Chapter Sixty-Six: An Appointment with the Opposite Sex

“Screw you. Here’s your money—if you want to go, go by yourself. I’m not going,” Zhang Congwen said. “Just be careful not to get caught by the police, or I’ll have to bail you out at the station.”

“Come on! Is that really what you think of me?” Song Jiawei protested indignantly. “I’m saying we should go somewhere proper—something decent!”

No matter how much Song Jiawei insisted on going somewhere aboveboard, Zhang Congwen remained resolute in his refusal.

When Zhang Congwen was little, he’d had an illness—no one ever figured out exactly what it was. The doctor never gave it a name, only warned that he might be allergic to cold air and the like.

The upshot was, whenever he took off his clothes and let his skin touch the air, he’d break out in an unbearable itch that grew worse the more he scratched—so bad, in fact, that he’d sometimes scratch himself bloody. For a long time as a child, he refused to undress even to sleep, at most removing an outer layer.

As he grew older, the condition gradually improved, and it had been a long time since he’d had an episode. Still, Zhang Congwen remained deeply uncomfortable with undressing anywhere but his own home.

So, he never went to places where undressing might be required.

After a prolonged stalemate, Song Jiawei finally gave up and dragged Zhang Congwen to a grilled fish restaurant instead.

Halfway through the meal, Song Jiawei suggested they order some alcohol. Zhang Congwen vehemently refused.

Rejected, Song Jiawei picked up the menu and, jabbing at various dishes, declared, “This one, that one, these, and that—let’s have them all.”

Zhang Congwen glanced at the selections. Every single one was the most expensive item on the menu.

“Luxury breeds vice,” Zhang Congwen said with a pained expression. “I just made a little money, and you’re determined to squander it.”

Song Jiawei waved him off. “If we’d gone for the full ‘spa’ experience, you’d have spent even more. Be grateful.”

Despite Song Jiawei’s lecherous demeanor and questionable sense of humor, he was, in truth, a decent guy. He’d never actually indulged in any of those notorious ‘full-service’ venues—not for any psychological reason like Zhang Congwen, but simply because he was healthy, felt fine, and saw no reason to waste money on such things.

Song Jiawei had never said it aloud, but he actually didn’t care much for Sister Wang either. Swindling her out of some cash today had been satisfying, but not entirely. He’d hoped an evening of indulgence would truly make him feel better, but Zhang Congwen had denied him even that.

It was to be his first time, after all, and he’d been thwarted by his friend. Song Jiawei was a little bitter about it.

So, if he couldn’t enjoy himself, he was determined to make Zhang Congwen spend as much money as possible. Simple logic.

“For god’s sake, you gluttonous oaf!” Zhang Congwen said, watching the endless stream of dishes arrive. “We can’t possibly finish all this.”

“I’ll pack up what we don’t eat and have it for breakfast tomorrow,” Song Jiawei replied.

“Seriously? We already have grilled fish, why did you order the stone pot fish too?” Zhang Congwen protested.

Song Jiawei didn’t even look up. “I like both kinds. Is that a crime?”

“And what about this? It has beef tripe—you never eat beef tripe,” Zhang Congwen pointed out.

“That’s just for looking at. Watching beef tripe helps my appetite,” Song Jiawei replied with a sidelong glance.

…

Carrying plastic bags full of leftovers, Zhang Congwen and Song Jiawei shuffled out of the restaurant, so stuffed they could barely walk.

Song Jiawei had gone overboard with his ordering—another person could have joined and still eaten their fill. True to his principle of never wasting food, Zhang Congwen forced himself to eat a little more, but even so, plenty remained.

What frustrated Zhang Congwen most was that, despite his repeated refusal to drink, Song Jiawei had ordered alcohol anyway and drank alone.

After leaving the restaurant, Song Jiawei was slightly tipsy. He began rambling to Zhang Congwen about quitting his job and starting his own business.

Zhang Congwen barely listened, his mind preoccupied with the fate of the leftovers. He knew full well that, despite their good intentions, the food would probably end up in the trash.

It wasn’t that they refused to eat leftovers, but once something was put in the fridge, they would both forget about it until it spoiled and had to be thrown out.

Still, Zhang Congwen clung to a last shred of hope. Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow they’d remember the food in the fridge.

He didn’t think of himself as stingy, especially when it came to money. Yet, he often felt pangs of regret over wasted cash.

He believed money should be spent where it mattered; spending it frivolously would gnaw at him for ages.

Like that time he was bitten by a dog and had to get a rabies shot. The cost of several hundred yuan didn’t bother him much—until he saw a five-yuan charge for “wound cleansing.” That stung. All they’d done was dab some soap on the wound and rinse it for fifteen minutes, and that little service cost five whole yuan.

That trivial expense tormented him for two weeks, robbing him of sleep.

Back at their apartment, the gluttonous oaf fell fast asleep, but Zhang Congwen lay awake, lost in thought.

Maybe it was because he’d been unemployed for so long, but Zhang Congwen felt less and less inclined to job-hunt. The money he’d earned recently training dogs was enough to live on for a while.

Without pressure, he had no motivation to strive. That was just who Zhang Congwen was.

The next morning, as expected, both Zhang Congwen and Song Jiawei forgot about the leftovers now languishing in the fridge. They ordered takeout instead.

Zhang Congwen was curious why Song Jiawei hadn’t gone to work, but Song Jiawei only gave him a mysterious smile and said he had plans. After eating, he tidied up and hurried out.

After Song Jiawei left, Zhang Congwen remembered it was Sunday. Xie Julie would be free, which meant Song Jiawei was probably out with her.

He felt genuinely happy for his friend, who’d managed to win the affection of someone as gentle and pure as Xie Julie—though he wasn’t sure if they were officially together yet.

If they did become a couple, Zhang Congwen would have to wonder if Xie Julie’s eyesight had been ruined by too much reading, and she needed glasses—otherwise, how could such a delicate flower fall for someone like Song Jiawei?

But in truth, Zhang Congwen had only guessed half-correctly. Song Jiawei was meeting a woman, but it wasn’t Xie Julie.

And Zhang Congwen knew her too—it was Zhu Qingyan.

When Zhu Qingyan saw Song Jiawei, she beamed and hurried over. “You’re finally here! I’ve been waiting forever.”

Song Jiawei smiled awkwardly. “Have you thought about which area we should rent an apartment in?”

Zhu Qingyan shot him a look. “We haven’t even settled things between us, and you’re already talking about renting a place together?”

“It’s only a matter of time,” Song Jiawei replied. “Whether it’s sooner or later, we’ll have to find a place. We can’t stay in my current apartment forever, and I can’t just move into your place, can I? That wouldn’t do.”

“Let’s figure out our future plans first,” Zhu Qingyan said.

“In matters like this, I’ll follow your lead,” Song Jiawei replied. “You’re the one with money, after all. My future might just depend on your support.”

Zhu Qingyan looked uneasy. “Is it really okay for us to keep this from Zhang Congwen?”

Song Jiawei shook his head. “He’ll find out sooner or later. Once we’re already together, what can he do? At worst, we’ll give him a bit more money.”

Then another thought struck him. “How are things with your parents?”

Zhu Qingyan considered. “My mom hasn’t said much, but my dad doesn’t seem too happy about it.”

Song Jiawei nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle talking to your dad.”

She snorted with laughter. “Is he really that old?”