At two in the morning, I heard Yu Baijin rustling as he climbed down from the bed, light as a speck of dust, light as an apology, landing beside me, opening his blanket to wrap me up. 

I thought he knew I was pretending to sleep, just as he also knew my tacit consent was a kind of compromise—on this absurd night, all abnormalities and pretenses could be tolerated.

His chest pressed against my back, his arm half-circling my waist, his body temperature slightly higher than mine. 

If it was a fever, I would still have to go to the twenty-four-hour pharmacy downstairs to buy him anti-inflammatory medicine. 

Troublesome guy.

But I didn’t move.

His breath was warm, blowing against the back of my neck. 

After a moment, his whole person leaned forward, deeply inhaling a breath of air from my neck, his nose tip burrowing into my hair, nuzzling behind my ear twice, like a large animal I had once raised and released back into the wild, distinguishing the familiar human scent at our reunion.

Would he kill me? Tear open my throat, or break my limbs, prompting this farce to end early—but he surprisingly didn’t make a move for a long time, neither love nor death arriving as expected.

Immersed in the long wait, I actually fell asleep again. It wasn’t until the sky turned pale that he and I simultaneously “woke up.” 

I pulled his hand out from inside my pajamas and turned off the alarm that hadn’t had time to ring yet.

I turned back to check his forehead temperature—not bad. 

Thick-skinned and tough, he probably wouldn’t die anytime soon. 

I then got up with peace of mind, took my change of clothes, and went to the bathroom.

Hot water poured down from above, washing away the foam accumulated at my feet. 

The door lock went “click,” and I said with my eyes closed in the rising steam: Don’t be like a pervert peeping at someone bathing.

“I’m openly appreciating.”

Vision was blocked by the flowing water and the fogged glass door—I could only see his outline, bare upper body with a circle of white bandages around his waist. 

He walked in with leisurely steps, openly unzipped his pants to relieve himself less than a meter away from me. 

The two streams of water merged into one. 

After finishing, he turned on the exhaust fan, sat on the toilet lid, lit a cigarette, thoughtfully smoked half of it, and seriously asked me: “Do you have condoms?”

I said: “Don’t even think about it.”

“Aiya…”

He sighed regretfully, handed me clothes through the door, waited for me to put them on one by one, found him a disposable toothbrush, and the two of us squeezed in front of the narrow washstand to brush our teeth.

The old house’s bathroom was extremely small, the passageway cramped. 

His hand passed through the gap between my forearm and waist, propped on the edge of the sink, his chin resting on my right shoulder as he rinsed his mouth. 

At this moment, I wasn’t curious what kind of picture was in the mirror—I only firmly believed it would definitely confuse me, make me forget each other’s identities and positions, become weak and unclear-headed.

“You’ll temporarily stay at my place to recover from your injuries. Don’t act rashly. I’ll go tell the pet shop owner, ask for leave or resign. You wait at home for me to come back, it won’t be too long. There’s food in the fridge. If you encounter an emergency situation, contact me.”

I rummaged through the bedside table drawer for an old phone with an outdated model and stuffed it to him. 

“No GPS, can’t be tracked. Press the emergency call button once for my number, twice for recording, three times and it’ll explode—the other SIM card slot contains a chip explosive. At a critical moment, it can be used for self-protection or suicide. Of course, the latter isn’t recommended. If you die, I’ll be in trouble.”

“Baby loves me so much.”

“Think whatever you want.”

I put on my jacket, hands emerging from the sleeves, patting his face neither lightly nor heavily.

“I just brought you back to life. You’d better be worthy of me.”

He stared at me blankly for a long while, his expression changing rapidly, his fingertip pointing down at his crotch.

“It’s up.”

I slammed the door and left.

The pet shop where I worked was located on the same street where I lived, an eight-hundred-meter walk. 

Normally work started at nine, and arriving before ten wouldn’t be criticized. 

The shop owner was a girl a few years older than me, veterinary major, whose daily hobbies besides small animals were chasing celebrities. 

Every Friday she would leave early to go home and watch a variety show whose name I couldn’t recall, leaving me and two other shop assistants to watch the store. 

I didn’t know if I was overthinking it, but I always felt she was a bit afraid of me, yet ordinarily she was quite friendly to me—not the type to make things difficult for people.

Today I came to the shop a whole hour early, for no other reason than yesterday afternoon we rescued a litter of stray dogs. 

The mother dog had been in a car accident, leaving five puppies not yet a month old, wailing pitifully every day in a broken shoebox, surrounded by all kinds of milk and dog food donated by kind-hearted passersby. 

Although they could survive for a few days, they couldn’t make it through the entire winter. 

So the shop owner made up her mind and had me bring them back. 

Currently they were settled in an incubator, and I needed to come early to take care of them.

Who would have thought that when I arrived, the shop owner was already there. T

he breakfast she bought was on the table—steamed dumplings and soy milk. 

She was changing into her work uniform while wandering around, inspecting the pets being boarded at the shop. 

The cages were full of the sounds of cats and dogs stirring. 

She liked having one-sided conversations with the animals, like coaxing children, her voice brewing a thick, sweet tenderness.

“Were you all good last night?” She first asked the puppies in the incubator, then turned to me. 

“Jian Mai, you’re here so early.” 

Two completely different tones, obvious temperature difference. 

I actually breathed a sigh of relief, grateful she didn’t speak to me in that tone—otherwise I would collapse.

