The Dog's Fart

The air conditioning in the high-end pet store was strong—stronger than the one in his rooftop extension. Chen Guohao stood in the store, staring at the price tags, and laughed. In the past, seeing those prices would have made him gasp. Now they just felt cheap.

A down jacket for dogs: thirty-two hundred. A leash: twenty-eight hundred. Something called an “ergonomic pet bed”: sixteen thousand.

“This one, this one, and that one.” He pointed at the shelves and said to the clerk, “The most expensive ones. Give me all of them.”

The clerk was a young woman. Her eyes lit up as she started hauling merchandise. Chen Guohao liked that look—he was used to it now. Ever since he walked out of the bank’s VIP room, everyone who looked at him had eyes that lit up.

He bought six cans of imported dog food, a box of dog vitamins, a machine that automatically circulated drinking water, three dog outfits (one was a designer collaboration with a tiny LV logo), and that sixteen-thousand-dollar bed.

Total: forty-seven thousand two hundred. He swiped his card without blinking. In the past, he’d hesitated even over buying a pack of cigarettes.

“Thank you, sir. Your dog must be very happy.”

Happy. Chen Guohao walked out of the store carrying the bags. Right, he thought. Happy. He wanted that dog to know that from now on, with him, it was good times.

When he got back to the luxury apartment, A-Kun was sitting on the living room sofa scrolling through his phone. Seeing Chen Guohao walk in, A-Kun immediately stood up, face beaming: “Boss, you’re back!”

“Mm.” Chen Guohao dropped the bags on the floor. “Help me unpack them.”

“Whoa, so much!” A-Kun crouched down and flipped through the pet supplies. “Boss, you treat your dog too well.”

“He’s my brother,” Chen Guohao said. He walked to the balcony. Afu was curled up in a corner, lying on the tiles. Ever since he’d brought this dog home from the alley, it never got used to the luxury apartment’s air conditioning. It always preferred the balcony—where there was sunlight and the smell of the outside.

“Afu, come here.”

The dog looked up at him. Didn’t move.

“Come on, I bought you good stuff.” Chen Guohao crouched down and clapped. “Come, come. Good stuff.”

Afu stood up, took two steps forward, then stopped. His nose twitched. He took half a step back.

“Fuck, what’s your problem?” Chen Guohao sniffed his own clothes—right, before he left today he’d smoked a cigar. The one A-Kun recommended, said “all rich people smoke these.” Eight hundred a stick. He thought it was harsh, but he smoked it anyway because A-Kun said it had “class.”

“You think I stink?” Chen Guohao stood up. “This thing on me—eight hundred a stick!”

Afu backed up two more steps, shrunk back into the corner, and buried his head between his paws.

A-Kun laughed from the living room: “Boss, dogs don’t get it.”

“Yeah, they don’t.” Chen Guohao walked into the living room, picked up the LV-collab dog jacket. “Here, help me put it on him.”

A-Kun took the jacket and walked to the balcony. Afu saw A-Kun approaching and let out a low, rumbling growl.

“Easy, let’s put this on.” A-Kun crouched down and tried to slip the jacket over the dog. Afu struggled, twisting his body, slipping out of the jacket and dodging to the side.

“Hold him still!”

“He keeps moving, boss!”

“You’re that weak?”

“No, man, he bites!”

Chen Guohao walked over, snatched the jacket, and crouched in front of Afu. The dog looked at him, wariness in his eyes.

“I’m your boss, you know that?” Chen Guohao said in a low voice, with an edge of pressure. “I feed you. I give you a place to live. So you listen to me. Got it?”

Afu’s tail tucked even tighter.

“Wear it.”

He forced the jacket onto the dog’s body. Afu stood stiff, trembling slightly. The jacket was too big; it hung on him like a piece of cloth.

“This one looks too big,” A-Kun said.

“It’s a designer brand. Nothing’s too big.” Chen Guohao stood up and looked at the dog. “Does it look good?”

Afu didn’t look at him. He turned his head toward the balcony outside.

“Fuck, what kind of attitude is that?” Chen Guohao’s voice suddenly jumped an octave. “I spend forty-seven thousand on you, and you give me that face?”

Afu flinched, shrank back, and peed—a small puddle on the tiles.

“Goddammit!” Chen Guohao jumped back. “You peed on the floor!”

Afu stared at him, trembling harder. The urine spread on the tiles, yellow, with that doggy stink.

“Fucking—” Chen Guohao raised his hand, ready to strike, but his hand froze in midair.

The dog closed its eyes, waiting to be hit.

“Boss!” A-Kun called from behind.

Chen Guohao lowered his hand. He looked at that dog—the dog he’d brought home from the alley, the dog that had been willing to come close to him when he was at his poorest. Back then, too, it had been like this—curled up in a corner, covered in mange, with wounds and stinking. But back then, the way it looked at him was different.

Now it looked at him like he was a stranger.

Chen Guohao’s throat tightened. He turned and walked into the living room, plopped down on the sofa. The sixteen-thousand-dollar pet bed was still on the floor, unopened.

A-Kun came over, tentatively: “Boss, you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Want something to drink?”

“Whatever.”

A-Kun went to the kitchen, pulled a beer from the fridge, opened it, and set it on the table in front of Chen Guohao. Chen Guohao didn’t move.

“Boss, about that dog…”

“I said I’m fine.”

A-Kun shut up. He sat back on the sofa and started scrolling.

