CH 13

He's a Good Boy

Translated by boilpoil

Edited by boilpoil

After lunch, it’s time Bai Yao prepared the ingredients for the restaurant tonight.

He takes out over a dozen broccolis from the fridge, and spreads them out evenly in the water to wash them clean. Then he takes many steaks out of the freezer and puts them on the tray to thaw. After which he will marinate them with pepper and salt.

While waiting for the steaks, he gets out his dried scallops, shrimps, clams and tofu, and washes them before putting them in separate bowls next to the stove. These are the ingredients for the seafood soup.

His procedure and methods are established and precise, thanks to his six years thus far practising his cooking. It’s practically muscle memory at this point, and he can accomplish them with his eyes blindfolded.

He actually adjusts his menu every night, depending on what ingredients he could procure and what’s already in the fridge, and sometimes, just because he feels or doesn’t feel like it. He’d always make sure there are exactly 13 dishes on the menu, though, which is the limit Bai Yao is confident about being able to maintain the quality thereof during rush hour.

When a whole counter of fresh ingredients have been prepared, Bai Yao finally takes a break and sighs in relief. While mulling over having a cigarette and taking a breather, he notices the little sea otter fumbling with something outside.

The restaurant’s kitchen window can see partly into the back garden, and it appears the little sea otter left some time ago, and is working on some project in the garden.

He has his back to the window, so only when he turns around does Bai Yao see the large grey specimen of stone he has found somewhere, and the little sea otter is working hard on pushing it forward.

It’s too heavy for him, though, nor does it help that he isn’t suited to movement on land and that his short stubby paws aren’t suited to dragging either. All he can do is push the rock with his whole body, but it resolutely refuses to nudge more than a few centimetres at a time.

When he looks back at how far he’s come along, the little sea otter sighs dejectedly, only to continue pushing along once he’s had enough of a rest.

After a while, the little sea otter switches to pushing with his head and using all fours to push on the ground, but the grass is still quite slippery, and soon enough, he falls flat on the ground with a splat, and his throat makes a meek ‘squeak.’

Bai Yao remembers the stone now. He used it as his door stop when the restaurant was first built. Golden Shell Seafood Restaurant was actually built almost entirely from scratch by Bai Yao himself. He knew nothing of architecture when he started, so he didn’t even know how to set up hinges properly, and any light breeze would just promptly shut the door and restaurant down. All he could do back then was get a big rock to hold it.

He didn’t throw the rock away when he finally got the door fixed, and instead left it in the back garden as part of the decoration.

Bai Yao couldn’t even begin to imagine why the little sea otter is spending so much effort on moving such a comparatively large rock, so he washes his hands clean and walks back out to the garden casually, kneels until they’re seeing each other on the same level, and asks, “are you trying to move it inside? To trip me up so I’d tumble and die?”

His lighthearted tone and narrowed eyes, coupled with the bad boy expression is a clear sign he’s merely teasing the sea otter.

The little sea otter looks him in the eye, and both nods and shakes his head; yes to the former, a firm no to the latter.

Bai Yao pretends he doesn’t understand, “oh, but what would we do? I can’t even lift such a big rock by myself.”

The little sea otter starts sulking. His whiskers twitch as his eyes well up. He then tugs at Bai Yao’s hand with his paw, and gives his fingertip a little boop.

The tip of his nose is a little wet, a little cold, and a little soft. He really can’t tell the difference between a sea otter boop and a puppy boop.

Great. A little tease and he’s on the verge of tears; a pet? It’s more like he’s caring for a needy toddler.

The rock is big, like, two and a half basketballs big. It’s certainly heavy, as evidenced when Bai Yao’s bicep visibly bulging before it would lift. He’s keeping it quite a distance away from his body for good measure – it’s sticky, full of lichen and also has lots of wet dirt sticking on from the rain last night.

The little sea otter, seeing that Bai Yao is not only able to lift, but appears willing to help him transport it indoors, excitedly hops up and down; the slippery webbed feet on the even slippery grass makes it easy enough to tell he’d slip and fall onto the ground with a thump again.

