The Hunt

The first time he was called a mad dog, he was only twelve years old.

Unable to defeat the tall, burly man, he clamped down on the man's arm with his teeth and refused to let go.

Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as the man pounded his head with fists. Unfazed, he dug his fingers into the man's flesh, teeth locked tight, summoning all his strength to bite down and tear like a desperate, frenzied young beast.

In the end, the man surrendered, his adult dignity shattered as he clutched his wound and fled in disarray.

He spat fiercely at the man's retreating figure, then picked up the flatbread that had fallen nearby, meticulously picking off the dirt that clung to it.

Only then did he notice another spectator standing not far away—another boy.

Taller, thinner, and a few years older by the look of his face. He recognized him as the local gang leader.

He watched as the boy approached, followed by two others, both stronger than him.

The boy stopped in front of him and extended a hand, yet remained silent. His narrow eyes seemed half-lidded, his thin lips curled in something between a smirk and a sneer.

He hid the bread behind his back, trembling slightly.

"Give it to me."

He lifted his head, glaring defiantly with wide eyes.

"I said," the boy crooked a finger, "give it to me."

"This bread," he swallowed, his voice hoarse, "is for Grandpa."

"So you can talk," the boy suddenly laughed. "I thought you were mute."

When he laughed, his eyebrows twitched, revealing a freshly scabbed scar on his left side.

"Go on, I'm just messing with you. Who'd want your lousy bread?"

Relieved, he tucked the bread away and turned to leave. After a few steps, he glanced back and saw the boy and his gang still watching him. Panicked, he broke into a reckless sprint.

Laughter erupted behind him, sharp as teeth, chasing him as he ran faster and faster in fear.

"Brother Dong, he's lying."

After he had fled, one of the boys beside Ni Xiangdong tattled eagerly.

"He stole that bread. I saw it. That's why the shopkeeper beat him."

"Been doing it for days, always the same shop," another boy snickered. "No wonder he got beaten—what an idiot."

"I also heard his grandpa died a few days ago. So saying it's for his grandpa is a lie. Dead people don't eat flatbread."

Ni Xiangdong listened to their chatter, head lowered, one hand in his pocket, the other deftly twirling a folding knife.

"Who is he?" he asked casually.

"Dumb Cao," the boy rolled his eyes. "Don't mess with him. He's young, but vicious. Stabbed his own brother's eye out. His dad nearly beat him to death."

"Oh?" Ni Xiangdong perked up. "Why? What'd he do?"

"Dunno. But he's crazy, better stay away," the boy shrugged. "All I know is after he hurt his brother, his dad disowned him, kicked him out. He's been living with his grandpa on the outskirts—"

"You just said his grandpa died?"

Ni Xiangdong stopped twirling the knife and looked up, eyes narrowing.

"So who's he living with now?"

By dusk, they had found his home.

A self-built brick-and-mud house, standing apart from the nearby homes like an outcast, isolated in the wilderness amidst piles of garbage.The light was off, the door wide open. He sat on the threshold, several sheets of white paper spread across his knees, clumsily cutting something by the fading daylight. Seeing them approach, he gripped the scissors and stood up.

Ni Xiangdong ignored him, stepping directly over the threshold into the house.

It was pitch black inside, filled with a strong stench of decay. Behind the mosquito net, a human figure lay stiffly, surrounded by a dozen buzzing flies. On the nearby table, a stack of pancakes was arranged like an offering, with a single incense stick stuck into them.

Ni Xiangdong quickly glanced at the figure behind the net, his heart pounding.

This was his first time seeing a dead body. He knew his grandfather had already passed on, that what lay there was just an insensate lump of flesh, yet he still felt afraid. He didn’t dare lift the net for a closer look, and as he stepped closer, a sudden chill ran through him.

Had this "little mute" been living with a corpse for the past few days? He couldn’t imagine how he’d endured it.

He backed out and looked at him. The boy stared back defiantly.

