WHF Ch 35 – Like a Dog

The gongs and drums resounded with a lively beat, and colorful flags fluttered in the open space of the market. Yu Tianbai, somehow having acquired a pair of round sunglasses, was dressed in black silk clothing adorned with a subtle dragon pattern. He cleared his throat and raised the megaphone to his mouth.

“Come one, come all, take a look! A martial arts master, trained overseas, has returned straight to his Northeast hometown to bring our folks the most spectacular performance—”

Perhaps because authentic Beijing accents were rare in the Northeast, quite a few heads turned in the market, from people to livestock. The bright blue tractor leading the crowd was particularly notable, as even the sow in its cargo bed raised her head.

The “martial arts master” quietly stepped back two paces to stand level with the host, lowering his voice to say, “Can you shut up for a bit?”

The host didn’t acknowledge the suggestion. He cleared his throat again, turned off the megaphone, and leaned toward the person beside him wearing a monkey mask. “Look, you’ve got quite an audience.”

Yu Tianbai was eyeing the uncle driving the tractor, Xiu Ma was watching the sow on the tractor, and the sow was staring at the Sun Wukong mask on the performer’s face.

Xiu Ma’s outfit had been chosen by Yu Tianbai: a Monkey King mask paired with a toy golden cudgel meant for kids. The only reason he wasn’t wearing the full Monkey King battle costume from the market stalls was because Xiu Ma had vehemently refused. Yu Tianbai wasn’t thrilled about this, as it meant the audience could only see a Sun Wukong in a gray hoodie, sweatpants, and sneakers.

Good thing the kid’s blond hair gave him a bit of a monkey vibe.

Flashback over, Yu Tianbai slipped back into his role as host. He flipped the megaphone’s switch, unleashing a piercing screech that shattered both the silence and eardrums.

“Damn, the quality of these market stall buys is trash.”

Boss Yu grumbled, smacking the back of the megaphone before flipping the switch again. When he looked up, the sow’s tractor was gone. But this didn’t dent his confidence. He raised the microphone and struck a pose. “The performance—officially begins!”

The noon market was bustling. The entrance was lined with small vendors selling spices, dried fish, shrimp, and other goods. Further in was the agricultural trade area, with white tents and blue vehicles, a constant flow of traffic. At the heart of the market, the stage with its clamorous gongs and drums drew eyes too.

Compared to the nearby sheep and cattle pens, though, the audience here was sparse. A few employers emerging from stalls might pause to watch for thirty seconds or a minute before diving back into their big deals, leaving the stage’s lively spectacle to itself.

Objectively speaking, the young master’s skills were impressive. Tall and long-legged, he looked the part, especially when wielding the stick with flair. The toy stainless steel, light-up golden cudgel didn’t seem like a mere plaything anymore—it felt like the real deal. The person wielding it was surely a victorious Buddha in the eyes of the crowd.

Or not. At this moment, Yu Tianbai was absolutely certain he was the only audience member.

Seated in the front row, he was glad he’d grabbed a pair of fortune-teller-style sunglasses from the prop stall. Even if there were other spectators, they wouldn’t notice him, legs crossed, staring at the performer from behind the stage.

It was a great show, he thought sincerely.

Not just the young master’s performance but the young master himself—he was really something to look at. Sitting in the not-so-warm spring air, surrounded by the market’s livestock smells, watching a martial arts performance all to himself—what could be better? Yu Tianbai felt like he could burst out laughing.

As his grin widened uncontrollably, the performer suddenly turned his head, lifting half the mask to look at him. “There’s literally no audience. Can that uncle keep his word?”

The fortune-teller with the sly smile laughed even harder at this. “Just keep performing! I’ll treat you to tofu pudding after.”

Xiu Ma silently pulled the plastic mask back over his face, glaring at his boss through the Monkey King mask.

The gongs and drums started up again. Perhaps because it was lunchtime, the crowd grew slightly. With a cheer from the sheep vendor nearby, the performer executed a sharp spin. Yu Tianbai paused his wandering thoughts. According to the young master, if he were a bit younger, that move might’ve been a crowd-pleasing flip.

Or was it called a somersault? Yu Tianbai wasn’t sure. He even regretted meeting Xiu Ma so late—two years earlier, and he might’ve seen it.