Chen Guohao looked at the dog. Afu was still on the balcony, the jacket crooked on him, looking ridiculous. The puddle of pee was still on the floor. Nobody cleaned it.

Suddenly he felt exhausted. Not a physical exhaustion—it seeped out of his bones, like something had been drained from him.

“A-Kun.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I’m living well now?”

A-Kun looked up, a professional smile on his face: “Of course, boss. You’ve got money, you live in a luxury apartment, nothing to worry about. So many people envy you.”

“Do you envy me?”

“Of course.”

“Then why can’t you look me in the eye when you say it?”

A-Kun’s smile froze for a moment. He looked at Chen Guohao. His eyes flickered, then he recovered the smile: “I am looking at you, boss.”

Chen Guohao laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh—it was bitter.

“Do you think I’m that easy to fool?”

“No, boss, everything I said is the truth.”

“The truth.” Chen Guohao repeated the words, as if hearing them for the first time. “Yeah, the truth.”

He stood up and walked to the balcony. Afu shrank again when he saw him approach.

“It’s okay.” He crouched down, his voice very soft. “I’m not gonna hit you.”

Afu’s ears twitched.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” Chen Guohao reached out his hand and stopped in midair. The dog hesitated, then finally came closer and sniffed his hand. Then he stuck out his tongue and licked Chen Guohao’s finger.

Warm. Rough.

Chen Guohao’s eyes reddened. He stroked the dog’s head. The dog didn’t pull away.

“You’re the only friend I have who doesn’t ask me for money,” he whispered.

Afu looked at him. And then—pfft.

A loud fart. A stinky one. The kind of smell that came when a dog had a bad stomach.

Chen Guohao froze. Then he laughed. Not a bitter laugh—a real laugh, the kind that came from the gut.

“Damn, even you want to gas me.”

He sat down on the floor, his back against the balcony railing. Afu lay down at his feet. The setting sun streamed in, painting the whole balcony orange.

“You know, Afu, I used to think that if I had money, everything would get better.” He muttered to himself. “I was wrong.”

The dog yawned.

“I thought money could make everyone listen to me. I was wrong. Even you don’t listen to me, let alone people.”

He looked at the puddle of pee, at the crooked designer dog jacket, at the unopened bed.

“Money can’t buy your obedience. And it can’t buy someone who tells me the truth.” He gave a bitter smile. “Now I’ve got money, but I don’t have a single person who dares to say something real to my face.”

Afu stood up, walked over, and rested his head on Chen Guohao’s knee.

“You’re the only one.” Chen Guohao stroked the dog’s head. “You don’t say ‘Boss, you’re awesome.’ You don’t borrow money from me. You don’t talk shit behind my back. You just fart.”

He laughed, but his eyes reddened again.

From the living room, A-Kun’s voice: “Boss, want me to order delivery?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll head out, okay?”

“Go ahead.”

A-Kun stood up, grabbed his backpack, and walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned and looked at Chen Guohao—a look that Chen Guohao didn’t see. If he had, he would have recognized it. Pity.

The door closed. The luxury apartment was left with just him and the dog.

Chen Guohao stood up, walked into the living room, picked up the beer, opened it, and took a sip. It wasn’t cold anymore.

He walked to the kitchen and poured the beer down the sink. Then he opened the fridge. It was stuffed with high-end ingredients—wagyu, lobster, truffle paste—all bought by A-Kun, who said “this is what rich people eat.” He hadn’t touched any of it.

He closed the fridge and went back to the balcony. Afu was still lying there, the jacket even more crooked now.

“Come on, let me take it off.”

He crouched down and gently slipped the dog jacket off. Afu didn’t resist. In fact, he seemed relieved, shaking his body.

“Feels better, right?”

The dog looked at him and gave his tail a little wag.

Chen Guohao crumpled the jacket into a ball and tossed it into a corner. That sixteen-thousand-dollar bed—he decided he’d return it tomorrow.

“We don’t need that stuff,” he said to the dog. “Right?”

The dog didn’t answer. But he walked over and lay down at his feet, closing his eyes.

Chen Guohao leaned against the railing, staring into the distance. The sun was almost down. The sky turned deep blue.

Suddenly he remembered something—he hadn’t fed the dog yet.

He went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out the imported dog food can. Opened it. Poured it into the dog bowl. Afu came over and lowered his head to eat.

“Good?”

The dog ignored him, busy eating.

Chen Guohao crouched beside him, watching the dog eat. This was the most real moment of the day.

His phone rang. Lin Shufen.

He stared at the name on the screen, hesitated, then answered.

“Hello, Mr. Chen, sorry to bother you. I wanted to ask about meeting my son tomorrow…”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.” He hung up.

The phone rang again. A-Kun.

“Boss, I’m home. Just letting you know.”

“Mm.”

“Boss, are you sure you’re okay? I feel like you’re in a bad mood today…”

“I’m fine.”

“Really? If you need, I can come back and keep you company…”

“No.”

He hung up. Then he turned off the phone and put it in his pocket.

Afu had finished eating. He walked over, licked his mouth, and looked at Chen Guohao. There was no flattery in his eyes, no calculation. Only pure waiting—waiting for the next step, for tomorrow, for what his master would decide to do next.

Chen Guohao crouched down and stroked the dog’s head.

“Piece of shit,” he whispered.

The dog leaned in and licked his face.

He laughed. For real this time.