It was a pinecone.
It hit Tang Miao square in the forehead, bounced off the bridge of her nose, and rolled to the ground.
She looked up.
On the old elm tree beside the river embankment, a squirrel was crouched on a branch.
Small in size, but astonishing in presence.
Its tail was puffed out like a feather duster, both front paws planted on its hips, head tilted, with a face that said, “What are you looking at?”
Tang Miao stared at the squirrel for three seconds.
The squirrel spoke first: “Oho, where’d this little tangerine come from? Freezing your paws off out here, huh?”
A pure Northeastern accent, full of vigor.
Tang Miao stiffened her neck and shot back: “I’m a genuine Northern cat!”
The squirrel let out a “pfft,” its big tail sweeping in an arc as wide as a fan.
“Northern cat? My great-grandpa said anyone south of Shanhaiguan Pass is Southern! Which corner of the world are you from? You look like a honey mandarin—clearly not built for the cold.”
Tang Miao’s fur bristled slightly.
She wanted to argue, but a gust of minus-thirty-degree wind happened to blow straight into her mouth, making her sneeze.
Her persuasiveness dropped to zero.
The squirrel chittered with laughter.
“I’m Tata, the big shot here! From the north bank of the Songhua River to Central Street, this whole stretch is my turf. If this little tangerine wants to stand on my territory, she’s gotta first—”
“WOOF!!”
Tata’s speech was cut off.
Two big yellow dogs burst out of the culvert beneath the railway bridge, moving at lightning speed.
Their tawny fur was splattered with mud, white breath puffing from their mouths, four long legs kicking up sprays of snow as they tore across the drifts.
Their target was Tata in the tree.
Tang Miao could see clearly—the lead dog’s eyes were locked onto Tata on the branch.
These two dogs clearly weren’t new to this.
“Yikes! Ma! Why is it these two little bastards again!”
Tata was so startled that all four paws clung to the branch, tail exploding into a ball.
But his mouth kept running: “What? Think you’re tough? Come up here then! Come on! Come on—”
Before he could finish, his feet slipped.
A thin layer of ice coated the old elm’s branches, and the squirrel’s claws couldn’t get a grip.
Tata’s body tilted to one side, claws frantically scraping a series of white marks across the bark.
He couldn’t hold on.
The whole squirrel launched off the tree.
A beautiful arc.
“AAAAAAHHHHHH—”
“Thump.”
Tata face-planted into the snowdrift in front of Tang Miao, carving out a squirrel-shaped crater.
Four legs kicked at the sky, tail caked with snow—a feather duster flipped upside down.
Both big yellow dogs turned at once.
They were less than three meters from the snow pit.
Tata thrashed wildly in the hole, unable to flip over.
A squirrel’s body is too light—sinking into soft snow is like falling into a swamp; the more you struggle, the deeper you sink.
Every hair on Tang Miao’s body stood on end.
If she ran now, she’d make it in time.
She was just a small, helpless kitten—one bite from a big yellow dog could snap her neck.
Looking at Tata, helpless in the snow pit, she thought of her previous life—skidding on her electric scooter, the bike tipping over, her body thrown into the middle of the road.
Cars whizzed past her one after another.
Only one woman driving a van stopped, pulled her into the vehicle, and took her to the hospital.
Tang Miao remembered her words for years:
“Just a small kindness. Everyone has their unlucky moments.”
Tang Miao cursed under her breath.
Her instincts screamed at her to run, but in the end, she couldn’t harden her heart.
She mustered her courage and shouted at the two big yellow dogs:
“Hey, you little sh—!”
It was the dirtiest word she could think of, and saying it made her nervous.
Both dogs froze, then turned to look at her.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you two!”
The dogs moved. Tang Miao bolted like crazy toward the culvert.
Four legs pumped alternately, paw pads slipping on the snow, every step a stumble.
The barking behind her rattled her eardrums.
She didn’t dare look back, remembering that on the other side of the culvert were a few discarded concrete pipes.
The panting grew closer, hot dog breath blasting against her tail.
Ten meters to the culvert entrance.
Tang Miao’s heart was in her throat.
Eight meters, five meters.
The dog on the left had its mouth open, fangs gleaming white in the morning light.
Three meters!
She summoned the last ounce of strength in her life, kicked off with her hind legs, and launched her body flat along the ground.
The mouth of the concrete pipe loomed before her.
She dove in.
“BANG!”
The big yellow dog’s head slammed into the pipe opening, and the whole pipe rolled in the gravel.
Tang Miao tumbled inside, then dug all four claws into the pipe wall to steady herself.
The two dogs scratched frantically at the opening, claws screeching against the concrete, drool dripping inside.
Tang Miao huddled deep in the pipe, curling into the smallest ball possible, trembling.
Her heart pounded so hard her whole body shook.
Two big dog faces blocked the opening, taking turns poking their heads in.
Hot breath from their noses condensed into mist inside the pipe.
But their heads were too big to squeeze through.
Tang Miao clenched her teeth and didn’t move a muscle.
The big yellow dogs barked for about five minutes, then started losing patience. They scratched at the pipe opening a couple more times before finally the sound of them leaving came.
Tang Miao waited a little longer, and once she was sure it was safe, she slowly crept toward the opening.
She poked half her head out.
The culvert was empty—the two big yellow dogs had vanished at the other end of the railway bridge.
Tang Miao squeezed out of the concrete pipe, all four legs trembling.
Still shaken.
“Not bad, you.”
A voice came from above.
Tang Miao looked up.
Tata was crouched on top of the concrete pipe, most of the snow shaken off its tail, though a few clumps still clung to the fur tips, refusing to let go no matter how it flicked.
The squirrel’s expression was complicated, its little eyes darting around as it nervously rubbed its front paws together.
After a moment, it cleared its throat, awkward yet proud.
“Ahem, so…”
“Cat, you saved me! I don’t like owing cats favors.”
“Name it—what… what wish do you have? As long as it’s in Harbin, there’s nothing I can’t do!”
Tang Miao licked her lips. “I want to eat my way across all of China.”
Tata’s front paws froze mid-air, its little eyes bulging wide.
Tang Miao: “Let’s start with Harbin!”
“I want iron wok stew, guo bao rou, old-fashioned ice pops, barbecue… oh, and authentic Russian food! Borscht! Big Russian bread!”
Tang Miao got more and more excited, her tail swishing back and forth. “I originally planned Beijing as my first stop, but I got on the wrong train and ended up in Harbin by accident.”
“Can you show me around?”
Tata stared at her for a full five seconds before it sank in.
“You’re one bold cat… not shy at all, are you?”
That’s what it said, but its big tail was already flicking into a proud, fan-shaped arc.
It hopped down from the top of the pipe, landing in front of Tang Miao, and patted the snow off its paws.
“Well, you’ve come to the right squirrel! Let’s go!”
Tata scrambled up a utility pole by the roadside, then leaped from the pole to a birch branch, turning back to squeak at Tang Miao:
“My great-grandpa always said, if you come to Harbin and don’t see the underground, you’ve come for nothing!”
Tang Miao blinked.
Underground?