Baicai Street lies on the outskirts of the city, a rather ordinary thoroughfare.
Due to its proximity to the newly established Dragon Kong Mountain University and several migrant worker communities, this street, though somewhat distant from the city center, boasts a population density that might even surpass that of the heart of the city. The people swarm here like flies around a garbage heap.
Whether day or night, the street is lined with various street vendors—those selling grilled lamb skewers, sugarcane, cold jelly drinks, phone charms, pirated books, and snacks—countless hawkers shouting and pushing their carts, blocking the narrow sidewalks to the point of immobility, and even spilling onto the road. It has, undoubtedly, earned the reputation of being the city's busiest street for street markets.
In the peak of summer, during rush hour, the street becomes a hive of activity: people jostling, vendors shouting in dialects from all corners of the country, colorful sewage flowing across the road, and the air filled with the scents of street food. Meanwhile, the drivers, poor souls, anxiously honk their horns...
Fortunately, the notorious BMW drivers, prone to hitting pedestrians, rarely roam here. And the tragedy of "driving at 70 km/h" is impossible here—if anyone dared to speed at such a pace on this street, it would be a massacre rather than a race.
Naturally, where there are crowds, there are bound to be conflicts. The more congested the place, the more frequent the disputes. Baicai Street is no exception. Beneath the dimming sunset, yet another "heated" altercation is about to unfold.
"...Damn your ancestors! You want me to pay sixty for a smashed watermelon? I spit on you!" The wiry, dark-skinned migrant worker from Chongqing, eyes wide, cursed in imperfect Mandarin, slamming his large hand onto the counter. "It's almost July! Who's still got such a precious watermelon? This isn't even the right way to extort!"
"...Tch! Shameless miser, you broke my watermelon, so you gotta pay up!" The round-bodied fruit vendor squinted his eyes, brandishing a gleaming watermelon knife in a threatening manner. "This is authentic Nanjing melon, grafted with imported varieties. Sixty yuan is cheap! So, are you paying or not?"
"...Fuck! You wanna kill me?" The migrant worker swiftly jumped back as the shiny blade swung toward him, then planted his hands on his hips, shouting, "We, the 'bangbang' from Chongqing, don't need to take any shit! Come at me if you want to fight!"
In front of the onlookers, the migrant worker cursed and untied a large burlap sack from his back. He pulled out a section of stainless steel water pipe, seemingly scavenged from a construction site, and discarded his sweat-drenched shirt, revealing his muscular frame covered in colorful tattoos. "Look here, my arms bear the Azure Dragon on the left and the White Tiger on the right. An old bull at my waist, a dragon's head on my chest. I kill anyone who stands in my way, even Buddha! Crushing someone like you is nothing!"
Holding the steel pipe, he mimicked a martial arts stance, swaggering like a Shaolin monk, as though to flaunt his skills. But the fruit vendor eyed him with a look of disdain... and perhaps even pity?
"...Tsk tsk, what Azure Dragon, White Tiger? That's the stuff of outdated martial arts novels. You rural bumpkin from the southwest, don't you know you need to keep up with the times?"
The fruit vendor sneered as he loosened his flowery shirt, revealing a patch of dark chest hair and a crab tattoo hidden within. He also showed off small, fine characters inked on his arms.
"See this? I have the Eight Honors on the left and the Eight Shames on the right. The Three Represents hang at my waist, and the River Crab divine beast rests in my chest. One word—back off, or I'll harmonize you into oblivion!"
"...Oh, damn it! Stop talking and let's see what you've got!" The migrant worker, now enraged, swung the water pipe against the asphalt, causing a loud clang. "You want to fight me? I'll beat you till your own mother wouldn't recognize you!"
"...This should be my line!" The fruit vendor snorted, bending down to grab a brick from under his tricycle and then snatching a cleaver. "Today, I'll beat the shit out of you, whether you've cleaned up or not!"
"...Everyone, come look! A fight's about to break out!"
"...Tsk tsk, they're pulling out weapons!"
"...Place your bets! Chongqing 'bangbang' is 1 to 2! The fat guy selling melons at Hongxing farm is 1 to 3! Who's buying?"
