The outcome was somewhat dismal.

Well, that is getting off-track. Let us return to the little books.

Passing by a second-hand stall, my eyes swept casually over a shoe box containing comic books, with a price tag on the side: two yuan each. I squatted down to flip through them and was surprised to find "The Legend of the Condor Heroes." I pulled one out to examine it; it was about sixty percent new, decent enough to read. I kept digging, but unfortunately, I only found two volumes. They were disjointed, lacking both beginning and end, so I had to put them back in the box.

The vendor did not bother greeting me; he simply pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and kept his eyes fixed on the traffic passing by on the street.

His stall held more than just comic books; there were sixty or seventy old books and dozens of vintage magazines—truly old ones, film magazines from the late eighties. On the cover was a once-beautiful starlet who, by now, must be at least fifty. There were two sets of martial arts novels, two sets of reference books, and some foreign classics.

Zhang Pa thought for a moment. He really had no books at home. He felt inclined to pick out a couple to take back, intending to use them as sleeping aids when he suffered from insomnia and to brush up on his knowledge at the same time.

Just as he was looking, he suddenly felt a shadow loom beside him. He turned his head, startled at first, then burst into a chuckle. "Hello there."

The big black dog he had seen at the Normal University had appeared again. Its fur was as lustrous as ever, and it looked exceptionally cute, plump and large.

Worried he might be mistaken, he looked more closely. The dog was also watching him, then it lay down right beside Zhang Pa, its large head swiveling left and right as usual.

The dog clearly recognized him and was acting affectionate; it was definitely the same one from last time. Zhang Pa smiled. So, it was an intellectual dog that liked to hang around book stalls.

He looked into the distance, but just like last time, he could not see an owner. He thought it was incredible. With cities cracking down on dogs and many thieves around, how could an owner dare to let such a precious creature roam freely?

Zhang Pa stopped looking at the books, stood up, and said to the dog, "Come here."

He walked onto the sidewalk and stopped against a wall. The big fat dog stood up lazily, moved slowly to Zhang Pa’s feet, and lay down again.

"You are truly a marvel," Zhang Pa said, taking a photo with his phone, then standing there to wait for the owner to appear.

An hour slipped away like water. The vendor in front had already packed up and left. The sky grew completely dark, and the street was filled with people rushing by. Because the dog was so big, fat, and good-natured, it was quite an eye-catcher. Almost everyone passing by looked twice, and some young girls even came over to chat and take photos.

After two girls who had approached him left, Zhang Pa squatted down and patted the dog’s head. "You’re a real chick magnet."

The dog panted, sticking its tongue out twice, then twice more.

"Are you going home?" Zhang Pa asked. The dog did not move.

Zhang Pa was truly helpless. What was the deal with this owner? Letting the big dog roam free as soon as night fell? The dog’s coat was shiny and smooth, so it was clearly well-cared for—certainly not a stray—but where was the owner? In that moment, he almost wished the creature were a stray so he could take it home.

He patted it a few times and said, "Go home." The dog did not move.

"I’ll take you for a run," Zhang Pa said. The dog did not move.

Zhang Pa actually started to jog, looking back as he ran. The dog tilted its head to watch him, then finally stood up, but it turned and ran in the opposite direction. Zhang Pa jogged back, and the dog stopped to watch him.

It seemed that if he didn't leave, the dog wouldn't either. He had no choice but to run back the other way, and the dog would run off in the opposite direction again.

Zhang Pa stood still and watched the dog leave, following it with his gaze until it turned the corner at the end of the street. He hurried over to catch a glimpse, running at full speed, but in that short time, the dog had vanished. By the time he reached the corner, the big fat dog was gone.

Zhang Pa was a bit bewildered. What was going on here? He ran a stretch into the street but saw nothing. He ran further, still nothing. He had to stop and say to himself, "This is a divine dog. No, this is a dog god."

He stood for a moment, then turned to head to the bus stop. While looking at the sign, he checked a map; it was six stops from here to the Normal University. No one would let their dog wander this far. Could it be that the dog had moved? Moved here?

The world is full of mysterious things and mysterious creatures. To Zhang Pa, this big dog that had appeared twice was truly mysterious.

Soon, the bus to Xingfuli pulled up, and Zhang Pa dropped his coin into the box and boarded.

On the bus, he received a call from Dahu, who asked where he was, saying that he and Dazhuang wanted to discuss something with him. They had signed up for a variety show, and their wanting him could only mean one thing: fighting. Zhang Pa replied, "I'm not interested in being on TV."

"The first prize is one hundred thousand. Just participating gets you money; the appearance fee for each match is three thousand, and you get to show your face on television," Dahu said directly.

"I can't win first place anyway," Zhang Pa said.

"It's three thousand per match. Are you really not participating?" Dahu knew Zhang Pa was very poor.

Zhang Pa said he wasn't going. Dahu said, "Don't be in such a hurry to refuse. Come to the gym, let’s talk it over."

Zhang Pa laughed, "It's so late, and you’re neglecting your barbecue joint?"

