I didn’t get any solid info from Shen Liu. I bought some ice cream and went back, started a group payment collection, but one guy insisted that I was an old employee treating him and refused to pay. I didn’t fuss over those three-fifty.
Once evening hit, things got hectic. Some drunk customer groped my ass, but I was too busy to even remember which table the jerk was from. Thinking back to that Tangshan incident from before, everyone told me to just swallow my pride.
Truth be told, I wasn’t that mad, and I didn’t even have the energy to hold it in. My brain was running at full speed, juggling all those tables, all those customers, all those orders—like a thousand mouths screaming at me at once. Meanwhile, my fading awareness was still mulling over Shen Liu, Zheng Chenggang, and Gan Ling. I didn’t even register that I’d been taken advantage of. The next morning, it hit me. I ran an extra kilometer and vented my anger that way, then went to work calm and collected.
My coworker said I had an amazingly good temper—if it were her, she’d cry. I didn’t say much.
It was like I was cursed that whole week. Every thug and scumbag in Neng County decided to hit the grilled fish spot that week. Roughly counting, from Sunday to Friday, I got groped on the ass or thigh a total of five times—rounding it out, once a day. Those pants of mine never got washed; they were slick with grease. That girl didn’t dare tell me to swallow my pride anymore. Instead, she said, “Let’s go to the boss for justice.”
So we went to the boss. He told me to tough it out and privately sent me a fifty-yuan red envelope.
I hadn’t blown up at the customers right away, one because I was too exhausted and my mind was elsewhere, two because it wasn’t worth the wage deduction. But seeing that transfer message? It pissed me off even more. I sent it right back.
The boss sent a long voice message, basically saying that working out here means dealing with all sorts of bullshit, just grit your teeth and it’ll pass—those thugs won’t come back more than once or twice. A little impatience spoils the big picture; great men don’t sweat the small stuff. He made his barbecue joint sound like Liu Bang’s snake-slaying grounds or Zhuge Liang’s hermit village. I was baffled but didn’t argue back.
On my way home from work, I pedaled slowly past Shen Liu’s shack. It was dark inside, and the noodle shop’s shutter was half-up, casting a long, dim yellow glow. I rolled over my own shadow, tucked in the thick power cord whipping back in the wind, pursed my lips, thinking about all the unhappy shit—Zheng Chenggang, Zheng Ningning, those blurry-faced customers, the boss’s fifty yuan, the greasy pants. Then I shook my head hard and thought about what was left in my fridge instead.
Half a box of Baodong curry blocks, a dozen Fanta, a can of Harbin beer. Since I’d been working, all my meals were at the shop, so the fridge was emptying out—down to some sauces and a single baby bok choy.
Gan Ling came over. She steamed the baby bok choy with small hot peppers and minced garlic. Those beef scraps were really just odds and ends—looked like she’d just brought a bag of bloodwater at first glance. I rinsed them and soaked in clean water. It was already nighttime by then, and I’d deliberately skipped eating all day to wait for her. We made beef curry; I used a tiny potato. Gan Ling chopped a whole onion but only added half, diced super fine—something she’d picked up working at a restaurant. The beef chunks bubbled away buried in the broth. I’d bought white flatbreads for eighty cents each, a dozen of ’em, heated ’em in the microwave.
While the curry bubbled in the pot, I tossed my dirty clothes into the washing machine to tumble, shut the bathroom door to watch a movie, and Gan Ling stayed in her corner.
The TV was playing an ad—a close-up of a hot male celeb’s eyes tracing high-tech lines. Gan Ling stared at the screen unblinkingly. I pulled out the key I’d prepped and poked her arm.
Gan Ling turned her head, and I held out the key.
The woman hurriedly cupped her palm, barely catching the key’s tip in time, then fumbled with her other hand. The key danced in her grip—from right to left like a slippery metal fish, then back to right.
She stared down at it. The ad ended, the movie started projecting. The beef curry’s aroma wafted from the kitchen—bubble bubble—taking shape like two hands pinching our noses, lifting them up to sniff. I glanced at Gan Ling; she’d pocketed the key. I hit pause, stood to check the curry. Gan Ling got up too, dumped in the rest of the minced onion, stirred it even, bubbled for half a minute more, then killed the heat.