The crowd, ever eager for chaos, erupted into noise, quickly forming a circle to watch the impending duel. Many pulled out their phones to film the "fight," eager to share the scene later on their blogs for the amusement of their followers.
Thus, yet another spectacle was about to unfold in the streets of Baicai.
Suddenly, through the loudspeakers often used for street sales, a terrified voice rang out:
"...The wind's strong! The city management's coming!"
In an instant, the air seemed to freeze. The loud clamor of the street fell silent as if time had stopped.
The hawkers, like soldiers hearing the charge of battle or students hearing the bell for class, quickly sprang into action. Their carts were abandoned as they dashed off with the speed of an athlete in a sprint, turning the street into a chaotic mess.
"...Tch! These damned grey-skinned devils are here again!"
"...City management's coming, quick, pack up!"
"...Forget it, the fines for being caught are worse than this!"
"...We just got checked last week. Why are they back again today?"
"...What are you still talking for? Run! Do you want to be caught and fined again?"
The street erupted into a cacophony of shouting, cries, and hurried footsteps. Even the two would-be brawlers, no longer in the mood for a fight, dropped their weapons and hurried to flee. The fruit vendor abandoned his watermelon, tossing aside his cleaver and brick as he scrambled for his tricycle. The migrant worker shoved his water pipe into his bag and disappeared into the crowd.
Soon, two city management officers and two dogs appeared at the street entrance.
"...Woof woof!"
"...Stop, you beasts!"
Two panting, foam-flecked stray dogs led the charge, followed by two equally exhausted city management officers in grey uniforms, wielding electric batons and iron tongs. They had clearly been running for quite some time, looking as if they might collapse at any moment.
Despite the apparent misunderstanding—the so-called "inspection" being a case of mistaken identity—most of the street vendors had already scattered far and wide, never even looking back to check what was going on. Thus, the area was left deserted, the once-crowded Baicai Street now littered with trash and fruit peels, but devoid of human life.
One of the officers, a young man, spotted a familiar face among the fleeing hawkers and shouted in a desperate attempt to calm the panic:
"...Everyone, calm down! No need to be afraid, we're only here to catch the dogs, not you!"
Before he could finish his sentence, the elder officer, a man with glasses, smacked him on the back of the head.
"...What are you saying, Xiao Wang? Are you trying to tarnish the image of city management? This is madness!"
"...Sorry, sorry, Master Sun, I misspoke," the young officer quickly apologized. But as he turned around, he let out a startled cry. "Oh no! The dogs are escaping!"
"...Right... Ha, we've hit them a few times, but they're still fast!"
While they were distracted, the two stray dogs they had been chasing earlier had managed to dart into a narrow alley. Through piles of garbage, old bicycles, and air conditioning units, they swiftly disappeared from view, mastering the art of guerrilla warfare.
The two city management officers, realizing what had happened, paused for a moment and, with a resigned sigh, stopped in their tracks, looking at the deserted street littered with trash, unsure of what to do next.
—The dogs were nowhere to be found, but the people had scattered? What was this supposed to mean?
...
City management, also known as "chengguan," is a proud, distinguished profession—one filled with vitality and a touch of violence. With roots tracing back to the city guards of Ancient Rome, these officers are part of a long-standing tradition of urban control, though today, their work in China is far more specialized.
At the dawn of summer, on the first day of his internship with the Canine Management Center, Wang Qiu quickly learned the harsh realities of his role.
...The scorching heat of late June made the air nearly unbearable. Even though it was past five in the afternoon, the sun's intense rays continued to bake the earth, causing the gravel on the street to shimmer. Exhausted, the two officers collapsed onto the cement flowerbed at the roadside, breathing heavily as they sought shelter from the relentless sun.
The city was hot and oppressive, the constant buzzing of cicadas nearly maddening. Even the wild cats by the roadside seemed listless, lounging in the grass.
"Master Sun, today's been really hard on you. Drink some water," Wang Qiu said, handing a bottle of ice-cold water to his senior officer. "I speak my mind, so I hope you don't take offense. You've been working in the