The Taste of Truth

Chen Guohao sat on the real leather sofa in his luxury apartment, staring at his phone screen.

A-Kun’s LINE chat history—he’d left his phone unlocked on the coffee table while he was smoking in the bathroom. Chen Guohao had only meant to check if he’d snuck any chocolate from the fridge—but instead he found himself tagged as “nouveau riche psycho.”

“Today he asked me to buy him some fancy-ass dog bowl. Eight thousand dollars for one. Fuck, since when do dogs give a shit about bowls?”

“LOL he even said he’d treat me to steak, then went to the bathroom to cry, came back and told me ‘you’re my only friend.’ WTF, I’ve only known him for two months.”

“Anyway, the guy’s messed up. Rich lunatic. I’m just playing along now—once his money runs out I’m gone.”

Chen Guohao finished the first paragraph. His finger hovered over the screen, unmoving. He read “nouveau riche psycho” again, like he was checking if he’d misread it. Nope. The words were clear. A-Kun had even used bold and an emoji—the yellow face crying with laughter.

He put the phone back on the coffee table. Same spot. Screen down. He sat back down on the sofa, took a deep breath, then picked up the phone again and scrolled to A-Kun’s chat with someone else—a profile picture he didn’t recognize, probably one of A-Kun’s flyer-distributing coworkers.

“He pays me fifty thousand a month to walk his dog and buy his meals. Basically I’m his pet sitter. Except he’s harder to deal with than the dog—he’ll call me in the middle of the night and ask ‘What do you think the meaning of my life is?’ Fuck, how should I know? I only know he’ll wake up tomorrow and ask me to buy him an egg pancake roll.”

“His ex-girlfriend is hilarious too. One night he got drunk and called me, spilled everything—gave her a million bucks, she took it and went to Europe, and he’s still here feeling good about himself, thinking she’d come crawling back.”

Chen Guohao read that far. His throat felt like something was stuck in it. He put the phone down, walked out to the balcony, and lit a cigar. The wind was strong. The smoke scattered. He squinted at the traffic below.

He remembered that dinner he’d treated A-Kun to—A-Kun pouring his drink at the teppanyaki table, saying “Bro Guohao, you’re the most badass boss I’ve ever met.” The expression was so sincere it looked like he was acting in an eight-o’clock drama. Now that he thought about it, he was acting in an eight-o’clock drama. And doing a terrible job. Chen Guohao had just been blind back then. Didn’t see it.

He didn’t know how long passed. The cigar burned down to his fingers before he snapped back.

He stubbed it out, walked inside, opened his laptop, and clicked on Instagram. Zhuang Yating’s account had blocked him, but he used A-Kun’s account—A-Kun had followed her at some point, probably went to check her out after hearing his drunken rant, and Chen Guohao had stolen the password earlier—to log in and look.

Zhuang Yating’s story: Eiffel Tower. Louvre. Spaghetti. Caption: “Finally made my dream come true, thank you hubby.”

Chen Guohao swiped to the next story. A photo of her with a guy. Glasses, slightly chubby, plaid shirt, smiling like an idiot. Zhuang Yating leaned on his shoulder, making a heart sign with her hands. Background: Venice canal.

He swiped back. Noticed the Eiffel Tower post had a comment: “Yating, you two are so happy!” Zhuang Yating replied: “Thanks, hubby treats me so well ❤️”

Hubby.

Chen Guohao slammed the laptop shut. Hard enough that the screen made a cracking sound. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling. That lamp had cost him two hundred thousand from an imported furniture store. Now it looked fake. Just like him.

He pulled out his phone and found Lin Shufen’s chat history. She’d messaged yesterday saying she could bring her son tomorrow at 2 p.m., along with a thumbs-up sticker. Chen Guohao hadn’t replied. Now he thought about it, opened his contacts, and called her directly. He wanted to gamble on it—it wasn’t an investment, almost definitely gambling.

“Hey, Bro Guohao!” Lin Shufen’s voice sounded excited, totally different from that cold “hello” when she used to collect rent. “I was just about to tell you, my son today—”

“How much gambling debt does your son have?” Chen Guohao cut her off.

Silence on the phone for about three seconds.

”…Bro Guohao, who told you that? No, no, he’s doing an investment—opening a bubble tea shop. You know bubble tea shops are super profitable now—”

“Lin Shufen, I’m asking you. How much does he owe?”

Another few seconds of silence. Then Lin Shufen’s voice changed—from excited to cautious: ”…About two million or so. Bro Guohao, don’t misunderstand, he’ll definitely pay it back. He just wanted to borrow some capital for a temporary cash flow—”

Chen Guohao hung up.

