Chapter 7: She Will Always Follow Me

Gan Ling was Zheng Ningning’s biological mother.

I spent the entire night flipping through the photos in the album. Apart from that blurry raincoat figure in the rain that vaguely matched Gan Ling, there was no trace connecting Gan Ling and Zheng Ningning.

Zheng Ningning—I remembered her crystal clear.

I still remembered what her grandma looked like: a kindly square-faced old lady, always dressed in bulky clothes. But on closer inspection, you could see she had a large frame with little flesh, plain and simple. She picked up Zheng Ningning about once or twice a week, carrying an ordinary black cloth bag.

This child had a somewhat boyish look even when young. Full of vigor, people said she took after her father. It was normal for a daughter to resemble her dad. But back then, I hadn’t met Zheng Ningning’s dad or her mom either. When her grandma didn’t come to pick her up, Zheng Ningning packed her own bag and went to school by herself.

Zheng Ningning walked home, quiet and taciturn. Her clothes were always old but still neat. She wasn’t good at organizing her few books—they were all crumpled like wads of scrap paper. Her handicrafts were sloppily made, and sometimes she didn’t even do them. Her canned bottle water cup was always filled with plain boiled water. While other kids bought sodas or ice pops, she would just hug that grass-green glass bottle in a daze.

In short, before the incident, this child was utterly unremarkable. She wasn’t among the poorest, nor was she well-off—just an ordinary kid from an ordinary family. What stuck with me was her situation: both parents gone.

I really wanted to recall that May rehearsal seven years ago—was the woman who came to pick up Zheng Ningning really Gan Ling? Why didn’t I have any impression? Had my brain wiped away those minor memory details? I couldn’t figure it out.

Who told me both her parents were gone? I slowly racked my brain.

Ah, it was Zheng Ningning’s grandma.

Back then, that tree at Plum Kindergarten was still skinny. I stopped a few kids from breaking its branches. The yard was full of noisy chaos as everyone waited for their parents. Gradually, the children were picked up one by one, leaving only Zheng Ningning.

I said, “Zheng Ningning, aren’t you going home yet?”

Zheng Ningning said, “Grandma’s coming to pick me up today.”

I went, “Oh.” A little while later, an old lady appeared at the gate, peering in. The railing wasn’t as long as now, right by the gate. She gripped the railing and scanned the yard, then beckoned to Zheng Ningning.

Zheng Ningning rolled up her books, stuffed them into her bag, and stood up silently.

For some reason, I chimed in: “I’ve never seen Ningning’s mom come pick her up.”

“Dead,” the old lady said.

This was still before the incident, before that raincoat woman appeared.

Either the child’s grandma or Gan Ling—one of them was lying.

After Gan Ling muttered that weird thing to me, she didn’t knock on my door again. Maybe because she broke the emergency exit light and was afraid of compensation, or maybe because she’d just been taken by the police and needed to lay low. There was one full daytime when I didn’t see her.

I messaged the Principal, briefly outlining my situation with Gan Ling. This time, I shared a bit of my intel: I said this woman claimed to be Zheng Ningning’s mother, came to ask why the killer only got seven years. Of course, I didn’t know. The woman was totally unhinged.

The Principal pondered silently for a bit on the other end. In the end, we talked it over, and she said I could come back to work.

I had to go back to work. This kind of personal leave didn’t pay. I tidied up my appearance, covered my dark circles. In the mirror appeared a spirited 27-year-old woman. I interviewed myself in the mirror, making sure I’d show no signs of being affected by anything when I returned.

After the Zheng Ningning incident, my boyfriend at the time, Lu Jinshi, suggested I quit the kindergarten job and switch to something without kids, to avoid constant reminders of the crime scene triggering my mental state.

But Lu Jinshi became my ex precisely because he gave too many opinions on this.

I didn’t have much education—dropped out early, then entered society for various reasons, and later met Lu Jinshi. His family and mine hit it off. We both traditionally thought meeting parents meant marriage. His parents liked me a lot too: I loved kids, had a gentle personality, virtuous without talent. We got engaged quickly.

Back then, I thought Lu Jinshi and I were solidly destined to love each other till the grave.

The incident at Plum Kindergarten turned my life upside down. Even now, if we took his opinions to court, I’d be the one in the wrong. He was right, but I refused. Lu Jinshi firmly advised me to leave Plum Kindergarten, and I firmly refused. In the end, we parted ways.

I stubbornly kept working at the kindergarten until now. Not because I loved kids so much, nor pressure from lack of education. The real reason would require opening up my heart to explain, and I didn’t want to dwell on it for now.

