Life is a tangled mess of affairs.

When it came to eating, Fatty was particularly attentive, having calculated the cost of the entire meal. He said to Zhang Pa, “You put in two hundred, and if that’s not enough, I’ll cover the rest.”

Zhang Pa was enthusiastic, inviting the two girls, “Eat, eat, if it’s not enough, we’ll order more.”

Fatty continued, “A hundred and fifty, and we’ll add a few more dishes.”

“A hundred,” Zhang Pa bargained.

“A hundred and forty.”

“A hundred and ten.”

After haggling back and forth, they settled at a hundred and twenty-five. Zhang Pa counted out the money, Fatty added a few more dishes, and everyone enjoyed themselves. At the table, the effeminate one dreamed aloud about the beautiful life after winning the championship. Zhang Pa kept his head down, focused on eating.

Fatty was annoyed. “Slow down, you’re never going to eat your way through a hundred and twenty-five.”

Zhang Pa replied, “Every bite I can get back counts.”

Beautiful girls encounter all sorts of men at all sorts of dinner parties throughout their lives. For two music students, the men at past gatherings were usually eager to be generous, to show off. Even the rotten ones tried to pave the way with flowers and wine. At the very least, among classmates splitting the bill, they’d never met men like Zhang Pa and Fatty.

Today was an eye-opener: four men, with only the effeminate one behaving normally—the other three were utterly clueless, especially Fatty and Zhang Pa, who didn’t treat the girls as women at all, but carried on their small-minded, stingy ways, unkempt and unconcerned.

Believe me, men like this will never win a woman’s heart. Just as men like to look at beautiful women, women want their men at least clean, neat, elegant, and generous.

So, the two girls mostly spoke with the effeminate one. As soon as the meal ended, they left with him.

After settling the bill, Fatty pondered and asked Zhang Pa, “Why does something feel off?”

“I feel it too,” Zhang Pa said.

Da Wu said, “Let’s go practice.”

Fatty complained, “The effeminate one brought the girls, so why are we the ones paying?”

Zhang Pa was furious. “Because you, you pig, when there’s food you forget everything else, even helping outsiders against me.”

Fatty nodded. “That’s a flaw. I’ll fix it.”

“Fix your head,” Zhang Pa muttered, carrying home the packed leftovers.

That evening, he remembered the big dog he’d seen the day before and wondered if fate might grant him a movie-style chance encounter. He bought two buns and, after some thought, added two sausages, and cycled to the university gate to set up his stall.

But life is not a movie. The big dog didn’t show. Zhang Pa ate his own dinner—the buns—and by ten thirty, ate the dog’s dinner too—the sausages. Then he rode home, dejected.

He arrived home after eleven. From a distance, he could hear shouting. A crowd had gathered, and there was Fatty, shameless as ever, one hand holding a chicken leg, the other a beer, happily eating and watching.

Cycling up, Zhang Pa sighed.

Lights glowed in several nearby homes. People stood in doorways, eyes fixed in one direction—toward the source of the commotion: Wang Baihe’s house. Her wretched father was causing trouble again.

Zhang Pa snapped at Fatty, “Aren’t you going to do something?”

“What for? The police have been called,” Fatty replied.

Turtle was standing nearby. “Who dares intervene? If you do, he’ll just throw himself on the floor. You got money to spare?”

Zhang Pa was angry. “Why does Happiness Lane always attract these types?”

“Watch your mouth. Has Granny Yu ever treated you badly? Are there no good people?” Turtle glared.

“Come on, I’m talking about that bastard inside. Leave Granny Yu out of this.” Zhang Pa threw down his box and pushed open the door.

Turtle called after him, “Are you out of your mind?” He watched Zhang Pa go in, sighed, and looked at Fatty.

Fatty sighed as well, set down his beer, finished his chicken, tossed the bone, and followed inside. Turtle joined them.

Inside, a fight was underway. Wang Baihe was swinging a knife at a man in his fifties, who defended himself with a pot, cursing as he blocked, “Damn you, I’m your father and you’re trying to kill me?”

Wang Baihe didn’t speak, just kept hacking, but never dared strike to kill, the whole scene clattering with noise.

Sun Yi sat clutching her head, crying her heart out.

Zhang Pa grabbed Wang Baihe’s arm, pulling her behind him. “The police have been called.”

Wang Baihe cursed at him, “Let go! I’m going to kill him!”

“If you kill him, what then? How old are you?”

“I don’t care! I’ll give him my life if I have to. I will kill him!” Wang Baihe shouted.

Zhang Pa dragged her toward Aunt Sun. “Auntie, are you okay?” he asked.

Sun Yi said nothing.

Wang Baihe’s wretched father took the chance to barge in, pointing at Sun Yi and shouting, “Listen, even if we’re divorced, you’re still mine. This house is mine too. Give me the deed!”

Zhang Pa ignored the man, focusing on calming Wang Baihe. “Hold on a little longer, just a little longer. The police will be here any second.”

Wang Baihe kept screaming, “I’m going to kill him!”

At that moment, Fatty and Turtle entered. Zhang Pa said, “Stand in front.”

Turtle and Fatty stood in front of Sun Yi like two walls, while Zhang Pa held onto Wang Baihe and took out his phone, switching to video mode. Whatever happened, he needed evidence to protect himself.

