Hang Sheng felt as though her tears at that moment were like water that remained liquid even below zero degrees Celsius; with just a gentle disturbance from Fang Huajun, her tears instantly crystallized and stopped flowing.
Hang Sheng forgot she was crying. Her mouth slightly agape, she stared wide-eyed and asked in surprise, “Are you going to fire me?”
Just because she shed a few tears during work hours? Wasn’t that reason a bit too hasty and heartless? Did labor law really stipulate that employees had no right to even show negative emotions while on the job?
Hang Sheng suddenly thought of the moving truck driver she’d seen off at noon. How had he mocked her when he left?
“I’d say you didn’t pick a very good boyfriend—he didn’t even lift a finger to help you move. I’ll say this right now: you two are definitely going to break up in less than two days!”
Setting aside the driver’s misunderstanding about their relationship, it looked like they were indeed about to break up—so that driver’s foul mouth had actually spoken the truth for once.
Hang Sheng’s mind was in a whirl, but she remembered that this constituted a unilateral breach of contract by Fang Huajun. Although it would be a bit of a hassle, if she was willing, she could file a complaint and receive 300,000 in compensation.
Fang Huajun took Coco, who looked terrified and completely bewildered, from Hang Sheng’s arms. As he comforted the kitten, his fingertips brushed against a pool of tears nestled in the folds of its fur. The sensation seemed to carry a salty, bitter taste, and he visibly froze for a moment.
After a long while, he licked his slightly dry lips and asked in a hoarse voice, “Why are you crying?”
Only then did Hang Sheng realize that Fang Huajun had said—Do you want to quit?—rather than—Do you want to quit?!
The two intonations were worlds apart, but Fang Huajun’s speech was always flat and emotionless, making his true feelings impossible to read. Combined with his aloof and detached demeanor, it always made people suspect he was being provocative.
With the massive sum of 300,000 slipping through her fingers, Hang Sheng—a woman who loved money—actually breathed a sigh of relief. She picked up the contract from the couch and muttered, “ “I’m looking at this. Coco Bean and its owner are so pitiful…”
Hang Sheng tilted her head back; the incandescent light shone directly on her delicate, petite face. From Fang Huajun’s perspective, the crystalline tear streaks were now fully visible, snaking menacingly across her translucent, flawless skin.
Coco was purring contentedly under his gentle strokes. Fang Huajun snapped out of his reverie, freed a hand to take the contract, flipped to a page in the middle with one hand, and handed it to Hang Sheng—who was still lost in her melancholy—saying, “Not all of them are sad.”
“Hm?” Hang Sheng still couldn’t decipher the meaning behind his words.
Fang Huajun scanned the first floor, finally spotting an orange cat with pinpoint accuracy in the shadow to the left of the curtain.
It was a healthy cat, but it was bizarrely ugly. It had the plumpness common to large orange cats, yet it sported a small, triangular face with a pointed snout and sunken cheeks, its features crammed tightly together and scattered haphazardly across its narrow face as if tossed through a centrifuge; its voice, too, was squeezed into a hoarse, rasping sound by its overly constricted throat, completely devoid of the characteristic, staccato intonation of a cat’s meow.
The orange cat’s body was completely out of proportion with its head, making it look like a poorly reassembled creation—even in the cyberpunk era, it would be classified as a substandard, defective product.
If it were to walk toward her, Hang Sheng had no doubt she’d let out a scream, thinking she’d seen a ghost.
Of course, it had actually been a ghost.
Fang Huajun said it used to be a stray cat that one day wandered into a horror-themed escape room. With its grotesque, bizarre appearance and hideous screeching, it terrified both players and NPCs into scrambling about with their hands over their heads, causing countless people to bump into each other and sustain injuries.
“When the owner caught it, he posted a reward for it online just like you did. I had to pay the medical bills for the staff and visitors before I could redeem it and bring it home,” Fang Huajun said. “When I brought it home, it was still called Papa Gan[1]premium variety of mandarin orange in China jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_2891531_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_2891531_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], }); , but everyone at that place called it Poop Orange.”
Hang Sheng haphazardly wiped the tear streaks from her face, but in the end, she couldn’t help but smile.
