Just write it in a joyful tone.

Zhang Pa pushed his bicycle down from the sidewalk, with Long the brat following closely behind. “I’ve got a car, want a ride? Want a ride? Want a ride?” His tone was shameless, practically provocative.

Zhang Pa pretended not to hear and rode his bike home.

But soon enough, he heard the blare of a horn behind him. Turning around, he saw Long the brat winking at him from a convertible sports car. “Hey, old timer, where are you headed?” Three other cars followed behind.

Zhang Pa called Fatty. “Find someone to look into Jiulong Real Estate.”

Fatty replied, “Already checking, just wait a bit.”

Looking into someone meant asking around, one contact leading to another, and half an hour later, the information came back.

Long Xiaole, twenty-one, heir to Jiulong Real Estate, member of the provincial billiards team, a snooker player, studied in England, and has played against Ding, the champion.

That single sentence was enough; no need for photos or further details. The shameless guy beside him could only be Long Xiaole.

There’s no way to mess with him. Zhang Pa focused on cycling. From the station to Xingfuli, it took over half an hour by bike, and after a while, he finally made it home. But Long Xiaole had followed him all the way.

Not just him, but the three cars behind entered as well. The group of men and women from the billiards hall—all of them showed up.

Zhang Pa got off his bike, turned to look back, and Long Xiaole stepped out and spoke. “Why run? Is that fun?”

“If your father weren’t Long Jianjun, I’d have beaten you to a pulp,” Zhang Pa replied.

Long Xiaole’s expression changed. “Stop boasting. One on one, dare you?”

Zhang Pa shook his head. “No, I really don’t dare.” He picked up his box and went inside.

Long Xiaole shouted, “Stop!”

Zhang Pa turned and asked, “Now what?”

“Aren’t you selling books? I’ll buy. I’ll buy a hundred copies, deliver them to my house.” Long Xiaole asked, “Know the address? Building One, Jiulong Garden.”

“I don’t deliver,” Zhang Pa said.

“No delivery?” Long Xiaole asked, “A thousand copies, will you deliver?”

“No,” Zhang Pa answered firmly.

“What about ten thousand copies?” Long Xiaole kept raising the stakes.

“Can’t you grow up a bit? This isn’t a TV drama,” Zhang Pa said, turning to head upstairs.

Four luxury cars parked in a row drew attention. Turtle came out from the alley and saw Zhang Pa turning away, quickly shouting, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Zhang Pa replied.

Long Xiaole asked again, “Ten thousand copies, will you sell?”

“Are you insane? Throwing twenty grand around for fun? You really are rich,” Zhang Pa said. “Honestly, it’s not that I don’t want the money—there aren’t ten thousand books.”

“How many do you have? I’ll take them all.”

“No delivery.”

“No need for delivery, just bring the books out.”

Zhang Pa put down the box. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Seeing Long Xiaole so arrogant, with a bunch of girls behind him, Turtle came over and asked, “Who is this guy?”

Zhang Pa shook his head, pointed at Long Xiaole. “One on one.”

Before Long Xiaole could speak, Goat stepped up. “I’ll play you.”

Turtle hesitated, then said, “Alright, I’ll play you.”

Ma Ping stepped forward. “Not here. Let’s duel at the stadium. No matter how many people come, it’s one on one. Dare you?”

Zhang Pa looked down at his box. “Forget it, it’s pointless.” He picked up the box and moved to leave.

Long Xiaole shouted, “One on one!”

Zhang Pa pretended not to hear, walked up the stairs step by step, opened the door, and entered his room.

He set down the box, collapsed onto the bed, and heard laughter outside. After pondering for a moment, he got up and looked out the window.

Long Xiaole was burning a book—the copy of “Strange Chef” he had taken from Zhang Pa, tearing out pages and burning them slowly. Some girls even pretended to warm themselves by the fire.

Zhang Pa sighed softly, opened the door, and walked out, stopping in front of Long Xiaole. “Come on, one on one.”

Long Xiaole ignored him, continuing to burn the book with focused amusement.

“Afraid?” Zhang Pa asked.

Long Xiaole replied, “You’re just a pauper. What right do you have to challenge me?”

Ma Ping said, “Want a duel? I’ll take you on.”

Turtle cursed, “Damn, what’s with the swagger? Just because you drive some flashy sports car, you think you’re rich?”

Long Xiaole glanced at Turtle, tossed the half-torn book to the ground, pulled a hundred yuan bill from his pocket, and threw it down as well. “Payment for your book.” Turning to Ma Ping, he said, “Let’s go. Don’t bother arguing with losers.” He got in his car and roared off.

Turtle asked Zhang Pa, “How did you offend them?”

“It wasn’t me, it was Fatty,” Zhang Pa replied.

“Where’s Fatty?” Turtle looked around.

Zhang Pa sighed, squatted down to pick up the half-torn, half-burned book and the hundred yuan bill, wondering to himself: When will I ever have money?

Ten minutes later, Fatty returned, heading straight upstairs into the room. “How’d it go?”

Turtle sat inside playing with his phone, looked up and asked, “Four cars came to cause trouble, two sports cars, two Benzes. Did you steal their money?”

Fatty cursed and asked Zhang Pa, “Did you get hurt?”

Zhang Pa waved the hundred yuan bill. “Rich people are arrogant. A hundred yuan for a book, then he burned it.”

Fatty sat on the bed and called someone on his phone.

