Famine

Chapitre 12

As Nono left the classroom, a male student chased after her. He looked to be about thirty-six or thirty-seven years old, slightly shorter than Sanwen, and had a bit of a beard. He pulled out his business card and introduced himself:

I own a bar, and people call me Mr. Q. What makes my bar unique isn't its drinks, but rather the body painting event I host every night.

Nono certainly knew about body painting. It uses human skin as a canvas and paints to create all sorts of things—landscapes, fish, birds, and figures. Unlike tattoos, it can be washed off, while tattoos are permanent.

Mr. Q looked Nuonuo up and down and continued: "In the painting class, we have all kinds of models, tall and short, thin and plump, from young girls to old women, all are welcome. But body painting is different. It's a kind of appreciation of beauty, so the requirements for models are very high. Not only do they have to be beautiful, but their skin also has to be fair and smooth. Brown or bronze skin is suitable for beach shows, but not for body painting, as it will affect the expression of the colors."

I think you have a great figure and your skin is as white as milk, without a single blemish. My bar needs models like you. Our pay is 300 RMB per hour, which is much higher than here.

Nono admitted that the reward was tempting, but she politely declined.

For her, taking off her clothes in class felt completely different from taking them off in a bar.

The former is a dedication to art, while the latter has a somewhat erotic flavor.

In a painting class, the people are relatively homogenous, mostly students. But bars are a mixed bag; anyone can come in just to buy a drink, and what if someone you know sees you…

Oh my god, isn't that girl Qiao Jianuo?

I never imagined she'd make money in a place like this, and completely naked at that...

If this gets back to Mommy's ears, it will be a catastrophe.

Nono refused very clearly.

Mr. Q smiled knowingly. This was expected; most girls would refuse on the first try. If they readily agreed, saying, "Okay, okay, three hundred dollars an hour, no backing out! I'll start work tonight. Where's your bar?"

If that's the case, Mr. Q will start to have doubts about her.

Mr. Q handed the business card to Nono, "It's alright, think about it some more. If you change your mind, give me a call, my bar is always open."

After saying that, Mr. Q left in a hurry.

Nono glanced at the business card. The bar was called AK47, the name of a Soviet-made submachine gun. Al-Qaeda terrorists and Palestinian militants liked to use this submachine gun because it was said to be simple in structure and not easy to jam when firing.

I won't come, definitely, one hundred percent...

With that thought in mind, Nono still put the business card into the inner pocket of her wallet.

After leaving Jin Yue's room, that indescribable discomfort gradually took over Sanwen's body again. His chest felt tight, his pulse and heartbeat were accelerating, his legs felt a little unsteady, and cold sweat kept seeping from his forehead.

Sanwen checked his pulse on his watch; it was 94 beats per minute.

He didn't want to go to the hospital, so at this point, the only option was to go to the emergency room.

These symptoms are nothing serious; it's just fatigue combined with exposure to cold, resulting in a severe cold.

Passing by Huashi Pharmacy, he bought a box of Panadol, unwrapped it on the spot, and took a blue pill.

Panadol comes in orange and blue pills. The blue pills contain an additional ingredient called chlorpheniramine maleate, which can cause drowsiness. Therefore, the orange pills are taken during the day, and the blue pills are taken at night.

Sanwen rode his motorcycle home at a slow speed of 40 mph, prioritizing safety, especially since he wasn't feeling well.

He parked his motorcycle in the community garage, next to a big vehicle, a brand-new Jeep produced by Chrysler in a joint venture with Beijing. It is commonly known in China as the "Grand Cherokee," a luxury four-wheel drive SUV.

Sanwen has seen it in the garage several times, and every time he sees it, he can't help but feel a desire to possess it.

I wish I had a big one like that someday. A spacious cabin, a high chassis, so even if it's pouring rain and flooding outside, I could still make love inside.

Sanwen hurried home, helmet tucked under his arm. He used to hang his helmet on the handlebars, but it had been stolen several times. Even when parked in the garage, the helmet would disappear, so he had to take it with him each time.

His apartment was on the ninth floor. When Sanwen took out his key to open the door, he felt something was wrong. Usually, as soon as he heard the sound of the key turning, Biff would cheer and excitedly run to the foyer to welcome his owner home.

Once inside the foyer and the lights were turned on, Biff did not appear.

"Biff! Biff!"

Sanwen called out several times before Biff slowly walked over, his big ears drooping, looking listless.

"What's wrong? Are you upset because you got home late? Have you had dinner?"

Sanwen went to the balcony to check. The food bowl was empty of Pedigree dog food, and there was a clump of dog poop in the poop bowl. The color and shape indicated that the dog was healthy.

Oil painting No. 51: 773 Horror Series 13

Section 28: She Makes Money in Places Like This

Sanwen soaked in the hot water in the bathtub, trying to dispel the cold from his body. Mint-scented diffuser was lit in the bathroom. Before long, the effects of the blue pill began to take hold in his body.

...

Sanwen suddenly opened his eyes and stood up from the bathtub.

Why is the water so cold?

Oh no, I fell asleep in the bathtub.

Sanwen inwardly berated himself. He had made at least two mistakes: he shouldn't have taken the blue pill halfway through the journey, causing him to fall asleep too early; and he shouldn't have taken a bath, intending to ward off the chill, but now he felt even colder to the bone.

