Chapter 77: The Swine Best Friend

3:30 in the afternoon.

Huang Guolun arrived at Salome Cafe by the lakeside of Houhai.

The last time he’d come here was at night, and he hadn’t paid much attention to the surroundings of the Duck House. This time, arriving in daylight and parking his car beside the alley next to the cafe, he immediately noticed a vacant lot directly across from the Duck House, bordering the lake—a small square with exercise equipment, where a group of middle-aged women were energetically dancing to “Little Apple.” The noise was rather disruptive.

No wonder the Duck House’s business wasn’t good. For a cafe that prided itself on music and a quiet, leisurely atmosphere, having a fitness square blaring music so close by completely shattered the ambiance. Who would want to come here to read or go on a date in peace?

Sure enough.

He pushed open the door and entered the Duck House. As always, there were hardly any customers inside.

Today, the cafe’s pastry chef, Sister Xu, was present, along with two servers, Liu Xiaowei and Su Ling—a man and a woman. None of the three recognized Huang Guolun and assumed he was a customer.

Sister Xu, who was in the middle of baking, took off her gloves, twisted her plump body into a smile fit for business, and personally came over to greet him, “Hello, welcome to Salome Cafe.”

“Hello. I’m looking for your boss, Zhao Yan. Is she here?”

Huang Guolun glanced around the main hall but saw neither Zhao Yan nor Zhao Jing. What did catch his eye, though, was a newly acquired black piano against the wall.

From the style, Huang Guolun immediately recognized it as a KAWAI upright piano, model 121. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the NS-10, an old model from the mid-1980s. Though it had some age, if it was in decent condition, its tone should still be excellent—a very high-end entry-level home piano. Even on the second-hand market, it would fetch at least fifteen thousand.

“You must be… Teacher Huang?”

As Huang Guolun appraised the piano, Sister Xu was also sizing him up anew, her smile becoming even warmer. Clearly, Zhao Yan had spoken of his reputation.

Snapping back to attention, Huang Guolun smiled, “That’s right, it’s me. Is Zhao Yan here?”

Sister Xu’s manner turned friendly. “Ya Ya—Zhao Yan—has gone out to buy something. Zhao Jing and Huanzi are here. Please, have a seat inside… This is Xiaowei, and this is Lingzi—they’re all part of our staff.”

She made introductions. There’s a saying: “Birds of a feather flock together.” The Duck House’s group could be called the “Weight Class.” Whether by design or coincidence on Zhao Yan’s part, all the staff—Sister Xu the pastry chef, and the two servers, Liu Xiaowei and Su Ling—were on the heavier side. Sister Xu was stout, while Liu Xiaowei and Su Ling were chubby.

Having spent so much time with Huang Tao, Huang Guolun found round faces increasingly pleasing to the eye; he even found them endearing. He remembered Huang Tao once saying, “Every chubby person has a kind heart—they’re too busy eating to scheme against others.” Huang Guolun thought there was some truth in that, and he genuinely enjoyed the company of plump people.

Huang Tao would surely fit right in and have much to talk about in this cafe full of kindred spirits.

At the very back of the Duck House was a cozy, country-style private room. Zhao Jing and Huanzi were sitting there, chatting idly. Hearing that Huang Guolun had arrived, Zhao Jing leapt to her feet, radiant with excitement, and came out to greet him, beaming, “Teacher Huang, you’ve finally shown yourself! I thought you’d stand us up again today!”

She was, as always, dressed in snow-white, her tone as irreverent as ever. Zhao Jing clearly had a fondness for white—every time he’d seen her, she wore it. She had a brash, self-assured personality. But in terms of looks, Huang Guolun had to admit that this fresh-faced young woman was among the most striking of all the women he knew.

Unlike the last time, when she’d eyed him with skepticism and hostility, this time Zhao Jing greeted him with the anticipation of a child awaiting the stars and the moon—warm and enthusiastic.

When she approached, Huang Guolun was momentarily startled, thinking this beautiful young woman was about to give him a hug. But that wasn’t it. Zhao Jing had spotted the bulging paper bag in his hand and eagerly moved to take it from him. “You’re so thoughtful, bringing a gift! Let me see what it is.”

Huang Guolun handed over the paper bag. “It’s not really a gift. My brother’s company made a movie and produced a batch of promotional T-shirts. If you like them, feel free to give a few away.”

Zhao Jing’s eyes sparkled. “Your brother owns a film company?”

“Yes, a small one—not very well-known.”

As they spoke, a big, stout young woman emerged from the private room. Given her size, she was nearly double Zhao Jing’s scale. Her loose, deep-red sweater fit her like a second skin, thanks to her rounded belly, which looked about six months pregnant. Around her neck hung a large silver cross, quite conspicuous. Judging by her appearance, she was nearing thirty, with a broad, pancake-shaped face and eyes even bigger than Zhao Wei’s—so large they bordered on alien—but with drooping corners and a slightly gloomy air.

Zhao Jing introduced her as Huanzi, Zhao Yan’s closest friend—a devout Christian who attended church every week.