Fang Huajun looked at her crinkled eyes, and the stiff curve of his lips softened slightly: “But I figured even a cat wouldn’t want to be called ‘Poopie. ’ So when we got home, I renamed him ‘Chunjian.’”
“Chunjian…” Hang Sheng murmured the two characters softly. “That sounds so lovely! Is there a special reason behind it?”
Hang Sheng assumed that Fang Huajun always chose names with deep meaning. Take “Zhuye,” for example—wasn’t that named because it could thrive even after being separated from the bamboo?
Fang Huajun shook his head. “There’s no particular reason. It’s just that the scientific name for the ‘papa’ mandarin orange is ‘Chunjian.’ It’s still just that same little orange.”
He was explaining it very seriously, but for some reason, Hang Sheng felt her inner cuteness meter had been triggered. She covered her face with the contract—a futile attempt to hide her uncontrollable giggles.
Fang Huajun still wasn’t curious about why she’d suddenly gone a little crazy with laughter; he simply waited until she stopped before continuing with his farewell: “It’s getting late. Get some sleep, and remember to lock your door tonight.”
“Mm-hmm, good night,” Hang Sheng nodded absently. “Don’t worry—I’ll lock the door carefully after I take out the trash. You can go ahead and leave.”
With over fifty cats in the house, the daily amount of cat feces was staggering. Hang Sheng cleaned out dozens of litter boxes in the roughly 500-ping space, ultimately scooping out two or three jin of feces.
Hang Sheng had to do this twice a day, and since cat feces had a particularly foul odor, she had to take it to the trash collection point immediately after cleaning to keep the house fresh.
As she was taking out the trash, she ran into the neighborhood security guard on patrol. The man she’d met yesterday greeted Hang Sheng warmly.
“Hey! Isn’t that you? Did you really get the job?”
The guard was on the night shift today and hadn’t seen Hang Sheng’s moving truck pull into the complex.
Hang Sheng exchanged a few pleasantries with him. When she learned they were both from the same hometown, the security guard—a man with a warm heart—immediately felt a deep connection with her, his eyes welling up with tears. He decided to add her to the homeowners’ group chat so someone could lend a hand when he wasn’t on duty.
“The guys and girls at our property management are really great. If you need anything, just shout out in the group chat, and they’ll be right over to take care of it.”
Although they’d only known each other for a short time, it seemed that while Fang Huajun might indeed be a bit eccentric, he was by no means a bad person—there was no need to be wary of him. But considering she’d be staying here for nearly a month and a half, she was bound to run into some difficulties, and having someone to turn to for help would be ideal. So Hang Sheng agreed.
After a busy day, Hang Sheng finally finished her shower and lay down on her bed.
Her room wasn’t very large, but it was well-ventilated, with a north-south orientation. The window on the north side looked directly out onto the beautiful reddish-brown metasequoia by the entrance, while the south side featured a small balcony with a single door, facing the community’s back gate. The back gate didn’t seem to be in use; the large iron gate was tightly shut, its iron bars covered in rust spots, overgrown with some unidentified wild plants—or perhaps it was simply green rust itself.
In fact, the back gate wasn’t entirely neglected; occasionally, stray cats would slip through the iron railings into the complex to forage on the lawn of Building 37.
Hang Sheng had placed some cat food and water there, as Fang Huajun had instructed her to do.
In the still of the night, one could hear the birds nesting in the taxodias whispering joyfully at the prospect of another sunny day tomorrow, as well as the soft snores of Hang Tian, who had played wildly all day, mumbling in his sweet dreams.
“Stinky cat.” Hang Sheng gave her little cat a kiss; she insisted on reserving the night as alone time for her child.
As the night deepened, Hang Sheng fell into a deep sleep, and when she awoke, there was only a faint glimmer of light in the sky.
Hang Tian’s fur stood on end. Purring and growling softly, he blocked Hang Sheng’s path, arching his back and glaring intently toward the door.
Outside, the door lock rattled loudly. Hang Sheng, who had been dozing fitfully, suddenly jolted awake—someone was at the door!
Hang Sheng’s heart was pounding wildly when she suddenly recalled Fang Huajun’s reminder before bed to lock the door—he’d been referring to her bedroom door after all.
