Chapter Thirty-Six: Playing with Fire

Zhang Congwen had originally thought that Mr. Xie was just being polite, but to his surprise, Song Jiawei shamelessly accepted the invitation without hesitation.

Considering that Song Jiawei now carried the dual burdens of negotiating business and flirting with a pretty girl, Zhang Congwen said nothing further.

Dinner was lavish, and Mr. Xie himself took charge in the kitchen. His wife, who had never appeared before, joined them at the table. Like Xie Julie, she spoke softly and gently; though not beautiful, at first glance she was the very picture of a virtuous and caring wife.

This made Zhang Congwen wonder: if Song Jiawei and Xie Julie ever became a couple, Xie Julie would likely be of the same type as her mother. The thought stirred in him a touch of jealousy for Song Jiawei’s luck, and he couldn’t help but lament that such a delicate flower might one day be planted in a clump of cow dung.

In truth, dining with strangers was something Zhang Congwen deeply resisted. Yet, thanks to his natural presence—or lack thereof—he often felt invisible at the table, easily overlooked by others. He didn’t mind this; in fact, he rather enjoyed it.

He expected tonight’s meal to be no different. Xie Julie and her mother whispered among themselves, Song Jiawei showered Mr. Xie with skillful compliments, and everyone seemed absorbed in their own affairs, paying him no mind.

But Zhang Congwen forgot about Xie Caizhe, who sat beside him.

Xie Caizhe, brimming with excitement, peppered him with questions about dog training. At first, Zhang Congwen thought Xie Caizhe was genuinely interested, but Xie Caizhe shook his head and confessed, “I just want to brag to my buddies back at school.”

With a resigned smile, Zhang Congwen shared a few tidbits—things most people wouldn’t know but were of little consequence. For example, the leash he often referred to as a collar was properly called a "p-chain." A dog’s nose has unique patterns, much like human fingerprints, and no two are alike. Dogs may be omnivores, but they cannot eat chocolate; it’s poison to them. Most dogs, in fact, suffer from acrophobia; take them off the ground, and they’re afraid.

It wasn't that Zhang Congwen wanted to withhold real knowledge from Xie Caizhe. He was simply concerned that, at this age, Xie Caizhe might show off in front of others and end up bitten by a dog, which would weigh on his conscience.

Though the information wasn’t exactly what Xie Caizhe had hoped for, he was nonetheless thrilled. For Xie Caizhe, bragging rights didn’t require genuine expertise—just knowing a bit more than his friends was enough.

“So it’s settled. Tomorrow, I’ll go to your company and sign the contract.”

At the end of dinner, Mr. Xie finally spoke these words, and Song Jiawei broke into a wide smile. It seemed the deal that had stalled for so long was now clinched by Song Jiawei.

Back at their rented apartment, Song Jiawei’s grin hadn’t faded. While Zhang Congwen had been running around for two days, it was Song Jiawei who emerged as the big winner—not only securing the deal, but charming an innocent girl as well.

Ding dong!

Suddenly, Zhang Congwen’s phone chimed. He checked it and saw a transfer of twenty thousand yuan from Song Jiawei. Staring at Song Jiawei in disbelief, he asked, “Did you win the lottery, or do you just have too much money? Why send me so much out of the blue?”

Song Jiawei replied smugly, “This is your reward from daddy. If you don’t want it, send it back.”

Following his principle of never refusing easy money, Zhang Congwen naturally accepted. Still, he was curious about the source of the funds.

After a brief complaint, Song Jiawei explained, “Ten thousand is your dog training fee from Mr. Xie. He forgot to pay you at the time and remembered only when we were leaving, but since he didn’t have your contact info, he asked me to transfer it.”

He even showed Zhang Congwen the chat record with Mr. Xie. Though Song Jiawei believed Zhang Congwen would never suspect him of skimming off the top, he felt it was better to be transparent.

“And what about the other ten thousand?” Zhang Congwen asked.

“Five thousand is compensation from Mr. Xie for the bite I got from Da Hu. The other five thousand is mine. Since you helped me close the deal, you deserve a cut,” said Song Jiawei. “Daddy says this deal will support you for two months. See? I keep my promises.”

“Well, the son is quite filial,” Zhang Congwen shot back. “But it’s only ten thousand altogether. If, as you say, you could go six months without working and still eat well, you must be making a tidy sum off this deal. Ten thousand is just a small fraction, isn’t it?”

Zhang Congwen knew Song Jiawei well. He spent money lavishly; if he claimed he could coast for half a year, the deal must be big. The ten thousand he’d given was surely just a drop in the bucket.

“You’re getting greedy now. I only have two thousand left, and I was planning to stretch it till the end of the month,” Song Jiawei retorted disdainfully. He knew Zhang Congwen wasn’t actually complaining about the amount, just making conversation, so he didn’t take it seriously.

“Wait,” Song Jiawei suddenly remembered, smacking his head. “You think ten thousand is too little? I’ll send you the last two thousand as well. You’ll have to support me this month.”

“Get lost,” Zhang Congwen replied instantly. “If you do, I’ll block you.”

They both laughed.

Afterward, Song Jiawei lost interest in chatting, made a rude gesture at Zhang Congwen, and retreated to his room with his phone.

Song Jiawei had barely entered his room when Zhang Congwen’s phone rang again. He rarely socialized, and seldom did anyone reach out to him—especially at this late hour, when even telemarketers would have finished their shifts.

With some curiosity, Zhang Congwen checked the caller ID: it was Zhu Qingyan, which made him even more puzzled.

He answered and heard her sweet voice, “Master Zhang, the dog trainer, what are you up to?”

“It’s late. What made you decide to call me now?” he asked.

“Am I not allowed to call you?” she replied.

Hearing a hint of grievance in her voice, Zhang Congwen quickly said, “Of course not. I’m always glad when you call.”

“Hmph. I’m inviting you to lunch at my place tomorrow. Will you come?”

“Maybe not. Tomorrow I…” he began, but she interrupted, “You must come! I need your help. Please.”

Her tone was soft, almost coquettish, and filled Zhang Congwen with doubts. He wondered if her dog Tuantuan was in trouble again, but before he could ask, she added, “Dress nicely tomorrow.”

Then she hung up in a flash.