The Irresponsible Puppy

The shattered window lit up with light, and angry shouts rang out through the quiet alley.

Zheng Qing held his breath, ready to bolt, but his foot caught on something heavy. A pitiful whimper came from beside him. He looked down—that little dog had its teeth clamped onto his pant leg, its narrow eyes wide and fixed on him, tail wagging ingratiatingly.

"You're my witness—I'm not here right now." Nodding with utter irresponsibility, he ignored the little creature's furious glare, pushed his bike, and tried to slip away, only to find his pant leg yanked back. Helpless, he lowered his head and finally noticed the dog's hind leg twisted unnaturally, likely injured in the earlier scuffle.

Watching the dog stubbornly bite his pant leg, hearing its low whimper, a pang of pity rose in Zheng Qing's heart for reasons he couldn't name. Flustered and out of time to think, he reached out, grabbed the dog by the scruff, tossed it into his bike basket, and fled at top speed amid a stream of curses from the window.

A hundred meters passed in an instant. Reaching the main street, surrounded by bright lights, he let out a heavy breath. He looked back—the night sky was still silent and serene, with only a faint shadow of a massive figure gliding gracefully into the distance.

The dog lying lazily in the basket lifted its head to look at Zheng Qing. Its jet-black eyes sparkled, as captivating as an endless starry sky. Zheng Qing suddenly felt it might be better to take the little thing home—after all, this was a life-and-death situation, or rather, multiple lives. If he left the injured dog on the street, it might not even make it to morning.

In his hurry to get home, he didn't notice the sly smirk curling at the corner of the dog's mouth in the basket. Otherwise, he'd have immediately pulled out a stack of talismans and hurled them at the little creature.

***

An endless expanse of red—vivid, heavy, overwhelming red—was the sole hue of the entire space. It seemed painted with blood, filling the world with a killing, despairing aura. Zheng Qing stood alone in this boundless red, frozen, dazed, stupidly silent, staring at this monotonous world.

Gradually, a soft murmur rose in this monotonous world. The sound grew louder, more intense, until wild, deafening noise echoed through the space, like millions of wolves howling mournfully at the moon, or thousands of armored warriors beating drums and shouting on a vast plain—contradictory yet heavy.

But Zheng Qing, standing alone in this space, felt nothing. He simply spread his arms, closed his eyes, and stood still. More and more red piled up, forming an increasingly thick, blood-red cloud above his head, heavier and heavier, until it finally swallowed him whole.

"Thump." With a yelp, Zheng Qing crawled out from under the bed. Fell out of bed again—how many times was that? He felt a bit helpless but resigned. He couldn't exactly tie himself to the bed to sleep.

Compared to his childhood headaches, banging into walls, and sleepwalking onto cabinets, just falling out of bed during sleep didn't seem like a big deal.

Rubbing his slightly throbbing forehead, Zheng Qing completely forgot the blood-red of his dream. He only remembered being chased by some huge thing until he woke up. His clearest memory was of that great eagle with emerald eyes.

Speaking of that great eagle, he looked up and nervously scanned the room. Soon, he spotted the little dog sound asleep in a pile of clothes by his headboard.

Yesterday, he'd been a bit dazed, only giving the dog a quick wash before falling asleep himself. He hadn't expected the little thing to find itself a cozy spot. Reaching out to scratch the dog's upright, big ears, Zheng Qing felt an inexplicable fondness for it.

Glancing at the alarm clock by his pillow, it wasn't even six yet.

Barefoot, he quietly walked to the balcony and looked up at the sky.

Good—the Morning Star was still shining.

He casually pulled out a handful of golden grains and scattered them on the windowsill. Squinting sideways at the corner of the wall, a slight smile tugged at his lips. Then he closed his eyes, settled his breath, and slowly extended his fists and legs in rhythm with his breathing.

It had a strong Tai Chi feel, but it wasn't that at all. Zheng Qing had been practicing this Guidance Technique for nearly seven years, following his teacher's orders without fail every day.