That’s the thing about people from Happiness Lane—they’re sharp from surviving in this environment. Their sense of the law is keen.

For instance, Wang Baihe’s father was committing unlawful entry—legally, a crime. He could go to jail. But even the owner couldn’t just hurt him unless he was actively committing violence, or they’d be held liable.

Sometimes, the law is hard to grasp. There had been a case here where two thieves from out of town were caught breaking in, and the homeowner injured them with a knife—he got three years in prison. Worse, because it happened in Happiness Lane, it took four calls and nearly an hour before the police arrived.

Since then, though, the police no longer drag their feet. This time, sixteen minutes after the call, the patrol car pulled up.

During that time, Wang Baihe’s father kept cursing, Wang Baihe screamed back, Sun Yi wept, and Fatty and Turtle formed a human shield while Zhang Pa restrained Wang Baihe and recorded.

Finally, the police arrived and took the man away. But even so, it didn’t solve much. The law is powerless against scoundrels—police and lawyers are people too, and all they want is to get rid of the trouble quickly.

In theory, they could sue the man, but ordinary families lack the energy for lawsuits. Hiring a lawyer isn’t cheap.

Zhang Pa accompanied Wang Baihe to the station to give statements and serve as a witness, hoping to keep the man locked up for a few days. The officers sympathized with Wang Baihe and spoke kindly, but sympathy was all they could offer.

By the time they left the station, it was past two in the morning. Wang Baihe said, “Sorry to trouble you again.”

“It’s nothing,” Zhang Pa replied. “It’s what I should do.”

Wang Baihe hesitated. “Really, thank you. But… about us… we’re not right for each other.”

Zhang Pa was stunned—he hadn’t even had that thought. Wang Baihe added, “I don’t like Happiness Lane. Not at all. I keep telling myself, I have to move out, away from this awful place, no matter what!”

“Happiness Lane is pretty chaotic,” Zhang Pa admitted.

Wang Baihe looked at him. “Zhang, thank you. You’re a good man.”

So, I’m a good man. The good man card comes so easily—I can hardly cherish it. Zhang Pa almost wanted to laugh.

On his way home, he ran into the two girls from next door, just getting out of a taxi.

The stairs were outside, a concrete flight leading to a door, then a small hallway pointing to three apartments.

Zhang Pa said goodbye to Wang Baihe at the bottom, went upstairs, and as he opened the door, the round-faced girl grinned at him, “So, did you win her over?”

He unlocked his own door. “Don’t talk nonsense. She’s not interested in me.”

“Not interested, huh? Not even in a writer.” The round-faced girl laughed and went into her room.

Zhang Pa went inside, too lazy even to wash his face, and went straight to bed.

The next morning, Fatty called: the effeminate one was quitting The Voice to shoot a web series, and wanted Zhang Pa as the screenwriter.

“I’m unreliable enough as it is. How can he be even more unreliable?” Zhang Pa replied.

“I think it’s doable. What do you think?” Fatty pressed.

“I think it’s not,” Zhang Pa said.

“Don’t be so quick to refuse. The effeminate one’s called a meeting at Turtle’s house. Get over here.”

“I’m not going.”

“If you don’t, I’m sleeping at your place tonight,” Fatty threatened.

Helpless, Zhang Pa agreed. But after he hung up, he still sat at his computer for an hour, writing, before heading out.

Turtle’s family ran a mahjong parlor, officially named Happiness Lane Community Senior Center. Thirteen mahjong tables spanned two floors. There were sessions every afternoon and evening, each table charging twenty. If all were full, that was five hundred and twenty a day, plus drinks and snacks—a decent profit.

With Fatty and their gang of young toughs around, no one but the police ever made trouble. In return, Turtle hosted a barbecue for everyone once or twice a month—always a big group.

In the mornings, the parlor was empty. Zhang Pa arrived and found Liuzi smoking on the stairs. “Why are you out here?” he asked.

“Annoyed. They kicked me out,” Liuzi grumbled.

“Why?” Zhang Pa chuckled.

“They kicked both me and Old Meng. Said we have too many tattoos for the camera.”

Zhang Pa laughed. “Want some sympathy? Serves you right! Who told you to get all that ink?”

“Whatever, half the people inside have tattoos. They should be kicked out too!” Liuzi cursed.

“All right, let’s go in,” Zhang Pa said, heading upstairs past him.

There were rooms on both floors. Smoking was allowed downstairs, forbidden upstairs—a unique policy in Happiness Lane. Fatty and his friends usually hung out below; except for the effeminate one, they all smoked.

But today’s meeting was upstairs?

Curious, Zhang Pa pushed the door open—and was taken aback. Where did all these women come from?

At that moment, the effeminate one led the applause. “Here comes our great writer, our in-house screenwriter—let’s give him a hand!”

The girls were generous, clapping enthusiastically.

Zhang Pa asked, “What’s going on here?”

“We’re starting a production company for a web series. Everyone here is crew,” the effeminate one explained.

“What about Liuzi and Old Meng?”

“They’re running errands—crew support,” he replied.

Looking around, Zhang Pa realized that aside from the handful who had jobs, all the idlers were here.