It seemed like someone interrupted him on the other end of the call, and Eric Clark heard him say, “Hey, I don’t know, I didn’t save the number.”

“Are you here for a tattoo?” he asked again.

Eric Clark responded with a “yeah.”

“For a tattoo, bro!” he shouted on the phone, then said to Eric Clark, “If you want a tattoo but don’t want to come to the shop, just add us on WeChat. Or do you know our boss? Do you know Adam Wright?”

The person speaking sounded pretty young, probably just over twenty. The way he rattled off words like a machine gun made Eric Clark inexplicably want to laugh. Samuel Reed, standing next to him, was also laughing. Eric Clark said, “I guess you could say I know him.”

“Either you know him or you don’t, what’s with ‘I guess’? If you know my boss and have his WeChat, just talk to him directly. If not, I’ll send you a WeChat contact to this number in a bit. If you want to make an appointment, add me, but only talk about tattoos, no small talk.”

Samuel Reed was still laughing beside him. Eric Clark kicked him and said into the phone, “I’m not sure if I count as knowing him. Why don’t you ask him? My name is Eric Clark. If he thinks he knows me, I’d like to get a tattoo. If not, then never mind.”

The guy immediately shouted into the phone, “Bro, do you know Eric Clark or not? If you do, tattoo; if not, forget it!”

Eric Clark couldn’t hear what was said on the other end, just heard the guy say, “Hold on,” and then the line went quiet. After about half a minute, a familiar voice came through: “Good morning.”

Samuel Reed’s eyes lit up. Eric Clark cleared his throat and said, “Good morning. Are you busy? Sorry to bother you.”

“No,” the voice on the phone was still quite pleasant, “You want a tattoo?”

“Not me, my friend,” Eric Clark said.

“Where do you want it? How big?”

This question was a bit awkward for Eric Clark. He pointed at Samuel Reed and said into the phone, “Within about ten centimeters both ways, on... the upper thigh.”

Adam Wright was silent for a few seconds, then replied with a hint of a smile, “Okay.”

They arranged to meet next weekend over the phone. Adam Wright told him to add Jack Morgan on WeChat and discuss roughly what kind of design he wanted. Eric Clark had Samuel Reed add the guy on WeChat himself, and only then did they realize that this studio was actually pretty popular.

Their Moments feed was updated almost daily with new pictures, all new designs from the studio. Eric Clark glanced through them—they were all really cool. Eric Clark actually didn’t know much about tattoos; in his mind, tattoos were all dark blue dragon tails or wolf heads or something, but their designs were beautiful, not at all what he expected.

“Feels like it’s a bit of a waste for me to just get a dog tattooed. With their skills, drawing a dog for me, tsk.” Samuel Reed said this a bit smugly, glancing at Eric Clark, trying to figure out his relationship with the guy on the phone.

“Then don’t go,” Eric Clark said.

“No way, I already made the appointment.” Samuel Reed looked away and kept scrolling through Jack Morgan’s Moments. “I bet after they’re done with mine, they won’t even post a picture—too embarrassing.”

Eric Clark couldn’t be bothered with him anymore and left him talking to himself on the sofa.

Once the weekend was over, Eric Clark had to return to his plain and uneventful life as a people’s teacher. He had a class on Wednesday afternoon. Other schools hadn’t started yet, but theirs had already been in session for two weeks. The students were full of complaints, so they were all listless and reluctant in class.

You couldn’t really blame the students—the weather was still genuinely hot, and even Eric Clark felt irritable when he left the office. The first class after lunch break was always the hardest, but that’s how the schedule was. His elective had to make way for required courses, so he couldn’t compete for the prime morning slots.

“All of you who are sleeping, open your eyes. I’m sleepy too, but we still have to have class.” Eric Clark set up the computer, and when he looked up, most of the students were still asleep, which made him a bit helpless. “You’re making me sleepy too.”

“Come on, kick each other’s desks and chairs, wake everyone up and listen to class. If you break anything, it’s on me.” Eric Clark played a song on the computer—heavy metal rock blasted out, jolting everyone awake.

The class monitor was a jokester, sitting in the front row, and he’d just been woken up too. Slouched in his chair, eyes barely open, he looked at Eric Clark and said, “Brian Clark, stop messing around, my head’s about to explode.”

“Exploded yet? Good if it has. Don’t all come to my class to sleep. If the director comes by, he’ll say I’m not engaging enough.” Most of the sleepers had sat up by now. Eric Clark turned the volume down a bit. “Alright, let’s start class after this song.”

“You’re already engaging enough. If it were any other teacher, even if they played a suona right next to my ear, it wouldn’t work.” The class monitor stood up, clapped his hands loudly to the back of the room, and said, “Come on, wake up, everyone. If one person sleeps, the whole row will end up sleeping.”

Eric Clark glanced at him, and he grinned back: “Brian Clark, do you need a class rep?”

“No need for a class rep, not that much to do. If there’s anything, just go to the monitor.” Eric Clark glanced at him again, turned off the music, and officially started the class.