Chapter 53: King of Pets

Johnson crossed his legs, took a sip of coffee, and after a moment’s contemplation, said, “I suggest you target candidates over thirty-five, with extensive experience and a proven track record in managing large-scale projects.”

“Enthusiastic about charity, with a minimum requirement of compassion—those with children should be given priority.”

“They should be modest and approachable, since they’ll be dealing with orphans, who are particularly sensitive.”

“If it’s a woman, that would be even better!”

Zhang Wei noted down the requirements and asked, “Do you have any thoughts on the annual salary?”

Johnson smiled, set his coffee aside, and replied easily, “As long as they can get things done, the salary is entirely up to you!”

Zhang Wei took a deep breath—this guy really is a tycoon. His smile grew even brighter; the more clients like this, the better. After organizing all the materials and printing the contract, he presented it: “Once the contract is signed, your project will be officially filed, and we guarantee to complete the task within two months!”

Johnson reviewed the contract—not surprising for one of the world’s top five firms. The minimum advance was at least one hundred thousand dollars. For his project, the combined fees for the fund manager and chief financial officer amounted to a full one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

No matter; you get what you pay for. A higher price means peace of mind. He signed, swiped his card, left his number, and Zhang Wei, as project leader, would, after several rounds of interviews, recommend three finalists for Johnson to make the ultimate decision.

A headhunting company not only precisely targets suitable candidates, but more importantly, offers a guarantee of integrity. Candidates must excel in both ability and character, subjected to strict screening. If any professional ethics issues arise in the future, they’ll be blacklisted throughout the industry—a disaster for high-level talent.

This is why bosses are willing to spend real money to hire headhunting consultants to poach talent—they pay big for security.

With the contract settled, Johnson left the CBD and headed straight for the outskirts. Yesterday, he’d received an invitation from Yu Qian to visit his zoo. With nothing pressing, Johnson decided to go for a stroll.

Word online had it that Yu Qian was an avid pet lover and owned a zoo named “Heaven’s Essence and Earth’s Splendor.” Located near Daxing, covering sixty acres, it was quite large for a private zoo.

Upon closer acquaintance, Johnson found Brother Qian to be a low-key man with no particular hobbies—unlike Old Guo, who was always talking about his three great passions: smoking, drinking, and perming his hair.

Boss Guo often joked about Yu Qian on stage, claiming he kept all sorts of animals—dozens of species. The most famous were the miniature horses, purebred and each worth at least tens of thousands. There were also several Tibetan mastiffs—not entirely purebred, but rare nonetheless.

He had parrots, pigeons, rabbits, goldfish, chrysanthemums, orchids, and more. Yu Qian had invested considerable effort and energy into the zoo, enjoying his time there whenever possible.

He took pride in the zoo, often inviting friends to visit; some even left their unwanted pets there for temporary care.

After an hour’s drive, Johnson arrived at Heaven’s Essence and Earth’s Splendor. The zoo was vast; the entrance featured a huge goldfish pond, home to hundreds of dazzling, multicolored goldfish.

He called Yu Qian, who arrived on a shuttle and led Johnson to the pond, explaining, “This is your first visit, brother. Take a look at these goldfish—true traditional dragon and egg breeds, raised in old clay pits.”

Speaking of his beloved pets, Yu Qian’s face glowed as he enthusiastically drew Johnson in. He explained that goldfish come in four main varieties: dragon, wen, grass, and egg. Proper goldfish must be raised in old clay pits, with strict standards for breed and appearance. Johnson watched the goldfish, their colors varied, swimming leisurely—a delightful sight.

“Come, let’s take a tour.”

Everyone boarded the vehicle, with Yu Qian himself as guide, introducing each spot with practiced ease—after so many visits by friends, he’d become an expert.

“The zoo is mainly divided into two sections: animals, including horses, dogs, birds, rabbits, and so on; and plants: chrysanthemums, roses, peonies. Everything’s here—it’s all for fun.”

Johnson asked curiously, “With such a large zoo, how many people manage it?”

“Oh, about thirty. Actually, a few gardeners are enough for the plants—it’s easy. The horses and dogs need more staff, and they’re expensive.”

Yu Qian laughed, “I don’t have any other hobbies. All the money I’ve made in recent years has gone into this. Oh, and antiques—I was born with this temperament.”

When it came to planning the zoo, Yu Qian was in high spirits; he’d designed nearly everything himself. Permanent residents included a green peacock, over ten cats, more than thirty dogs, fifty horses, about a hundred pigeons, and over two thousand goldfish.

To keep the animals comfortable, he’d built a special cat house, a row of dog kennels, two pigeon lofts, twenty horse stables, several greenhouses, and employed more than ten keepers.

The more Yu Qian talked, the happier he became. Nothing pleased him more than friends visiting the zoo. Though he and Johnson had only met once, their conversation was engaging. Affably, he said, “It’s still early, brother. Since you’ve made the trip, let’s see the birds first, then the dogs later.”

Johnson, pleased by his host’s enthusiasm, decided to explore thoroughly. As they approached the aviary, a crystal-blue and bright-yellow macaw cocked its head on the perch.

“Hello…hello…”

As they entered, the big parrot flapped its wings and cried, “Welcome!”

Everyone laughed, and Yu Qian, proud, said, “This fellow is always chattering ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ when someone teases him. We’ve tried teaching other words, but he never learns them!”

Inside the warm room behind the parrot, two South American squirrel monkeys, with yellow bodies, white faces, big ears, and round eyes, swung from small trees.