It tasted sweet and pungent, with half-raw onion bite mixed in. The beef was pre-braised scrap meat, meltingly tender and flavorful. I scraped the plate with my spoon. In the movie, a kid leads an even younger one through a grocery store; the boy teaches his non-blood-related little sister how to help him steal stuff. He looks up innocently around, then drops his eyes silently. Once his sister leaves, he bolts.
Gan Ling suddenly said, “This kid… it’s the grown-ups who suck. The grown-ups didn’t take care of her, so she left home and got taken away by someone else.”
“But for her, going to someone else’s house was a good choice too. She was happy.”
“You can’t live like that forever.”
Gan Ling’s tone was absolute, like she was the director. I glanced over, tore off a bit of flatbread to sop up the plate juices. “Mm.”
“Her mom doesn’t love her. This woman—” Gan Ling pointed at Ando Sakura. “This woman loves her, wants to be her mom.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“If only I were more superstitious.” Gan Ling said suddenly.
“Hm?”
“Then I’d believe in reincarnation. I’d know Ningning learned her lesson with me, and next life she’ll have the experience to find a mom who’ll actually take care of her.”
Gan Ling was blaming herself again for not being a good mom. I suddenly felt like I’d picked the wrong movie—the flatbread stuck in my throat. I quietly took a sip of water. Gan Ling hugged her knees and handed me her plate. I washed the dishes and came back to the sound of running water. I realized that in the end, Gan Ling would never shake off Zheng Ningning’s death my whole life either—but even so—
The washing machine beeped that the clothes were done. I hung them up, came back, turned off the light. In the dark, the long sofa looked like a trench swaying in the light and shadow. The protagonists head to the beach, and Gan Ling suddenly said, “Let’s go see the sea.”
I hesitated, my savings balance, the house, Neng County, the job—all flashing through my mind.
After saying it, Gan Ling seemed to think it sounded off. She half-covered her mouth with her arm, turned to watch the TV.
“When?”
Gan Ling glanced at me, didn’t catch on, kept watching TV.
A long while later, she answered off-topic: “This is your house key.”
She patted her pocket; I nodded.
We went quiet for a bit. Ando Sakura faced the camera, drawling to her interrogator: “Does giving birth to a kid automatically make you a mother?”
I shot to my feet, my head stuffed with arguments to convince Gan Ling. I opened my mouth, but she cut in: “Go to Zhuhai next month? Or Hainan? Hainan’s too far. Weihai? Or Dalian?”
She leaned back on the sofa with a half-smile, like she’d tossed out a fuzzy line, scratching her back itchily. She tilted her face up at me, eyes sparkling, glanced at the silent, tear-streaked Ando Sakura, then back at me. I froze like Medusa had turned me to stone. Gan Ling dropped her voice: “Xiaohui?”
My ears itched fiercely; my mind auto-played soaring, sacred hymns.
I clapped my hands over my ears, stumbled back a few steps, bumped the TV stand hard. I whipped around to steady the TV. Gan Ling stood too, bent down quick, grabbed my waist to steady my near-fall.
Gan Ling said fast: “Jiang Xiaohui, don’t block the TV. Still some left to watch.”
She settled back on the sofa; I sat back down slow. After a bit, Gan Ling shifted, sat cross-legged dead center, cocked her head at me. The movie wound down slow.
I got up to turn on the light, but Gan Ling said, “I don’t wanna go back to Neng County.”
The sofa sprouted arms, yanking me back down.
“I wanna go back to working, start a business, get bouncing again… to a big city.” Gan Ling murmured, then quietly pulled out the key.
Suddenly, giving her the key felt super awkward and untimely. I pushed off the sofa arm to scoot over: “Then give the key ba—”
Gan Ling yanked her hand back; I missed, my outstretched hand awkwardly bracing the edge. I shifted twice, slid off the sofa. Gan Ling grabbed my waist from behind; I toppled backward onto the sofa.
“Come with me? Go out and see the world.”
Gan Ling hung her head, studied my key in the dim light, tossed it out half-jokingly.