He threw the phone onto the sofa, stood up, and paced around the living room. Three laps. Stopped. Stared at the Xinyi District skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling window. He remembered his old rooftop extension, the window looking out at the neighbor’s air conditioner unit. Now he stood in a luxury apartment with a monthly rent of one hundred twenty thousand. The view was expensive. But none of it was real.

He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge. There was half a bottle of whiskey inside. He poured a glass, no ice, and downed it in one gulp. The cold liquid slid down his throat, then turned into heat, burning up from his stomach. He leaned against the counter, closed his eyes. Heard Afu walking around in the living room—nails on the tile, clack-clack-clack.

He opened his eyes. Walked out. Afu was crouched by the sofa, head tilted, looking at him.

“Do you think I’m a psycho too?” Chen Guohao asked.

Afu didn’t react.

“Do you know how much I’ve spent on you? Dog bowl eight thousand, dog bed twelve thousand, dog clothes three thousand five hundred each—you didn’t even wear them, just peed on them.” He crouched down, looking into Afu’s eyes. “Do you know how much I spend on you every month?”

Afu licked his own front paw.

“You don’t know either.” Chen Guohao gave a bitter smile. “You only know I smell like smoke. I yell at you. I scare you until you pee yourself. That’s all you know.”

Afu stood up, walked over to his feet, and pressed his head against Chen Guohao’s shin.

Chen Guohao didn’t move.

Afu pushed again, then sat down, looked up at him, and wagged his tail twice.

“Are you for real, or just because I feed you?” Chen Guohao asked.

Afu yawned.

“Okay. Fine. You don’t have to answer. At least you can’t lie.” Chen Guohao stood up, walked into the study, opened a drawer, and pulled out a stack of papers. It was the asset plan his accountant had made after he won the lottery. It listed how much money was left in his account, which investments were making money, which were losing. He flipped to the last page. Saw the total net worth number: about nine hundred twenty million.

He stared at that number for a long time.

Then he picked up the phone and called A-Kun.

“Hey, Bro Guohao!” A-Kun’s voice was always so energetic. “What do you need?”

“Come to my place tomorrow at 2 p.m. I have something to tell you.”

“No problem! Need me to bring anything?”

“No. Just show up.”

“OK OK, see you tomorrow!”

Chen Guohao hung up. Then he called Lin Shufen.

“Tomorrow at 2 p.m., bring your son. I’ll do what I said—I’ll give the million, but I want to hear him tell me himself what he’s going to do.”

“Bro Guohao, believe me, he really—”

“Tomorrow.”

He hung up. Then he opened his contacts and found Zhuang Yating’s number. She had blocked him, but that was fine. He sent a text.

“Yating, it’s Guohao. Did you have fun in Europe? I saw it. Beautiful. You don’t have to pay back that million. I just want to ask you one thing: when you got the money, did you ever think about starting over with me? Even for a second. Never mind. Don’t answer. I just wanted to confirm something.”

He sent it. Then deleted her number.

The next day at 1:55 p.m., Chen Guohao sat on the living room sofa, wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans. No fifty-thousand-dollar suit. No cigar. On the coffee table sat three bottles of mineral water and an empty glass.

The doorbell rang.

He opened the door. A-Kun came in first, wearing a slightly wrinkled shirt, grinning from ear to ear: “Bro Guohao! I’m here!”

Then Lin Shufen, in a bright red dress, heavy makeup, followed by a skinny young guy with bleached blond hair, shifty eyes, who wouldn’t look Chen Guohao in the face.

“Bro Guohao, this is my son, A-Jie.” Lin Shufen said.

“Hello, Bro Guohao.” A-Jie mumbled.

Chen Guohao nodded and gestured for them to come into the living room. The three of them sat down—A-Kun on the single sofa, Lin Shufen and her son on the double sofa, Chen Guohao on the main seat across from them.

“I called you all here today because I found out some things,” Chen Guohao said, his tone calm.

The three exchanged glances. A-Kun’s smile started to freeze.

“A-Kun, yesterday on LINE you called me a ‘nouveau riche psycho,’ right?”

A-Kun’s smile froze completely. His mouth opened slightly, then quickly forced a laugh: “Bro Guohao, what are you talking about? How could I—”

“I saw your phone. You were smoking in the bathroom yesterday. Phone was unlocked.” Chen Guohao pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened a screenshot, and turned it to show A-Kun.

A-Kun’s face went from white to red to white again. His mouth opened and closed. Then he lowered his head: “Bro Guohao, I was just discussing a script with my friend! We were writing a character who’s a nouveau riche!”

Chen Guohao stared at him coldly. A-Kun lowered his head again. Didn’t say another word.

“I pay you fifty thousand a month to buy my food and walk my dog, and you think I’m a psycho.” Chen Guohao’s voice was still calm. “Then why don’t you quit?”