Only then did Ni Xiangdong notice the half-cut paper clothes in his hands.

According to local customs, when a family member died, one had to hire a few Taoist priests to perform the ritual, praying for the deceased. The priests would also prepare paper houses, paper clothes, paper shoes, and paper hats for the departed to use in the afterlife. That he was cutting them himself meant he couldn’t afford to arrange for the proper rites.

"Did you tell your dad?" Ni Xiangdong asked. "Your grandpa’s gone. Isn’t he going to do anything?"

Dumb Cao glared, silent.

"If you don’t bury him soon, he’ll rot," Ni Xiangdong wrinkled his nose. "It’s getting hot. You can smell it yourself."

Dumb Cao clenched the scissors, still refusing to speak.

"Hey, you deaf? Dong-ge’s talking to you, saying your grandpa’s gonna rot—"

The teasing from the lackey behind him was cut short by a sharp glare from Ni Xiangdong. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, bringing his eyes level with Dumb Cao’s, staring into them.

For some reason, the wild child’s eyes always made him feel like he’d known him for a long time.

"You gave the pancakes to your grandpa. What are you eating?"

"I’ll eat after he’s done."

The mute finally spoke, but his answer was as baffling as ever.

Ni Xiangdong nodded, then held out his hand to the two behind him. "Got any money on you? Lend me some."

"Dong-ge, I don’t have any either—"

The thug hurriedly covered his pockets but was kicked away.

"Chicken Giblets, don’t make me ask twice," Ni Xiangdong spun his knife, still smiling. "I said money. Lend me some."

The lackey grumbled, reluctantly pulling out a few bills. Before he could count them, Ni Xiangdong snatched them away, then shot a sidelong glance at the other thug.

"You want me to take it myself too?"

Panicked, the man pulled out a wad of crumpled bills, damp with sweat, and handed them over.

Ni Xiangdong counted the money, clicked his tongue, then dug into his own pockets, pulling out a few larger bills. He gathered them all together into a messy stack and shoved it into Dumb Cao’s hand.

"Get some priests for your grandpa’s ritual. Bury him soon."

Dumb Cao stood frozen, loosely holding the money, neither thanking nor refusing. He just stood there, until slowly, his eyes reddened.

Ni Xiangdong couldn’t stand crying. He immediately turned and led his men away. When he looked back from a distance, Dumb Cao was still standing there, his dark eyes fixed on him.

That gaze filled him with pity—and fear.In the following days, he didn’t see him stealing pancakes again, nor did he see him at all.

Until seven days later, on that grayish dusk with a light drizzle falling from the sky. He was chatting and boasting with Mai Zai when he tilted his head and saw Dumb Cao standing at the mouth of the alley across the street, staring at him from afar.

No greeting, no expression—just staring.

From then on, he saw him every day.

Dumb Cao always followed silently from a distance, like his shadow.

Though Dumb Cao was already in his early teens, years of malnutrition had left him thin and small, weaker than others his age. No one wanted to play with him. Besides, Ni Xiangdong’s little gang already had four or five members—all around the same age, all cut from the same cloth—so no one paid this brat any mind.

Yet he stubbornly trailed behind them. When they stopped, he stopped. When they walked, he walked.

So, these bored teenagers invented a new game: shaking off Dumb Cao.

Whenever he appeared, they would leap onto stolen motorcycles, revving the engines with wild laughter and howls, speeding off in a frenzy. They’d watch him chase after them, panting and stumbling until his strength gave out, until he was left alone, gasping for breath.

Every chase ended in his crushing defeat. He always stood there by himself, watching them ride farther and farther away as a group.

Yet he never once begged for mercy, never pleaded, never shouted, "Wait for me!"

"He’s like a dog," one of the thugs laughed that day, watching him collapse on the ground after yet another failed chase.

"Only a stupid dog chases bikes like that. How could he ever catch up? Seriously, just like a dog."