Various birds filled the cages. Yu Qian reminisced, “When I was in first grade, I passed the bird market—so many colorful, diverse birds stopped me in my tracks. Kids are curious, so I pestered the vendors about names, prices, breeds, and habits.”

“That day, I first heard about yellow finches, thrushes, larks, redbirds, indigo buntings… I rushed home, found a wooden box used for mailing parcels, removed the lid, nailed wire mesh on top, placed two branches inside, and used bottle caps for food and water—a homemade birdcage.”

“The next day, I went back to the market with my saved fifty cents, ambitious, thinking every bird was mine. But I soon learned that prices varied greatly—even within the same breed—depending on size, plumage, stance, and song.”

“My money only bought a few wild birds. After much questioning and comparison, I bought two pink-eyed birds. They were treasures; I clutched them in both hands as I went home.”

Speaking of his childhood, Yu Qian’s face was full of contentment—he truly loved it. Johnson, too, was captivated by the vibrant birds.

“The process of keeping birds is really a process of learning skills; you must dedicate yourself, make friends, and humbly seek advice on bird training techniques.”

“There are many things, just like learning comedy, that can only be grasped through experience, not taught—personal insight, careful observation.”

“At that time, work was slow, and comedy was at a low point—few performances except for roll calls every Monday and Thursday. I spent most of my free time at the bird market, mingling with the old bird keepers.”

“From then on, many people criticized me: fishing and shrimping, neglecting crops; playing with things, ruining ambition; carrying cages and birds, not focusing on honest work; descendant of the Eight Banners, pampered young master; Qing dynasty customs, old before my time…”

Yu Qian sighed, recalling his childhood, “Every day, I rode my bike to the bird market. Water gourds hung from the handlebars, birdcages from the frame, and food tins in my pocket. People who didn’t know me thought I was a bird dealer.”

“After two or three years, my bird training skills were basically mastered. Wild birds in my care would, within two weeks, eat flying food, sing far and loud, open their cages, fetch trinkets and flags, perform tricks—everything.”

“I could even earn some pocket money—a few cents to buy a bird, train it for a few days, and sell it to enthusiasts for ten or twenty. Sometimes I had no choice but to sell. In the circle, I had enough credentials to comment and was called an elder.”

He stepped forward to the red brick pigeon loft. Inside were not only old Beijing ornamental pigeons but also tower pigeons. These tower pigeons served as foster mothers; ornamental pigeons, bred for appearance, had short beaks and large noses and couldn’t feed their young.

The solution was to use tower pigeons—swap their eggs with those of the ornamental pigeons, so the tower pigeons raised the young. It required skill; both breeds had to lay eggs at the same time for the trick to work.

Yu Qian said confidently, “The lower level of the pigeon loft houses the pigeons’ bodyguards—these white geese. They’re the best defense against rats and weasels; this is one of my secrets.”

After half an hour’s tour, it was clear Yu Qian had a knack for keeping birds; Beijing folk love pigeons. Even Wang Shixiang, known as the top enthusiast, adored pigeons and published a dedicated guide.

From the west side of the farm came a chorus of barking—must be the dog kennels. The dog area wasn’t large; several workers bustled about, and there were a dozen big cages.

Yu Qian pointed to a white bull terrier with a black patch around its left eye. As soon as it saw him, it stood up and rubbed against the bars, like a child seeking attention.

“I call it Lefty—it’s a pirate-eye breed, a fighting dog, and I’ve had it for years. It’s the most sensitive.”

Inside, Yu Qian whispered, “There are several Tibetan mastiffs here. They know their master; you can look, but don’t touch!”

Johnson nodded. He’d heard about Tibetan mastiffs—they’re not pet dogs, raised wild, proud and fierce, loyal to one person for life. No matter who else, if provoked, they’ll bite.

As strong as a bull, roaring like a lion, both gentle and fierce, able to drive away wolves and tigers. It’s said an adult Tibetan mastiff can defeat three wolves and even best a leopard, earning the title “Heavenly Dog.”

Yu Qian walked up to a big cage where a red-haired mastiff crouched. He squatted, stroked its formidable head, and explained, “To raise a mastiff, you must start young—ideally from birth. Animals have a trait: the first person a puppy sees when it opens its eyes is the one it bonds with most.”

“Feed it for several months, and it will recognize you. Later, even if it follows you, it won’t be truly loyal.”

Seeing Johnson’s curiosity, Yu Qian lifted the mastiff’s head and explained, “There are strict standards for Tibetan mastiffs—not just any dog qualifies. The head is large and square, forehead broad, eyes black and yellow, muzzle short and thick, corners heavy, nose wide, tongue large, lips full.”

“They’re cold-resistant but heat-sensitive, able to sleep safely even in minus thirty or forty degrees. Highly intelligent, with strong judgment and incredible memory—they can warn of earthquakes and avalanches, are fiercely hostile to strangers, but submissive to their master, making them excellent guardians.”

Johnson listened to the low growls from the cage, and only up close could he sense the mastiff’s power—the aura of a wild beast, truly awe-inspiring.

Yu Qian demonstrated and explained in detail, finally standing and lamenting, “This red mastiff is decent—I had it brought from Tibet at high cost and have raised it ever since.”

“The finest mastiffs are currently found in Hequ, Tibet. Those have the primitive traits of Himalayan mountain dogs: thick manes like African lions, broad chests, piercing eyes, reserved yet deep.”

“There’s another type from Qinghai, almost maneless, with shorter fur and a larger build. Their temperament is less fierce and steady than the maned mastiffs, but a well-bred one is priceless.”