Chapter 10: Serves You Right

After about thirty minutes, another disheveled man burst out of the building. He was wearing a white tank top and baggy athletic shorts, his flabby belly jiggling as he ran straight toward the sofa and the woman outside the complex.

I didn’t know these neighbors well, but the security guard did. He stepped forward to break up the fight. The man hung his head and admitted his wrong, the woman raged for a bit before breaking into a smile, and the two of them held hands as they came back. Their flip-flops scraped the ground with the same rubbery smell. As they passed me, I tore off a strip of tape with a rip and patched the final crack, then wheeled my bike to the side and parked it.

This couple didn’t seem fully reconciled. Around nine-something, they started arguing fiercely again. I pulled back the curtains and looked down. Under the streetlight, they were tearing at each other—the woman skinny, the man burly. When they fought, he looked like he was pounding a sandbag, she like she was climbing a mountain. Their tussling was almost like dancing. The security guard flashed his light from the guardroom and came out, but just let them go at it.

From the fifth floor, I could only catch bits and pieces of their mutual filthy insults, but I figured residents on the first or second floor might come out to stop them. At nine-thirty, most people weren’t asleep yet. I estimated everyone’s patience would last another half hour.

After washing up, I threw on a loose T-shirt as pajamas and peeked through the curtains at the commotion below. They seemed to have cursed themselves out and backed off a bit, hurling an insult every few minutes. The battle was showing signs of fatigue—truce expected within thirty minutes. Tonight, maybe some peaceful sleep.

Just as I thought that, the man barked something that shattered the woman’s defenses. She jumped up in a rage, lunged at him, and slapped him hard. He shot to his feet and slapped her back, then grabbed her hair and yanked it. After some scuffling, he shoved her out of the complex and kicked her for good measure.

The woman collapsed to the ground, sobbing. The man didn’t look back, twisting his head away viciously as he stormed back into the building.

She sat there on the ground, not getting up. I checked my phone—about five or six minutes had passed. Had that kick damaged her stomach so she couldn’t stand? I grabbed my phone and headed out, not even bothering to put on pants, just my underwear, my flip-flops slapping loudly.

By the time I got downstairs, the woman had slowly stood up, clutching her belly as she shuffled toward the sofa.

When I reached the complex gate, she was beside the sofa but didn’t sit.

I stepped a little closer and suddenly saw someone else on the sofa.

Gan Ling.

Gan Ling was still in that black hoodie, hood pulled on haphazardly. Without that messy hair, I might not have recognized her. She was lying sideways on the sofa, shoes carelessly propped on the armrest, dirtying it up, taking up the whole thing.

With nowhere to sit, the woman just clutched her belly and panted beside it.

I’m not the type to stick my nose in other people’s business. The woman could stand, and even if she looked weak, it wasn’t my problem anymore—especially with Gan Ling holding court. My courage dropped to negative levels, and I was about to turn and leave.

Then I heard Gan Ling say, “Why? No.”

The woman’s voice got a bit louder: “I just want to sit for a bit, catch my breath…”

Gan Ling said, “I’m going to sleep.”

This woman was so selfish! This wasn’t her sofa either—what right did she have to stop someone from resting? I stepped closer. Gan Ling glanced at me sideways: “You wanna sit too?”

“I’m not sitting. Look, this sofa isn’t yours either. Let her sit for a bit.”

“It’s not yours either.” Gan Ling smirked, her eyes full of mockery.

The moment she opened her mouth, she was annoying—sharp-tongued as hell. Her lips smacked together like a death knell, and those pretty eyes curved only to stab, like two thin willow-leaf daggers.

I didn’t want to play hero or get too involved. “She looks unwell…”

“If she’s unwell, go to the hospital. Lying here—who’s gonna collect the body tomorrow? Me?” Gan Ling’s words grew harsher, suffocating. Then she flopped back onto the sofa, pulled her hood down, turned her back to us, and seemed to fall asleep.

The woman clutching her belly turned her head, and I jumped.

Her face was deathly pale, beaded with cold sweat, lips bluish-purple, shivering like she’d been frozen in a midwinter gale for two hours.

I tapped Gan Ling: “Let her sit for a bit. Look at her—”

That came out a bit weak. I’m no good at conflict; Gan Ling was a pro. Even if I argued, I’d only yell three lines before bursting into tears—not on purpose, just reflex. In front of Gan Ling, I’d rather be a pushover than a crybaby.

So I didn’t argue with her.

Gan Ling let out a sudden chuckle, turned back with arms crossed and legs kicked up, pointed her shoe tip at the woman, and lifted her chin at me: “She’s sick, so go to the hospital. Can’t you understand? And you’re a teacher.”

Her mockery lit a fire in me, but I still didn’t want to fight. Why was I acting like some lackey fighting over turf? They’d already ditched it. Gan Ling wanted to treasure it? Fine, not my problem.

So I went to pat the woman’s shoulder, planning to ride her to the hospital on my e-bike.

Gan Ling, as if reading my mind, suddenly said, “This looks serious. No bumpy ride—call an ambulance.”

I pulled out my phone. Gan Ling exclaimed, “Ooh, an iPhone!” and snatched it, swiftly popping off the case and fondling it.