“I…”
The map exit from Neng County to the outside world swung open—turns out the NPC was Gan Ling.
After a moment’s hesitation, as I was about to say I’d think about it, Gan Ling waved it off: “It’s late. Bedtime. No more sneaking around tonight—brush up and crash here. Don’t make a racket in the middle of the night.”
She pointed at the sofa bed. I gaped—this woman always dropped bombshells back-to-back at the weirdest times.
But since it was out there, when Gan Ling finished washing up and lay down, I jabbed at the bedroom door.
Gan Ling wearily lifted her eyelids: “I sleep in the bed, you here?”
“One…” No matter what, I couldn’t bring myself to say “let’s sleep together,” so I just mumbled an “mm.”
On the sofa bed, Gan Ling was like a wriggling strip of mochi, slowly stretching out before flipping over, pretending not to hear.
I poked her shoulder. “Come on.”
Gan Ling finally sat up, wrapped in the blanket, her expression calm as she shifted to the edge of my bed and pointed at the rabbit on my bedsheet.
“…Sleep if you want. Get out if you don’t.”
In the end, Gan Ling didn’t make things hard for me. She shook her head with a sigh and flopped into the rabbit nest, making space for one person.
I closed the door and turned off the light, lying down beside Gan Ling.
After a moment of silence, Gan Ling suddenly burst out laughing. She laughed so hard she sat up, covering her mouth and coughing.
I turned my head and poked her back several times. Once she’d laughed enough, Gan Ling lay back down and patted my head. “I noticed your pillow is all rabbits too.”
“It’s matching. What’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing.” Gan Ling laughed a bit more, then buried her head in my shoulder. I naturally wrapped my arms around her.
Gan Ling paused noticeably, then shifted her position so I could hold her tighter.
We’d hugged so many times before, but tonight felt a little tense for some reason. It just happened naturally—arms crossing, forming an X. The mattress softened, creating space; the thin blanket released the distance. My arm stretched and bent freely into any gap, fitting perfectly against her. I leaned into Gan Ling, closed my eyes, and shut off the raging storm in my heart.
We lay like that for a while before I glanced at the AC temperature, afraid Gan Ling might get impatient and let go. “Hot?”
“It’s fine. Hug me a little longer.” Gan Ling’s voice was muffled. I figured I must be a pretty qualified big plushie. The previous hugs had been good experiences, so she repurchased, giving a five-star review.
I provided diligent service, turning my face toward her. Her breath brushed my ear, and I hated that I didn’t have pierced ears for ventilation. The air swirled chaotically, carrying my restless thoughts on a rampage. I paid attention to Gan Ling’s movements—this hug had clearly exceeded the service time limit, stretching on as if it were the whole night.
I leaned in, brushing Gan Ling’s obstructing long hair aside, and nuzzled my head into her chest.
“It’s fine to hug a bit more,” I said proactively.
“Clingy,” Gan Ling complained first, playing the victim.
“I’m a rabbit.”
Gan Ling said, “I can’t hear you. Say it again.”
I didn’t say it. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep, banishing stray thoughts to cultivate myself into a plushie.
A moment later, I was jolted awake by some inexplicable impulse. In the dim darkness, Gan Ling’s silhouette emitted a soft, almost invisible sticky glow.
Her rough, warm fingers traced over my back, following the shapes of my scars and wounds with their rough edges, plowing across my back—deep, then shallow—measuring it through my sleepwear.
I knew when her hand passed my back, with no vicious bra standing guard, it gently paused by my ribs.
I stayed leaning against Gan Ling, shifting my position slightly. Her hand, like a leaf blown by the wind, lightly landed on my chest.
It was like something suddenly burst open. I reflexively shrank back, eyes tightly shut, feeling the path of the woman’s fingers over my body. My body was vaster than Neng County. Gan Ling personally measured it, letting cold air seep into my sleepwear, inflating a warm tent. She slowly applied pressure, sinking into my flesh. Her hands made a rustling sound as they moved. I was being measured—five fingers gauging my size, from front to back, like a gentle, fiery massage. Some uncontrollable breath rushed from my lungs; I bit my teeth and held it back.
