.

“You…” Fang Chi pointed at him, twice, but the words wouldn’t come. It was always like this, never knowing what to say.

As he was trying to think, Xiao Yiming dragged him off. After two steps, they broke into a run. Fang Chi had no choice but to follow.

Not far behind came the sound of motorcycles, chasing.

“Sh*t.” Fang Chi stopped short, flung his schoolbag aside, and pounced on one of the guys leaping off a bike, driving a fist into his gut.

Someone struck him from behind with something hard. Without looking back, he grabbed the wrist, twisted it savagely. The boy cried out and crumpled down.

There were four in all: two from Class Six, two from another school.

Fang Chi kicked again, a rush of exhilaration flooding him. It felt like doing radio calisthenics, stretching, venting. These guys might as well have delivered themselves for him to unload on.

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight.

Two-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight…

So considerate.

When Xiao Yiming finally dragged him away, he was still reluctant to stop.

They ran a whole block before Xiao Yiming let go, frowning: “What was the point? You’re just bringing trouble on yourself.”

“They won’t dare,” Fang Chi lit a cigarette against the wall.

“Shameless types like that, if they come at you in the dark, can you guard against it?” Xiao Yiming leaned on the wall, sighing.

“I’m not worried, so why are you?” Fang Chi said.

“Just let them talk. Now you’ve made it worse, you won’t be able to dodge it anymore.”

“What thing?” Fang Chi asked without thinking. He regretted it immediately.

Xiao Yiming said nothing, just ate a chestnut.

Fang Chi exhaled smoke against the wall. He knew what Xiao Yiming meant, and he wasn’t wrong. Before, it had nothing to do with him. Now, after the fight, whether or not it did, he was stuck in it.

But to sit there and listen to that kind of talk without responding, he couldn’t. His temper wouldn’t hold.

Contradictions.

What’s wrong with it? What’s it to you?

Then why avoid it?

What’s there to be afraid of?

Fang Chi stubbed the cigarette irritably. “I’m leaving.”

Xiao Yiming handed him a bag of chestnuts. Fang Chi shoved it into his coat, and suddenly wanted to laugh. Strange, after all that chaos, Xiao Yiming still held on to both bags of chestnuts. Not one was lost.

When he reached Fang Ying’s building, dinnertime smells filled the air, savory and warm. If not for the chestnuts, he’d have gone to the noodle shop downstairs before heading up.

As he stepped into the stairwell, an electric scooter pulled up, loaded with takeout boxes. The rider grabbed the stack and ran upstairs.

Fang Chi’s brows furrowed.

Takeout? In this building, besides Fang Ying, who else would order that much?

He climbed slowly, heat rising inside him again.

On her floor, the delivery guy passed him on the way down, hands empty. Fang Chi held back his temper and reached her door.

It was ajar. Through the crack he could see the mahjong table, the scattered tiles, and Fang Ying, tired-looking but with that manic gleam.

He pushed the door open. On a little stool, Little Guo sat with a takeout box, ready to eat. Fang Chi’s rage exploded.

“Little Chi…” Fang Ying stood, startled.

He strode forward and flipped the mahjong table. Tiles and money clattered everywhere.

“Little Guo, eat inside,” Fang Chi said.

Clutching the box, Little Guo ran into the inner room.

“Who the h*ll is this!” a woman shouted. “Crazy?”

“Out!” Fang Chi turned and glared.

The room fell silent. No one spoke or moved. All eyes were on him.

At a loss for words again, he stomped on the overturned tabletop. With a crack, it split.

That was enough to send them running, cursing as they fled downstairs.

“What the h*ll!” Fang Ying frowned, gathering the scattered money.

“You’re still gambling?” Fang Chi yanked her up, voice low. “You think just because last time blew over, it’s fine?”

“Just today…” Fang Ying turned away.

“Bullsh*t!” Fang Chi jabbed a finger at the inner room. “Mess up your own life if you want, but you’d drag Little Guo down with you?”

Fang Ying stayed silent.

“Come on.” He pulled her toward the door.

“What are you doing!” Fang Ying struggled, alarmed.

“Repay the debt,” Fang Chi said, snatching her bag from the sofa. “You’ve got money for cards but not to pay back?”

Dragging her along, he hauled her to an ATM. She resisted, but finally entered the password.

The card held just over twenty thousand. Clearly she’d been scraping money together, but once she had it, she couldn’t bear to part with it.

Ignoring her protests, Fang Chi transferred twenty thousand to his own card, leaving only a small remainder.

“I’ll warn you again,” he pointed at her nose, “mess up your own life, fine. But if you drag me down, I won’t forgive you.”

“I wouldn’t dare!” Fang Ying frowned.

“You’d better not.” Fang Chi said. “If I see you gambling again before this debt is cleared, don’t blame me for what I do.”

Fang Ying shot him a look.

“That money came from Sun Wenqu,” Fang Chi glared at her. “Don’t think he’s easier to deal with than the loan sharks you owe.”

Fang Ying’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “How the h*ll did you get money out of him? God!”

“Not your business.” Fang Chi turned and left.

Back home, he checked his balance and took out his phone.

These past few days, Sun Wenqu hadn’t contacted him. As if with the contract voided, the debt was void too.

Maybe Sun Wenqu didn’t care. But Fang Chi couldn’t just stay silent. He wanted to return at least part, or at least give an update.

The call went through, but no one picked up.