"Something came up today. Just come over," Dahu insisted.

Zhang Pa thought for a moment, agreed, and hung up. When the bus stopped, Zhang Pa got off and walked two stops east to Dazhuang’s gym.

Zhang Pa entered, and the receptionist told him to wait while she notified the boss. Before long, Dazhuang walked out. They sat on a sofa by the entrance, and Dazhuang began to explain the situation.

Dazhuang and Dahu had signed up under the name of their gym. The show’s organizers weren't strict about this; individuals could sign up for the preliminary rounds. However, once you passed the initial selection—meaning the production team signed you and you might appear on TV—affiliated organizations would come looking for you.

It was a national show, and who knows how many clubs or individuals were planning to join. This competition was, to put it bluntly, a battle between clubs; it was ultimately a game for the wealthy. Rich people funded clubs, and the clubs sent professionals to pick fighters, sign them, train them, and send them to the ring—and to the television screen.

Dazhuang and Dahu could fight, but training on their own simply wouldn't cut it. They could feel the gap without even comparing themselves to others. After the first round of selections—which were divided into two stages: a broad initial cut to weed out the masses, and a second stage that gave fighters time to train and clubs time to scout—they realized the truth. The first selection was by the TV station, the second by the clubs. Only those selected could represent a club.

In terms of combat ability, the national Sanda team members were definitely the best, but they were also expensive. Not every club was willing to dump money on them; clubs were concerned with expanding their influence and making money.

Dazhuang and Dahu had passed the first cut and learned more about the competition. After thinking it over, they decided to recommend themselves to a club. The top clubs were in other cities and wouldn't pick them. There was, however, a small club in the provincial capital created specifically for this show, and it was currently scouting for talent. Dazhuang and Dahu went there, but were told their level was just "so-so," and if they wanted to represent the club, they had to work harder.

How were they supposed to work harder?

The brothers decided to turn to Zhang Pa again. They had two plans: one was to convince Zhang Pa to join the club with them, and the other was to have him act as a sparring partner. Knowing Zhang Pa’s typical stubbornness, they had set their sights on the latter.

Dazhuang explained the idea, and soon Dahu came out, handed Zhang Pa a bottle of water, and asked Dazhuang, "Did you tell him everything?"

Zhang Pa looked at him. "Didn't you have something to take care of?"

"I did. Two people from the club were just here talking about the competition."

Zhang Pa asked, "Can you guys really get on TV?"

"Not yet. We have to pass one more selection," Dazhuang replied, adding, "We’re actually quite lucky. The new club is recruiting and needs a lot of fighters. If it were like other clubs, they probably wouldn't even look at us."

Zhang Pa laughed, "It’s quite official, then—a club-sponsored fight."

"It's not official; the TV station only cares about ratings," Dahu said. "Join us."

"I'm really not interested, I mean it," Zhang Pa said.

"Then help us out as a sparring partner? We'll pay you," Dazhuang said.

"You’re obsessed," Zhang Pa noted.

Dazhuang gave a bitter smile. "Can't help it."

"Sorry, I have zero interest in fighting. I really can't help you," Zhang Pa said, standing up. "I'm leaving."

He had only come to give them a face-to-face refusal. No matter the outcome, he at least treated them with respect.

Watching Zhang Pa leave, Dazhuang sighed, "It’s all up to us now."

Everyone had their own business to attend to. Fatty and his group were doing live streams, and the brothers were preparing to march onto the television ring. As he walked, Zhang Pa pondered: his business was writing stories.

He had refused Dazhuang again... he thought about it; he seemed to have refused a lot of people, like Fatty and Wang Kun. He smiled and complimented himself, "I am as stubborn as a rock in a latrine, ha ha ha."

Just as he finished praising himself, Principal Qin called: "Gather at the school tomorrow morning at eight."

Zhang Pa asked what for.

The principal was almost furious. "What do you think?"

"Tomorrow is Sunday... oh." Zhang Pa remembered and hurried to say, "I forgot to notify the students."

He had spent the morning at the police station making a statement, and in the chaos, he had forgotten about tomorrow.

"I notified them for you," the principal said, sighing. "Why are you so unreliable?"

"I am very reliable!" Zhang Pa insisted.

Principal Qin didn't waste any more breath on him, simply adding, "Eight o'clock in the morning," and hung up.

Fine, eight o'clock. Zhang Pa took the bus home.

On the bus, Qian Cheng called to say he hadn't hosted him well enough and that they should have a proper drink when there was time. Zhang Pa said sure, and added that he would treat.

Not long after, Fatty called, saying he wasn't a good friend and that he was a total lunatic.

"Are you drunk?" Zhang Pa asked.

"Who cares how much I drank? You're just a lunatic." He must have had quite a bit; Fatty was venting his frustration.

Zhang Pa let him ramble, not saying a word. When Fatty heard no response, he asked several times, "Can you hear me? Why aren't you saying anything? Can you hear me?"

Zhang Pa remained silent. Fatty asked a few more times, cursed, and hung up.