“Mm, a bit worried about them.” I said. 

Actually, I also wanted to avoid Yu Baijin, avoid being alone with him. 

I hated being influenced, interfered with, and bewitched by people, making judgments contrary to my nature.

And Yu Baijin was forever a variable independent of rules, a disaster that arose unexpectedly, and a bomb ready to detonate at any time.

“They’re so small.” The shop owner said. 

I was taking a puppy soft enough to be alarming from the box, carefully cradling it in my palm to feed it. 

Not knowing how to respond to that statement, I could only answer sullenly: “They’ll grow up in the future.”

“This breed mostly doesn’t grow big.” She gestured a length with her hand, saying, “Small breed dog. And very fragile, with genetic defects, naturally prone to illness.”

“Then what can be done?”

I looked at the hot, mochi-like ball in my palm. “If no one comes to adopt them…”

“Someone will. They’re so cute.”

She always had a kind of blind optimism. 

But I didn’t understand—such weak dogs that were of no use to humans and only added trouble, what was there worth choosing about them? 

Some were ugly, some shed fur, some had violent temperaments and weren’t easy to tame. Why would people need them?

She asked me back: “Why do you think people raise dogs?”

I said: “Want to be protected.”

I had observed people who came to buy pets—children longing for playmates, young women living alone, elderly people lacking self-care ability, sick people, blind people. 

Dogs helped them explore paths, guard homes, fetch items, provide companionship therapy, issue warnings, drive away people approaching with malicious intent. 

Dogs that could protect humans were useful ones.

Useful dogs were worthy of being adopted.

But she said no, “Because people like dogs.”

“It doesn’t matter if they can’t protect them?”

“Of course.”

But no one needs me anymore.

I said: “That’s nice.”

“Shop owner.” I spoke after deliberation. “I want to resign.”

Her hands, which were holding a hair tie to put her hair in a ponytail, paused.

“Can I hear the reason?”

“Something urgent came up at home.”

“Taking leave is also fine.”

“I’m not sure when it can be resolved.” I smiled. “It’s also not good to keep occupying a position here. No need to settle this month’s wages, the responsibility is mine. Sorry, it’s quite sudden.”

She picked up a mixed-breed lion cat that was also a rescue and placed it on her lap, slowly combing its fur with a brush.

“It’s okay.”

She lifted the restless cat’s paw and waved it at me.

“They’ll miss you.”

The cat meowed and opened its mouth to bite her. 

She didn’t mind the pain either, laughing along. 

Somehow, her laughter made me feel guilty. 

When I returned to the storage room to return my work badge, the locker key and lock, the changing room was completely silent. 

Several staff uniforms hung on the rack, and a stack of new ones was folded in the cabinet—same style for men and women, sizes complete. 

These were hoodies the shop owner specially had custom-made for us, with puppies and kittens she drew herself printed on the chest, along with rabbits and squirrels, everyone sleeping together on a sunlit lawn, peaceful and tranquil.

I had already walked out, but then went back.

“Shop owner.” I called her. “Can I take away a staff uniform?”

“Ah?” She leaned halfway in. “Take whatever you want, there are plenty. Want to keep it as a memento?”

“Mm…”

I hesitated.

“A relative came to my house… didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

Half an hour later, this innocent hoodie appeared on the obscene-minded Yu Baijin.

“Baby,” he drank the fermented rice balls I had just bought back, worry revealed in his eyes, “is this your twisted sense of humor?”

“Just wear it for now, why so much nonsense.”

I swallowed a cold pan-fried bun, turned on the TV, switched to the news channel, then turned down the volume and called Rong Zheng’s secretary.

The busy tone rang eight times with no one answering. 

Yu Baijin snatched the remote control from my hand, yawned, and pulled me into his embrace. 

The hoodie felt good—soft, warm, with a layer of short, dense fleece on the surface.

“That side must be busy in chaos right now.” He said. “Don’t worry, her father will handle it.”

“When you say that, it only makes me suspect you’re the murderer.”

I spoke insincerely. 

Actually, I believed he wasn’t. It wasn’t trust in his character, but rather deep knowledge of his temperament: he wouldn’t go to such great lengths to stage a farce in front of me, even though three months ago, both Rong Wanqing and I nearly died at his hands.

“Why would I kill her? There’s no money to be made, and you’d blame me…”

Wait.

I hung up the phone, trying to re-sort through the ins and outs of this whole matter.

If what Yu Baijin said was true, when he went to “visit” Rong Wanqing, he didn’t see her anywhere. 

He waited in the room for a while, even wanting to give her a surprise, but ended up startling the nurse who came in to check the room—”I quickly jumped out the window and ran. On the way back, I noticed someone following me.” 

He smiled, unconcerned. “I shook them off. At the time, I really didn’t take it seriously.

“Then last night, I went downstairs to buy cigarettes. 

The convenience store I usually go to didn’t have my brand anymore, so I took a detour, wanting to look on another street.

“That street was very chaotic, several streetlights were broken and no one repaired them. 

When I walked to a section of night road with no light at all, someone called out ‘Abai’ to me, and I was attacked.

“I was originally on guard, but I couldn’t handle the fact that they had superior numbers…” He pretentiously played pitiful. “Ten or twenty people bullying me alone…”

“Then what?” I forcibly interrupted his spellcasting.

“Killed them all.” He returned to normal.

“They recognized you.”

My head was even more confused: Could it be acquaintances?