Ni Xiangdong chuckled, glancing at him through the rearview mirror—the small figure sprawled on the ground, growing smaller and smaller, those glaring eyes gradually vanishing from sight.

His smile froze. Suddenly, he remembered something.

Yes, it came back to him—that familiar feeling. He recalled where he’d seen those eyes before.

His first friend in his lonely childhood: a ginger-colored mutt.

Timid around others but affectionate toward him. In his bleak, uneventful youth, they had been the best of playmates—running through fields, catching fish in streams, playing hide-and-seek in coconut groves.

But later, he grew up. He made new friends—human ones. To prove his courage and cruelty, egged on by the others, he slaughtered the dog himself and shared the meat with the group.

He still remembered that day—calling its name, watching it dart out from behind the haystack.

Straw clung to its head, its tail wagging. It ran toward him, grinning, unaware of the knife hidden behind his back.

If it had known, would it still have run to him?

And what about you? Are you here to repay kindness—or vengeance?

They say people gather when the pot is cold and scatter when it’s hot. Those who come together for profit will inevitably part for the same reason.

Not long after, a more formidable figure arrived in town. Ni Xiangdong was ousted from his position, and those who once followed his lead now flocked to someone else. Overnight, he became a loner.

So when he was caught stealing in the pool hall, his former brothers just leaned on their cues, watching with amusement.

The grown man dragged him out of the hall, threw him onto the street, and pinned him down, beating him mercilessly. He curled up, shielding his head, utterly defenseless.Suddenly, a dark figure charged forward, ramming his head into the man's stomach. The man staggered a few steps but quickly regained his balance, shoving him away with a forceful push.

Dumb Cao lunged again, biting the man's hand.

With a furious roar, the man grabbed his throat and punched him square in the nose.

Dumb Cao clutched his nose, crouching on the ground as blood gushed out. The man kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling. A small white object flew out—his tooth.

As the man raised his leg again, Ni Xiangdong pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the back. Seizing the moment of the man's pained howl, Ni grabbed Cao's wrist and yanked him into a run.

They ran—desperately, endlessly—past the market, through narrow alleys, over several fences, until they finally stopped near a wild stretch of the sea.

Ni Xiangdong halted, releasing Cao's wrist as he clutched his side, panting heavily.

The sea breeze tousled their hair. The blood on Cao's face had dried, stiff and crusted.

Oblivious, Cao turned to leave, his shoulders slumped, limping barefoot—he had lost a shoe during the chase.

"Hey, kid—"

Dumb Cao turned back blankly.

"Stick with me from now on. I'll teach you how to use a knife," Ni Xiangdong said, forcing a grin despite his own injuries. "Stop using your teeth—tch, you barely have any left."

Cao froze, fidgeting with his sweat-soaked shirt.

"What's your name? 'Dumb Cao' isn't a real name."

He didn't answer, twisting away to walk off. Just as Ni thought he wouldn't return, he reappeared, clutching a twig.

"Cao Xiaojun," he wrote in the sand, squatting. "My grandpa taught me. He said this character is 'Jun'—like a gentleman."

"What kind of gentleman bites people?"

Ni teased him, and Cao laughed along.

"Stop laughing, you look like a monkey."

Cao hesitated, unsure if it was a joke. But seeing Ni still chuckling, he couldn't help but laugh too—his laughter melting into his eyes, sparkling like stars.

Ni's heart stirred, reminded of that warm, smelly little dog he once named.

After a pause, he snatched the twig from Cao and scribbled in the sand.

"Let's go with this 'Jun,'" he pointed. "Fits you better."

Cao stared at the characters, blinking his big eyes, then nodded and grinned—revealing his gums and the gap from his freshly lost tooth.

Ni stood up, brushing sand off his legs, and waved at him.

"Come on, Xiaojun."

Joyfully, Cao followed, trailing behind him—just like that tawny dog from years ago.