Chapter Thirty-Nine: Something Feels Off

Often, when it comes to relationships between men and women, if the man owns an apartment where he works, he gains a significant advantage. Yang Baoqian wholeheartedly agreed with this view.

Therefore, upon learning that Zhang Congwen was still renting, Yang Baoqian made it a point to repeatedly emphasize that his own apartment was purchased, not rented. Although he hadn’t paid for the place himself—his parents had bought it—he still regarded the apartment as his own trump card in romance.

What he didn’t know was that, despite Zhu Qingyan’s family being extremely wealthy, she still rented her own place while working. It wasn’t that her family couldn’t afford to buy her an apartment—her parents could easily buy her one or two if she wished.

The real reason Zhu Qingyan continued to live in a rental was her desire to buy a place through her own efforts. She had a clear plan for her life: first, she would gain experience working under her father, then borrow some money from him to start her own business. After making some money, she would buy herself a modest apartment.

It didn’t have to be large—just enough for daily life would suffice.

So when Yang Baoqian boasted that he owned his apartment, Zhu Qingyan actually felt great contempt for him. It wasn’t that she looked down on people whose parents bought them homes, but she did look down on people like Yang Baoqian, who, despite never spending a cent of their own, flaunted their parents’ property as if it were their own achievement, all while subtly belittling those who didn’t own homes.

Such people, in her view, simply had questionable character.

Yang Baoqian had told the truth about his apartment, but in other respects, he wasn’t entirely honest. For example, he didn’t actually have a dog, didn’t know much about dogs, and had no intention of getting one in the future.

The only reason he dared to invite Zhang Congwen over for dog training was because he had already prepared for it in advance. There was indeed a dog at his place now, but it belonged to a friend. Upon learning that Zhu Qingyan had a dog, he borrowed his friend’s to help foster a bond between him and Zhu Qingyan.

His friend’s dog was a French Bulldog, with a goofy and adorable face, always eager to please. Yang Baoqian believed that with such careful preparation, Zhu Qingyan would be unable to resist the charm of this Frenchie. Once the dog had served its purpose in bringing them closer, he could simply return it. If Zhu Qingyan wanted to see the dog again, he could make excuses. In the worst case, he could always get a dog of his own.

Given Zhu Qingyan’s family background, it was worth making a few sacrifices if it meant winning her over.

However, what he never expected was that the moment he opened the door, he was hit by an unpleasant odor.

Yang Baoqian was taken aback. He had prepared meticulously for today, cleaning every corner of the apartment until it sparkled. There was no reason for any bad smell. What he didn’t realize was that French Bulldogs are notorious in the canine world for their foul-smelling flatulence. Because of their unique physiology, they are prone to indigestion and bloating, resulting in particularly pungent gas.

And this morning, he had carelessly fed the Frenchie some leftover sweet potatoes along with a generous helping of meat, intending to treat the dog well so it would be in top form when the time came.

He failed to consider that such a feast would only worsen the dog’s digestive issues. After he left, the Frenchie began to pass gas constantly. The combination of sweet potatoes and meat only intensified the stench, filling the entire apartment with the dog’s emissions.

Even then, Yang Baoqian had no idea how grave a mistake he had made. He thought the dog had made a mess somewhere in the apartment. In a panic, he rushed inside, opened all the windows, and scoured the place for any sign of dog droppings.

Of course, he found nothing.

Embarrassed, Yang Baoqian could do nothing but keep making excuses. Only after the air had cleared somewhat did Zhu Qingyan finally enter the apartment, albeit reluctantly.

“Where’s your dog?” Zhang Congwen asked, glancing around the living room with a slight frown. He looked for a long time, but no matter how he examined the place, it didn’t seem like a home where a dog lived. Even the tidiest dog owners usually have some evidence of a pet’s presence, but there was no sign of one here. Zhang Congwen was puzzled.

“In the crate in the bathroom,” Yang Baoqian replied, heading into the back room.

At this point, even Zhu Qingyan sensed something was off. In a typical dog owner’s home, unless the dog is a large breed known for tearing up the house, it’s rare for owners to lock their pets in a crate when they go out. Small dogs, being less destructive, are usually left in the living room. Even if a large dog is crated, the crate is hardly ever kept in the bathroom. Bathrooms are usually too cramped to accommodate a crate, unless the bathroom itself is unusually spacious—which, judging by Yang Baoqian’s apartment layout, was clearly not the case.

Yang Baoqian had no idea that by choosing to keep the dog in the bathroom, he had already exposed his lack of experience. He had only put the Frenchie there to prevent it from messing up his meticulously cleaned apartment or chewing on his belongings.

But when he brought the Frenchie out of the bathroom, Zhu Qingyan suddenly let out a startled cry and instinctively hid behind Zhang Congwen.

Both Zhang Congwen and Yang Baoqian were stunned, unable to understand why Zhu Qingyan would be afraid of the dog.

Yang Baoqian, in particular, grew even more hostile toward Zhang Congwen upon seeing Zhu Qingyan hide behind him. He barely managed to keep his composure for the sake of appearances and said, “It’s just a little dog, there’s no need to be scared.”

He set the Frenchie down on the floor. The dog, very friendly by nature, immediately trotted over to Zhu Qingyan. Terrified, she shrank back, curling up on the sofa.

Yang Baoqian had no idea that Zhu Qingyan had once been deeply afraid of dogs. As a child, she had been bitten by a small dog—not seriously, not even breaking the skin, but enough to cast a long shadow over her childhood. Though she had grown out of her fear and even kept a dog herself, she remained terrified of the breed that had bitten her all those years ago.

The dog that bit her had been a pug, and the French Bulldog before her bore a striking resemblance to that breed.

Since Yang Baoqian had not mentioned the breed in advance, Zhu Qingyan’s panic had made her mistake the Frenchie for a pug.

Had Yang Baoqian known this was the reason for her fear, he might have been frustrated enough to spit blood.