Chapter 35: The Puppy

Cheng Simin clung to Shi Ying’s side like a struggling student desperate to copy answers before the exam ended, her loyalty unwavering and somewhat servile.

With just a slight turn of his head, Shi Ying could see straight into her loose neckline, revealing the cheap plastic sandals she was wearing. Summer vacation was almost over, yet she still wore such flimsy things—didn’t she fear catching a chill on her way home?

He should call over the disciplinary committee to dock her appearance score entirely.

Shi Ying clicked his tongue in disapproval and shrugged off his denim jacket, tossing it over her head.

Cheng Simin caught the garment and clicked her tongue back at him. “What’s this for? I’m not carrying your stuff for you. It’s heavy.”

Back when their classes were combined for physical education last year, Shi Ying would often make her hold his clothes or watch his sneakers. His outfits were always flashy and exaggerated—bright sports jerseys paired with either white-and-blue school uniforms or black Air Force Ones and Adidas shell toes. Though the shoes looked the same, today’s soles might be jelly-like, while tomorrow’s had inverted hooks.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. During PE class, the basketball jerseys he carried in his bag never repeated—there must have been dozens of them. Red-and-white paired with black shoes, pink-and-blue with silver ones, plus bomber jackets and cargo pants that could be unbuttoned and slid off his legs in one swift motion.

These piles of clothes would be stuffed into his backpack after swapping out his uniform and sneakers, then handed over to Cheng Simin for safekeeping. What did she think she was—a wardrobe manager?

But this time, Shi Ying didn’t ask her to carry anything. Instead, he gestured vaguely toward the jacket draped over her shoulders. “Put it on. In a shady place like this, who knows if there are hidden cameras in those private rooms. You’re dressed so lightly; cover up a bit. Don’t let some random movie get leaked online two days later.”

Shi Ying casually pulled out a box of DVDs from the “romance” section, flipping through them with his fingertips until an explicit cover caught his eye. He nearly laughed out loud—who needed to come to a store to watch these kinds of things? His house had the latest Sony LCD TV with a built-in wireless receiver. As long as it was connected to Wi-Fi, he could access as much of that content as he wanted.

Bored, the young man pushed the cardboard box back and wandered over to the horror movie section, leaving behind the most popular area.

Cheng Simin was thoroughly spooked by what he’d just said. Her eyes widened into perfect circles as she hurriedly slipped his oversized jacket onto herself. She spent several minutes inspecting it carefully, but fortunately, Shi Ying was much taller than her, and the coat reached down far enough to button up completely, functioning as a modest midi-skirt.

Seeing that Shi Ying had already walked out of sight, Cheng Simin scurried after him like an eager puppy. “What’s a hidden camera? Why would they put it online? Don’t leave me hanging!”

Shi Ying kept his gaze lowered, his expression calm and silent. Doubt clouded Cheng Simin’s round face as she bared her teeth. “Stop being mysterious. Are you trying to scare me? Do you want me to punch you with my sandal-sized fist?”

Shi Ying didn’t feel like delving deeper into the topic. Randomly pulling out a DVD, he offered a brief explanation: “You’ll understand once your family buys a computer. Or how about we watch this instead? I think you’ll like it.”

After middle school, besides listening to pop music and studying astrology, Cheng Simin had developed another passion: retelling horror stories she read in magazines during their walk home. Tales of embroidered shoes, eighty-eight levels of hell, and rain-soaked ghosts emerging from the junior high basement.

Whenever she reached a thrilling part, she deliberately paused for suspense, turning her head to scrutinize Shi Ying’s face, searching for any trace of fear.

Cheng Simin tried so hard, her eyes blazing with intensity, her nostrils flaring, and her entire little round face taut with anticipation, practically begging Shi Ying to react with fright.

And every time, Shi Ying obliged—shaking his wrist slightly, trembling his pupils, and putting on a convincingly scared expression just for her amusement. It was all playful teasing, nothing serious enough to question the integrity of their friendship.

“The Shining? Is it foreign?” Cheng Simin quickly lost interest in hidden cameras, abandoning her inquiry as she picked up the disc to read the synopsis on the back.

She didn’t know Stephen King, but the praise for the original work wasn’t fabricated. Holding the disc, she seemed satisfied. Then, thinking of Shi Ying’s fear of the dark and ghosts, her confidence swelled slightly. Tilting her head, she asked with genuine concern, like a senior mentor, “This movie seems pretty scary. Can you handle it?”

The girl hadn’t forgotten to comfort her friend’s weakness: “But it’s okay—we’re all here together, so you won’t be scared. If it gets too much, you can hold my hand.”

“All right, Cheng Simin. Make sure to protect me, then.”

Shi Ying’s eyelids drooped, and the corners of his mouth curled upward—not a mocking sneer this time, but a genuinely amused smile. Cheng Simin always had this ability to make even the dullest situations entertaining.

Success and failure both stemmed from this friendship—it was the source of his frustration, but also his joy.

Who knew? Maybe their friendship could still be salvaged. After tonight, Cheng Simin might not remain friends with Qiao Yusi anymore. As for “watching a movie,” Qiao Yusi’s plans had clearly missed the mark.

Perhaps she assumed that lurid films were like spiritual narcotics for teenagers—irresistible.

