Chapter Sixty: Hu Three-Blades

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“Hu Ji Dog Meat Pot?!”
Isn’t that the very place Old Jin brought us dog meat hotpot from? That restaurant butchers meat dogs every day—could there be a connection between the dog spirit and this place?

“Have you figured out what’s going on?” Old Liao, noticing us muttering for a while, came over to join us.

“It’s almost certain that it’s a case of dog spirit possession, probably related to Hu Ji Dog Meat.”

“The same place we ate at last time?”

I nodded, feeling a bit troubled. After all, I’m a tattoo artist—giving a little kid a tattoo is hardly appropriate. What should I do?

Old Liao seemed to sense my hesitation. “True, the child’s too young for a tattoo. What about a pigeon blood tattoo? Is that possible?”

I shook my head. The pigeon blood tattoo could be done, but the child is still so young. If he ever sweats during gym class or gets emotional and the tattoo appears, it would cause a sensation in the whole school, and bring no small trouble for Old Fu as well. It seemed the Yin-Yang Embroidery was truly useless in this matter.

“Should we go check out that restaurant?”

“Let’s do it.”

Old Liao and I decided to visit the place first and see for ourselves.

Hu Ji’s restaurant isn’t what you’d call an old brand; it only rose to prominence in the last couple of years. People in South Guangdong are famous for their love of food, and this restaurant is renowned for its dog meat hotpots.

Especially in recent years, the public debate between dog lovers and dog eaters has only fueled the popularity of places like Hu Ji, rather than forcing them to close. In fact, business is booming more than ever.

Though it sounds like a run-of-the-mill dog meat eatery, we were both shocked when we arrived. It was nothing like a typical restaurant—Hu Ji had taken over nearly half the street, merging five or six storefronts, not counting the private rooms upstairs.

One could say it’s practically a street dedicated to Hu Ji Dog Meat.

Behind the main dining area, there was even a small factory for breeding and slaughtering dogs. As soon as we got close, a cacophony of barking, loud enough to shake the air, assaulted our ears.

Old Liao frowned. “It’s so disruptive—don’t the neighbors complain?”

An old man playing chess on the roadside overheard and grumbled,
“Who’d dare? Get in Hu Three-Blades’ way of making money and he’ll come after you.”

That was a clue. Old Liao quickly approached and awkwardly offered the chess-playing elder a cigarette.

“Knight to Horse, check your general!” The old man was absorbed in his game, but with a deft move from his opponent, he lost and, still unconvinced, clamored for a rematch to save face.

The other onlookers were having none of it and shooed him off the bench with a barrage of complaints.

With his chess game over, the old man finally accepted Old Liao’s cigarette and started chatting with us.

“So, you two here for dog meat?”

He lit his cigarette, cocked an eyebrow, and glanced at us from the corner of his eye.

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“Yes, we’ve heard Hu Ji’s dog meat is the best,” Old Liao replied, grinning and nodding obsequiously.

“The meat’s good, but the man isn’t.”

Standing by the roadside, the old man took a deep drag and exhaled thick rings of smoke from both nose and mouth.

“What do you mean?” I sensed there was more to the story.

It turned out the owner of Hu Ji Dog Meat was nicknamed Hu Three-Blades. He used to be a butcher, slaughtering pigs and sheep. Oddly enough, he once kept a mongrel dog at home and was so fond of it that he’d sleep beside it every night—everyone knew of his love for dogs.

“But if he loved dogs, why open a dog meat restaurant, and such a big one at that, killing dogs every day?” Old Liao interrupted, earning a glare from me.

“Don’t interject. I’m talking about the past,” the old man admonished, dragging over a small stool from the nearby cigarette shop, settling against the wall, and continuing his tale.

Hu Three-Blades’ path to fortune was rough. As a butcher, business was decent, but profits were meager—more hard labor than wealth. Then, at some point, he turned to selling dog meat, stopped keeping dogs at home, closed his slaughterhouse, and partnered up to open a dog meat restaurant.

That restaurant became the predecessor of today’s Hu Ji Dog Meat. With a goal in sight, he threw himself into it—taking loans, renovating, advertising, developing recipes. Eventually, he even bought the factory behind the shop, started sourcing meat dogs from out of town, breeding and butchering them himself. He earned a chef’s certificate, studied the business models of upscale Chinese and Western restaurants, shed the stereotypes of dog meat hotpot and dog meat barbecue, and began acquiring neighboring businesses, gradually building a comprehensive operation—breeding, slaughter, cooking, delivery, teahouse, leisure, all linked in one industrial chain.