The paper ball in the corner rustled.

A moment later, a small, plump creature with ochre-spotted fur climbed up the smooth wall to the windowsill. When Zheng Qing finished his sets and gathered his energy, he saw the little thing stuffing its mouth nonstop.

"Eat slowly—no one's fighting you for it." Zheng Qing adjusted his breathing, watching the little mouse cheerfully.

The creature paid him no mind, just kept shoving the golden grains into its mouth until its cheek pouches bulged visibly. Then it wiped its whiskers and paused briefly.

What breed this little mouse was, Zheng Qing didn't know. It looked like a guinea pig—short and stout, round ears, black eyes, short limbs, no tail, but only the size of a fist. It also resembled a hamster—tiny, with cheek pouches and sharp front teeth. Since he'd discovered it as a child, its size had barely changed, which was quite remarkable.

Though its breed was unknown, the little thing never lacked names. When Shuke Beita was all the rage in childhood, Zheng Qing called it 'Shuta' and often stuffed it into model planes to battle monsters. Later, after the movie Alvin and the Chipmunks came out, it was briefly renamed 'Dabao'—as the saying goes, 'See Dabao every day.'

Today, feeling refreshed after his practice, Zheng Qing wanted to give the little thing a new name.

"Hmm, since This Seat is now completely free, you shall be called Freedom. But the name Freedom is a bit vulgar. In English, it's 'Free.' Free—Fei Rui—a good omen. But seeing your layer of fat, this 'Fei' should be taken as 'Fat.'"

"Alright, from today on, you're Fei Rui!" Zheng Qing frowned through a convoluted chain of reasoning. The little creature stuffed the last golden grain into its mouth, glanced at the incomprehensible human, calmly wiped its face, and leisurely ambled to the window edge, sliding down the heating pipe to its own little nest.

Zheng Qing curled his lip, rubbed his face vigorously, and listlessly returned to his room. He flopped onto the bed, unsure what to do next.

Freedom—he'd always thought this was the life he wanted most. But after indulgence, after ease, an unstoppable emptiness welled up from the bottom of his heart.

He remembered reading a philosophy book when he was very young. There was a school of thought—he couldn't recall its name—that explored the meaning of life, or rather, the meaning of existence. In their view, life had no meaning. People are born and die, decades passing like a single day—living ordinary, numb lives—what was it all for?

A soothing Canon melody suddenly rang out. Zheng Qing grabbed his phone and hummed, "Moshi moshi?"

Another invitation to hang out. A wry smile crept onto his face. Every day was like this—eat, sleep, wake up, eat again, or play on the computer. Such comfortable days, once seen as pure enjoyment, pure bliss, now... sigh. Zheng Qing found himself almost impatiently waiting for his college entrance exam results. Good or bad, at least it was something to look forward to. If he did poorly, he could think about working; if he did well, he could enjoy the university life he'd longed for.

The sleeping dog rolled over, its fluffy big tail swishing naturally. Zheng Qing blinked, but quickly turned his head, dismissing the thought. He must have been seeing things—just now, he'd seen three tails! Though this dog's tail was strange, very squirrel-like, there was no way it could grow three.

Hallucination. Definitely a hallucination.

He trusted his eyes, and even more, his instincts. This little thing—he'd brought it back himself. It definitely wasn't anything unclean.

His family didn't object to keeping small pets, as long as there was no smell and no mess. After Zheng Qing actively solved those issues, the pregnant dog settled into his home.

Days passed one after another. Zheng Qing's life still wavered between clarity and lethargy. The only thing that annoyed him was that dog he'd rescued.

After its injuries healed, the pregnant dog gave birth to a puppy the size of a squirrel. Then, once the little squirrel grew to fist-size and no longer needed nursing, it vanished without a trace.

Swishing its tail, it took no worries with it, leaving behind a mess of long fur and one pitiful little white dog.