A Dog Out of Nowhere Chapter 4

Sun Wenqu sat in a chair while Xiao Ji circled him, scrutinizing. “You haven’t properly done your hair in at least a year, right? No treatment either? Honestly, you look like a mushroom.”

Before Sun Wenqu could reply, he waved to his assistant. “Amy, bring me that bag.”

“Three years.” Sun Wenqu said.

The stylist wasn’t named Tony, Kevin, Andy, or Peter. But the assistant was one of the Lucys, Selenas, Amys, or Helens.

Xiao Ji’s appearance didn’t match his name, he was bright, cheerful-looking, with a mustache, the sides of his head shaved, a little topknot dyed blue, and shiny studs in both brows and ear cartilage.

“Brother Sun,” he bent down, peering into Sun Wenqu’s face, “you’ve got good bone structure, a stylish look already. Want to try some color, a bold fashionable style?”

Sun Wenqu stared at the blue tuft on his head for a moment, then said simply: “No.”

Xiao Ji looked disappointed, but it didn’t affect his work. Once he confirmed Sun Wenqu only wanted a short cut, anything that didn’t scream village barber Wang at the crossroads, he got to work seriously.

“Really, only men confident enough to show their forehead are truly handsome. You could pull it off. But honestly, a little fringe would suit your face better…”

“You talking to me?” Sun Wenqu asked.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t need to tell me. Just cut.”

“Oh.” He nodded, then added, “But the bangs can’t be too long…”

Sun Wenqu gave him a look. He glanced at Amy: “I’m talking to Amy now.”

“Mm, long bangs aren’t neat,” Amy droned weakly.

Three hours later, after endless chatter, the job was done. Sun Wenqu had nearly dozed off into the scissors several times.

“How’s that? Happy with it?” Xiao Ji asked.

Sun Wenqu nodded at the mirror. The guy talked too much, but his skills were solid, his reflection had gone from countryside drab to urban chic.

“Brother Sun, you’d look great in brighter colors,” Xiao Ji said as he packed up. “Stop wearing black all the time. With your skin tone, you could pull off something vibrant.”

An absurd image of himself in a pink shirt and tight pants flashed through Sun Wenqu’s mind. He coughed. “Uh-huh.”

Even after tidying up, Xiao Ji circled him again, and at the door leaned on the frame to call back, “When your hair grows out, call me, I’ll come trim it!” before finally leaving.

Sun Wenqu felt drowsy, but there was no time for a nap. Half an hour later, Li Bowen called: “I’m downstairs. Want me to come up or…”

“I’ll head out now.” Sun Wenqu didn’t want him inside.

You’d look good in color.

Sun Wenqu thought of Xiao Ji’s words, glanced at his closet filled with blacks and grays, clicked his tongue, and pulled out a black jacket anyway before heading out.

Three years had gone by, Li Bowen had gained weight, once a knitting needle, now chopstick-thick. Otherwise, he hadn’t changed much.

Spotting him, Li Bowen shouted exaggeratedly and rushed in for a crushing hug. Sun Wenqu had to shove him off multiple times, otherwise, he knew, the guy would have tried to plant a kiss.

“Look at you, so skinny!” Li Bowen clapped his shoulder hard. “Gotta eat plenty tonight, make up for it!”

“Get in the car.” Sun Wenqu opened the passenger door, and froze.

A girl sat there, smiling awkwardly.

“This is my girlfriend, Zhao He,” Li Bowen introduced. “And this is the best buddy I told you about, Sun Wenqu.”

“Brother Sun,” she greeted.

“Hello.” He nodded back and slid into the back seat.

She wasn’t striking, but quiet and gentle-looking, the type Li Bowen liked, the demure girl-next-door. Probably the owner of those clothes in his closet.

But remembering the disaster scene of those toiletries, so at odds with her appearance, he felt something unspeakable.

He stayed silent the whole ride.

But the irritation faded as soon as they reached the restaurant. They were last to arrive, inside, a private room was already packed with a dozen people, voices erupting the moment the door opened.

And in that instant, swallowed by the noise, Sun Wenqu rediscovered that familiar, vexing-yet-comforting sense of security he hadn’t felt in years.

