[Translation] Stray Dog Bones (野狗骨头) by Xiu Tu Cheng (休屠城): Chapter 1: Unlocking a Door in Ten Minutes

 

Tengcheng.

Just as she remembered it—hot, humid, and shaded by dense greenery. The air hung heavy and sticky, carrying the distinctive smell of midsummer: a faint sourness mixed with the fresh yet bitter scent of thriving vegetation.

The gate was still the same old iron gate, and the lock was still the mechanical one installed years ago.

Miao Jing knocked for quite a while before her gaze settled on a peeling advertisement plastered on the wall:

"Unlocking doors in ten minutes."

The locksmith charged one hundred yuan. He casually inserted a piece of wire into the lock, gave it a twist, and with a click, the iron gate opened.

"Do you need to see my ID?"

"Didn't you say it's your own home? No need."

Dragging two enormous suitcases behind her, she looked exhausted. She had spent the entire night awake on the train, dark circles faintly visible beneath her eyes, and her clothes still carried the sour smell of instant noodles. Her accent didn't sound local. The locksmith studied her pretty face, then glanced at the simple furnishings inside the apartment before packing up his tools and leaving.

The building dated back to the 1990s. Its exterior walls and corridors were stained black with dust and cobwebs. Residents had piled their belongings in the stairwell. A cracked drainage pipe leaked filthy water across the floor. Dirty, stuffy, and cluttered with trash, the old neighborhood was run-down and chaotic. Nobody living here was wealthy.

Miao Jing pushed her luggage inside.

The apartment was a little over eighty square meters, with two bedrooms and a living room. The layout remained unchanged, though some of the furniture had been replaced. It wasn't clean, but it wasn't especially filthy either. The kitchen and refrigerator showed no signs of recent use. Yet the ashtray on the table overflowed with cigarette butts, and a crushed beer can on the coffee table still held half a can of stale beer.

After looking around, she headed toward the bedroom on the right.

The lock was rusted and wouldn't turn. After considerable effort, she finally forced the door open. Dust that had lain undisturbed for years swirled into the air, chokingly thick. Half the curtain had fallen down. Gray light filtered through the window. The old wooden bed had been dismantled until only its frame remained. The room was crammed with miscellaneous old furniture, leaving barely any place to stand.

She then opened the door to the left bedroom.

The curtains were half drawn, letting in bright sunlight. Inside stood a slightly worn mattress, a single wardrobe, and a desk cluttered with odds and ends. A plastic lighter sat casually on the desk, alongside a half-new mechanical wristwatch with a steel band. A pillow lay on the bed, with a man's white undershirt and gray sweatpants draped across it.

She backed out of the room, ate a few crackers in the living room, splashed water on her face, and then went to sleep.

The pillow belonged to a man.

It carried the mixed scent of cheap tobacco, sweat, and skin—strong and intoxicating like liquor left to ferment, sharp and invasive.

Turning over, she suddenly noticed something beside the pillow.

A strand of hair.

Long.

Black at the roots, wine-red through the middle, and yellowed at the ends.

A woman's hair.

Without showing any reaction, she got out of bed, opened the wardrobe, changed the sheets and pillowcases, then lay down again and closed her eyes.

Miao Jing slept deeply, not waking until two o'clock in the afternoon.

Both suitcases were stuffed to bursting with everything she owned. She set them on the floor, intending to unpack, but had no idea where to begin. After staring blankly for a long while, she wandered through the kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bedroom several times before finally opening a shopping app and placing an order:

Curtains, a mattress, pillows and blankets, bedding sets, an air conditioner, a fan, and countless miscellaneous household items.

Then she went to the supermarket.

Mops, cleaning cloths, detergent, shampoo, body wash, toilet paper, sanitary pads.

She returned carrying bags overflowing with purchases.

Several elderly neighbors sat chatting at the entrance of the alley. As they watched her carry things back trip after trip, their cloudy eyes followed her every movement.

Miao Jing recognized one of them.

"Grandma Zhang."

The old woman squinted.

"You... you're... from the Chen family on the second floor..."

"Miao Jing. Chen Yi's former little sister."

Grandma Zhang's eyes widened.

"You... why have you come back?"

"Mhm."

Miao Jing set down her shopping bags.

"Chen Yi isn't home. Has he been doing okay these past few years?"

Mentioning Chen Yi opened a floodgate of stories.