The Hu Ji Dog Meat sign became famous throughout South Guangdong. With tasteful décor and a unique style, the restaurant even delivered orders personally where third-party couriers wouldn’t go. This series of strategies earned Hu Ji a stellar reputation, drawing influencers and bloggers to check in, and the business thrived.

“Sounds like Hu Three-Blades is a model self-made entrepreneur—why do you say he’s not a good man?” I couldn’t help but feel some admiration for his rise, which reminded me of Old Zhao in the transport business.

The old man bristled at my words, angrily flicking his cigarette butt to the ground.

“A good man? Hmph! That beast in human skin—do you know why he’s called Hu Three-Blades? His butchering technique is three strokes: first to kill, second to sever, third to skin! He’s a ruthless bully, even snatching our old family dog of over ten years to cook!”

So Hu Three-Blades was also a dog thief?

What could have happened to turn a dog lover into a dog meat restaurateur and a thief?

Thanking the old man for sharing, Old Liao and I decided to investigate the restaurant ourselves.

The place was so popular, a long line stretched outside the door. Beside the entrance stood a bronze statue of a little dog, surrounded by young women taking photos.

“Gentlemen, what would you like to eat? Please wait a moment—once a small table is free, we’ll seat you.”

A tall man in a black uniform approached, his stern features softened by a practiced smile. His formidable physique was clear from the fit of his tailored outfit.

With a chime, the number tag in my hand vibrated gently—the wait for a table for two was short, drawing envious glances from the larger groups queued behind us.

“I am Hu Three-Blades, the manager here. Welcome to Hu Ji,” the uniformed man greeted us warmly as he ushered us inside.

So this was Hu Three-Blades. He showed no airs of a big boss, personally managing the crowd outside during rush hour—a true hands-on owner.

No sooner had we sat down than a young waitress hurried over to serve us. Seeing Hu Three-Blades about to leave to greet other customers, I quickly stopped him.

“Wait, Boss Hu, don’t rush off—what dishes do you recommend?”

With a hearty laugh, Hu Three-Blades opened the menu and laid it before us.

“Our braised dog meat is a house specialty, and of course, the dog meat hotpot.”

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“Do you love dogs, Boss Hu?”

“Dogs are our bread and butter—they put food on our table. How could I not love them?”

I watched his eyes, sensing the awkwardness in the air.

“We’ll have those two, then.”

“Certainly, please wait a moment.”

Watching the boss bustle about like an ordinary waiter, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Old Liao, is this how rich people are nowadays? He seems perfectly normal.”

I glanced at Old Liao, who was happily gnawing on some dried meat snacks.

Mouth half full, he mumbled, “Don’t worry about him, just eat. We’ll talk to him after closing time.”

Soon the dishes arrived, and I had to admit, Hu Ji’s dog meat was exceptional—braised to perfection, even I, not usually a fan, couldn’t resist devouring it.

In no time, we’d polished off both plates, with Old Liao nearly licking the dishes clean.

After we were sated, the staff didn’t hurry us to pay. Instead, they asked if we’d like to rest upstairs.

Old Liao shot me a strange look, muttering, “Does this dog meat place have special services too?”

I smacked him on the back of the head. “Dirty old man, isn’t the second floor a teahouse?”

Following the attendant, we went up to the second floor, where the décor was a unified Japanese tatami style, divided into private rooms for two to eight people.

The restaurant was merely the storefront—dining was just the basic service. After a good meal, guests naturally wanted to relax—play cards, games, watch movies, or take a bath and nap. All were available here. As for payment, you simply settled at the front desk when leaving, with discounts increasing the more services you used.

It must be said, Boss Hu truly understood the business, catering precisely to every customer whim.

With the spirit of “if you want the cub, enter the tiger’s den,” Old Liao and I bravely entered a private room upstairs.

Belly full, lying on the bed, watching a Hollywood thriller on the screen above—life could hardly be better.

“Hey, don’t forget, we’re here to investigate the supernatural,” Old Liao reminded me.

“We’re just waiting for closing time, aren’t we?”

So, we bantered and passed the time, waiting for night to fall.