"Boss, is this cage sturdy?" I asked, a sense of unease creeping over me.
Inside two rows of iron cages were snarling fighting dogs, their eyes locked on me as though they had seen some wild beast. All of them were in attack mode. If not for the chains holding them back, they'd probably have lunged at me and torn me to pieces.
Even the boss, standing at the door, looked puzzled. "This has never happened before. Sir, could it be that you used to work as a professional dog butcher?"
"Me? I don't even have the guts to kill a chicken, let alone a dog," I replied. These fierce and powerful dogs didn't meet my criteria. Their hostility toward me made it clear they couldn't be tamed.
"Do you have any other dogs here?" I asked, unwilling to give up. This was the largest pet dog store in the market, and if I couldn't find a suitable dog here, there was no point looking elsewhere.
Hearing my question, the boss took a deep breath and said meaningfully, "Today really is peculiar. Fine, since you're already here, let me show you my special collection."
We passed through the rows of cages and arrived at a separate enclosure in the back of the shop.
Even before we got within ten meters, the hunting dogs housed there began to roar fiercely, their barks loud enough to shake the roof. The iron bars clanged, and the sound of their bodies slamming into the cages echoed like thunder.
"Stay away from the cages. All these dogs have histories of injuring people. Technically, they should've been euthanized, but I just couldn't bear to do it."
"Got it." Strangely, my anticipation grew. These dogs' acute sensitivity to dark energy made it worth taking one home.
Inside the enclosure, the iron cages were reinforced and noticeably larger than those outside.
The boss lifted the black cloth covering the first cage and pointed. "This is a Neapolitan Mastiff, one of the most dangerous dog breeds in the world. Once it attacks, it won't stop until either its prey or it is dead. It's also known to consume its kills, including humans. It was once a favorite of the mafia, used to instill terror and assert power."
The ferocious dog inside barked relentlessly. It was enormous, like a young horse a year or two old.
"I wouldn't recommend this one. It's fully grown now, and since its previous owner died, no one has been able to tame it," the boss warned.
Moving to the next cage, the boss lifted another cover. "This is an Italian Cane Corso. It was historically used to drive cattle to slaughterhouses, biting the animals to aid the butchers. It's also used to hunt large game like wild boar. Agile, brave, and highly resilient, it fights to the bitter end. Many depictions of Cerberus, the hellhound, are said to be modeled after this breed."
"With some effort, this type of dog can be tamed and will become your most loyal guardian. If you're interested, the price is 30,000 yuan."
"Thirty thousand…" Despite the boss's elaborate pitch, I had only 200 yuan in my pocket—an amount I'd thought would be more than enough.
Unaware of my predicament, the boss unveiled the third cage. "This is a Pit Bull, also known as the American Fighting Dog. A 30-kilogram Pit Bull can defeat a 75-kilogram Caucasian Shepherd and kill two sheepdogs in three minutes. Among fighting dogs, it's the most ferocious and combative. This purebred has injured people multiple times and has an exceptionally bad temperament. For you, I'll discount it to 15,000."
Noticing my stoic expression, the boss moved to the fourth cage. "This one belongs to a bankrupt businessman from Zhejiang who left it here for consignment. A purebred Tibetan Mastiff with video proof of its prowess. It once held its own against three hungry wolves. The seller insists on 100,000 yuan."
I licked my dry lips. A dog costing 100,000? Ridiculous.
"What's in that last cage, boss?" I asked casually, more out of curiosity than anything else.
The boss hesitated, looking conflicted. "That one's not for sale. If you can't find anything you like, I suggest you leave."
"Not for sale?" His words piqued my interest even more. "Boss, you're not keeping a protected species back there, are you? That would be illegal."
"Of course not! Fine, if you want to see it, go ahead. But it's nothing special," he said, pulling off the cover.
Inside the cage lay an ordinary-looking mutt, lazily sprawled out.
"You had it hidden so carefully I thought it might be a lion," I joked. Compared to the other majestic and intimidating dogs, this mutt seemed far too plain.
The boss chuckled wryly. "This dog's breed is the Chinese Rural Dog, commonly known as a village dog."
"Appearances can be deceiving. You must've hidden it in the back for a reason. Tell me more," I pressed.
Embarrassed, the boss continued, "This dog was left here by a scruffy Taoist priest who was penniless. He offered to sell the dog for a bottle of liquor."
"Selling a dog for booze? That's bold." I examined the mutt closely. Strangely, while the other dogs in the room were cowering or silent, this one lay there unfazed, uninterested in me.
"The priest claimed it was a guardian dog from Changbai Mountain. He said it had chased off Siberian tigers, fought bears, and killed six- to seven-meter-long snakes. It grew up drinking water from Heaven Lake and eating herbs."
"This?" I asked skeptically, eyeing the small dog, which, even with its tail stretched out, barely measured a meter.
"Boss, your story's a bit far-fetched, don't you think?" Anyone with common sense would find it hard to believe.
"That's what the priest said. I didn't believe it either at first, but I later noticed something unusual about this dog," the boss admitted. "These fighting dogs are vicious and can't be housed together. But this mutt is different."
He gestured to the other dogs. "Once, a bull terrier escaped its cage. We couldn't control it and were about to call the police when this mutt suddenly appeared. It barked once, and the bull terrier obediently returned to its cage."
"Another time, my wife brought our feverish child to the shop, asking me to drive them to the hospital. But before I could, the fever subsided. When we walked in, the child was playing with this dog."
"The scene was unforgettable. The dog sat majestically at the door, and not a single other pet dared make a sound."
"Another odd thing happened when we left. The dog clung to the child's clothes and wouldn't let go. We ended up cutting the fabric. After we threw out that piece of clothing, the child never got sick again. Later, when we visited family during the holidays, we learned my wife's nephew, who drowned in a reservoir, had worn those clothes first."
"Boss, I'm here to buy a dog, not listen to ghost stories." Despite knowing he was likely telling the truth, I had to keep my identity as a Hell Show host a secret and appear as ordinary as possible.
The boss looked sheepish. "Sometimes I find it hard to believe myself. But this dog has genuine spirit. It's been sold several times but always managed to find its way back. Eventually, I decided to keep it, treating it well out of gratitude for what it's done."
"That's quite a bond," I said, touched by the story. A dog with such a strong connection to people was exactly what I needed.
"How much for it? I sincerely want to buy it. Name your price, boss."
"It's not about the money. Even if you take it, it might find its way back here. Then I'd have to refund you."
"That's my problem. Just name a price," I insisted, pretending to eagerly reach for my wallet.
"The price is what the Taoist set—this many." The boss held up five fingers.
"Five hundred? That's steep. I think 200 is fair."
"Fifty thousand."
"What?!" I exclaimed, startled. Losing my balance, I stepped on something and stumbled into a cage. The Tibetan Mastiff inside, already annoyed with me, lunged at the bars, teeth bared, as if ready to attack.