Mo Du (默读) - Silent Reading

Julien IX

Luo Wenzhou opened the package; there was nothing else in it. But just then, his phone vibrated as a photograph arrived. It was of an out-of-the-way gravel path, decorated with neatly laid-out vegetation and a water feature, secluded and narrow, with a solitary garbage can sticking out in the middle. Underneath was a message without beginning or end: in passing.

Luo Wenzhou stared thoughtfully at the photograph for a while, but next to him, Master Cat wasn’t having any of this.

Master Cat’s full name was “Luo Yiguo.” It was a seven-year-old middle-aged cat, round-faced, large-eyed, and sleek —it was just a little bad-tempered.

Luo Yiguo batted at Luo Wenzhou’s leg with its paw; twisting its butt, it went over to the corner and crouched down, full of accusation, displaying an empty food bowl to its litter box attendant.

Unexpectedly, the stupid tall one only gave it a glance and remained wholly unmoved.

Suffering this rebuff, Luo Yiguo was enraged. It charged truculently and stood up on its hind legs hugging Luo Wenzhou’s calf, yowling as it tore at his pant leg.

Luo Wenzhou bent and picked Luo Yiguo up by the scruff of its neck, holding it aloft. “Have you had your fill of living?”

Paws dangling, Luo Yiguo rumbled out a purr, then complacently stuck its tongue out at him.

Luo Wenzhou rolled his eyes and loosened his grip. The kitty deftly freed itself, gave an elegant roll in midair, and landed on all fours. Its wish was quickly fulfilled: it received adequate dry food, as well as a supplemental can of cat food.

Luo Yiguo was deeply satisfied; it found that the principle that “a stick makes a filial son” hadn’t led it astray; indeed, the litter box attendant wouldn’t behave unless he was bitten.

Luo Wenzhou crouched haphazardly and petted the cat for a while. Suddenly remembering something, he looked down at Luo Yiguo’s stuck-up large furry tail —Tao Ran had found this ancestor while strolling through the morning market and bought it to give to Fei Du. At first Fei Du had seemed to like it, but a few days after carrying it off he’d somehow gotten annoyed and absolutely refused to keep it.

Tao Ran had come from out of town. When he’d just started working, he couldn’t afford to buy a home and rented all over; there was no saying when he would have to move, so it really wasn’t convenient for him to keep a pet. He’d had to put the cat up with Luo Wenzhou.

Luo Wenzhou hated cats, hated dogs, hated children sixteen years old and under. He’d been mad enough to lose his mind. He had issued a solemn ultimatum to Tao Ran, swearing that if he hadn’t found another home for the cat within a month, he’d stew the four-legged nuisance in a pot [22].

[22] The cat’s name, Yiguo (一锅), in fact means “a pot.”

The upshot was that seven years had passed in a flash, another home hadn’t been found, and Luo Wenzhou had gone from a foul-mouthed carnivore to a hard-working and ungrudging litter box attendant, while Luo Yiguo had gone from reserve provisions to the master of the house.

This shows that worldly affairs really are hard to predict.

Luo Wenzhou pondered a while as he pet the cat, then suddenly stood up, took some leftover bread from the fridge, and walked out.

The streets were relatively uncrowded as Captain Luo, who liked nothing better than to arrive at work and leave exactly on schedule, returned to the City Bureau. When he walked into the office, aside from the officer on duty, he found one other person, who was still rubbing his eyes as he replayed the surveillance footage.