Burglars, ghosts, urban horror tales, and even wanted posters for heinous crimes she’d normally forgotten about all flashed through her mind.
How much was the reward again? It seemed to be 200,000. As all sorts of information swirled through Hang Sheng’s mind, she reached for the baseball bat she’d placed by her bedside for self-defense while tucking the struggling Hang Tian under the covers. Just as she finished doing both, the door swung open from the outside.
“A ghost!” Hang Sheng thought to herself—and cried out the same words aloud.
She saw a face with two distinct halves—one light, one dark—lacking a nose, with eyes of eerie, fierce, contrasting yellow and blue hues.
As Hang Sheng trembled, clutching the baseball bat, Hang Tian suddenly poked his head out from under the covers, meowing softly. Immediately, a similar meow came in response.
So it was just an ugly cat…
Hang Sheng’s mind finally cleared completely. She watched helplessly as the three cats jumped onto the bed one after another, feeling as though she’d been searching for a horror movie but ended up watching a “Ugly Cat Awards” show instead.
“Hang Sheng, do you mind if I come in?”
Suddenly, Fang Huajun’s slightly hoarse voice rang out from outside the door.
Hang Sheng hurriedly checked her appearance, cleared her throat, and replied, “Sure,” only after making sure she looked presentable.
“Click!” Fang Huajun flipped the switch, turning on the incandescent light in the room.
He was wearing a thin spring pajama top; his chest rose and fell slightly, and his chestnut-brown hair—tossed wildly as if by a gale—was piled haphazardly on top of his head, yet he still looked handsome.
He seemed to have come in a hurry. Hang Sheng stared at his impressive hairline and said somewhat sheepishly, “Sorry for waking you. I didn’t expect them to invade in the middle of the night…”
Besides the cat with the yin-yang face, there was also the orange cat Chun Jian, as well as a gaunt white cat whose bulging eyes looked as if they were about to pop out. Even with the lights on, at first glance, it was hard not to suspect that a ghost had appeared.
Fang Huajun tucked the three cats neatly between his long, muscular right forearm and his ribs, taking the time to reach out with his left hand to soothe Hang Tian, whose fur was still standing on end.
He explained, “Before, it was just me and the housekeeper living here, so this room was open to them even before you moved in. The three of them like to sunbathe here, so…”
Hang Tian returned to his usual docile self, rubbing his head against Fang Huajun’s palm in a very ingratiating manner to show his affection. Since he was always wriggling about and couldn’t sit still, Fang Huajun’s hand inevitably brushed against Hang Sheng’s.
Fang Huajun suddenly froze. Without giving anything away, he withdrew his hand, took a step back, and looked down at the cat clawing at his hand: “It’s my fault for not explaining it clearly. Tomorrow I’ll take down the fence in front of my aunt’s place and put it by your door—that way, they won’t be able to get in.”
The coolness of the man’s fingertips still seemed to linger on the back of her hand. Even as the thought crossed her mind, Hang Sheng felt it was a bit unsettling—spring really was on its way.
She shook her head and quickly asked some trivial questions to quell her restless emotions: “Why hasn’t Auntie been coming by lately?”
Fang Huajun explained, “Her daughter-in-law is about to give birth, so she’s gone back to her hometown to take care of her.”
Taking care of the new mother? Then taking care of the baby? That seemed like it would take quite a long time.
Hang Sheng asked curiously, “Is she coming back?”
Fang Huajun nodded. “She’ll be back.”
Seeing his confident reply, Hang Sheng suddenly realized she’d asked a really stupid question. If she weren’t coming back, why would he only be hiring short-term part-timers?
She scratched her head awkwardly. “I guess I asked a really stupid question.”
Fang Huajun didn’t respond, merely saying, “After all, you guys don’t know her.”
“You guys”? Who else besides her? Hang Sheng was completely baffled.
Fang Huajun had no desire to chat any further. He picked up the cat and headed for the door: “It’s still early. You should go back to sleep.”
“Okay, thanks for everything,” Hang Sheng said gratefully.
“If you need anything else, you can come down and find me.” He turned off the light, and the room was once again engulfed in darkness. His voice, as calm as water, held a hint of a smile hidden in the shadows. “Though, judging by how loud you were, it doesn’t seem like you’ll need to come downstairs.”
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