The title has nothing to do with the story.

“Then I’ll head back and come again later,” Zhang Pa said.

“There’s no need, really, thank you,” Wang Baihe replied, her face clouded with worry.

Who wouldn’t look troubled, saddled with a father like that?

Zhang Pa gave a perfunctory response, said he’d leave first, and hurried off. To keep up with his writing schedule, the legendary Master Zhang, who rarely took cabs, hailed one to rush home.

He made it just in time, closed the landlord’s door, and returned to his room to type. He’d written half before heading to the hospital and now quickly filled in the rest, finishing before midnight and uploading the chapter. Then he put on his coat and set out again, cycling back to the hospital.

That night, the patient would be on IV drips until the early morning, and Wang Baihe had to stay and watch over her mother.

At the entrance, Zhang Pa bought a case of mineral water and two cans of food, carrying them into the ward.

Seeing him return, Wang Baihe thanked him for the trouble.

Zhang Pa grinned playfully. “It’s my honor to serve a beauty.”

Strictly speaking, Wang Baihe wasn’t a classic beauty, but she had a delicate charm. These days, anyone could become a beauty with a little makeup and a touch of that internet celebrity style.

Wang Baihe forced a bitter smile and thanked him again, then stared off at the IV drip, lost in thought.

Zhang Pa was at a loss for what to do. After a moment, he said, “You have work tomorrow. I can stay here for you; go home and rest.”

“No need,” Wang Baihe replied in a flat tone, but after a while, she added, “Could I trouble you with something? My mother’s hospital bills—I don’t know how much it’ll cost yet, and I haven’t received my salary. Could you pay next month’s rent in advance?”

“Of course, but it’ll have to be tomorrow; I don’t have enough cash on me now,” Zhang Pa replied.

“Thank you,” Wang Baihe said, falling silent again.

Zhang Pa tried once more, “You should go home and rest.”

Wang Baihe shook her head. “I can’t leave. You should head back.”

After considering a moment, Zhang Pa said, “Then I’ll go,” and stepped out.

The corridor was empty, his solitary footsteps echoing with a chill. Zhang Pa couldn’t help but feel like a failure—his efforts to be helpful weren’t appreciated.

He pedaled home through quiet streets, the further north he went, the emptier it became. Back at Xingfu Lane, aside from two flickering streetlights at the entrance, the way in was pitch black, with only a few household lights faintly breaking through the darkness.

Just as he reached the intersection, his phone rang. It was Fatty. “Come to Da Hu, quick!”

“What for?” Zhang Pa asked.

“A fight, hurry up!”

“You bastard, you never invite me for barbecue, but you call me when you need backup for a fight?”

“You’re a writer now, who dares invite you? Just get over here.” Fatty hung up.

Disheartened, Zhang Pa had no choice but to turn around. He rode a short distance to a cluster of still-lit shops, one of which was Da Hu Barbecue.

He cycled over to find two groups facing off, Fatty hurling curses at the other side.

Zhang Pa rode up onto the sidewalk, stopping between the two groups, feet braced on the ground. “What’s going on now?”

Up close, he saw the fight had already happened. Fatty’s side had four men, two of whom were bleeding from head wounds. The other group had three, their clothes torn, faces swollen, blood smearing their lips and noses.

Fatty spat, “These three bastards—tonight it’s not over until they’re dead.”

“Come on, why not call the police?” Zhang Pa sighed.

“Call the damn police? Just beat them up!” Fatty barked.

Zhang Pa sighed, crossed his arms atop his handlebars, chin resting on his hands as he looked at the battered trio. “Where are you guys from?”

“Who the hell are you?” one of the trio, nose stuffed with tissue, cursed.

“Look at you all, beaten to a pulp. You’re not calling the cops, not going to the hospital? Are you stupid?” Zhang Pa reasoned. “This place is called Xingfu Lane. Know what that means? It’s a paradise for hooligans, a cradle for thugs. You’d better leave now.”

Fatty shouted from behind, “Don’t let them go!”

Zhang Pa turned, “If they can’t leave, are you buying them dinner?”

“Make them settle the bill first!” Fatty yelled.

Zhang Pa gave him a thumbs-up. “You’re the boss.” He turned back to the trio. “Hear that? Settle up the bill.”

“Why should we pay?” the tissue-nosed guy retorted. “Just you wait, don’t leave if you’ve got guts.”

Zhang Pa rubbed his face in exasperation and asked Fatty, “How many people did you call?”

“Sixzi, Old Meng, Turtle—they said they’ll be here soon,” Fatty replied.

Zhang Pa turned back to the trio. “Hear that? You’d better get out while you can, or you’ll get cooked.”

“Trying to scare us? We’ve called in reinforcements too!” shouted a youth with a swollen eye.

“Let me analyze this for you,” Zhang Pa said patiently. “Whoever you call, it’s a favor you’ll owe them. How much will it cost to settle that debt? Just pay your bill and leave, and everyone’s happy.”

The owner, Da Hu, a burly man in a vest, walked over and said, “Had enough fighting? Settle up now. The broken beer bottles are on the house. Who’s paying?”

Zhang Pa tried again to persuade the trio. “You guys should’ve run after the fight. Now look, it’s time to pay up.”

The tissue-nosed guy yanked out the tissue and flung it to the ground. “Damn it, I’d rather die than pay.”

Zhang Pa scratched his head. “Then go ahead and fight.” He pushed back with his feet, letting his bike roll away.