On Thursday morning, I packed up, slung my canvas bag, and headed out. Since I hadn’t ridden the electric bike back, I left twenty minutes early—at exactly 6:50. The sky was bright but veiled in a thin layer of clouds like gauze. The early market aunties were already returning laden with cloth bags, greeting me. The cleaner was emptying trash, kicking the bin back with a thud, rubber gloves dripping with wet veggie soup.

Only a few cyclists passed the complex gate sporadically. That lopsided big sofa still slumped in the corner, looking even more dingy.

I bought an egg pancake and ate it on the way, heading to work as usual.

Taking two days off could be big or small, but since I wasn’t the lead teacher, it was small—almost no one knew.

Zhu Erting just asked, “You’re here?” I said, “Yeah.” Zhu Erting said, “Watch the kids for a bit, I need to make a call.”

She was off calling her boyfriend again.

During naptime, the kids didn’t cause any trouble as usual. When time was up, I stood at the door and said they could come out to play. The restless ones had already thrown off their blankets and leaped up. The sleepy ones rubbed their eyes as I picked them up and put on their shoes. I herded the group out in clusters.

Since the afternoon sun was still strong, I first told them max ten minutes of activity before washing up for class. The kids weren’t afraid of heatstroke and seized every second with whoops, darting out like smoke.

That sandy area was already getting hot from the sun. Kids’ toys and shoes were buried in it. The slide was warm too—I touched it, deemed it acceptable, then let them clamber around. But the swings were scorching, so I stood guard by them myself, leaning in the scattered shade of the plum trees to cool off while watching the kids frolic.

Suddenly, I heard a kid yelp. I remembered her name: Yihan, the tenth Yihan at Bright Kindergarten.

She was in a flowery dress, rolling in the sand without a care for dirt. Suddenly, she grabbed her shoes and stood up, stomping off angrily.

A boy nearby had his back to me—I couldn’t recall his name right away—and yelled, “What are you doing!”

Yihan ran halfway, then bolted toward me: “Teacher Xiao Jiang! Teacher Xiao Jiang! There’s someone outside throwing rocks over the railing!”

I caught the flying Yihan and told her to put on her shoes. Looking up—

The kids’ attention snapped to her words, all peering outside the railing. I hurriedly grabbed Yihan and rushed ahead of the others: “Don’t go near the railing!”

Behind the railing stood a woman in a black hoodie.

Bright Kindergarten’s back bordered a residential area. Plum Kindergarten’s railing was extended, original gate removed, connecting straight to a narrow alley. Gan Ling stood in that alley, hands in her pockets. Spotting me, she slightly raised her face.

Yihan kept complaining: “She threw rocks over, almost hit me.”

I was a bit speechless. While pushing the kids back inside, I babbled disjointedly: “It’s too hot out—look how dirty you all are! Time to wash faces, wash up… back to class!”

Once herded back, other teachers took over. I said it was too hot, better to play indoors. I hurried out.

Gan Ling was still standing quietly behind the railing, hands in pockets—bulging with something angular. Eyes downcast. Young, but half her hair was white, strands plastered messily on her head. Seeing me approach, her gaze didn’t shift. Somberly, she pulled down her mask to hang on her chin and stepped closer. We faced each other across the railing.

In the end, I spoke first: “Don’t throw rocks at other people’s kids.”

Her eyes flicked to my face. I felt a barrage of knives stabbing over. I took it silently: “You’re following me. What do you want? Kill me?”

“Who killed Zheng Ningning?” Gan Ling’s voice was low and muffled, like coming from under bricks, her face expressionless.

“The guy’s sentenced—seven years…” I wasn’t sure if Gan Ling knew the killer was released. I thought, I shouldn’t say.

“Who?”

“The law already ruled. What do you want to do?”

“I want to know.” Gan Ling finished, pulled a rock from her pocket, gestured it at me—but didn’t throw. She just tossed it casually to the ground.

I wasn’t scared. I grabbed the scorching railing, which was painted with little animals. I happened to clutch a rabbit’s ear and shouted toward the outside of the railing, “I don’t know you.”

“I’ll just keep following you.” Gan Ling pulled out another stone and tossed it onto the ground, one after another. Her hoodie pocket gradually emptied, sagging and revealing her slender figure.

This person delivered the threat so casually, stones dropping one by one.

I shrank back behind the railing.

“Then follow me. Don’t throw stones at kids anymore.”

Being followed, being tailed—I couldn’t stop it.

I walked back. Plum Kindergarten’s two-story building had been renovated, with new structures rising beside it. The two-story building faced the railing sideways, its massive wall painted with lions and sheep holding hands as they danced, the sun smiling, and the clouds smiling too.

Suddenly, something hit my back. I turned my head. Gan Ling had pulled the last stone from her pocket and thrown it at me—thud—

It smacked into the railing.

“I’ll still follow you.”