Chapter Forty-One: Furious from Shame

Some say that a person’s character can be judged by how they handle alcohol. Zhang Congwen never drinks, and thus cannot comment on this notion.

However, he believes that the way one treats animals can also reveal something about their character—there are patterns worth noting. The way Yang Baoqian handled the French bulldog was entirely because the dog had let out an ill-timed fart. But the problem was, a dog has no concept of propriety. It doesn’t know when something is appropriate or inappropriate. It isn’t human and doesn’t understand human etiquette.

The world of a dog is simple—when it feels the need to bark, it barks; when it needs to relieve itself, it does so; and when it feels uncomfortable, it farts. There is nothing wrong with that. Besides, the French bulldog did not fart out of malice. Ultimately, the issue lay with Yang Baoqian himself. Yet Yang Baoqian was completely oblivious to his own fault, instead blaming the dog and using it as a scapegoat. For the bulldog, it was an unearned disaster.

Zhang Congwen disliked Yang Baoqian’s actions and therefore wished to leave as soon as possible.

“Um…”

Yang Baoqian was unprepared for Zhang Congwen’s question. The dog wasn’t his, nor did he normally keep dogs, so he had no idea what to have the bulldog trained on. But with Zhu Qingyan present, he had to keep up appearances.

“If you notice any problems with the bulldog, just help me train it,” Yang Baoqian said, grasping at straws to cover his uncertainty.

“I’m sorry. If you can’t specify what’s wrong with the bulldog, I won’t be able to train it for you,” Zhang Congwen replied. “And I haven’t noticed any issues with this dog.”

Yang Baoqian didn’t know much about Zhang Congwen’s abilities, but seeing Zhu Qingyan’s family speak so highly of him, he knew Zhang Congwen must be competent. Though Zhang Congwen’s words were straightforward, Yang Baoqian took them as an attempt to embarrass him.

He felt Zhang Congwen was trying to undermine him.

Initially, Yang Baoqian considered saying, “Just train it casually, and I’ll pay you,” but then he remembered the bulldog wasn’t his, and it had disrupted his plans, so he was reluctant to spend money on it.

Further, convinced that Zhang Congwen intended to make him look bad, he reasoned that even if he was willing to pay, Zhang Congwen might not let him off easily, so he abandoned the idea altogether.

After much deliberation, Yang Baoqian finally said, “It always barks uncontrollably when we go out.”

No sooner had he said it than he wished he could slap himself. The dog wasn’t his; he didn’t know whether it barked when taken outside. If it didn’t behave as he claimed, how would he explain himself then?

“Put on a leash, and let’s go for a walk,” Zhang Congwen said, standing up. Zhu Qingyan immediately came over as well. Though the unpleasant smell had faded, Zhu Qingyan still felt the room was tainted and wanted to leave.

Looking back, Yang Baoqian stood motionless, making no move to fetch a leash.

“Is there a problem?” Zhang Congwen asked.

“I don’t have a leash,” Yang Baoqian replied.

When he borrowed the dog, he only brought the dog, its crate, and some dog food from its owner—no leash at all.

“How do you usually walk the dog?” Zhang Congwen asked.

Yang Baoqian knew dogs should be walked with a leash, but since he didn’t actually have one, he argued, “I never put a leash on when I walk the dog. I think a leash restricts its freedom. Why not let it run wherever it wants? After all, it’s a living creature; it’s better to let it roam free than to be bound all its life.”

As he spoke, Yang Baoqian glanced at Zhu Qingyan, hoping to provoke some sympathy from the dog owner and win her favor. If Zhang Congwen insisted on a leash, he could use the lack of one as an excuse to refuse the training.

But to Yang Baoqian’s surprise, his words didn’t elicit empathy from Zhu Qingyan; instead, they diminished her opinion of him even further. Zhu Qingyan might not know much about raising dogs, but her values were firmly set.

Encountering dog owners like Yang Baoqian, who walk their dogs without a leash, Zhu Qingyan wouldn’t confront them openly, but in her heart she cursed them countless times. Many people who don’t own dogs are prejudiced against dog owners, often because of inconsiderate people like Yang Baoqian.

What surprised Yang Baoqian even more was Zhang Congwen’s next remark: “You don’t really know how to raise dogs, do you?”

Zhang Congwen felt he had already spoken with great tact, almost spelling out that the dog wasn’t Yang Baoqian’s. Any true French bulldog owner knows they are prone to flatulence, have sensitive stomachs, and shouldn’t be fed indiscriminately. Sweet potatoes and large amounts of meat should be avoided whenever possible. This bulldog was fully grown; if it were really Yang Baoqian’s, he’d know all this—unless he had an odd fondness for the smell.

Even those negligent dog owners who walk their dogs without a leash would at least have a leash somewhere in the house.

Moreover, the environment in Yang Baoqian’s home didn’t resemble that of a dog owner, making it easy to deduce the truth.

“I’ve raised this dog since it was a puppy. How could I not know how to raise it? Don’t think you can criticize others just because you know a bit about training. If you’re so great, help me train this dog. What’s so impressive about being a dog trainer?”

Zhang Congwen only wanted to spare Yang Baoqian some embarrassment, but Yang Baoqian didn’t see it that way. Already harboring hostility toward Zhang Congwen, he assumed Zhang Congwen was trying to humiliate him in front of Zhu Qingyan.

Yang Baoqian felt insecure, and Zhang Congwen’s factual statements infuriated him further.

Zhang Congwen hadn’t expected Yang Baoqian to react so defensively. He wasn’t trying to undermine Yang Baoqian, merely wishing not to waste any more time here.

Seeing Yang Baoqian call him a "dog trainer," Zhang Congwen felt his anger rise. He disliked confrontation but was not afraid of it.

“If you want me to train your dog, then tell me exactly what you want me to train for,” Zhang Congwen said, staring at Yang Baoqian with a blank expression. Tall and solidly built, his impassive face gave off an imposing, unyielding air.

Yang Baoqian, seeing Zhang Congwen’s demeanor, instantly felt diminished, and his bravado faded, though he refused to admit defeat in front of Zhu Qingyan. He forced a cold smile and said, “If you’re so skilled, then fix its farting problem for me.”