Chapter 26: Stealing the Dog's Dinner

I walked back to my rented room just as Uncle Yong was returning from walking his Pekingese. I quickly squeezed out a smile and approached. The dog didn’t seem to like me much; perhaps it was just my imagination, but it always gave me a resentful look, as if blaming me for trying to steal its spot.

Uncle Yong nodded at me, offering no mention of the fierce fight that had broken out the night before, though I was certain he knew exactly what had happened after he left.

I bowed my head slightly and said, "Morning, Uncle Yong."

He handed me the leash. As I took it, the Pekingese immediately lifted its hind leg and urinated on my foot. The little beast was marking its territory, trying to cover up my scent.

"Haven't eaten yet, have you?" Uncle Yong asked. "Come on, join me."

I dared not—nor did I want to—say no. Just like when he had joined us for breakfast the night before, this was his way of helping me. I followed him in silence.

Along the way, many people greeted him, all speaking in the thick local dialect. There was nothing about Uncle Yong’s appearance that suggested he was a powerful underworld boss, and the locals greeting him looked just as ordinary. They were dressed simply; some worked in sanitation, while others had spent years selling produce or seafood. If not for what Xiao Wen had told me yesterday, I would never have guessed that these were the first generation of locals to get rich on the tides of the era. Nine out of ten of them were likely quite wealthy, yet they still got up early and worked late, earning modest wages. In my home village, the village chief was considered a "ten-thousand-yuan household," always stepping out in polished leather shoes. My cousin, Chen Jianjun, always took a minibus when he came home.

Walking behind Uncle Yong with the dog, I observed it all, enjoying the fleeting glances people shot at me after greeting him. Though they were only brief, indifferent looks, I felt it was enough. If I weren't standing behind him, in this village of tens of thousands, I would be nothing more than a speck of dust.

We eventually arrived at a rice noodle roll shop about two and a half kilometers away called "A-Sao’s Rice Noodle Rolls."

The shop also served various steamed dumplings and double-boiled soups. The cook was a woman in her fifties with nimble hands. Seeing Uncle Yong, she greeted him with a smile, revealing a mouthful of large, prominent teeth.

Uncle Yong ordered, then had the Pekingese bite its own leash, pointing to the shop entrance: "Xiao Hua, stand here and wait for me."

Xiao Hua obeyed, standing still with the leash in its mouth, watching the passing crowds with its large, watery eyes.

The food arrived quickly. For a Northerner accustomed to heavy flavors, it was incredibly bland. But in front of Uncle Yong, everything tasted like wax—not for any other reason than that I was simply too nervous.

Uncle Yong took a few bites, set down his chopsticks, and asked, "Do you find it strange that these locals are so low-key? Why do they keep working when they’re so wealthy?"

"I truly admire that about them," I said, hastily putting down my own chopsticks.

"Thirty years ago, people here were still starving. Go back further, and this was a place of exile—'Exiled to Lingnan,' doesn't that refer to here? The Central Plains and the North are the true cradles of power. These old folks are used to hardship; even when they have money, they don't know how to spend it. But don't think everyone is like this. There are plenty of nouveau riche with bad attitudes, and plenty of people who like to act like big shots. They just don't hang around this crummy little village, so you haven't seen them," Uncle Yong explained.

"Different environments breed different people. It’s normal," I chimed in, though my words were a bit off-key.

Uncle Yong didn't mind. He took a sip of soup and asked casually, "After I left last night, there was a fight. Old Hai helped you out of a jam?"

"That was only because of your influence," I replied, nodding.

Uncle Yong sighed. "It’s chaotic, too chaotic. A-Cheng, I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve seen many young people over these years. They generally fall into three types. One kind works steadily, living frugally and taking a few thousand yuan home at the end of the year; within a few years, they’ll build a house and find a wife. The second kind spends what they earn locally, drinking and eating it all away. The third kind is like Da Hua. Do you think Da Hua is a coward? I’ve watched him for a while; he’s not. Like many young people, he isn't afraid of being poor or dying—he’s only afraid of losing face."

Uncle Yong pointed at me. "At first, I thought you were like Da Hua, maybe even worse in some ways. A kid like Da Hua is simple and heartless; as long as you give him 'face,' he’ll die for you. You’re different. You carry resentment, and you hide ambition in your eyes. A person like that, as long as they don't die, will surely rise. But if you rise in this place, it means this place will only get more chaotic. Understand?"

I sat there, silent.

Nearby, a local joined in, echoing Uncle Yong’s sentiment in a thick accent: "Uncle Yong is right. These outsiders are rotten to the core, no rules at all, turning our home into a mess. It used to be so peaceful here! Now? Where do all these thieves, scammers, and thugs come from?"

Another added, "Drinking, singing, and chasing girls on the roadside every night—it’s a disaster. I walked around last night and saw six fights. One was a group brawl where a kid had his intestines spilled out. Did you hear about last week? Eight at night, a girl just finished her shift and was dragged into the woods. They didn't just finish with her—they shoved a beer bottle inside. She died on the spot."

The first man scoffed, "Dying is dying; just like losing a dog."

Listening to the locals' assessment of outsiders, I put down my chopsticks and looked at Uncle Yong. He looked back at me.

The topic of locals versus outsiders was a conversation I had with Xiao Wen yesterday, but here and now, it carried a different weight. I could sense a shift in Uncle Yong’s tone. It seemed he was having second thoughts. He had promised to back me yesterday, but was he now planning to dismiss me by claiming I would only bring more chaos? Was he giving me hope only to snuff it out?

I wouldn't accept that.

"Without us outsiders, you’d still be living in a desolate, barbaric backwater," I said quietly.

My words infuriated the locals eating nearby. Several of them slammed their tables and pointed at me. "Damn you! Talking nonsense—who the hell do you think you are?"