Sister Xu invited Huang Guolun into the private room and brought him a house-specialty latte and two desserts, then left them to their conversation.

Huanzi, given her size, claimed an entire sofa to herself. Huang Guolun and Zhao Jing sat opposite. Zhao Jing, studying one of the T-shirts, played with it repeatedly—she was a media student, fascinated by film and promotion.

She asked, “It’s online—so is this an internet feature film? The title makes big claims, ‘China’s best zombie film,’ but honestly, the title is terrible—‘You Were Once a Beauty, Now a Corpse.’ That’s practically daring audiences not to watch. It’s one of the worst movie titles I’ve ever seen, right up there with ‘American Virgin: The Peacock Spreads Its Tail.’”

For once, Huang Guolun had to agree with her sharp critique. “The title is pretty bad, but the film’s actually quite good. It’s not the trashy sort you might expect online—you should check it out if you get a chance.”

To his surprise, Zhao Jing said, “My thesis was on the future and bottlenecks of new media film in China. The new media market’s been developing rapidly these last few years—web films are getting more sophisticated, and plenty of A- and B-list stars are appearing in them. Did your brother’s film hire any big names?”

“No famous stars—just actors from my brother’s own company, so it lacks a bit of clout. But the film itself is really entertaining. I did all the music and the theme song.”

“Not bad, Teacher Huang! Scoring a whole film—impressive!” Zhao Jing praised, then said to Huanzi, “This Teacher Huang is a real talent—he’s a musical genius!”

Huang Guolun smiled helplessly. “Don’t flatter me—I’ll get conceited.”

Zhao Jing retorted, “You should be proud! If I had your talent, I’d have soared long ago!”

Huanzi, who hadn’t stopped eating cookies, finally chimed in, “Teacher Huang, I’ve heard about your musical talents. After you visited last time, Ya Ya and I talked about you for days.”

Huang Guolun played along, “What did she say about me?”

Huanzi swallowed a cookie, her large eyes glinting curiously, took a sip of coffee, and said, “She said that after hearing your ‘Little Love Song,’ she was reminded of her first boyfriend—he sang that song to her too.”

Zhao Jing’s expression soured with annoyance. “Why’s my sister thinking about that old painter again?”

Huanzi declared, “She’s never forgotten him. Someone like your sister, who lives in a fairy tale, there’s no difference between loving someone for a day and loving them for a lifetime. She’s never had another boyfriend all these years—she just can’t let go of him. She always hoped for a fairy-tale ending, but now that hope’s gone for good.”

Zhao Jing frowned inwardly, thinking, “Why does this fat Huanzi have to bring up the worst topics at the worst times? What a pig of a friend! No, a pig of a bestie!”

Zhao Jing tried to change the subject. “Forget that painter. Hey, my sister’s just out buying some candy—why isn’t she back yet? I’ll call her and hurry her up.”

Huang Guolun interjected, “No need, let her take her time. I’m free this afternoon—I can stay here a while.”

Zhao Jing brightened. “Great! Then we can talk about your solo show.”

Huanzi, done with the cookies and now cracking sunflower seeds—utterly lacking in tact—dragged the conversation back to Zhao Yan’s first love and said to Huang Guolun, “Teacher Huang, I was Ya Ya’s classmate in high school—we’ve known each other for ages. I know everything about her. You haven’t heard her high school love story, have you?”

Zhao Jing nearly wanted to kick Huanzi under the table, glaring and gritting her teeth. “Sister Huan, can you stop telling embarrassing stories about my sister to everyone you meet?”

Huanzi ignored her, laughing, “What’s so embarrassing about it?” and continued, “Ya Ya only ever had one boyfriend—it was a boy from the class next door, Zhao Yijun, an art student, really handsome, and later got into the Central Academy of Fine Arts. I remember in high school, Ya Ya had a crush on him for ages, but even by graduation she hadn’t dared say a word. One day, I don’t know what got into her, she wrote him a note—not even a real love letter, just a scrap of paper saying she liked him. I remember it clearly: after lunch, we were walking back to class, and we ran into Zhao Yijun. Ya Ya mustered all her courage, blushed, and rushed over to stuff the note into his hand. Then she spent the whole afternoon agonizing over how he’d respond. But after school, she checked her pocket and almost burst into tears right in front of me.”

Huang Guolun, utterly confused, asked, “Why? Did Zhao Yijun reject her?”

“Worse!” Huanzi snorted, spitting out a sunflower seed shell. “She checked her pocket and found that the note for Zhao Yijun was still there. What was missing was a crumpled one-yuan bill.”

Huang Guolun burst out laughing. “You mean she accidentally handed him the money instead of the note?”

Huanzi laughed, “Exactly! Isn’t Ya Ya a scatterbrain?”

Zhao Jing was nearly beside herself, wishing she could kick Huanzi out and put an end to her sister’s ancient love stories.

“Stop airing my sister’s dirty laundry!”

She snapped at Huanzi, then suddenly stood up and left the room to fetch a hand drum for Huang Guolun. She hoped he’d start singing soon—anything to keep Huanzi’s big mouth occupied.