Chapter 30

Ai Qing had two SIM cards.

One was a family plan tied to Ai Zhongguo and Yao Qiang; Ai Qing never paid the bill—Ai Zhongguo topped it up every month without fail.

The other had been foisted on him back when he was a clueless freshman by a sweet-looking senior who batted her lashes and talked him into a campus deal. Just the card itself cost 200 yuan. Add the “exclusive campus packages” she kept sweet-talking him into, and she must have pocketed a fat commission.

Since then he’d only whipped it out for the odd university form. That changed last weekend when he came home and fitted Xiao Yu’s new kids’ smart-watch with the card.

He set the watch up himself: camera, object-recognition, Wi-Fi, WeChat, QQ, voice calls—the works.

He could swear Xiao Yu had only ever used it to snap photos.

So how had she suddenly learned to dial?

“What’s wrong? Not taking the call?” Xiao Youqian asked, glancing back.

“Scam,” Ai Qing answered coolly and killed the call.

Imagine the racket if Xiao Yu cooed or barked on the other end. She barely speaks; a conversation would be hopeless.

Still, learning to dial was progress.

Once he borrowed Kong Fugui’s brother’s old primary-school textbooks, he’d teach her to read.

“We’re here.”

Kong Fugui parked beneath Wu Yong’s building—across the road from No. 2 Middle School, a stone’s throw from Jinpan Yunting Residence.

Wu Yong’s mother, Pan Hongmei, had taught Grade 9 Chinese and homeroom there for over twenty years.

They hadn’t even reached the stairwell when her roar rolled down.

“Wu Yong, listen up! If you dare go, I’ll disown you!”

A door slammed like a gunshot.

Ai Qing stepped out, craned his neck, then looked toward the stairwell.

A stocky, sun-browned guy soon trudged out—crew-cut, T-shirt, cargo pants. Straight-backed, about one-seventy-two, built like a compressed spring.

“Fighting again?” Ai Qing massaged his temples. “You just got home and already upset Auntie?”

“What are you doing here?” Wu Yong blinked, then muttered, “I didn’t do anything—she’s overthinking.”

“Inside, inside—talk in the car. Cool-off time for both of you.” Kong Fugui threw an arm around Wu Yong and herded everyone back into the SUV.

They pulled away, destination: the bar.

“Spill it—what happened?” Kong asked, eyes on the road.

“Nothing big.” Wu Yong stared out the window. “After discharge they gave me options; I picked the fire department.”

“No wonder Auntie blew up,” Xiao Youqian groaned. “You had choices and you chose fire?”

“I’m not becoming a firefighter.” Wu shook his head. “Leg injury—no intense training. It’s a desk job.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“With that volume? I never got a word in.” Wu shrugged. “She wants me to sit the PE-teacher exam—stable, safe.”

“Not a bad gig,” Ai Qing said. “Other teachers might steal your periods—extra free time.”

“I don’t mind, but the openings they offered were limited; fire service looked best.” Wu sighed. “Before I finish, she’s yelling.”

“Talk tomorrow,” Xiao Youqian advised. “Communication matters. Do the clerical work for now, squeeze in the teaching certificate later.”

“Mainly to snag a wife, right?” Kong snickered. “Lao Wu, with your build you’ll clean up at school.”

“Teacher-student romance? Career suicide,” Xiao Youqian shot back.

“Sis Qian, your mind’s in the gutter.” Kong wagged a finger. “I meant teacher-teacher romance. Who’d touch the students?”

“How old is your latest girlfriend again?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

“Here we are.” Kong killed the engine at the hotel façade, tossed the keys to the valet, and led them inside.

...

The bar hadn’t officially opened; doors unlock at eight.

Kong, a regular—and minor investor—had clout.

“Kitchen’s decent.” He guided them to a second-floor booth. “No show yet, let’s eat.”

Ai Qing and Wu Yong rarely patronized bars; Kong’s previous invites had gone unanswered. Tonight they gathered to celebrate Xiao Youqian’s new pet hospital.

They nibbled, then slouched on sofas chatting. At eight sharp the hall below filled with lights and bass.

Knowing their aversion to booze, Kong ordered fruit wine so weak it might as well be juice.

“Blink and we’re adults—cheers!” Kong raised his glass. “Sis Qian’s pet clinic, Lao Wu the future PE teacher, Ai the bestselling novelist.”

“What about you?” Ai Qing side-eyed him. “You call this entering society?”

“Then I’ll learn novel-writing from you.”

“Pass.” Ai Qing waved both hands. “An 800-word essay makes you sweat; 4,000 a day would kill you.”

“So what’s your book even about?” Xiao Youqian leaned in. “You grilled me about girls, bought girls’ clothes...”

“A-hem—some topics are classified.” Ai Qing cut her off.

Wu Yong looked curious but stayed quiet.

Kong, gossip incarnate, wore a smug I-know grin.

Girls’ clothes? Must be for the secret girlfriend he keeps in his golden house. The kid’s finally growing up.

Chuckling, Kong dragged them downstairs. “Let’s move!”

Naturally, Ai Qing’s phone rang again.

“Girlfriend?” Kong whispered, nudging him. “Hit the restroom—find us on the floor after.”

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