So, let me say this here.

Long Xiaole’s money belonged to Long Xiaole; as for the ten thousand yuan Zhang Pa received yesterday, after a night of tossing and turning, only seven thousand remained. The first thing he did upon waking was to ride his bicycle to the bank to deposit the money, taking along a box of books to sell on the way.

He knew well enough that the books wouldn’t sell, and every attempt was an exercise in futility. But the fact remained: carrying a whole box made it easier to sell than just a handful—it at least gave the appearance of a proper vendor.

He deposited six thousand yuan at the bank and headed to the market to try his luck.

Such places were always supervised; after less than twenty minutes, someone would come to collect a fee. Zhang Pa was forced to move on.

He spent the entire morning playing a game of cat and mouse, and at noon, bought some cold noodles to take home.

From an economic standpoint, the morning had been a complete waste, utterly devoid of value. Zhang Pa felt something was amiss and came up with an idea.

During his wanderings, he had seen a street musician and decided he might as well practice guitar while selling books. So, as he ate his noodles at noon, he browsed online for secondhand guitars.

Trading within the same city was convenient; there were plenty of people selling secondhand guitars, mostly at three or four hundred apiece. Yet, for all that, he wasn’t satisfied—not with the price.

It wasn’t that secondhand guitars were too expensive; on the contrary, they were too cheap.

Many beginners are advised to buy a cheap practice guitar for two or three hundred, with the idea that once they’ve learned, they can upgrade. Economically, this makes sense. If you quit after a few days, your losses are minimized.

But that’s not the right approach.

For one thing: ear for music. If you become accustomed to the sound of a practice guitar, when you finally play a good one... it will only hinder you.

There are other reasons: the nut might be too high, the frets too wide, the tuning pegs too loose...

Some guitars can’t even be tuned properly; if you do manage to tune them, the strings snap. Some guitar teachers are quite helpless about this—they can’t simply tell you you’ve bought a piece of junk, so they coax you: “For beginners, loosen the strings a bit—it’ll be easier to play.”

That’s no excuse. If you aren’t willing to put in the effort, how can you expect to learn anything? The principle is universal, no matter what you’re studying. First, ask yourself: one, are you willing to put in the time? Two, are you willing to persevere? Three, are you willing to endure hardship?

It’s all about attitude. Attitude comes first, then action.

Take buying a guitar, for example. Don’t rush into it on a whim. Give it a few days, wait until you’ve slept on it, then ask yourself again: do I really want a guitar? Do I really want to learn?

Ask yourself these questions for a few days. If you still want to buy a guitar, then buy the best your means allow.

Guitars aren’t expensive, really—they cost less than a phone. Compared to a phone that’s four or five thousand, parents would be far more willing to spend a thousand or two on a guitar.

Phones depreciate with use, become increasingly obsolete, and only waste your time. But if you buy a guitar, play it for an hour a day, keep at it for a year or two, you’ll be pleasantly surprised by your progress.

Persistence—when buying anything, this is the final question to ask yourself. Don’t demand perfection, don’t expect mastery—just ask: can I really spare a little time every day to practice?

For Zhang Pa, if his book-selling career continued to waste his time like this, practicing guitar was the better choice.

He scrolled through secondhand guitars online as he ate, but none pleased him. Suddenly, he thought of the music academy and called Pretty Boy. “Are you still in touch with Lu Yiyi?”

“No. Why?”

“I want to buy a secondhand guitar.”

“Why buy secondhand? You just got ten thousand yuan—can’t you get a new one?” Pretty Boy said, “Do you have to be so stingy? You’re making me feel ashamed, and I’m starting to look down on you.”

“You don’t understand a thing,” Zhang Pa replied. “If I buy from a student at the music academy, I can get some teaching materials as well and start from the basics.”

“You’re overthinking it. Anyone who gets into the music academy is a professional.”

“I refuse to believe they don’t have beginner materials!” Zhang Pa insisted.

Pretty Boy thought for a moment. “Actually, Lu Yiyi’s dorm has two girls who play guitar—you met them at the police station. Lu Yiyi has a guitar, too. You could ask her to teach you.”

Zhang Pa hesitated. “Forget it.” He hung up.

Miss Lu despised him now—how could she possibly agree to teach him guitar?

But thinking along these lines, he recalled the dance teacher he’d seen yesterday, and that familiar figure as well.

He thought and thought, and found himself feeling a bit more understanding toward Long Xiaole. Perhaps, he hoped, Long Xiaole might one day find his blue-clad girl.

After lunch, he got back to work. In the afternoon, Fatty showed up. “You want to buy a guitar? Da Wu has one; it’s as good as new.”

“That guitar won’t do,” Zhang Pa said. “Is Da Wu at work?”

“Not likely—he’s off job-hunting with those thugs.” Fatty laughed. “You know, these guys are crazy. They take a job, work a few months, then quit and find another. Busy as hell and never making any money—not as laid-back as I am.” Then he asked, “What’s wrong with that guitar? Didn’t I show it to you before?” The last time, Pretty Boy wanted to enter a singing contest, so Fatty borrowed a guitar for him.

