Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
“Then what the heck do you want?! You want to sue my cat for rape? Go ahead! We’ll see you in court!”
Just as the battle was heating up further, a call came through on Jiang Jiusheng’s mobile.
Accepting the call, she responded, “Hello, Cheng Hui,”
“I’m at the pet shop.”
“Hi. It’s a tad noisy here.”
The two girls stopped in the midst of their heated argument and stared at Jiang Jiusheng.
“Jiang Jiusheng!”
Jiang Jiusheng looked over at them.
“You…” Scottish Fold’s owner hesitated and tried to lower her voice as she asked hastily, “Do you recognize me?”
Jiang Jiusheng nodded..
The woman’s pretty face, already contorted with rage and indignance, had now turned green. “Don’t mention anything to Cheng Hui.”
Having said that, she walked sheepishly out of the pet shop with her Scottish Fold.
It seemed that the eighth daughter of the Qin family was fully aware that Cheng Hui detested spoiled and hot-tempered girls.
Although they had never met—and Qin Xiaoxiao had never been very popular—Jiang Jiusheng had seen her highly recognizable face on-screen. Also, this eighth daughter of the Qins had been embroiled in two scandals involving Cheng Hui.
Continuing on her phone conversation in a low voice, Jiang Jiusheng reassured Cheng Hui, “No, I will not forget.”
Cheng Hui had called specifically to ask Jiang Jiusheng if she would be going home to celebrate her mother’s birthday, which was about a month after her concert.
“Yes, please get me a ticket.”
Cheng Hui replied that he would.
Looking through the window at the retreating figure of the one that had just stormed out of the shop, Jiang Jiusheng asked, “Bro, does Qin Xiaoxiao know that we are siblings?”
There was a brief pause at the other end of the line.
“The Qins have their own way of staying informed,” Cheng Hui replied. He paused before adding, in a more serious tone, “Please keep a low profile, if you should meet.”
It was just as well that she wasn’t familiar with any of the Qin siblings, because Cheng Hui certainly had nothing good to say about them. With a laugh, Jiang Jiusheng promised to do so, then hung up.
At that moment, Chignon Girl approached her, clutching her local cat. “Sheng Ye.”
Jiang Jiusheng was caught by surprise.
With teary eyes, Chignon Girl pleaded, “May I touch your hand, please?”
Woof! barked Jiang Bomei.
Quickly, Chignon Girl changed tactics and asked, “If that isn’t possible, may I touch your dog instead, please?”
Woof!
Jiang Bomei looked offended.
Compared to the fiery girl who had taken part in the argument, she seemed to have transformed into a totally different person. Jiang Jiusheng couldn’t help but laugh, asking, “Are you a fan of mine?”
“I am a hopeless fan of yours!” she declared proudly and loudly, causing the local cat in her arms to shudder.
What an interesting young woman.
Laughing, Jiang Jiusheng extended her hand. “Hello.”
The other party let slip, “My hubby—!”
Oops! She had inadvertently spilled the beans! Scratching her head in embarrassment, the young lady managed to compose herself.
“Sheng Ye,” she said, “can I have your autograph, please?”
“Sure,” Jiang Jiusheng agreed. “Where should I sign?”
Quickly reaching into her backpack, the young woman fished out a marker, opened up her denim jacket, and said, “On my heart.”
Using the black marker, Jiang Jiusheng signed her name in formal script on the white T-shirt.
“Sheng Ye,” said the young woman.
Jiang Jiusheng looked at the girl.
She appeared hesitant and, with furrowed brows, asked, “Do you remember Tan Mobao from the Thirty-ninth Bridge?”
Jiang Jiusheng was shocked.
That had been four years ago, before Jiang Jiusheng had become a professional musician.
It had been a blisteringly hot summer in Jiangbei. Among the many vendors selling cold drinks under the Thirty-ninth Bridge, there had been a girl in tattered clothes carrying a cardboard sign on which had been written in capital letters, the words, Willing to work to pay for my mother’s funeral.
The girl had appeared to be pre-pubescent, not tall but very thin and tanned from having spent too much time in the sun. She had been sitting straight-backed under the arch of the bridge, sweating profusely from the heat but not once releasing her hold on the cardboard sign. Enduring the looks of many curious passersby—some sneering in disbelief and others watching in disdain—she had never moved from her position. No one had stopped for her, though, maybe because they had already labeled her as a cheat or just another beggar.
Jiang Jiusheng had pulled 200 dollars from her pocketbook and placed the bills, weighed down by a stone, on the ground for her.
“I’m not a beggar,” the girl had protested.