A-Kun kept his head down. Said nothing.

“Because the money is easy, right?” Chen Guohao answered for him. “Chatting with a psycho for fifty thousand a month—way better than handing out flyers.”

A-Kun finally spoke, his voice very small: “Bro Guohao, I didn’t mean it like that… I was just bullshitting with my friend, you know how we talk shit—”

“I know exactly how you talk.” Chen Guohao said. Then he turned to Lin Shufen. “Auntie Lin, what does your son really need the money for?”

Lin Shufen’s face stiffened. She looked at her son, then at Chen Guohao, stammered: “Investment… opening a bubble tea shop…”

“A-Jie, your mom says you want to open a bubble tea shop. Is that true?” Chen Guohao looked at the blond young man.

A-Jie wouldn’t look at him. His eyes were glued to the floor. After a long time, he mumbled: ”…I owe people money.”

“How much?”

“Over two million.”

“What for?”

A-Jie didn’t answer. Lin Shufen cut in anxiously: “He had a friend who asked him to invest, and he got scammed—”

“Auntie Lin, I’m letting him speak.” Chen Guohao cut her off.

A-Jie lifted his head, glanced at Chen Guohao, then looked down again: ”…Gambling. Gambling.”

The living room was silent for about ten seconds.

Chen Guohao leaned back into the sofa, took a deep breath, and laughed. Not a happy laugh. The kind of “I knew it” laugh. He turned to A-Kun: “You know what my first thought was when I saw your chat history yesterday? Not anger. Relief.”

A-Kun froze.

“Because that means I’m not crazy,” Chen Guohao said. “I always thought once I had money, the world would change. But the world didn’t change. I changed. Every word you say to my face is fake, and I find that totally normal. Because that’s how I know I really became rich—now I understand that the scariest thing about being rich is you can never tell if people are smiling at you, or smiling at your money. And I can’t even be sure about my own fucking dog.”

He stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to them.

“All of you. Get out.”

All three stood up at once. A-Kun headed for the door first. Lin Shufen pulled her son along behind him. At the door, Lin Shufen turned back: “Bro Guohao, that million—”

“Not lending it.”

“But you promised—”

“I changed my mind.”

Lin Shufen’s face twisted for a moment, but she didn’t say anything else. She pulled her son and hurried away.

The door closed.

Chen Guohao stood at the window, watching the afternoon sunlight hit the glass towers of Xinyi District, glittering like something fake. He turned around. The living room was empty. Only the three bottles of mineral water on the coffee table. And himself.

Afu poked his head out from under the sofa. Looked at him.

“Do you want to leave too?” Chen Guohao asked.

Afu didn’t move.

“It’s okay. You can go. You weren’t bought by me anyway—I found you on the street. You’re free.”

Afu stood up. Walked over. Stopped at his feet. Then sat down, and rubbed his head against Chen Guohao’s shin.

Chen Guohao looked down at him. Crouched. Reached out his hand. Afu didn’t flinch. He sniffed Chen Guohao’s hand, then stuck out his tongue and licked his palm.

Warm. Rough. A little bit of drool.

Chen Guohao’s eyes suddenly turned red. He didn’t cry, but they were red. He looked at Afu—that mangy, ugly, stinky dog—telling him something in the simplest way. Something no one in the whole world dared to say to him.

Chen Guohao smiled. Eyes still red, but smiling.

“Okay. I get it.”

He stood up, walked into the study, opened the drawer, and pulled out the stack of asset plans. He flipped to the last page. Stared at the number. He remembered the leaking ceiling in the rooftop extension, the drip-drip-drip sound in the middle of the night. The stored credits at the convenience store, one large iced American for thirty-five dollars. That afternoon squatting in the alley feeding the stray dog—back when he had nothing. But that dog still came over. Then he picked up a pen, drew a line across the paper, and crossed out the number.

He picked up his phone and called his real estate agent.

“Hey, I want to cancel the lease on that luxury apartment. One hundred twenty thousand a month. Yeah, I’ll move out after this month.”

He hung up. Then called an animal shelter.

“Hey, I want to donate some money. Yeah, a decent amount. But I have one condition—I want it earmarked for your medical equipment. Yeah, for your shelter.”

He hung up. Sat at his desk, watching the sky outside gradually darken.

Afu walked in and lay down at his feet.

Chen Guohao looked down at him. He had already closed his eyes, making soft snoring sounds.

He reached down and stroked Afu’s back. Afu didn’t wake up. Just moved his tail slightly.

“You know,” Chen Guohao said softly, “this is the first time since I won the lottery that I feel like I’m still alive.”

Afu didn’t answer.

But his tail moved again.