Chapter Eight: The Dog Son

When Zhong Di opened Su Rou’s chat window, he realized she had sent him three messages, which he hadn’t noticed before.

“Zhong Di, is your profile picture that of Old Master Yuan?”

“So aloof? Why are you ignoring me?”

“So your orchard planting plan has already started? When you’ve got it up and running, I’ll come over and check it out.”

Three messages appeared before his eyes, and for a moment Zhong Di didn’t know which one to reply to first. After a brief consideration, he decided to answer them one by one.

“Yes, that’s Old Master Yuan—the very one who made sure everyone in the country had enough to eat. He’s my idol. I was busy earlier and didn’t have time.”

He replied to the first two messages and hit send.

Just as he was composing a response to the third, Su Rou sent another message, evidently online at that very moment.

“You’ve got a unique choice of idol. Unlike my friends, who are all crazy fans.”

Su Rou didn’t seem to mind that Zhong Di hadn’t replied sooner. She was the type to say things directly and settle scores on the spot. Thinking back to her behavior on the bus, it was clear she was anything but reserved.

“Don’t you think my profile picture looks kind of old-fashioned?” he typed, deleting his previous draft.

He’d once argued with Wen Ya over this; she’d thought there was something wrong with his taste, wondering why he’d use such a picture, like some old man.

“What’s old-fashioned about it? Without Old Master Yuan, those celebrity-chasers wouldn’t even have the energy to idolize anyone—they’d barely have enough to eat. We should remember true heroes like him most.”

Even through her messages, Zhong Di could sense Su Rou’s attitude; it was rare and refreshing, as if he’d found a kindred spirit.

“When my orchard is ready, you should come visit. I promise you’ll have a great time,” Zhong Di replied, dropping the subject. Those who understood didn’t need explanations; for those who didn’t, no amount of words would help.

From the moment Su Rou sent that message, Zhong Di counted her as a friend. Anyone who could respect his idol was worth befriending.

“I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll bring some friends along to support you—feel free to charge us what you like, they’re all loaded,” she joked, her words full of that “I’m rich, go ahead and overcharge me” bravado.

“Alright, I’ll get back to work,” Zhong Di replied, then called his mother to let her know he wouldn’t be coming home that night, so she shouldn’t wait up for him.

His mother had wanted to bring him dinner, but he refused—it was too late, and the road was unlit and unsafe at night.

After hanging up, he received a text notification from Huaba reminding him of a payment. He opened the app; he owed over a thousand yuan this period, more than six hundred of which was the final installment on a payment plan.

He glanced at his bank balance. This was the money he’d used to help Wen Ya buy a phone on installments. After some mental math, he transferred the amount to Huaba and made the payment.

Still, a faint bitterness lingered.

He remembered seeing a question online: “What’s the most heartbreaking thing you’ve experienced?” The top answer: “Breaking up and still paying off your ex-girlfriend’s installment purchases.”

He’d once laughed and shown that answer to Wen Ya. Now, thinking back, he realized you really shouldn’t mock others’ misfortunes—things have a way of coming back around.

Woof! Woof! Woof!

Lost in thought, Zhong Di was startled by a dog barking outside. Judging from the direction and distance, it was right at the gate of his orchard.

He stepped out of the small house and glanced at the sky—it was nearly dark.

Looking toward the gate, he saw a large dog staring at him, with a puppy whimpering at her feet.

It was the image of a mother dog with her pup. Well, that’s exactly what it was—a mother and her son… though somehow the phrase “dog son” felt odd.

Just as Zhong Di was about to approach them, a wave of dizziness swept over him, followed by a stream of information flooding his mind.

The messages came from the poplar tree nearby. He hadn’t actively sought them out—why was he receiving this information? Could plants transmit behavioral information back to him?

What exactly was behavioral information? Zhong Di had heard of it, but this defied all common sense.

This was the first time he’d experienced this. After a few moments’ thought, he decided now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

The large dog wanted to leave her puppy with Zhong Di. Her owner, upset that she’d only had one puppy, wanted to kill it.

Sensing this, the dog had left her home, wandering the area with her pup until it was a month old—now presenting herself just as Zhong Di saw.

But how did the poplar tree know all this, and how could it pass the message to him? And why bring the puppy to him—did the dog and the poplar communicate?

He considered it; if he could receive behavioral information from plants, perhaps nothing should surprise him anymore.

Having sorted out his thoughts, Zhong Di approached, trying to see if he could interact peacefully with the dog.

Seeing him come closer, the large dog picked up her puppy and gently set it by his feet, nudging his leg with her head.

Zhong Di crouched down and stroked the puppy’s head, using the fading light to study the mother. She was just a common Chinese field dog, not any fancy breed—but that didn’t matter to him. Dogs were dogs, and the Chinese field dog was as good as any—she was one of their own.

Having only one pup in a litter was considered unlucky in his hometown—said to bode ill for the owner, as if the puppy had claimed the lives of its siblings and would bring misfortune.

Hesitating only a moment, Zhong Di decided to keep the puppy. He was a modern young man, after all—how could he believe such superstitions? Besides, the dog was a great mother.

Seeing Zhong Di gently pet her pup without ill intent, the mother dog trotted off, only to return shortly with a dead rabbit in her mouth. She laid it down, barked twice, and left.

Was the rabbit a thank-you gift? Or food for the pup?

Either way, it was left for him to deal with now. Zhong Di looked at the rabbit and patted his own stomach.

He’d already digested the leftover lunch he’d eaten earlier.

Cradling the puppy, listening to its plaintive cries—mourning the loss of its mother—he went to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and headed to the outdoor tap to clean the rabbit. The innards he buried in the ground; they’d rot and make good fertilizer.

Cleaning the rabbit was quick work. Afterward, he fetched oil, salt, and some chili powder from the kitchen. Luckily, he’d brought over these basics when he came back at noon—otherwise, even the most resourceful cook can’t make a meal from nothing.