He was still the same as ever. Everyone had once thought he'd eventually end up in prison. Yet somehow he'd managed to drift through life, enduring years of neighborhood gossip and criticism.

"The same old Chen Yi. Still irresponsible, still unmarried, still hanging around with the wrong crowd..."

Miao Jing already knew most of it.

Over the past six years, Chen Yi had accomplished very little. He had spent a couple of years away from town, then returned to start a small business with friends. He associated with questionable people, dated women of dubious reputation, and most recently had become the owner of a billiards hall near a vocational high school.

Apparently, though, he'd been away for nearly half a month.

She had never expected much from him anyway.

A former delinquent who had only graduated from vocational school. Someone involved in extortion, fighting, and public disturbances. If he managed to avoid prison and live like an ordinary person, that alone counted as success.

There was no shortage of stories about Chen Yi.

There were plenty about Miao Jing too.

Before Grandma Zhang could steer the conversation toward her, Miao Jing excused herself, claiming she had things to do, and carried her purchases upstairs.

For the next week, she cleaned.

Kitchen first, then bathroom.

Throwing out what needed throwing out. Buying what needed buying.

When hungry, she ate instant noodles and crackers.

When tired, she slept on the mattress.

As deliveries arrived, she continued renovating the rooms, scrubbing, washing, assembling furniture, laundering bedding and clothing.

While clearing dusty cabinets covered in cobwebs, she found many things.

Her own old clothes and belongings.

Stacks of high school textbooks and exam papers packed into burlap sacks.

She spent a long time sorting through them, eventually sealing everything into storage boxes and sliding them beneath the bed.

Gradually, her room began to look livable.

She cleaned Chen Yi's room too.

Dust on top of wardrobes.

Curtains that hadn't been washed in years.

Bedding and clothes.

The floors and windows.

From beneath his bed she swept out dried cigarette butts, a colorful women's hair tie, and an unopened condom.

She threw them all away.

By the end of the week, her back ached from exhaustion.

Neighbors all around had heard and seen the activity on the second floor. Everyone knew someone had returned to the Chen family's apartment.

Some newer residents didn't recognize Miao Jing. Seeing her at twenty-four or twenty-five, elegant and refined, with a cool and distant demeanor entirely unlike Chen Yi's, they were surprised.

The older neighbors, however, knew the history.

And once they started talking about the Chen family, the gossip seemed endless.





Chen Yi had recently made a trip to Yunnan with a cargo truck.

A friend near the Yunnan border had tipped him off about a business opportunity. Seizing the chance, he bought a shipment of cheap goods—lighters, flashlights, and similar items—hired a freight driver, and transported them toward the Golden Triangle region. On the return trip, he loaded the truck with bananas and mangoes and brought them back to Tengcheng.

After deducting expenses, he made several tens of thousands of yuan.

Not a fortune, but decent money.

The billiards hall was slow during summer vacation, so the extra income helped.

The trip had been rushed.

He had eaten and slept in the truck the entire way.

The weather was scorching.

By the time he returned to Tengcheng, he smelled thoroughly sour and sweaty.

After wrapping up business, he planned to go home, take a shower, get some sleep, and then meet friends for drinks that evening.

He carried little luggage.

The same nylon duffel bag he had taken with him was slung over his shoulder on the way back.

Inside were quick-dry clothes, two cartons of cigarettes, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a towel, and a phone charger.

Tengcheng's climate was hot and humid. He peeled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and draped it over his shoulder, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he walked down the street.

The sight wasn't particularly respectable.

Yet people couldn't help noticing him.

He had that unmistakable aura of a young man in his prime—handsome, athletic, and unruly.

His skin was sun-darkened.

A jade pendant hung from a black cord around his neck.

Broad shoulders.

A powerful back.

Clearly defined muscles marked by scattered old scars.

His chest wasn't excessively bulky, but it was lean and sculpted. Flat abdominal muscles tapered into a narrow waist. Black pants hugged long, straight legs, the muscles of his thighs taut beneath the fabric.

His face was equally striking.

Around twenty-five or twenty-six years old.

Close-cropped hair.

Sharp, blade-like features.

A high nose.

Full lips with an unexpectedly sensual shape.

There was a harshness to him, though.

A scar cut through his left eyebrow.

A dangerous kind of handsomeness.

Most of all, it was in his eyes.

Wild.

Reckless.

Bright and defiant.

Carrying the lazy indifference of a stray animal lying with its tail down, yet always ready to bite back.