When he once tried explaining it to Ma Liang, his friend had dismissed it as him lacking ambition.

Lack it then.

He didn’t even know what ambition was supposed to look like. For his family, for his elders and peers, ambition meant one thing only: following his father into pottery.

Because his dad was a master, and the son of a master just happened to have an insight into this field far beyond ordinary people, it was only natural that he should advance down this path.

Sun Wenqu no longer remembered when he first began to hate making pottery. A long time ago… perhaps from the age of ten, when he made that teapot everyone said proved he was born for clay.

His relationship with his dad seemed to have started going downhill from that point too.

Thinking of this made his irritation stir again, especially since just as he sat down, Luo Peng leaned in against him, slung one arm over his shoulder, and shoved his phone in front of his eyes with the other: “Wenqu, look at this set…”

“Get lost.” The moment Sun Wenqu saw the set of purple-sand teapots on the screen, utterly worthless in his eyes, his temper spiked and he shoved Luo Peng away.

“Are you an idiot?” Li Bowen came over, grabbed Luo Peng’s phone, took one glance, and immediately started cursing. “You d*mn well know he can’t stand this stuff, and the first thing you do when he’s back is shove it in his face? You got water in your brain?”

Luo Peng sighed and clicked his tongue a few times: “Wenqu, your rotten temper hasn’t changed a bit.”

“And your lack of tact hasn’t changed either,” someone chimed in with a laugh.

“F*ck,” Luo Peng sighed again.

“I’ll show you what tact is,” Li Bowen patted his shoulder, strolled around the private room, and asked, “Where’s the thing?”

“Here!” someone handed him a long rectangular wooden case.

Li Bowen took it and set it down on the chair next to Sun Wenqu: “This is for you.”

“What is it?” Sun Wenqu flicked his finger against the box. Deep brown wood, carved with flowers, finely done.

“You don’t recognize it?” Li Bowen grinned.

Sun Wenqu smiled faintly too: “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, I just mentioned it. My dad went and found it, don’t know from where. You’re the real son here… I really envy you.” Li Bowen slouched down beside him, stretching lazily.

“Try being my dad’s real son for a few days before you envy me.” Sun Wenqu muttered.

“You don’t get it.” Li Bowen twisted his mouth, gave him a look. “You don’t understand this feeling.”

“There’s a lot I don’t understand,” Sun Wenqu said. Li Bowen like this wasn’t something he saw often, but he couldn’t be bothered to probe. “Anyway, I should visit my old man. Is your dad home these days?”

“He’s home. And even if he weren’t, one call from you and he’d rush back to wait.” Li Bowen tilted his head back, staring at the lights on the ceiling.

Li Bowen’s dad and his dad had been childhood friends, so he and Li Bowen had been friends since childhood too. Their families had been close for decades.

Because of that bond, even when Sun Wenqu found Li Bowen annoying, he’d keep up appearances. He actually liked Uncle Li, he wasn’t as stiff as his own father, always kind with kids, and especially good to him. He’d always enjoyed chatting with Uncle Li.

Once everyone had arrived, the waiter began bringing in dishes. The place Li Bowen picked suited his taste; several of the dishes were his favorites.

Sun Wenqu patted Li Bowen: “Thoughtful.”

“Eat up,” Li Bowen said, “you’ll need the strength.”

Sun Wenqu smiled, he knew what Li Bowen meant.

Sure enough, after only a few bites, the group came over with glasses raised: “Three years without seeing you, we’ve got to drink properly!”

Sun Wenqu’s alcohol tolerance was average. He usually drank red, but tonight it was all white liquor. After a few cups, his stomach burned.

Luckily, they all knew his limits, if he was pushed too far, Sun Wenqu could flip the table on the spot. After one round, everyone went back to eating and chatting.

“Wenqu, later let’s go walk it off, sober up a bit,” someone called across the table.

“Hm?” Sun Wenqu blinked. Usually after dinner they’d switch venues to keep drinking, or maybe play cards, often at Li Bowen’s bar. Since when did this count as ‘walking off the food’?

“We’ve changed things up now,” Luo Peng waved his hand at the table, “all of us are about to be middle-aged…”

“You’re the middle-aged one!” Zhang Lin, who’d been laughing happily beside him, smacked him on the arm. “Watch your mouth!”