Sanwen dried his body with a large towel, wiping vigorously as if trying to improve blood circulation.

After getting dressed and going to the living room, I don't know why, but my sleepiness disappeared. Instead, I felt a strange unease.

He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was almost midnight.

Biff lay on the sofa, head drooping, silent, as if he had something on his mind.

The phone was on the coffee table. Sanwen picked it up to turn it off so it wouldn't wake him up after he fell asleep. This happened often, and what was even more infuriating was that the other party had dialed the wrong number.

The phone screen displays "Received 1 message".

"Sanwen, it's Peng Li. You haven't forgotten me, have you? When are you free? Let's have dinner together. There's a newly opened Chaozhou restaurant there, it's really good!"

The reception time was 11:30 p.m., when Sanwen was lying in the bathtub.

Sanwen remembered that it was that piece of "old vegetable peel".

(Note: Shanghai slang, referring to the skin of older women that begins to sag, resembling dehydrated vegetable leaves.)

Ever since I helped her dye her hair and complimented her by saying "You're very beautiful, and your hair is very well-maintained," this woman has frequently come to Sanwen, asking him to style her hair and give her a neck massage. She has invited Sanwen to come several times, but I haven't seen her lately; she's probably busy making money.

"Okay, let's decide next week," Sanwen replied.

Although I'm not interested in her, she's still a long-time customer. If everyone were as generous as her, the boss would have to treat Sanwen differently.

"Beep beep...beep beep..." The buzzer of the video intercom went off.

Sanwen reacted somewhat slowly, turning back to look at Biff first. Usually, as soon as the buzzer went off, Biff would immediately sit up and bark alertly. But tonight, for some reason, Biff was curled up on the sofa, looking at his owner helplessly with his eyes.

Perhaps it's just as "uncomfortable" as I am?

Who would ring my doorbell so late? They probably rang the wrong number.

It's the middle of the night, and he's disturbing people's peace of mind; I have to yell at him a few times.

Thinking about it, Sanwen walked to the lobby, picked up the microphone, and a blurry figure appeared on the walkie-talkie's LCD screen.

"Who are you looking for?" Sanwen asked into the microphone.

The figure moved slightly, presumably taking a step back, and became clearer than before.

It was a silhouette from behind. Judging from the hairstyle, it was short hair. Due to his professional habits, Sanwen could tell that it was a woman. She was wearing a dress, but because it was dark, it was not very clear on the LCD screen. He could only tell that it was light-colored.

"Did you press the wrong button? What floor and room are you looking for?" Sanwen asked.

The other person did not answer and remained in the same position.

I've never seen anyone like this before—they ring the doorbell, then turn around and face away from the electronic security door, rendering the intercom and camera on the door useless.

"Miss!" Sanwen patiently continued, "I'm from room 905, are you sure you didn't press the wrong button?"

"Who are you anyway? You're acting all mysterious!"

Sanwen grew impatient, hung up the phone, and was about to leave the lobby when his phone rang briefly, indicating a new text message had arrived.

Could it be that old vegetable peel? I replied, "I'll order next week," is she impatient? How annoying!

Sanwen pressed the read button. The text message was indeed very short, containing only two words:

"Open the door"

Sanwen was stunned.

Could it be... the person outside the door?

Sanwen typed three words, "Who are you?", on his phone and sent it.

The reply came quickly, this time consisting of three lowercase English letters:

"zoe"

The number that sent these two messages is 13901673693, a number that Sanwen is already familiar with.

His hand trembled involuntarily, and his phone fell onto the floor tiles in the foyer with a crisp "bang".

Sanwen grabbed the microphone, wanting to check the situation at the door again. On the LCD screen, the figure was gone, and there was nothing outside the electronic monitoring door, shrouded in a light mist.

Ha, it must be a prank, a really big prank.

About two years ago, I had some romantic entanglements, and someone meticulously planned to take revenge on me and scare me. Humph!

Or it could be more than one, two or even three women forming a small team, which is quite impressive.

Sanwen plopped down on the sofa, wiping the cold sweat that kept seeping from his forehead. His mind raced, and three plans came to mind:

First, call the police.

Second, escape.

Third, ignore it and go to sleep.

Huh! What's that smell?

The mint-scented diffuser is still burning; it can last for six hours. Now, there's a peculiar smell in the air, somewhat like disinfectant, which I've smelled in hospitals.

Oh right, it wasn't a hospital, it was a dental clinic. I smelled this odor when I had my teeth cleaned, and it was on the nurses and doctors too...

In an instant, Sanwen decided to adopt the second plan: the best of the thirty-six stratagems is to flee.

He began to consider the second question: how should he "leave"?

As usual, I opened the door, took the elevator downstairs, opened the building's electronic security gate, and swaggered out...

What if "she" is waiting outside?

This little thing is no problem for Sanwen; he has a new weapon—a high-rise escape descent device.

After 9/11, these kinds of rappelling devices became very popular in the United States. Last year, when Zhao Sande was in the US researching business, he bought one at Walmart for $99. It was very simple to use: just fix one end of the knot to the balcony railing, tie a rope around your waist, and you can start descending. The descent speed was roughly one meter per second, and it took about half a minute to go from the ninth floor to the ground. As he descended, a sense of sorrow welled up in Sanwen's heart.