“Yeah, a bargain at three hundred sixty,” Zhang Pa replied. “Anyway, if you’re free, I need to get back to work.”

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Fatty said. “You’ve got seven thousand yuan, right?”

“Hit me, curse me, I don’t care. But if you dare touch my money, I’ll kill you, and we’re done for good.”

“If you’re dead, what’s the point of breaking off?” Fatty said. “Here’s my idea... turn around and look at me.”

Zhang Pa turned. “Ancestor, you can’t spend your days loafing around like this—you’ll drag me down.”

“Not for much longer,” Fatty replied. “Listen, now that we’re filming web dramas, meals, locations, props—everything’s a problem. I was thinking, why not open a small restaurant together?”

“You think seven thousand is enough? Sure, I agree.”

“Dream on!” Fatty continued, “I have two ideas—one near the Dazhuang Gym, one near Xingfuli. We open a little eatery. The specifics we can discuss later. Low investment, low returns, but it gives us something to do and a place to hang out. We can’t eat out all the time.”

“If you dare open a restaurant, those thugs will eat you out of house and home.”

“That’s why you’re the boss,” Fatty said. “I’ll put up most of the money, you’ll be the figurehead, and we split the profits fifty-fifty. What do you say?”

“You must be out of your mind,” Zhang Pa remarked. “We’re not that close. Are you so eager to give me money?”

“That’s not it. People always say even brothers should keep accounts clear, and that friends shouldn’t go into business together. I don’t buy it—I want to try.”

“Try it with Pretty Boy.”

“The truth is, I want to start a company, bring everyone in, do nothing all day, and just collect a salary. The idea is tempting, isn’t it?”

Zhang Pa shook his head. “Goodbye.” He turned back to his computer.

Fatty persisted. “We’re short on funds, so let’s start with a little restaurant. United as brothers, we’ll be unstoppable.”

“Goodbye,” Zhang Pa repeated, and started writing.

Fatty sat for a while. “Let’s go fight at the ring—Dazhuang’s idea is great.”

For the third time, Zhang Pa said goodbye.

Just then, the two girls from next door knocked. “Oh, you’re here too,” said the long-haired one.

“Am I not allowed?” Fatty asked.

She smiled. “You are.” She walked up to Zhang Pa. “We’re leaving tonight, and want to treat you to dinner.”

“Where are you going?” Zhang Pa asked.

“We’re leaving this place—going to the capital first, and if that doesn’t work out, to Shanghai.”

“Thank you for the offer, but you’ll need money out there. Better save it,” said Zhang Pa.

“So you look down on us?” the long-haired girl retorted.

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Take it as a yes, then. What would you like to eat? Hotpot? Barbecue? Stir-fry?”

“Anything is fine.”

“All right, we’ll find you in a bit. Don’t go anywhere,” said the long-haired girl.

Zhang Pa agreed. Fatty quickly asked, “Can I bring family?”

The long-haired girl laughed, “And what family are you?”

“As long as there’s food and drink, I can be any family you like,” Fatty said sincerely.

“Have you no shame?” Zhang Pa muttered.

The long-haired girl laughed and left, then poked her head back in. “We have some things we can’t take with us—would you like them?”

Zhang Pa saw no reason to refuse and thanked her, getting up to follow. Fatty trailed along, eager for excitement.

The round-faced girl was packing, or rather, discarding. Aside from a single suitcase, everything else was being abandoned: a TV, a game console, two simple wardrobes, and piles of clothes and shoes.

“Other than these two suitcases, you can have everything else,” the long-haired girl said.

There were large plush toys, a mosquito net, an induction cooker...

“All this?” Zhang Pa asked.

“It’s not much,” she replied. “Our quilts are practically new, barely used. Once we’re gone, if you don’t mind... they’re definitely better than yours. Just look at your bedding—it’s filthy. The sheets, pillowcases, towels—throw them out and use ours.” She produced a set of brand-new bedding in clear plastic, along with several towels. “They’re all new.”

“You really don’t want them?” Zhang Pa asked.

“They’re just too much to carry,” she said. “Take them all.”

“Are you really leaving?” he asked.

“Yes. After offending Guo Gang, how could we stay? They say it’s easier to make money in Shanghai—platforms there pay five or six hundred a night. Not like here, where it’s only a hundred or two.”

She was refreshingly candid about her line of work. “All right, then. Thanks.”

“No, we should be thanking you, truly,” the long-haired girl replied. “We’ve been in this city almost a year, met all kinds of men—shy ones, lecherous ones, those who try to talk us into going straight, and those who pretend to be upright. Only you truly helped us when we were in trouble. We’ve seen enough of men to know there’s nothing special about them. So thank you.”

The round-faced girl jumped off the bed. “Exactly! I’ve always said so. When we fought with the king of players, you stood up for us. We called others for help—if they heard it was the king, or Guo Gang’s people, they made excuses. Some even told us to apologize—damn cowards, the lot of them.”