Call Me Sang Biao When We're Out

Once the business with Yamamoto was settled, Wen Ning's life finally quieted down.

Business at the bathhouse stayed much the same.

Weasel Old Man came three times a week without fail. Sparrow Spirit, however, had been visiting much less often lately, because he was going on blind dates.

More than twenty membership cards for the Essential Oil Back Massage had been handed out, and Wen Ning scrubbed so many backs every day that his hands were practically developing calluses.

Big Yellow's position at the shop was becoming more and more secure, too.

He didn't act cute and wheedle affection out of customers like Big Golden Retriever, nor was he loud and excitable like Sparrow Spirit.

Whenever Wen Ning opened up, he would lie quietly by the entrance, lifting his head for a look whenever a stranger approached.

His gaze carried the unmistakable warning: you'd better not cause trouble here.

Ever since he had taken up the job, even the stray cats had stopped daring to enter the alley, and the Wild Dog Gang from the market gave it an especially wide berth.

Wen Ning was very satisfied with his performance and gave him an extra half-jin of dog food at the end of the month.

Recently, though, Wen Ning had noticed something: Big Yellow kept going out every afternoon, always with Big Golden Retriever.

Big Golden Retriever dropped by every few days, claiming, "My owner's away on business. I'm here to inspect the new employee."

Every time he came, Big Yellow disappeared with him, and they would be gone for most of the day.

Wen Ning hadn't paid it much attention at first, assuming the two dogs were just going out for a walk.

But after several days of this, he began to feel something was off. Big Yellow never abandoned his post while guarding the shop, so why did he run off whenever Big Golden Retriever arrived? Had he gotten himself into trouble again?

That afternoon, Wen Ning went out to buy a few things and passed the alley behind the market.

There, he happened upon a sight he would never forget for the rest of his life.

More than twenty dogs sat in neat formation in the open space behind the market.

There were golden retrievers, toy poodles, huskies, corgis, Shiba Inus, and several mutts whose breeds were impossible to identify.

Dogs of all sizes formed a semicircle, with the biggest—and apparently oldest—Golden retriever sitting in the middle.

Wen Ning recognized that golden retriever. He knew him all too well: it was the silly dog from his own shop.

And sitting beside Big Golden Retriever was none other than Big Yellow.

Big Yellow looked completely different today from how he usually did at the shop. Normally, he sprawled lazily by the entrance with his eyes half closed, looking like a retired old man.

Now, sitting beside Big Golden Retriever, his ears stood straight up, his tail swayed slowly behind him, and his chin was slightly raised. His eyes held a gleam Wen Ning had never seen before: the gleam of a gangland boss.

Wen Ning stood at the mouth of the alley, holding his plastic bag.

His first thought was: Is this a mob meeting?

His second thought was: Doesn't Big Golden Retriever scrub backs at the shop? Since when did he have this line of business, too?

His third thought was: Doesn't Big Yellow guard my shop? When did he become the second-in-command?

Big Golden Retriever was giving a speech. His voice wasn't loud, but it had a steady rhythm, and every dog in the audience listened with rapt attention.

Although Wen Ning couldn't understand the canine language Big Golden Retriever was barking away in,

the constant nodding from the dogs gave him a pretty good idea that Big Golden Retriever was lecturing them.

Standing at the alley entrance, Wen Ning looked at Big Yellow sitting so solemnly beside Big Golden Retriever and called out without thinking.

"Big Yellow."

Big Yellow's ears twitched. Clearly, he had heard Wen Ning calling him.

But he didn't turn his head. His body remained perfectly still, and his tail didn't wag.

He continued sitting beside Big Golden Retriever, chin raised, his gaze so cold that it was as though Wen Ning had called some other dog's name instead of his.

Thinking he had been too quiet for Big Yellow to hear, Wen Ning took two steps forward and called again.

"Big Yellow!"

This time, his voice was loud enough that several dogs in the alley turned to look at him. But Big Yellow still didn't move a muscle. As if he hadn't heard a thing, he didn't even twitch an ear. His whole body seemed frozen solid.

Only the corner of his mouth gave a slight twitch.

Just as Wen Ning was about to call a third time,

Big Golden Retriever rose from the meeting chairman's seat and walked over at an unhurried pace. With the earnest tone of someone who knew how these things worked, he said to Wen Ning,

"Stop calling him. Stop. Don't call him Big Yellow when we're out. Call him Sang Biao. He's the second-in-command around here now, after all. If you call him Big Yellow in front of all his underlings, how's he supposed to keep his standing? Dogs have their pride, too."

Hearing this, Wen Ning glanced at the dogs, all of whom were looking straight at him.

Then he looked at Big Yellow—no, Sang Biao—still sitting beside the chairman's spot, his ears ramrod straight even as his eyes began darting guiltily to the side.

Then he took a deep breath, shifted the plastic bag to his other hand, and called out to the Chinese Rural Dog who was putting on such a solemn act.

"Sang Biao! Come home for dinner as soon as the meeting's over!"

Big Yellow—no, Sang Biao—finally wagged his tail once.

Just once, so slightly it was almost impossible to notice, but he definitely wagged it.

He lifted his chin and nodded to Wen Ning with an extremely restrained, aloof air befitting a second-in-command. Translated, the gesture probably meant: Message received. Understood. You can head back first. I'm busy.

Wen Ning turned and left with his plastic bag. As he walked out of the alley, he heard low barks rising and falling behind him, as though the dogs were discussing some important issue. These dogs had quite a packed agenda.

That evening, Wen Ning was scrubbing Weasel Old Man's back in the shop when faint footsteps sounded at the entrance.

Big Yellow had returned. Instead of lying down in his usual spot by the door, he stood outside the threshold, his ears tilted slightly back and his tail tucked between his legs, watching Wen Ning with the particular ingratiating look of someone with a guilty conscience.

Translated, that look probably meant: Bro, I wasn't ignoring you on purpose out there today. You know how it is. Sometimes, when you're out, in that setting, with that position, calling me Big Yellow really isn't all that appropriate. It's not that I don't acknowledge you. I just—how do I put it—it's not that I don't acknowledge you—anyway, you know.

Wen Ning glanced at him without saying anything and continued scrubbing Weasel Old Man's back.

Big Yellow inched forward, his tail wagging faster and his gaze growing more and more ingratiating.

He sidled up to Wen Ning's feet, rested his chin on the top of his foot, and whined softly in his throat.

Wen Ning looked down at him and was silent for a moment. Then he scooped a heaping bowl of dog food from the half-full bag in the corner and set it by the entrance.

"Thanks for all your hard work at the meeting today. Have some extra, second-in-command."

Big Yellow looked down at the bowl, piled noticeably higher than usual, then looked up at Wen Ning. Seeing that Wen Ning didn't seem angry, he spun his tail in wild circles, stirring up a little whirlwind that swept the dust off the threshold.

He buried his head in the bowl and began wolfing down his food, looking like an entirely different dog from the cold, reserved second-in-command at the alley meeting.

Wen Ning leaned against the doorframe, thinking that this dog was even better at switching roles than he was: a security guard on duty, a gang boss off duty, and a shameless suck-up back home.