Chapter Sixty-Three: Tainted

In the corner of Sister Wang’s balcony, tidied up for the purpose, two pet pee pads lay flat on the floor. The pads were mottled yellow, covered in urine stains. Most of the stains had long since dried; even those that looked relatively fresh had evaporated, leaving behind a paste-like residue. At a glance, it was clear that the Schnauzer hadn’t relieved itself on these pads in quite some time, and neither had the pads themselves been changed recently.

The strange odor that Zhang Congwen and Song Jiawei had noticed earlier came from here. Sister Wang, long accustomed to living in such an environment, had grown used to the smell and didn’t notice it anymore. But the corner was on the balcony, with the windows open for ventilation, so even the slightest breeze carried the stench elsewhere. That’s why Zhang Congwen and Song Jiawei caught a whiff as soon as they entered.

Sister Wang? A clean person? No one would believe it—not even the dogs.

Song Jiawei felt bewildered. He subconsciously reached back to touch his own rear, suspecting his trousers might actually be contaminated with dog urine. Whether it was psychological or real, he hadn’t noticed anything odd before, but now, upon touching, he felt a faint dampness.

He was mortified, feeling as if his hand were now dirty, unclean, unusable. He resolved that, once home, he’d have to chop it off and flush it down the toilet. Unable to restrain himself, he rubbed his other hand against the one that had touched his rear. But after only a few strokes, he froze.

Now both hands were contaminated!

Song Jiawei was overwhelmed by despair. He instinctively wiped his hand on his own clothes, trying to remove the nonexistent dog urine. But as soon as he did, he realized: wouldn’t that mean his clothes couldn’t be used either? At a loss, he shamelessly wiped his hand on Zhang Congwen, finally feeling his hand might be salvaged.

“Why are you touching me?” Zhang Congwen, unaware of Song Jiawei’s less-than-honorable intentions, simply found his behavior odd. Had something happened at work to provoke a subtle shift in his sexual orientation?

Naturally, Song Jiawei wouldn’t confess to such a dubious act, and instead turned his backside toward Zhang Congwen.

“What’s gotten into you?” Zhang Congwen shivered, suspecting that Song Jiawei might really be traumatized. Even if there were any subtle changes in orientation, surely it should be revealed at home, not in someone else’s house. Was he really that desperate?

At that moment, Song Jiawei said, “Can you check if my pants are wet?”

Zhang Congwen looked, then instinctively patted Song Jiawei’s rear. “No, they’re not wet. Why?”

Song Jiawei was visibly delighted by the answer.

Zhang Congwen shuddered, looked at his own hand, and felt it was now contaminated, unusable. Was Song Jiawei so desperate he’d trick him… He forced himself not to pursue that line of thought. Clearly, it was better to keep some distance from him in the future.

Joking aside, brotherhood shouldn’t be tested with jokes about sexual preferences. If Song Jiawei knew what Zhang Congwen was thinking, he’d surely protest.

But Zhang Congwen didn’t truly believe Song Jiawei had shifted in his orientation. So after a brief shudder, he put the matter out of his mind.

He returned to the living room, grabbed a pack of tissues, pulled out a few, and used them as a shield to lift the pet pee pads from the floor.

Disgusting!

Song Jiawei nearly vomited up his breakfast from the previous morning.

Sister Wang, standing nearby, looked at Song Jiawei with disdain, wondering how the assistant dog trainer could be so squeamish, ready to gag at such a minor scene.

Beneath the pee pads was a large puddle of yellow urine. Because the pads had been covering it, the liquid below hadn’t evaporated much and remained freely flowing.

The odor defied description; to call it unpleasant would be an understatement—it was enough to shake heaven and earth.

The bottom layer of the pads was supposed to be impermeable, designed to absorb and contain the urine so it wouldn’t seep downward. But these pads, unchanging for so long and subjected to other factors, had long since failed. The thin barrier had collapsed under the weight of accumulated urine, allowing the liquid to seep through.

A clean person? Ghosts wouldn’t believe it; they’d download a scam-prevention app overnight.

Song Jiawei felt a dampness on his rear again.

“Sister Wang, how often do you change the pet pee pads?” Zhang Congwen couldn’t help but ask.

“Once a month or half a month, depending on how clean they look. Sometimes I forget, and it might be a month and a half,” Sister Wang replied after thinking.

“…”

Zhang Congwen was speechless. “Pet pee pads are disposable and shouldn’t be reused. Normally, they should be changed immediately after use—at the very least, once a day. I now suspect your dog’s inappropriate urination isn’t caused by separation anxiety, but rather because it finds the spot too filthy.”

“Change them after every use? That’s so wasteful,” Sister Wang muttered quietly. She was too far away for Zhang Congwen and the others to hear; had they, they would have laughed in exasperation.

Zhang Congwen continued, “You don’t need to lay down two pads at once. For a dog this size, one is enough. It’s perfectly adequate. Using two is wasteful.”

Sister Wang, hearing this, thought to herself that two pads meant she could delay cleaning up. But she kept this to herself; had she said it aloud, Zhang Congwen and Song Jiawei would have been even more appalled.

Zhang Congwen was often called a messy boy at home, and he was indeed not overly concerned with cleanliness—so long as things were passable. But even he couldn’t tolerate Sister Wang’s filthy pee pads. “Please bring a clean pad so we can tidy up here,” he said.

Song Jiawei had expected Sister Wang to clean up herself; it would be harder for him than dying to handle such filth. But to his surprise, Zhang Congwen began helping.

It wasn’t that Zhang Congwen felt compelled to clean, but that the mess was simply intolerable.

Watching Zhang Congwen clean, Song Jiawei thought that just for this task, the fee should be at least six thousand, not the original three thousand.

But when Sister Wang brought the new pad and stood there, making no move to help—as if Zhang Congwen were cleaning his own house—Song Jiawei grew angrier. “No, it has to be seven thousand,” he thought.

Then, upon seeing the massive puddle of yellow liquid under the pad, he changed his mind. “No, eight thousand! Not a cent less!”

Sister Wang had no idea that Zhang Congwen had originally intended to ask for four thousand. With Song Jiawei’s personality, the most he’d have demanded was five thousand. But thanks to her passive attitude, the final price was a thousand higher than that for Sun Zimu’s family.

After cleaning up the mess, Zhang Congwen asked if Sister Wang had any alcohol wipes or similar items. She brought out a bottle of alcohol-based hand sanitizer instead.

After scrubbing the floor with the sanitizer, Zhang Congwen finally laid a new pee pad down.

Sister Wang’s Schnauzer was remarkably cooperative. As soon as the new pad was in place, it cheerfully ran over and relieved itself with a large puddle.

At this point, Zhang Congwen asked, “How often do you walk your dog?”