Please forgive me.

After hastily tidying up, he realized that most of his belongings couldn’t be thrown away. It would be easy to discard them, but each item could serve a greater purpose—why toss them out? He started by organizing clothes and shoes, folding the half-new, half-old garments into a bag, stuffing the shoes with newspaper to hold their shape, and packing them away as well. Then he used another bag for those crisp, brand-new clothes and shoes. The bowls and chopsticks he could keep for himself. In the end, he sorted out a pile of underwear, stockings, and similar items that couldn’t be donated, packed them up, and left them by the door, intending to throw them away.

Once all this was done and seeing he still had time, he hurried to fill in the plot of “One Hundred and Nine Pounds.” The next morning, he called over the Fatty, the Dandy, Turtle, and the rest. The Fatty, sharp-eyed, spotted the plastic bag behind the door as soon as he entered—a bundle of socks and underwear. He held it up, inspecting it: “Whoa, that’s a lot.”

Zhang Pa looked at him and said, “Take it if you like.”

“Of course I like it—what man doesn’t? But I like women who wear these things, not the items themselves.” Fatty set aside the plastic bag and asked, “So, Zhang the Hero, what’s the plan?”

“Anyone got a printer?” Zhang Pa asked.

“What do you need that for?” Fatty replied, “What’s your idea?”

“The script is halfway done, I want you guys to take a look,” Zhang Pa said.

Fatty thought it over. “Send it to my inbox, I’ll get someone to print it.” He then asked, “How many copies?”

“I leave that to you,” Zhang Pa responded, forwarding the document.

Fatty didn’t say more, instead turning on the TV and game console—technically a DVD player with a game disc. He started playing, losing himself in the game.

While they were having fun, the Dandy and others arrived, and the room was immediately packed. The Dandy pointed at the pile of stuff, asking, “What’s all this?”

Fatty quickly dropped his game controller, went to the door, opened the plastic bag, and tried to pull a pair of stockings over the Dandy’s head. “Big job today, we’ve researched six banks, just waiting for your final decision.”

“Are you insane or just stupid?” The Dandy dodged Fatty and asked Zhang Pa what was going on.

Zhang Pa explained again about the script. The Dandy said, “Why bother? Use a USB drive and go to a print shop.”

“My USB drive isn’t for you guys to use,” Zhang Pa replied.

“You’re mad too,” the Dandy retorted.

Fatty said, “Forget the script, I’ll get it printed this afternoon. What about Da Zhuang—did he rent the place?”

The Dandy replied, “Who are you asking?”

Zhang Pa said, “Seems like you all just talk, expecting someone else to do the work.” He checked the time and added, “I wanted to hold a meeting, but with you lot… Meeting adjourned.”

“What’s there to adjourn?” Turtle asked, “We haven’t even picked the actresses yet—that’s a big issue!”

“Print the script first and then find the actresses,” Zhang Pa said, rising. “All right, dismissed. I’m off to throw out the trash.” He grabbed the garbage bags, including discarded items and that bag of underwear, and left.

The others stayed upstairs. After dumping the trash, Zhang Pa didn’t want to go back, so he strolled along the side street, just wandering. South of Happiness Lane was a music shop, and as he ambled, he thought of it and went back for his bike.

He’d pondered for two days and decided to learn guitar—not to become a singer or musician, but simply to acquire a new skill.

The music shop was empty, guitars of all types hanging on the walls, electric and acoustic, along with basses and drums. Inside sat a young man around thirty, strumming idly. When he saw Zhang Pa enter, he set down his guitar and greeted him. “Looking for an instrument?”

“Guitar,” Zhang Pa replied.

“All the guitars are over here,” the young man said, sizing him up. “What price range are you thinking?”

“One thousand,” Zhang Pa answered.

The young man thought for a moment and pointed to a wooden guitar. “Spruce top, solid, rosewood fingerboard, great tone. Give it a try.” He took the guitar down.

Zhang Pa didn’t take it. “Can you just point out the ones in the one-thousand range? I’ll try them myself.”

“Sure,” the young man said, indicating several guitars.

Only then did Zhang Pa accept the first guitar. The young man handed him a plastic stool. Zhang Pa sat, his left hand moving up and down the neck, pressing chords to get a feel.

He couldn’t play, only knew a few basic chords.

After watching a while, the young man commented, “You play pretty well.”

Zhang Pa laughed, “You’re teasing me?” He stood and tried another guitar, going one by one, testing both the feel of the frets and listening for tone. After a round, Zhang Pa asked, “Is it okay if I don’t buy?”

“Of course,” the young man smiled. “This isn’t a shady shop; we don’t force anyone.”

Buying a guitar was tricky. If you don’t know instruments, the simplest method is to buy a big brand—you’re guaranteed quality. Zhang Pa didn’t know much, so he started asking about brands.

All that stuff about types of wood, strings, whether it’s a solid top—at this stage, he really didn’t need to worry.

If you have the means, why buy a big-brand instrument? Why buy foreign guitars? It’s like buying imported formula. Not to mention guitar-making—as with boats, cabinets, or coffins, the wood needs years of seasoning and sun exposure; some domestic guitars skip these steps...

After asking about brands, he found none he recognized. Smiling, he apologized and said he’d think it over, then rode home.