Blowing smoke rings, he climbed the stairs.

The aroma of chicken soup drifted through the corridor.

He wasn't sure which apartment it came from.

Fishing out his key, he opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made him stop.

The apartment was bright and spotless.

For a moment, it hardly seemed like his home.

Yet the furniture was familiar.

A wooden shoe rack stood by the entrance.

Women's sandals and high heels occupied the upper shelf.

His sneakers and flip-flops sat neatly below, washed clean and lined up perfectly.

The smell of chicken soup...

It was coming from his kitchen.

He even caught sight of the hem of a skirt moving inside.

Dropping his duffel bag onto the floor, he held his cigarette between two fingers and grinned lazily.

"Didn't you say you'd come over tonight? Trying to surprise me? Since when did you become so domesticated?"

The woman in the kitchen slowly stirred the soup simmering in a clay pot.

Hearing him, she turned around.

Their eyes met.

She had softened.

Matured.

The sharp edges were gone.

He froze.

His pupils contracted instantly.

The cigarette slipped from his hand and hit the floor.

"Holy shit."

His thick brows knitted together as he stared at her.

Then Miao Jing spoke first.

"You're back?"

"Want some chicken soup? I'll get you a bowl."

Chen Yi finally forced out a few words.

"You... damn it... you... what the hell are you doing here?"

"Why can't I be here?"

Miao Jing lowered her eyes and calmly ladled soup into a bowl.

"Can't I come back?"

"What the hell did you come back for?"

Pulling on his wrinkled T-shirt, he crouched to pick up the cigarette from the floor and shoved it back between his lips.

His gaze swept around the apartment.

Bright.

Warm.

Comfortable.

Both bedroom doors stood open.

The balcony was filled with freshly washed laundry.

A pale cover had been draped over the old sofa.

Fresh flowers sat on the coffee table.

He had only been gone a short while.

Yet the place had completely changed.

"Damn it... you..."

Miao Jing was already used to his language.

"Can you say anything without starting with 'damn it'?"

His expression shifted repeatedly before turning cold.

"How did you get in?"

"I hired a locksmith."

She placed the soup on the table.

"The spare key was in the drawer. I found it."

Then she added calmly:

"I found a job. The company is in the development zone. A new automobile factory branch was built there, and I'm transferring over. I start next week."

"The company housing isn't very good, so I'll stay here."

He stared at her.

"You're a graduate from a top university. And you came to work in this godforsaken little city? Did a car hit your head, or did your brain short-circuit?"

"College graduates are everywhere these days. Jobs are hard to find. In big cities everyone's highly educated, the pay isn't great, and people work overtime until midnight just to cover rent. Lots of people are moving back to their hometowns now."

"This is your hometown?"

He scoffed.

"What does this place have to do with you? Your hometown is in Z Province, over five hundred kilometers away."

"Brother..."

The word slipped out naturally.

"Didn't I live here for ten years too? I finally found a job. Can't I stay here temporarily?"

His face darkened.

"Am I your brother?"

From her angle, she could see his broad back and thick black hair.

His brows were tightly furrowed.

"Am I your brother?"

"Fine. Then you're not."

She sat at the table and sipped her soup.

"I'll pay you rent."

"Where have you been? You've been gone for so many days. You stink."

Ignoring her entirely, he got up and went to the bathroom for a cold shower.

After six years apart, suddenly finding another person living in his home was genuinely irritating.

After bathing, he went into his room to find clean clothes.

Then he kicked the wardrobe.

"You touched my stuff?"

"I washed a few dirty clothes and put them away."

Miao Jing stood in the doorway.

"T-shirts on the left. Pants on the right. I didn't touch your socks or underwear."

Grinding his teeth, he deliberately messed up the neatly folded pile.

Then she added casually:

"There were also some women's nightgowns and underwear. I put them in the drawer."

A muscle twitched in his temple.

"Your girlfriend's?"

"Yeah."

His answer came through clenched teeth.

"Red hair?"

His patience snapped.

"Are you sick?"

He slammed the wardrobe door.

"Miao Jing, are you sick?!"

Miao Jing merely pressed her lips together.

Her slippers made soft tapping sounds across the floor as she walked away and closed the bedroom door.

She sat down at her desk, opened her laptop, checked some emails, browsed a few websites, and eventually left the room.

By then, Chen Yi was gone.

Only a bowl of chicken soup remained on the table, completely cold.