Da Hu stood firm. “So who’s paying? Hurry up.”

“They want to fight?” Zhang Pa asked.

“They can fight all they want after they pay,” Da Hu replied, calling to his staff, “Clear the tables, give them space.”

The grill master and waiters hurried to move tables, chairs, and beer crates out of the way.

Da Hu approached Fatty. “You first. Ninety-nine.”

Fatty glanced warily at the trio, pulled out a hundred-yuan note, and said, “Let’s go,” leading the way back toward Xingfu Lane.

Da Hu pocketed the money, then went to the trio for their payment. After some brief words, he collected a little over a hundred yuan, and the trio began searching the ground, heads down.

No need to ask—clearly, they’d lost out.

Zhang Pa caught up to Fatty on his bike. “What did you score?”

Fatty pulled a phone from his back pocket. “The latest iPhone—over six grand.”

“You got the phone and still called me?” Zhang Pa asked.

“I picked it up after the call,” Fatty replied. “Tomorrow night, barbecue at Da Hu’s—my treat.”

“You scored over six grand and you’re only treating us to barbecue?” Zhang Pa scoffed. “Four grown men eating for ninety-nine? I’d be embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? We’re here for the drinks, right, Bandit?”

Bandit, with a fierce face, growled, “Don’t mess around. You got the phone, what about the three of us? Cut the crap—one thousand each.”

“Robbery! Five hundred each, take it or leave it,” Fatty countered.

“Five hundred’s fine, but we want dinner, karaoke, and sauna after.”

“Sauna, my ass. Just barbecue at Da Hu’s. Eat it or leave it.” Fatty haggled.

Just then, a few guys ran out from the other group, spotting them and stopping short. The leader asked, “Back already? Not fighting anymore?”

“Fight? Go to sleep, barbecue tomorrow night.”

“Who was it who dared make trouble in Xingfu Lane? We should’ve finished them off,” said Turtle, sporting a buzz cut shaped like a turtle shell.

Zhang Pa’s phone suddenly buzzed. It was the news. He stuffed it back, annoyed. “Who sends out news at this hour?” He turned to Fatty, “I’m off. You guys go wander.” He pedaled home.

The whole night had been a mess, and by the time he finally slept, it was half past two.

The next morning, he got up, spun a few stories, checked the time, and bought two breakfasts to take to the hospital.

Wang Baihe was still sitting there with a worried face. Zhang Pa set down the food. “Go home. You’ve got work soon.”

“No need. And sorry to trouble you again,” Wang Baihe said.

“It’s nothing. Renting from you is a kind of fate,” Zhang Pa replied.

“I’ve taken leave from work. Thank you,” she said.

“Then go home and get some sleep. Come back at noon,” Zhang Pa offered kindly.

After thinking it over, Wang Baihe said, “Then I’ll go pack a few things and come back later.”

“My bike’s outside if you want—” Zhang Pa began.

“No need,” Wang Baihe said, told her mother she was leaving, and went home to rest.

After her daughter left, the landlady, Aunt Sun Yi, thanked Zhang Pa. He told her not to mention it, then asked if she’d had breakfast.

Sun Yi replied that she had, and said there was nothing serious—she could manage, and told him to go if he needed to.

The usual hospital conversation. Zhang Pa kept watch until noon. Wang Baihe returned with a washbasin, towel, and soap, and also brought lunch.

They exchanged shifts; Zhang Pa went home, grabbed a bite, packed up a crate of books, and continued his bookselling life.

His business philosophy: never stay in one place too long. That afternoon, he and his unsellable books appeared outside the city vocational college, but time slipped by in vain, and at 4:30 he carted his box home. After a quick tidy-up, he headed back to the hospital.

On the way, he withdrew a thousand yuan from the bank. The first thing he did at the hospital was pay the rent. He handed over seven hundred yuan. “Here’s two months’ rent. If you need more for hospital fees, just let me know.”

Wang Baihe thanked him and said she’d asked the doctor—if things went well, her mother could be discharged the day after tomorrow. She added, “My mother’s doing fine now, can get up and go to the bathroom herself, so I don’t need to stay overnight.”

Zhang Pa chatted a while with Auntie, then took his leave.

On the way home, Fatty called again—barbecue at Da Hu’s, get there fast. Zhang Pa said he was on his way.

Everyone was there—not just the seven or eight from last night, but nearly all their usual hangout crew, thirteen guys in total, with four women tagging along as significant others.

Once seated, Turtle asked Fatty, “Didn’t invite Big Cat?”

“Invite him? That cheapskate?” Sixzi asked, “Did you call him last night?”

“Called, he didn’t answer,” Fatty replied.

“Let’s just drink. What a hassle,” Turtle concluded.

Seventeen people together—drinking, chatting, playing drinking games, cursing. Pure, unruly chaos.

Da Hu came over, “Quiet down. With you lot here, who else dares come in? Hey you—put your shirt back on.”

Half of them were tattooed. Sixzi and Old Meng had full-back dragon tattoos.

There’s a certain lore to these things. Dragons are sacred, and to have one inked on your back, you have to be able to bear it. Especially if it crosses the shoulders—a dragon across the shoulders means you must have great responsibility. But as the saying goes, if the dragon is on your waist, it’s carrying you instead.

Even more particular is the tattoo of Guan Gong—whether he holds a blade, rides a horse, or has his eyes open all have significance. In superstitious belief, if you can’t carry a dragon or Guan Gong, or it’s badly inked, you’ll invite disaster and bloodshed.