“Yeah, watch your mouth!” the group echoed.

“If Zhang Lin lived in my building, she’d be the flower of the block,” Sun Wenqu sipped tea. “How’s that middle-aged?”

“Exactly…” Zhang Lin started, then turned to him. “Wait, what’s ‘flower of the block’ supposed to mean?”

“The flower of our stairwell. Three households live there now: me, one elderly couple, and one old widower. If you moved in, you’d be the flower, no question.”

“Sun Wenqu, you b*stard, go squat in the corner!” Zhang Lin pointed at him, laughing and cursing.

It wasn’t until the joking carried on for a while that Sun Wenqu realized, the group now pursued “fitness and health,” treating bars and KTV like wild beasts. They’d swapped indulgence for exercise. But since gyms were too exhausting and they wanted to distinguish themselves from square-dancing aunties, they usually went to clubs.

“After dinner, we’ll head over, back gate of the park. There’s an outdoor club we frequent, we go rock climbing there,” Li Bowen said.

“Rock climbing?” Sun Wenqu leaned back in his chair immediately. “I’m not going.”

“Come on, you’ll see it’s fun,” Luo Peng urged. “I go often, sometimes even on trips with their outdoor group…”

“I’m not going.” Sun Wenqu repeated flatly. Compared to tying a rope around himself and scrambling up a wall, he’d rather stay huddled in Li Bowen’s bar.

But his resistance meant nothing, after dinner the group dragged him straight to the park’s back gate, no cars, just walked.

The club was huge, this was the headquarters, with several branches elsewhere. It sat against the park’s mountain, so it had outdoor climbing walls. Way busier than indoor-only gyms.

Since it wasn’t a weekend and already night, the crowd was manageable. Still, as soon as they entered, Sun Wenqu saw people hanging off the cliffside, and inside, another seven or eight on the walls, including kids.

“Sh*t…” Sun Wenqu felt a little dizzy. He could hit the gym daily, but this wasn’t his thing. “Five minutes on that wall and I’d puke up dinner.”

“Not even gonna try?” Li Bowen asked.

“Nope.” Sun Wenqu shook his head firmly. “I’ll just watch.”

The main enthusiasts were six or seven people; the girls all wanted to play, so they went to change. Sun Wenqu and a few others who’d drunk too much sat on the side.

The coach was a fit middle-aged uncle, clearly familiar with them, looked like they really did come here often.

After watching for a bit, Sun Wenqu found it dull and wandered off.

Inside, kids were everywhere, suited up properly, climbing nimbly.

By the wall he noticed a photo display, likely showing the club’s various outdoor activities. He walked over to look.

They’d organized plenty, adventures, mountain treks, river tracing. Looked professional. Rock climbing seemed to be their signature project: lots of photos, even a pro team. Many of the coaches were actual professional climbers.

Great physiques.

His eyes skimmed over the pictures, then stopped on one.

A back view, someone scaling a cliff. Couldn’t see the face, but the powerful, stretched posture was striking: long arms, long legs. Sun Wenqu stared for a long while.

“Thinking about a membership?” Li Bowen’s voice came at his side, startling him.

“What for?” Sun Wenqu glanced at him.

“To come play.” Li Bowen smiled, leaned a hand against the wall, and flicked the photo, maybe deliberately. “Come on a weekend and you’ll see lots of these coaches, they train here too.”

“I’m not into this.” Sun Wenqu muttered, walking out of the hall.

“Who said you have to be? It’s been three years…” Li Bowen called after him.

Sun Wenqu froze mid-step, turning back. Even without a mirror, he knew his expression was ugly.

“I…” Li Bowen glanced at him. “I didn’t mean anything.”

Sun Wenqu said nothing, went back outside, and dropped into the chair beside Luo Peng. “Got any drinks here?”

“Yeah.” Luo Peng jumped up, grabbed an iced tea from a cooler, and handed it over. “This what you want?”

“Mm. Thanks.” Sun Wenqu took a swig. “Why aren’t you climbing?”

“Just did a round,” Luo Peng flexed his fingers. “Uses too much strength. You really won’t try? Didn’t you used to love the gym?”