I was stunned by the flurry. The injured woman shakily pulled out her own phone, stepped aside, and called the ambulance herself. Gan Ling fiddled around, rudely opening my apps, scrolling through my photos. Furious, I wrestled for it back. Finally, she handed it over.

“The case!” I reached out. Gan Ling lowered her voice: “Tell me who the killer is, and I’ll give it back.”

“Keep it then.” But Gan Ling handed it back anyway, subtly nodding her chin toward the woman.

She was a troublemaker, but when I glanced back, the woman was already leaning on her husband. Not sure when he’d come down—he was squatting nearby smoking. Seeing Gan Ling and me, he raised his cigarette in greeting. The woman clutched her belly against the wall, silent.

A rustle behind me—Gan Ling had readjusted her hood, curled up facing the sofa back, and gone back to sleep.

The sofa had one lame leg, tilted perfectly for Gan Ling’s head toward the main road.

I stood there with my phone, thought for a sec, then shoved Gan Ling’s waist inward and plopped down on the sofa to watch the couple. Soon the ambulance arrived. The man helped the woman in; she was still pale, clutching her belly, whimpering as the vehicle sped off. The gate quieted down, save for the wafting smoke. I coughed a few times, waving it away.

The sofa could fit two easily; I wasn’t cramped. Gan Ling, squeezed against the back, said nothing. It felt weird. As I turned, my back accidentally brushed her hoodie up, revealing a bony waist, cool as winter.

I’m a teacher used to wiping kids’ butts, dressing them, pulling up pants—reflex kicked in, and I tugged at Gan Ling’s waistband. My hand met cool sweat. Something felt off. Gan Ling whipped around: “You sick? Pervert?”

“You’re sleeping here?” I said.

“You some saint Mary? Gotta meddle in everything? Then tell me what the killer looks like. Just make shit up—that’s your big favor.” Her sarcasm hit, but I sensed something wrong. I grabbed her face and pressed the back of my hand to her forehead.

“You’re burning up.”

To confirm, I held one hand to my own forehead, reached for hers with the other. Gan Ling smacked it away, staring coldly.

I realized I’d overstepped. Standing, I struggled to snap the case back on, then thought it gross, pried it off, and chucked it in the trash.

Gan Ling stared blankly, face dark.

Out of basic decency, I said, “Sleep here if you want, but drunks piss around here at night. Watch out.”

I turned to leave. Her fever wasn’t my business; the woman was ambulanced away. Time for bed. Nosiness just sours the mood.

Behind me, Gan Ling said, “Wait.”

I turned, and a bike ding-dinged past. Gan Ling faced me, eyes still cold but thoughtful. She crooked a finger: “Come here.”

“What?” I stood firm, glaring to show my wariness.

“Come here.” Her voice was firm, sitting like Vito Corleone, hands crossed darkly, hood a mess around her neck!

I shook my head, not budging. Gan Ling surged up, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me close.

“What are you doing? I’m not telling!” I struggled wildly, bracing for torture to spill the killer’s name.

But no. Gan Ling just groped my butt.

More humiliating than torture. Before shame flooded me, she grabbed my T-shirt hem and tugged it slowly.

I suddenly realized… maybe when I sat down and stood up just now, my T-shirt got tucked into the waistband of my underwear…

Facing social death in front of Gan Ling, I panicked and flailed about. She simply tugged my T-shirt free and let go, letting out a cold sneer.

If there were a little person in my head at that moment, it would already be dying of shame and fury. If Gan Ling asked about the murderer business, I might accidentally let slip some crucial clue.

“You… couldn’t you just remind me directly… remind me…” Like a dead duck with a stubborn beak, I blurted that out. Gan Ling ultimately didn’t kick me while I was down; she said nothing, sat back on the sofa, straightened the hood around her neck, and pulled it over her head.

“That woman, don’t bother with her— she purely deserves it.”

That mouth of hers never had a nice word to say.

But in my shame and anger, desperate to cover up the previous embarrassment, I spilled my flawed opinion: “But she’s so pitiful!”

“Also quite detestable.”

“But everyone’s situation is different… you can’t blame others for being that way…” I stammered into a debate with her. The lingering awkwardness made me start spewing nonsense. Human stupidity is a chain reaction—one dumb thing leads to piling on more dumb things to desperately cover it up, amplifying the stupidity beyond measure.

Gan Ling didn’t pursue the topic, instead drawing her feet back onto the sofa and hugging her knees: “Buy me a box of fever medicine.”

“You have to go yourself, and get a nucleic acid test too…”

“My situation’s different from yours. You can’t blame me for skipping the nucleic acid test.” Gan Ling flung my words right back at me, piercing my nonexistent shield with my own spear.

I never came out on top in front of Gan Ling, but this wasn’t something I could fix for her anyway.

After an awkward silence, Gan Ling said: “See? You can’t even handle other people’s business, so butt out—”

I badly wanted to explain that I wasn’t a nosy parker, but any explanation would just cement the accusation.

Saying nothing, I tugged at the hem of my T-shirt and shuffled awkwardly back to the neighborhood. Glancing back, Gan Ling had already sprawled out on that tattered sofa again, motionless, just like a stray black dog.