He kept his legs crossed, pondering for a moment.

Better not have met back then. He was like a scrawny monkey then, probably annoying to look at.

The performance wrapped up during the lunch hour, and it went well, even drawing a few coins tossed onto the stage’s red carpet. When it was time to pack up, Yu Tianbai bent down to pick up two.

“You’re really acting like my manager now?” Xiu Ma asked, pulling off the mask and wiping sweat from his lip.

“I said I’d treat you to tofu pudding.” Yu Tianbai held up the coins, grinning smugly.

But before they could enjoy a one-yuan-eighty bowl of tofu pudding, they had to visit the low-key cousin who’d funded the performance. He’d been watching the whole time from the second-floor balcony, like a reclusive sage.

“He’s very satisfied,” Yu Tianbai declared as they entered the corridor.

“Huh?” Xiu Ma, finally done wiping the sweat from his head, was still grabbing at his monkey-like blond hair. “I didn’t even see where he was.”

As soon as he spoke, someone appeared at the corner of the redwood door. The sponsor cousin stood silently at the entrance, startling the young master who’d just been talking about him.

He glanced at the performer who’d just shown off, then turned to the boss, saying something in the expectedly incomprehensible Cantonese before turning and heading inside.

“What’s that mean?” Xiu Ma stepped back, lowering his head to ask Yu Tianbai. He felt guilty for gossiping about the man behind his back.

“Just watch,” Boss Yu said, his grin growing wider. “He’s pleased and wants to write a calligraphy piece for you.”

Xiu Ma was stunned, unsure how to react to this unexpected gift. He looked into the room where a professional setup of brush, ink, paper, and inkstone was already laid out on a square table.

He was serious.

The cousin stood there, one sleeve rolled up, his demeanor more serious than the setup itself—though calling him “cousin” felt a bit rude, as Xiu Ma didn’t even know his name. He mentally apologized to this hero.

With vigorous strokes, the calligraphy flowed like dragons and phoenixes. After four characters were complete, the writer confidently lifted the rice paper toward the hall. The two at the door stopped their whispering.

When they stepped outside, Xiu Ma was still staring down, nearly burning a hole through the thin rice paper in his hands.

“You like it that much?” Yu Tianbai asked, reaching for his cigarette pack.

“Yeah,” Xiu Ma replied without looking up, just humming through his nose, unclear if he was affirming the question or oblivious to it.

The spring wind was biting. Yu Tianbai put the cigarette back, not wanting a stray spark to catch the wind and burn holes in the young master’s prized calligraphy.

“Does he often write calligraphy for people?” Xiu Ma finally looked up, his eyes sparkling as he stared at Yu Tianbai.

“Not often,” Yu Tianbai said, searching his memories of the place. “He must really like the energy you’ve got.”

He didn’t want to admit it outright, but it was hard to miss how happy Xiu Ma was. It didn’t align with Yu Tianbai’s initial impression of him or the “young master” title.

“Do you like being praised?” Yu Tianbai asked, closing the car door.

“Who doesn’t?” Xiu Ma replied dismissively, showing that young master streak after all.

Yu Tianbai leaned back in the driver’s seat, tapping the steering wheel. He thought of all the well-off, good-looking young people he’d met—none weren’t insufferably dumb. He admitted his dislike was tinged with jealousy of their youth and looks, but Xiu Ma was different. He was like a pedigreed hunting dog mixed with a bit of mutt, inadvertently showing his true colors.

“I thought someone with your background would be tired of praise,” Yu Tianbai said, stretching in his seat and yawning. The van’s ceiling was low, and his right hand veered toward Xiu Ma’s head. He was tempted to flick the upturned blond hair to see what breed this kid was.

Xiu Ma didn’t look at him, replying, “You’re not the first to say that.”

At that, Yu Tianbai’s hand, poised to flick his hair, froze. “Who said it?”

Whoever it was, how dare they steal Yu Tianbai’s exclusive line?

“I wasn’t born a young master,” Xiu Ma said, propping his chin and casually lowering the car stereo’s volume. “Or rather, I never was. I just lived in a house that felt a bit like one.”