Not that it seems to hurt as much this time, as he quickly gets back up and fixes his gaze back on his big rock, like he’s worried Bai Yao is confiscating it or something.

Bai Yao, meanwhile, looks like he has lots he wants to say to the dum-dum in front of him, but he merely sighs in the end.

He walks back into the restaurant, following behind the little sea otter, and asks, “where do you want it?”

The little sea otter slowly scouts his way through the restaurant, keeping a keen eye on his surroundings, before kneeling down in the middle of the entrance area right after one enters the restaurant. He pats the ground with his little paw, looking up and waiting expectantly for Bai Yao to put his stone down.

Bai Yao “…”

This is the most jarring spot in the restaurant that he could’ve chosen.

He should really have thrown this stupid piece of rock away when the restaurant was finished, truly.

Bai Yao feels like he’s being an elevator right now, the kind that transports the customer’s custom-ordered massage bathtub from the street onto their luxurious penthouse apartment.

After he has put it on the ground, the little sea otter circles his rock about, and wags his tail in satisfaction. He touches the rock with his paw, then turns around, straightens himself, rubs his paw in front of himself, and bows towards Bai Yao. For thanks.

Finally, he just sits next to the stone and doesn’t move at all. He’s silently waiting, guarding, or like he’s piously praying to some deity in a temple.

Bai Yao is mystified as to why he is so obsessed over his big stone. He feels like asking, but decides not to.

He’s not likely to get an intelligible answer at any rate.

Not long after, though, by the time dinner rolls around, he would have an answer.

Bai Yao rarely enjoys breaks during the open hours of the restaurant, which is from 4 in the afternoon until 8. All four hours when he can barely make the time to sit down for a minute; often a few tables are ordering while four or five dishes are cooking on the stove. It makes him really wish he was a species with two additional limbs.

Still, he’s fit and active, so he isn’t too tired out standing and running all evening. It’s just taxing on him mentally.

After the restaurant is closed, he finally remembers that both he and the little sea otter is waiting for a meal.

Bai Yao himself is fine, as his circadian rhythm is used to having late dinners, like after 9 or so. His body knows not to feel hunger until then. It’s different for the dumb otter, however. He’s thin for an otter, but apparently they still eat a lot.

He vaguely recalls that article he read saying sea otters can eat as much as a quarter of their own body weight a day. The little sea otter isn’t just dumb, but a devouring beast.

Just before the restaurant was about to open, he carried him upstairs and told him not to come downstairs or make too much noise.

He didn’t even hear a whisper, let alone ‘much noise.’ It couldn’t have fainted from hunger, could it?

So after the last customers have left, he quickly locks the front door and leaves the kitchen to its mess for now, and hurries upstairs. He doesn’t find the sea otter anywhere for a while, until finally, he runs into the guest storeroom where there is a bulge in the blankets. He flips it open, and the little sea otter is sleeping inside.

Well, half-asleep at any rate. With his treasured little seashells in his embrace, and his little paw sitting right on top of his favourite one – the first, biggest scallop that Bai Yao opened up for him.

“Didn’t starve to death? Good,” says Bai Yao, but sighing in relief in his mind, as he pulls the blanket away, and asks loudly, “what do you want for dinner? My treat.”

The little sea otter makes a barely audible whimper, which almost ends up in chorus with his grumbling tummy. He looks up at Bai Yao unenergetically, and lifts his paw a little to pat him on the leg as greeting.

He’s hungry. Really, really hungry, but he remembered what Bai Yao told him to do.

He did not look for him even if he’s hungry. What Bai Yao said was his commandment. He did not even make a decibel of noise upstairs.

From late afternoon until well into the evening, he stayed here, quietly, waited for Bai Yao to be finished, to come back to him.

He’s such a good boy. Almost heart-wrenchingly so.

Bai Yao feels a little guilty, too. He cusses at himself inside, and crouches to hug and carry the otter downstairs with one arm, holding him like a barrel.

“… Next time, at least squeak when you’re hungry. Or I’d forget about you. Ok?”