But Shi Ying knew Cheng Simin’s preferences inside out. She wouldn’t enjoy those poorly made visuals because the scenes were usually unattractive, the plots lacked substance, and the male leads designed to please male audiences were invariably grotesque and nauseating.

From the other end of the shelves, Qiao Yusi observed their interaction through gaps between boxes, holding a few selected DVDs in her hands. Seeing Cheng Simin wearing Shi Ying’s jacket, she sneered dismissively.

Hidden cameras? Please, don’t insult people. Explosion Head’s cousin might’ve frequented juvenile detention centers before turning eighteen, but only for violent brawls and gang loyalty. He was human too, with sisters of his own—filming videos to blackmail girls wasn’t something he’d stoop to.

Upon hearing their childish banter about watching horror movies and protecting each other, she rolled her eyes in disgust, shivering at the cheesiness. Without delay, she sidestepped over, tugging gently on Cheng Simin’s arm with feigned reproach. “Minmin, there you are! I’ve been looking for you forever.”

“Did you pick a movie? What’s this?”

Cheng Simin held up the horror film, but Qiao Yusi glanced at it briefly before snatching it away and tossing it back into the box. She presented her own selections, criticizing their taste: “Horror movies are so outdated—death and gore. Only boys like them. I picked a few award-winning art films. Let’s choose from these!”

Under无形的 peer pressure, Cheng Simin immediately agreed, taking the DVDs Qiao Yusi handed her.

Among Lust, Caution , Apple , and Half Sea Half Flame , Cheng Simin ultimately chose Apple because her favorite childhood TV drama was My Fair Princess . She didn’t fully understand what an art film was, but this one featured actors she recognized.

When Qiao Yusi approached earlier, Shi Ying’s expression darkened. Watching Cheng Simin abandon his recommendation for hers, he couldn’t help but let out a derisive snort. “So you don’t like horror movies anymore? Didn’t realize you were so fickle, Cheng Simin.”

Qiao Yusi pretended not to hear his sarcastic remarks, pulling Cheng Simin toward the second-floor screening room. With her left arm firmly held by Qiao Yusi, Cheng Simin twisted her upper body awkwardly, mouthing apologies to Shi Ying: “Sorry, sorry! Just this once, okay? Really! Next time won’t happen!”

Shi Ying stood rooted, staring at her impassively. Cheng Simin’s nose wrinkled, her lips pursed like a duck’s, on the verge of tears. Only then did he feign nonchalance, slipping his hands into his pockets and following.

Inside the screening room were two rows of seats. Explosion Head went to fiddle with the remote control near the TV, while Cheng Simin followed Qiao Yusi to sit in the front row. At this stage, the people closest to Qiao Yusi were Cheng Simin and Explosion Head, with others dispersing to take their seats, leaving the center spot on Cheng Simin’s left for Explosion Head.

Shi Ying entered last, showing no tact as he strode directly to claim the best seat in the viewing area.

As the movie screen lit up, Explosion Head turned around, and Qiao Yusi leaned forward to whisper softly to Cheng Simin: “Han Zi specially arranged this private screening through his cousin. How could someone not even save us a seat?”

Han Zi was Explosion Head’s name, but Shi Ying found it cumbersome—he’d heard it countless times and still couldn’t remember. To him, the guy would always be “Explosion Head.”

Unmoved, Cheng Simin quickly stood up, embarrassed. “Then I’ll sit in the back.”

Two hands reached out simultaneously—one from the left, Shi Ying tugging at the sleeve of his denim jacket, and one from the right, Qiao Yusi pulling at her skirt hem.

Shi Ying spoke first, his tone indifferent. “Didn’t you say you’d protect me? This movie seems pretty scary. A foot massage parlor? Who knows if there’ll be ghosts? Terrifying.”

Qiao Yusi chimed in next, her tone even more detached. “There are no ghosts in art films. Never mind, Minmin. Sit with him. I’ll move to the back.”

Qiao Yusi got up, circled around the seats, and sat behind Cheng Simin. Explosion Head thanked her and took his place to Cheng Simin’s right.

The movie began with a middle-aged man driving his private car along an elevated bridge, surrounded by uneven gray high-rises, pedestrians, and traffic. Long shots swept past construction site cranes and safety nets, finally resting on the sign “Golden Basin Foot Massage Center.”

In the dimly lit massage parlor, the female protagonist worked amidst rows of smelly feet. Breath tickled Cheng Simin’s neck as Qiao Yusi whispered to her: “Minmin, my eighteenth birthday is next week. Can I make a wish to you?”

Cheng Simin tilted her head, her peripheral vision catching Qiao Yusi’s fluttering lashes. “Sure! Anything I can do, just tell me.”

“I want to host a barbecue party and invite you. Will you come?”

“Of course! Why even ask? I wouldn’t miss your birthday for anything. What gift do you want? I’ll prepare it in advance.”

Every girl grows up with a same-sex idol—perhaps an older sister, a celebrity singer, or, if luckier, a perfect mother serving as a role model. But Cheng Simin’s life had always lacked such a figure, which was why Qiao Yusi became her worshipped princess.

“Well, gifts aren’t necessary. My parents can’t make it back next week, and our house is under renovation. I’d like to find a bigger place for the party, preferably with a garden where we can grill outdoors…”