Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I recently moved into a new place, and my neighbors are a middle-aged couple.

Even though we haven’t officially met, I know they have a very passionate relationship.

How do I know?

I can hear it.

Every night at midnight, they engage in activities consistent with the biological patterns of springtime reproduction.

I live in a resettlement housing complex, and the soundproofing is abysmal.

I can clearly hear the sound of the man’s lighter when he has a post-coital cigarette.

I really don’t want to be in a position years from now where I have to say to their second child:

“Listen here, you little brat, I’ve been listening to you since before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye.”

What’s even worse is the woman. Her voice is incredibly raspy; when she moans, she sounds like a duck.

And her voice has incredible piercing power.

Every night, I’m subjected to her magical, 3D-surround-sound duck calls:

“Quack quack quack quack quack quack, ha ha ha ha, quack quack quack quack, ha ha ha ha!”

I feel like I’m being besieged by a flock of Donald Ducks.

Once, I had a nightmare.

I dreamed I was back in my senior year of high school, right in the middle of a monthly mock exam.

With less than a month to go before the National College Entrance Exam, I grabbed my test paper and looked at it. Holy crap-I didn’t know how to solve a single problem.

Cold sweat started pouring down my face.

The homeroom teacher glared at me with murderous intent, grabbed a chalkboard eraser, and hurled it at my head.

But when the eraser hit me, it turned into a duck neck.

The teacher opened his mouth and out came: “Quack quack quack quack quack!”

My entire class turned to look at me, and they all started quacking too: “Quack quack quack quack quack!”

The classroom transformed into a giant duck pond, with everyone quacking at me.

I jolted awake.

My back was drenched in sweat, and my heart was pounding against my ribs.

Next door, the sounds continued: “Quack quack quack quack, ha ha ha ha, quack quack quack quack!”

I stared at the ceiling, seriously considering writing a story titled *A Dream in a Duck Garden*.

The last time I heard a sound so abstract was back in school when my desk-mate was reading *Battle Through the Heavens* during evening self-study.

He would imitate the villains in the book, laughing at me with a “Jie jie jie jie!”

This couldn’t go on. If they kept quacking, I was going to crack.

So, I went over and knocked on their door.

The man answered.

He was wearing a pair of oversized boxers and dangling a cigarette from his mouth.

His pectoral muscles were sagging, and his eyes were full of suspicion.

He scanned me from head to toe and asked what I wanted.

I started by expressing my envy for their marital bliss and my admiration for his physical stamina.

Then, I tactfully mentioned that I didn’t really want to listen to the entire process of their second child being conceived, so could they perhaps keep it down a bit?

The man’s eyes widened. He snapped, “Who do you think you are, trying to police what goes on in our bedroom?”

From that point on, both parties engaged in a full and frank exchange of views regarding family ethics and physical health.

He expressed deep concern for the state of my mental health.

In return, I offered several suggestions for improving his moral and ethical standards.

Following that, he developed some rather unrealistic and lewd fantasies regarding my immediate female relatives.

I, in turn, raised questions about his biological origins, suggesting several highly probable candidates-such as the neighbor ‘Old Wang,’ some anonymous drifter, or even the village dog-and expressed hope that he would cooperate in verifying these possibilities as soon as possible.

Unexpectedly, he didn’t appreciate my ‘help’ and instead rolled up his sleeves, looking like he wanted to clock me.

I was overjoyed. I’d truly met a benefactor tonight.

It felt like a Xiaomi SU7 was already waving at me. I quickly stuck my face forward. “Come on, come on! Hit me! Please, I’m begging you, beat me to death!”

Just then, his wife rushed out of the bedroom and shoved him back. In that same duck-like voice, she screeched, “Hubby, let’s not lower ourselves to this psycho’s level. Quack!”

Finally, they slammed the door shut, bringing our friendly interview to an end.