Tang Miao stepped across the wire mesh on top of the cages, making her way inward.
With every step she took, the dogs below shrank back slightly.
They were afraid—afraid of anything that descended from above.
“Whimper… whimper…”
The old Pekingese on the top tier saw her.
Its clouded eyes reflected a small orange figure. Its mouth opened and closed, letting out a faint, feeble whine.
Its tail wagged twice.
It thought someone had come to rescue it.
“Smack!”
A paw shot out from the cage beside it, striking the Pekingese through the wire.
“Shut up!” It was an old mongrel.
Its yellow fur was streaked with gray, one ear half missing, and the loose skin on its neck hung slack—clearly a grizzled veteran who’d spent years on the streets.
“What are you howling for? If you call those two bastards back, we’ll all get beaten. That little black dog this morning only yelped a couple of times and got whipped seven or eight strokes—its mouth is still taped shut.”
The old mongrel finished speaking, then turned its murky eyes toward Tang Miao, sizing her up from head to tail.
“A cat? Where’d a cat come from?”
Tang Miao crouched on top of the cage. “I’m here to find a way to save you all.”
“Save us?” The old mongrel snorted. “You? A little kitten that weighs less than half a pound?”
The Pekingese squeezed its neck through the gap in the cage bars, its name tag clinking softly.
Its voice was hoarse, but its tone was measured and proper, with a crisp, authentic Beijing accent:
“Hey, size doesn’t matter. Anyone with that kind of heart is already better than those who’d watch us die!”
“May I ask your name? Where are you from?”
Tang Miao was taken aback.
A Beijing dog through and through—even after being trapped for days, it hadn’t lost its manners.
“Er… no need for formalities… surname Tang, from the Northeast.”
“Tang? Well now, the great Tang Dynasty!” The Pekingese’s tail wagged twice again. “This humble dog is Ping’an, a born-and-bred Beijing dog.”
“Lived in Nanluoguxiang for nine years. Last week I was out for a walk when someone knocked me out with drugged meat. Woke up in this cage.”
It lowered its head, its name tag glinting faintly in the dim light.
“My old lady is eighty-three, and I’m all she’s got. She must be worried sick right now…”
Tang Miao didn’t dare waste time. She crawled along the cage to the latch.
An old-style pin tumbler lock, keyhole facing down.
She fiddled with it using her claws.
The lock cylinder didn’t budge.
She’d seen locksmiths pick these locks with wire—ten seconds and done. But she was a cat now.
Claws could catch mice, but not lock cylinders.
She tried three cages in a row. All had the same padlock.
The old mongrel watched her struggle, and its voice lost its earlier mockery, replaced by a weary tone.
“Don’t bother. The key’s hanging on the skinny one’s belt.”
Tang Miao’s ears twitched.
Footsteps approached from outside the van—two people.
The Pekingese lowered its voice. “Go! They’re back! That short one has the worst temper—if he sees you, he’ll lock you in a cage too!”
Tang Miao didn’t hesitate.
She darted to the driver’s seat and squeezed out through the gap in the window.
Getting out was harder than getting in. Her hindquarters caught, and she gasped in pain, twisting desperately before she slipped free.
She landed on the hood, flipped over, jumped to the ground, and dove headfirst into the nearby bushes.
Two men walked over from the direction of the service area shop.
The short one was bald, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, carrying two buckets of instant noodles and a bottle of water.
The tall one wore a cap and was on the phone as he walked.
“…Already in Tangshan. We’ll be there by dawn tomorrow at the latest. Are the cages ready on your end? This batch is a decent size—don’t want to be unloading on the spot…”
Tang Miao crouched behind the bushes, watching the two men approach the van.
The bald man opened the driver’s door, tossed the noodles inside, and yawned.
“Eat quick, then we move. We need to pass the Cangzhou toll booth before dark.”
The man in the cap hung up, walked around to the back, and checked the locks.
Tang Miao’s mind raced.
A direct confrontation was out of the question—two grown men, and she couldn’t even reach their ankles.
Call the police? She was a cat.
That left only one option: find a way to use others to her advantage.
She poked her head out of the bushes and scanned the entire service area.
Gas station, convenience store, restrooms… dozens of cars of all sizes in the parking lot.
A few drivers were smoking by their vehicles.
Steam drifted from the window of a Lanzhou noodle shop.
None of it would work.
Scattered individuals were useless.
Her gaze settled on the service area plaza.
A tour bus was parked in the most prominent spot, with a huge advertisement painted on its side: “Sunset Red Beijing Five-Day Tour.”
The door was open, and dozens of elderly men and women were stretching their legs beside the bus.
All wearing matching little red caps, armed with thermoses, silk scarves, and selfie sticks—the full standard kit.
A few of the women were humming and dancing to “Most Ethnic Style” blasting from a portable speaker, while some of the men stood by with their hands tucked into their sleeves, offering commentary.
The tour guide was holding up a little flag, counting heads.
Tang Miao’s tail shot straight up.
They were the ones!
In the middle of the crowd, a slightly plump woman was showing something off.
She wore a maroon fleece jacket, had her hair in delicate little curls, a gold silk scarf around her neck, and her voice carried over the entire plaza.
“Ladies, take a look! My eldest son bought this for me—pure gold! Six thousand eight hundred!”
She held up a gold chain in her hand, flashing it dazzlingly in the sunlight.
A few aunties nearby crowded around to touch it, clicking their tongues in admiration.
A gold chain!
Tang Miao licked her lips.
Sorry, big sister.
She burst out of the bushes.
Tang Miao sprinted at full speed.
Four legs hugging the ground, her orange figure weaving between the cars in the parking lot, moving so fast she was nothing but a blur.
Thirty meters.
Ten meters.
The slightly plump auntie was twirling the gold chain around her wrist, showing off the clasp workmanship to her old sisters beside her.
The chain dangled loosely, swinging from her fingertips.
Tang Miao leaped.
Back legs pushed off the ground, body soaring through the air, front paws hooking the middle of the chain.
A perfect flying pounce.
A four-pound orange cat hung from the chain, yanking it with momentum.
The chain slipped from the auntie’s fingers, and cat and chain tumbled half a roll across the ground.
Tang Miao clamped the chain in her mouth, steadied herself, and even flicked her tail with extra swagger.
“Ai—yo—wei—!!”
The auntie’s voice shattered the sound barrier, echoing across the entire service area plaza.
“What the heck! A stray cat stole my chain! Catch it! That’s the gold chain my eldest son bought me! Six thousand eight hundred!”
The red-hat army erupted.
“Where? Where?”
“An orange cat! It ran that way!”
“Get it!”
Tang Miao took off with the chain in her mouth.
She didn’t run fast—she controlled her pace.
Two steps to the left, a veer to the right, and she’d glance back every so often to make sure the red-hat crowd behind her hadn’t fallen behind.
“That cat! Stop!”
“It went right! Cut it off!”
“Old Wang, you’ve got long legs, you go!”
“My knees are bad!”
Dozens of uncles and aunties came thundering after her.
Silk scarves fluttered, thermoses gripped as weapons, selfie sticks raised overhead.
The lead uncle ran at the front, using his little flag pole as a walking stick.
The portable speaker blasting “Most Dazzling Ethnic Style” had been forgotten to turn off, tucked under one auntie’s arm, playing as she ran, the background music cranked to full volume.