Chapter Eleven: Commercial Commissions

Zhang Congwen hadn’t originally intended for Liu Mei to tour the house, but seeing how proactive she was, he didn’t stop her. Liu Mei first led Song Jiawei around the living room, then to the other rooms, and finally to the bedroom she shared with her husband. She smiled at Song Jiawei and said, “The room’s not tidied up, hope you don’t mind.”

Liu Mei’s words were meant as a polite gesture, but Song Jiawei saw it differently. He even wondered if Zhang Congwen had secretly sold him out because he couldn’t find a job, hoping to profit from it.

How else could things have progressed so quickly?

Zhang Congwen had only wanted to see Song Jiawei’s awkward expression, never imagining the boy’s mind would be so full of wild thoughts. When Song Jiawei cast him a pleading look, Zhang Congwen simply smiled and ignored him.

Nearby, Zhu Qingyan watched Song Jiawei’s embarrassed face and quietly asked Zhang Congwen, “Why is your friend so nervous?”

“Maybe he’s just introverted,” Zhang Congwen replied.

Introverted? Even as he spoke, Zhang Congwen knew he was lying.

But Zhu Qingyan, unaware, nodded in agreement. Although Song Jiawei had ridden in her car with Zhang Congwen and they’d chatted casually, she’d never paid much attention to Song Jiawei and didn’t know anything about his personality.

Fortunately, Liu Mei didn’t actually bring Song Jiawei into her bedroom. She simply let him glance inside from the doorway before leading him back to the sofa in the living room.

As soon as Song Jiawei sat down, Zhang Congwen said, “Fatty, head downstairs and wait for my signal.”

“Alright.”

This time, Song Jiawei had no objections. Relieved, he hurriedly “escaped” outside.

Once Song Jiawei had fled, Zhang Congwen’s phone began to chime with messages—all from Song Jiawei, no doubt. Zhang Congwen ignored them.

“Auntie, have you noticed any changes?” Zhang Congwen asked.

Liu Mei nodded. While she’d been showing Song Jiawei around, she’d kept an eye on her dog, Tuan Tuan.

“Whenever guests come to the house, no matter where they go, Tuan Tuan always follows them closely, as if keeping watch. But today, Tuan Tuan hasn’t followed anyone.”

In fact, after Liu Mei led Song Jiawei around the living room, the Bichon Frise lost interest in him and went off to lie in a corner.

“If you keep up this method, based on Tuan Tuan’s current behavior, I’d say it’ll be completely corrected within two months,” Zhang Congwen said. “Since my friend’s here today, let’s do a simple desensitization session for Tuan Tuan.”

He pulled out his phone and sent Song Jiawei a two-word message: “Come up.”

Song Jiawei had barely reached the ground floor when he received Zhang Congwen’s message. Frustrated, he could only comply.

Coming back up to Zhu Qingyan’s floor, Tuan Tuan began barking again—but this time, the bark was quieter and less frequent.

Liu Mei repeated the process as Zhang Congwen had instructed.

Only then did Song Jiawei start to realize he’d misunderstood earlier. All these actions were actually aimed at dog training. Yet, he couldn’t figure out how what they were doing related to training a dog. It felt more like they were training him instead.

No sooner had Song Jiawei sat on the sofa than Zhang Congwen sent him out again, repeating the process.

By the third time, Zhang Congwen didn’t even need to prompt him; Song Jiawei went out on his own. Likewise, the Bichon Frise’s reaction to Song Jiawei grew weaker each time.

By the fifth round, hearing Song Jiawei’s voice no longer provoked barking, nor did the dog even want to get up. It simply lay in place, watching the entryway.

Once the desired result had been achieved, Zhang Congwen halted the desensitization training.

“Auntie, let’s stop today’s session here. Further training won’t bring new progress now. But you must persist with this method, otherwise the behavior might rebound.”

“Are you sure it’s not just because I’ve been back and forth so many times that the dog’s gotten used to me?” Song Jiawei asked uncertainly.

He didn’t understand the rationale behind this training, but something felt off. Zhu Qingyan and Liu Mei shared his doubts, but having witnessed the Bichon Frise’s previous changes, they refrained from pressing the issue.

Zhang Congwen explained, “That is part of it, which is why I said further training won’t bring new progress. But it also proves the method works. If Tuan Tuan was simply getting familiar with someone, it should be more familiar with Qingyan, since she visits more often than Song Jiawei. Yet every time Qingyan comes, Tuan Tuan still barks. This means Tuan Tuan’s barking is not about the person, but the situation. So it’s not a matter of familiarity. As for getting used to the process, that’s part of the training. Over time, Tuan Tuan will become fully accustomed, completely desensitized.”

After hearing Zhang Congwen’s explanation, Liu Mei’s worries were finally laid to rest.

Checking the time, it was nearly half past noon. She promptly invited Zhang Congwen and Song Jiawei, “Stay for lunch. You’ve been busy all morning, you must be tired.”

Zhang Congwen was about to decline, but Zhu Qingyan smiled and said, “Stay for lunch! My mom’s cooking is fantastic.”

After some thought, he agreed.

The meal was soon ready, filling the house with delicious aroma. Although they were just ordinary home-cooked dishes, Zhu Qingyan’s mother’s skills were exceptional.

“Today, we must thank both Xiao Zhang and Xiao Song,” Liu Mei said with a smile.

“Oh, Auntie, no need for thanks. Zhu Qingyan is Zhang Congwen’s friend, which makes her my friend too. Helping out is only right,” Song Jiawei replied, chatting easily with Zhu Qingyan and Liu Mei as they ate, keeping the conversation lively.

Unlike Song Jiawei, Zhang Congwen wasn’t very talkative; apart from responding occasionally, he hardly spoke. His family had taught him as a child not to talk while eating, and he still kept that habit.

Often, Zhang Congwen felt this was not a good habit. At gatherings where conversation was expected over meals, he struggled to speak up. For this reason, he always resisted jobs that required dealing with people. Otherwise, he might have joined Song Jiawei in his work.

During the meal, Zhu Qingyan received a phone call. After hanging up, she smiled and said to Zhang Congwen, “Master Zhang, there’s a job for you—want to take it?”

“What kind of job?” Zhang Congwen asked, curious.

“Dog training, of course,” Zhu Qingyan winked. “Today my dad went to a friend’s home. That friend said his friend’s family was bitten by their own dog and wants a trainer. So my dad asked me to see if you’d be interested. If you are, he’ll introduce you. And he said it’ll be a regular paid job.”

“Is there money? Of course I’ll go!” Song Jiawei answered for Zhang Congwen without even asking his opinion. He knew Zhang Congwen was unemployed and short on cash; any opportunity to earn couldn’t be missed.