Your car’s pretty young-master-like too. The words reached Yu Tianbai’s lips but were swallowed back. He turned his head, straightened his slouched posture, cleared his throat, and asked, “Why did your mom and dad split up?”

He didn’t expect Xiu Ma to answer. The question was just to keep the car from being too quiet, especially since someone who didn’t read the room had turned off the stereo. Now, even faint breaths were audible.

“They were never married,” Xiu Ma said, more directly than expected. “My mom raised me to scam money from my dad. He paid up obediently. He didn’t want to see me because it was too much hassle.”

Yu Tianbai was at a loss for words when it came to family drama like this. Maybe his own childhood was too ordinary—a strict mother, a father full of Beijing bravado, summer alleys, winter skating on Shichahai. Boring, too boring.

“But he took you back eventually,” he managed, squeezing out something neutral.

“Maybe he figured he might as well, since I was older,” Xiu Ma said, pausing. “Or maybe because he found out my mom jumped off a building to dodge debts. By the time I saw her again, she couldn’t stand anymore.”

The car fell silent. Yu Tianbai suddenly resented the warming weather. Without the AC’s hum, every small, ordinary, unremarkable change became amplified.

As a responsible adult, Yu Tianbai offered his verdict. “Your parents are both pretty awful. Neither’s better than the other.”

As soon as he said it, he realized the emotion burning in his chest was anger. He wasn’t unwilling to judge these terrible parents; once he opened his mouth, it wasn’t judgment—it was cursing.

He closed his eyes, steadied his breath, and opened them to find Xiu Ma looking at him. “So you do get mad about other people’s stuff,” the young master said, a slight smile on his lips, though not entirely at ease.

“I get mad for justice,” Yu Tianbai declared firmly.

He didn’t look like someone associated with “justice,” but this level of righteousness from Yu Tianbai was rare enough. Xiu Ma was content.

“By the way,” Yu Tianbai said, justice reminding him of something. “That claw hammer that punctured my tire—its origin seems pretty serious.”

Before leaving, Yu Tianbai had shown the hammer to the cousin. The southern businessman, experienced and bold, examined it through the plastic bag, sniffed it, and nearly tasted it before handing it back with his conclusion.

Luckily, Xiu Ma was at the door admiring their calligraphy and didn’t hear what the cousin said—or wouldn’t have understood anyway.

The hammer’s stench wasn’t from blood. The cousin had pointed to his temple.

It was from brain matter.

The hall’s heater was on full blast, but Yu Tianbai felt like he was back on the icy Songhua River tributary, cold creeping up from his shoes, tugging at his pant legs. He took a breath, straightened his spine, subtly hitched up his waistband, and pulled it up.

It all made sense now. Why abandon Old Fan from the factory? Because Sun was a murderer. Why send people to chase him? Because the murder weapon was in his hands. That weapon, somehow lost intentionally or not on a Northeast road, was picked up by the murderer’s ex-lover—himself. Love turned to hate, negatives canceling out, a perfect deduction.

Yu Tianbai held his breath, took the bag from the cousin, and only dared exhale after gripping it tightly.

What a Northeast highway murder case.

With that, he fastened his seatbelt and turned the stereo back up. The person beside him was already poised, ready to go—no need for reminders now.

“We’re going to find Sun Jiu, with the suona band and speakers in tow. We’ll meet him, have some fun at his factory, and I’ve got something to return.”

As for the hammer—this juicy murder story could wait until they were on the road. The suona band was secured, the team was ready, but there was one more thing to do. He glanced back at the van’s interior. The calligraphy hung on the ceiling, trembling slightly with the engine. He hadn’t had time to appreciate it earlier, but now, it included both their names.

White Horse Immortal.

“White” was him, “Horse” was the young master. Who the “Immortal” was didn’t matter. It felt like a carefree highway journey or a great immortal who couldn’t cross the Shanhai Pass. The meaning was unclear, but Yu Tianbai loved meaningless things. On the road, he’d find a shop to frame it.

It looked good and sounded great!

Eating hotpot, singing songs, playing the suona before hitting the ex’s factory, and carrying the “White Horse Immortal” plaque—what a delight!

Yu Tianbai floored the gas, and the Wuling Hongguang nearly took off.