“Is Long Jianjun from Xingfuli?” Zhang Pa asked.

“Why ask?” Turtle questioned.

Fatty explained, “Two nights ago, I got into it with his son.”

Turtle laughed. “You’re bold, daring to offend anyone. So, what now?”

“Who knows,” Fatty replied, spoke a few words into the phone, hung up, and told Zhang Pa, “Three big shots came out of Xingfuli, Long Jianjun is the toughest.”

“Who are the other two?” Zhang Pa asked curiously.

“He Boss is in prison, and no one knows where the other is,” Turtle answered quickly.

The reason Fatty immediately returned the phone when he heard the name Jiulong Real Estate was because Long Jianjun came from Xingfuli.

Jiulong Real Estate—Long Jianjun and his nine brothers made their way in the underworld. After more than ten years, some died, some were crippled, and the rest all went to prison. Long Jianjun was sentenced to life for murder, but was released after only six years.

Afterward, he rose even higher, growing richer and more powerful. Many small-time thugs from Xingfuli took Long Jianjun as a role model—Fatty among them.

“I really want to beat Long Xiaole up,” Zhang Pa said.

“Forget it. Long Jianjun stands on equal footing with the mayor now. Are you crazy to offend him?” Fatty said.

It wasn’t just about Long Jianjun’s wealth, but the powerful connections behind him, with someone who had risen to a very high position.

Zhang Pa didn’t respond immediately, then asked Fatty after a while, “Are you still competing?”

“Compete my ass, how could I?” Fatty swore, “Let’s go drink.”

“I can’t, I have work to do,” Zhang Pa replied.

“Work again!” Fatty grumbled. “I’ve got to hand it to you. One day, you’ll die from overwork.” He left with Turtle.

Zhang Pa kept working on his story, skipping lunch and writing straight through until evening. Then he got a call from Wang Lily, saying she’d be discharged tomorrow afternoon, and asked if he could help with her release.

Zhang Pa agreed, uploaded his finished article, then lay back and stared blankly.

He’d been in Xingfuli for four years, writing stories for five. So much time slipped by, and he had achieved nothing. The best years of youth spent dreaming, but the dream refused to come true.

The price of dreams was having no partner and no money, struggling to this point, unable even to see the way ahead.

Lost in his thoughts, he got up, turned on the light, and looked around the room.

This was all he had to show for years of striving...

The two girls next door worked as hostesses in a karaoke bar. Last time, they were drinking at the street corner, four girls together. One short girl with big eyes got drunk and thumped her chest, saying, “I came to the provincial capital with twenty yuan, and now I have everything—TV, fridge, washing machine, computer—all earned by myself.”

She was boasting, since she had neither house nor car. Even with lots of clothes and appliances, moving meant leaving some behind. And these things she had traded her body for.

At the time, Zhang Pa scoffed at her words, but now, thinking it over, he felt he was worse off than her. At least she had plenty of appliances and clothes, while he had nothing.

He lifted the bedsheet. Under the bed lay neatly packed parcels of brown paper, containing the first volume of “Strange Chef.” He’d spent sixteen thousand to print a thousand copies, and now nine hundred remained. Nine hundred weighty dreams.

Under the bed was just part; many more were stored in Fatty’s warehouse.

He squatted down to look at his dreams wrapped in brown paper, staring for a long time, writing a girl’s name with his index finger on the floor.

Suddenly the phone rang. He got up, found it, and answered, “Who is this?”

“Your Grandpa Long,” Long Xiaole replied. “Come out, let’s have a drink.”

“Are you crazy?” Zhang Pa answered.

“Big Tiger Barbecue. Scared to come?”

“Fine, wait for me.” Zhang Pa hung up and went out, pedaling to the barbecue place.

Angry, he hurried over, only to find the three men and five women from earlier now sitting with Fatty and Turtle...

Zhang Pa sat down. “I’m here,” he said coldly.

Long Xiaole glanced at him, poured a glass of beer in front of Zhang Pa. “This one’s for my apology.” He picked up his own glass and downed it.

Zhang Pa kept his face cold, unmoved.

“Drink,” Fatty urged.

Zhang Pa didn’t touch the glass, and asked what was going on.

“One thing at a time,” Long Xiaole said. “You may be a jerk, but I respect those who chase their dreams. Burning your book earlier was wrong. I didn’t know you wrote it. Here’s another glass as punishment.” He drained another glass.

After thinking it over, Zhang Pa said, “It’s nothing,” drank his beer, and got up. “I’m leaving.” He pushed his bike away.

He didn’t want to go home, so he rode south, then turned west. There was a nationally renowned music academy there. He stopped at the gate and watched the young men and women coming and going for a long time, then rode back.

How many dreams can a person have?

On the night road, Zhang Pa sang at the top of his lungs, shouting the wild roars preserved in his memory.

Returning to the street corner at Xingfuli, he saw the cars outside the barbecue place were gone. He went over and found Fatty and Turtle still there, along with Six and Old Meng, gathered together drinking.

Zhang Pa went over and asked, “Why are you hanging out with Long Xiaole?”

“He came to pick up his phone, we came to eat. We just happened to meet, argued, and I said burning your book was wrong since you work so hard writing every day. Then he stopped arguing and said he’d invite you for a drink,” Fatty replied simply.

Zhang Pa quickly protested, “It’s not hard! Not hard at all! Don’t spread rumors about me!”