Those shameless friends were playing doubles on the game console. When Zhang Pa returned, they only asked, “What took you so long?” and went right back to fighting for the controller.

Zhang Pa dragged the Dandy over. “Ask Lu Yi Yi for me—does she know anyone who’s savvy about guitars?”

“Lu Yi Yi definitely doesn’t,” the Dandy said. “There are loads of music shops near the conservatory; just check them out.”

That was as good as not asking. Zhang Pa sat at the computer to work.

At noon, the shameless bunch demanded Zhang Pa treat them. “You called us to a meeting, so you should feed us,” they insisted.

Zhang Pa didn’t bother arguing and took them to a noodle shop.

Even eating noodles, those shameless guys racked up a bill over a hundred sixty yuan. If he hadn’t strictly controlled the ordering of dishes and drinks, the cost would have easily doubled.

In the afternoon, he kept working. Before heading home, Zhang Pa vented his frustration by giving them a beating. They, well versed in the art of mooching, refrained from retaliating and simply fled.

He finished work before three, sat in a daze for a bit, and carried two boxes of books to the teachers’ university.

The place he most wanted to visit was the music conservatory, but he feared being seen by a certain familiar figure.

It was a frustrating contradiction—longing to see her, liking her, but unable to express that affection, even afraid to meet. If asked why, the answer was simple: poverty.

A man can’t be poor. Poverty means no home, no security, unable to give the woman he loves a beautiful life. Even if they stayed together for now, the future would bring countless arguments.

“Love fills you up even if you only drink water together”—that’s the title of a film. In reality, unless the woman you love is a mystical being like the Little Dragon Girl, who disregards society’s norms, it doesn’t work.

TV always says, “Chase your dreams if you have them,” but no one tells you the cost. Some succeed because they start from a high point—able to date, marry, and raise children from the outset, never worried about food or survival. Most dream-chasers are cold and hungry, destitute and desperate... That’s the real portrait of the many who pursue their dreams.

How could a man who has to count the cost of every breakfast pancake ever have a woman’s affection? How could he even dare to like a woman?

Now, Zhang Pa sat on the curb near the teachers’ university gate, two cardboard boxes beside him, displaying the first volume of his “The Odd Chef.”

At this hour, students had finished dinner and were coming and going. Some stopped to look at the books, but only glanced. After an hour, just two asked questions, none bought.

Zhang Pa thought of the big dog who had kept him company days earlier. With it around, life felt happy.

But Zhang Pa wasn’t a magician—he couldn’t summon whatever he wished for. He sat there until ten-thirty at night; the big dog never appeared. After packing up, he deliberately went to the dog’s neighborhood for a while, but again, saw nothing.

The day passed. The next morning, Zhang Pa, the Dandy, and Fatty went to the music conservatory. They claimed to be accompanying Zhang Pa to buy a guitar and to discuss the script, but mostly, they wanted to treat Lu Yi Yi and her friends to lunch under the pretext of selecting actresses.

Zhang Pa protested that he had no money.

Fatty said, “When it’s about picking up girls, the Dandy is always generous.”

The Dandy replied, “Generous as I am, you two aren’t allowed to order.”

Fatty sighed to Zhang Pa, “You’ve taught them all the bad habits—controlling the right to order, sigh.”

Zhang Pa gently replied, “Scram.”

The music shops near the conservatory were much livelier—three in a row, each with four or five customers browsing, whether or not they intended to buy. The staff were enthusiastic regardless.

Zhang Pa wandered around, eyeing two guitars, both big-name brands—one priced at two thousand two hundred, the other at fifteen hundred. The Dandy advised him not to rush, to eat lunch first.

So they did. Lu Yi Yi and her friends soon arrived.

As luck would have it, upon entering the restaurant, Zhang Pa saw a very familiar figure. She had her back to the door, but Zhang Pa recognized her without seeing her face. He hurriedly dragged the Dandy out.

“What’s up?” the Dandy asked.

Zhang Pa pointed to a nearby shop and whispered, “Let’s eat here.”

The Dandy didn’t care what they ate; after checking with the girls, everyone switched restaurants.

Even more coincidentally, the dance teacher Zhang Pa had seen the other day was sitting at the innermost table, fiddling with her phone.

Zhang Pa was stunned. What shocked him more was that the beautiful teacher seemed to sense his gaze, looked up, and met his eyes.

Just like before, when their eyes met, the teacher stared back for a long moment, then suddenly smiled and nodded.

Zhang Pa’s mind went blank—what was going on?

He knew himself best: poor, unattractive, no redeeming qualities, never believing in luck with women. He was so dazed that he simply lowered his head and searched for a seat.

The teacher was exceptionally beautiful; many in the restaurant stole glances at her, especially drawn to her lovely face.

But Zhang Pa was different. The first time he saw her, it was her dance that captivated him; this time, it was her eyes. Twice he’d met her, and both times he’d failed to remember her features, only that she was beautiful.

The Dandy, ever professional, immediately noticed Zhang Pa’s odd behavior... but that wasn’t important. What mattered was spotting the beauty. Before they’d even sat down, he pretended to scout for seats, his “radar” sweeping the room, and when they finally settled in, he clenched his fists in regret: they shouldn’t have invited Lu Yi Yi and the others out!