The Short-Legged General

Old Ma lived under the southern city wall, in an area of gray, nondescript tenement buildings. Truth be told, Old Ma hadn't weathered any great storms in his life. He'd spent half his youth tightening screws in a factory. His pension wasn't much, but it wasn't too little either – enough to get by, he wouldn't starve. His only attachment, or rather, his only source of "face," was his Corgi.

The dog had quite a majestic name: "General." Why General? Old Ma would say, "Look at his little short legs, the way his butt waddles when he runs, doesn't he look like a great general inspecting his territory?" Whether others believed it or not, Old Ma himself did. Every morning and evening, walking the "General" in the small garden downstairs was his happiest time.

And indeed, the "General" did bring Old Ma face. Its yellow and white fur was kept clean. Its bottom was round and plump, and when it walked, it looked like a little rolling furball. The old folks in the small garden would always offer a compliment upon seeing the "General": "Old Ma, your dog is really handsome!" At such times, Old Ma felt as refreshed as if he'd drunk a bowl of iced plum soup in summer, comfortable from the inside out. He would wave his hand in feigned modesty, "Ah, just raising him casually, nothing special." But inside, the little flower of pride bloomed brighter than any peony.

Isn't that how it is? Humans live for face, trees live for bark. Old Ma didn't have much to show off. His wife had passed away early, and his son was out of town, rarely coming back more than a few times a year. This "General" was his companion, and also his meager status symbol among the old neighbors in this area.

Unfortunately, good times don't last long. Like clouds in the sky, things changed just like that.

That evening, the weather was a bit muggy. Old Ma took the "General" downstairs as usual. As soon as they reached the small garden, they ran into "Big Gold Tooth" from the opposite building. No one clearly remembered Big Gold Tooth's real surname; he got the nickname because of a shiny gold tooth that flashed wherever he went. Big Gold Tooth owned a German Shepherd named "Hei Bao" (Black Panther), which was tall, large, and imposing.

"Hei Bao" and "General" usually kept to themselves, like well water not interfering with river water. But that day, perhaps "Hei Bao" had eaten something wrong. Seeing the "General" waddling over with its little bottom, it let out a low growl and suddenly lunged.

Old Ma was startled and quickly pulled the leash. Although the "General" was short, it had a stubborn streak deep down. It stiffened its neck and bared its teeth, charging forward. The two dogs instantly tumbled together.

The scene was utterly lopsided. How could the "General's" short legs be a match for "Hei Bao"? In just a few moments, it was pinned down by "Hei Bao," yelping pitifully. Old Ma was sweating profusely with anxiety, yelling, "Big Gold Tooth! Pull your dog away quickly!" while wanting to help but fearing "Hei Bao" might bite him too.

And Big Gold Tooth? He sauntered over slowly, a cigarette dangling from his lips, watching the spectacle with a sidelong glance, chuckling, "Take it easy, Old Ma. The little guys are just playing, just messing around."

"Playing? Look! He's bleeding!" Old Ma's face flushed red with anger.

Some neighbors had gathered around to watch the commotion, pointing and murmuring.

"Aiyo, how can a Corgi beat a German Shepherd?" "Exactly, the size difference is too big." "Old Ma's dog usually looks tough, but it's no good in a real fight."

These words, like little needles, pierced Old Ma's heart, one by one. He felt his own face hurt more than the "General" pinned down by "Hei Bao."

Finally, Big Gold Tooth lazily called off "Hei Bao." The "General" scrambled back to Old Ma's side, its leg scraped and bleeding. More devastatingly, its eyes, usually bright and sparkling, were now filled with terror and... grievance? Yes, grievance. It hung its head, tucked its tail, not even daring to whimper loudly.

Old Ma's heart ached, and he was furious. He glared at Big Gold Tooth, wanting to say something harsh, but looking at the other man's indifferent expression, the words died on his lips. What could he say? His dog lost the fight, could he really seek justice from someone? He picked up the "General," didn't say a word, and slunk back home. His figure, under the dim yellow streetlights, looked particularly desolate.

Back home, Old Ma cleaned the "General's" wound and opened its favorite canned meat. But the "General" didn't even sniff it. It just lay in its den, head buried between its front paws, motionless. Old Ma called its name, but it only twitched an ear slightly, too listless to even lift an eyelid.

"General, oh, my good General," Old Ma crouched by the dog den, murmuring, "So what if we lost a fight? It's okay, we won't stoop to that brute's level. Tomorrow, Dad will buy you a big bone to chew on!"

The "General" still didn't react.

Old Ma sighed, his heart heavy. He knew the "General" wasn't just hurting physically; it was... indignant. Yes, indignant. Usually, in the small garden, it was a little tyrant itself. Despite its short legs, it had a loud bark and a strong presence; smaller dogs deferred to it. Today, being beaten so badly by "Hei Bao" in front of so many "dog friends and human friends," its "General's" majesty was completely swept away.

That night, Old Ma didn't sleep soundly either. In his daze, he kept thinking he heard the "General" whimpering.

The next morning, Old Ma woke up and habitually went to check on the "General." In the dog den, the small body was curled up, motionless. Old Ma's heart skipped a beat. He reached out to touch it.

Ice-cold. The body was already stiff.

Old Ma's mind went blank with a buzz, as if struck by a heavy blow. He couldn't believe it, shaking the "General" vigorously: "General! General! Wake up! Dad's taking you out to play!"

Useless. Those once spirited eyes were shut tight, never to open again.

Old Ma collapsed onto the floor, speechless for a long time. Sunlight streamed through the window, making the room bright, but Old Ma felt like his sky had fallen.

He didn't know exactly how the "General" had died. There were no obvious external injuries, aside from the scrape on its leg. Later, an old veterinarian he knew from downstairs came to take a look. After pondering for a while, the vet sighed and said, "Old Ma, this dog... I'm afraid it died of anger."

Died of anger? A dog could actually be angered to death?

Old Ma sat there, looking at the "General's" small body, suddenly finding the whole affair so absurd it was almost laughable, yet so sad it made one want to cry.

He remembered the "General's" aggrieved yet stubborn eyes from yesterday, Big Gold Tooth's gloating face, the idle gossip of the neighbors.

The "General" was a dog, but it also had its "face," its "dignity." It lost the fight, which wasn't just a physical defeat but a mental collapse. It couldn't bear the grievance, couldn't withstand the blow, and just... died of anger.

Old Ma slowly stood up, found a clean old sheet, and carefully wrapped the "General" in it. He didn't cry, his eyes were just empty.

He carried the "General" and went downstairs. In the small garden, the sun was shining brightly, and a few old ladies were chatting. Big Gold Tooth was also there, parading his "Hei Bao" around boastfully. Seeing Old Ma, "Hei Bao" tried to lunge again but was pulled back by Big Gold Tooth.

Seeing what Old Ma was carrying, Big Gold Tooth froze for a moment, then a flicker of expression crossed his face, barely perceptible, a mix of surprise and slight mockery: "Yo, Old Ma, what's this...?"

Old Ma didn't look at him, nor did he acknowledge the curious glances from others. He held his "Short-Legged General," step by step, slowly walking out of the small garden, towards the depths of the gray tenement buildings. His back was more stooped, his steps heavier.

He knew that from now on, he wouldn't come back to this small garden anymore. His "General" was gone, and the bit of "face" he had gained through the "General" had vanished with it, dissipating like smoke. The rest of his days would probably just be about getting by, and waiting for the end, whenever it might come.

The wind blew, swirling a few fallen leaves, as if mocking the pitiful and laughable thing in this world, whether for humans or dogs, called "face."