“Nope.” Sun Wenqu’s refusal was crisp. “This isn’t the gym. With alcohol in me, I’d hang dead a meter up.”

Luo Peng laughed for a while, patted him: “So, any plans now that you’re back?”

“None.” Sun Wenqu watched Zhao He struggling up the wall, shouting she couldn’t find a grip. Li Bowen was craning his neck below, anxiously cheering her on.

“Really envy you,” Luo Peng sighed. “Living so free.”

Sun Wenqu smiled faintly.

Free?

Spending the night in the mountains was nothing unusual for Fang Chi, neither new nor exciting, and of course not frightening. Besides, they weren’t staying in a tent this time. The usual spot suitable for camping had collapsed in a landslide and hadn’t been cleared up, so they stayed at a farmhouse guesthouse in a mountain village that had gone out of business.

“Gone out of business” wasn’t exactly accurate either. In any case, the place was deep in the mountains and poorly managed, so it didn’t operate normally. Only guides like Fang Chi could call the owner to arrange a stay.

Fang Chi could sleep anywhere, but when he went out in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, he was caught by an uncle who couldn’t sleep in an unfamiliar place and was dragged into chatting until four-thirty. By the time he stumbled back to his room, drowsy, he almost went into the wrong one.

The next day, after returning to the city, he didn’t go to the club to collect his pay. He took a taxi straight home, he needed to catch up on sleep first.

When he got out of the car, he didn’t forget to buy a pack of Miaoxianbao at a pet shop on the corner. After not coming back all night, Chief Huang might throw a fit, he’d have to coax him, or he wouldn’t sleep peacefully.

The place he lived in was a rented apartment. The rent was cheap, but the environment wasn’t great, an old residential complex with no main gate and no property management. The sewer had been clogged these past couple of days and no one was dealing with it, so foul-smelling water had spread all over the ground.

Fang Chi stepped on bricks someone had thrown into the water, twisting his way through the sewage like he was practicing plum-blossom stakes, and hopped to the entrance of the building. Just as he was about to take out his key, he looked up and saw Fang Ying sitting blankly on an electric scooter to the side.

“Sis,” Fang Chi called out to her, “why are you here?”

Fang Ying had been staring at the ground the whole time. Even his noisy hopping over hadn’t startled her. Only when she heard him speak did she suddenly raise her head, her expression looking somewhat dazed. “You’re back?”

“Why are you…” Fang Chi had just taken out his phone to check the time when he suddenly noticed a patch of bluish-purple at the corner of Fang Ying’s eye. “What happened to your face?”

“It’s nothing.” Fang Ying stood up. “I’ve been waiting here for you since yest… since early this morning.”

“How did that happen?” Fang Chi moved closer, wanting to take another look at her face.

Fang Ying quickly dodged away. “Let’s talk inside. Is there anything to eat?”

“I’ll cook you some noodles,” Fang Chi said.

Chief Huang was still sitting solemnly on top of the cabinet, having clawed cat food all over the floor from the bag.

While cooking the noodles, Fang Chi took a moment to open the can and scooped half into Chief Huang’s bowl. After eating, Chief Huang let out a satisfied “meow,” then tilted his head up to stare at him.

Fang Chi tossed his hat onto the sofa in the living room. Chief Huang ran over and curled himself up inside the hat.

“Want chili in it?” Fang Chi called from the kitchen to Fang Ying.

“Huh?” Fang Ying, sitting dazed on the sofa, blinked.

Fang Chi didn’t ask again. When the noodles were done, he brought her a bowl: “You okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll head back later.” Fang Ying lowered her head and ate.

When she picked up the chopsticks, Fang Chi noticed a scrape on her hand. His brows furrowed: “Did you… go see Sun Wenqu?”

“Ah?” Fang Ying glanced up at him once, then quickly ducked back down, mumbling something indistinct as she kept eating.

“You went to him?” Fang Chi pressed.

Fang Ying frowned, turned her head away, said nothing.

“He hit you?” Fang Chi asked.

She froze, didn’t answer.

“He really hit you?” Fang Chi was shocked, he hadn’t thought that scumbag Sun Wenqu would actually hit a woman. “Want me to go with you?”