Gan Ling slowly released me. In the darkness, her long hair suddenly cascaded to the side of my face.
I snapped my eyes open, wanting to see her movements clearly.
But everything happened suddenly in the dark, starting amid abruptly halted breaths. The sensation of the woman’s touch lingered on me, like rough leaves scraping skin and leaving an itchy fuzz.
The pillow sank deep on both sides. Gan Ling was like a dangling grapevine, descending before me.
When she kissed me, she covered my eyes.
Her long hair was like wind drifting past my eyes. I couldn’t perceive the shapes around me. One hand stayed on my chest, now left, now right, like grapevine tendrils slowly wandering. I held my breath. The collar covered the top, so she pushed at my clothes, making a path downward for the vines.
Remembering Gan Ling’s teachings, I panicked and called a stop. “No…”
That hand paused. The woman’s breathing grew somewhat rapid and unsteady, but within half a minute, it returned to its usual calm.
After a pause, I realized Gan Ling’s lips were less than half an inch from mine. The ambiguity cut off abruptly. Gan Ling had a lingering shadow still caressing me—I was held in the arms of the Gan Ling from ten minutes ago, while the current Gan Ling’s breaths rose and fell. Two Gan Lings intertwined by my side. Half-awake, half-dazed, I struggled for a moment. In the impulse, I lifted my upper body, only then realizing she was still covering my eyes, and fell back.
We stayed silent in place for a moment, Gan Ling’s shoulders tense. Suddenly, I thought of dawn.
After dawn, Gan Ling and I would be even further apart again, maintaining silence, refusing to speak.
I knew Gan Ling understood this too, but I couldn’t think of a reason. At night, invisible things flowed and tangled, making Gan Ling and me crowd together inexplicably despite knowing the awkward situation, behaving strangely by cuddling and caressing.
Once calm returned, those invisible things were flying away. Tangible objects like the AC stood out in outline. In the darkness, Zheng Chenggang and Zheng Ningning were both watching me, judging how this outsider had invaded her mother, his wife. Even with my eyes covered, the people and things before me grew more crowded. Terrified, I clutched Gan Ling like someone adrift at sea grabbing a plank. Gan Ling suddenly leaned down, lightly brushing my lips.
That was another beginning, like a question. I tilted my face up slightly and wrapped my arms tightly around the woman’s back. The third kiss sank me deep into the soft bedding. She gradually released her left hand blocking my view. Finally, I extracted my gaze from the noisy darkness and saw Gan Ling’s hesitant expression.
Still panting, my back slick with sweat, Gan Ling leaned over me, kneeling by my legs, arms hugged around herself, one hand covering her face to wipe the sweat from her forehead, turning her head to look out the window.
“Gan Ling?” Her sudden distraction made me sit up in panic.
Gan Ling brushed her long hair behind her ear, her eyes flicking to my lips, then lifting to meet mine. She slowly pursed her lips and looked outside again.
“I thought of Ningning.” Gan Ling covered her face again, taking a deep breath. Suddenly, I felt an invisible Zheng Chenggang standing in the room. I could see him; Gan Ling couldn’t. He stood in the center of the room, silently smiling.
Chicken skin erupted all over my body. Gan Ling noticed my sudden trembling and immediately hugged me tight, shaking out the blanket to drape over me and pushing me to pillow in her arms.
Without a word, Gan Ling pressed down on my quivering shoulders. Demons and ghouls lurked everywhere around us.
I was afraid that come morning, Gan Ling would turn into sea foam like a mermaid and dissipate into the illusory air. This fear far outweighed the imagined Zheng Chenggang deep in my mind, or Zheng Ningning. I reached out in the darkness to pull Gan Ling back, drawing her into the covers. Gan Ling hurriedly pressed to my side.
After another moment of quiet, that ambiguous, inexplicable atmosphere had completely dissipated. I turned to look at Gan Ling, who showed no sign of sleepiness.
Her eyes shifted, and she just smiled, reaching out to wipe the sweat from my forehead.
I grabbed the woman’s fingers and placed them by my cheek. “Don’t go.”
Gan Ling paused, then leaned in to kiss my forehead, smoothly pulling me into her embrace.
“I’ve given up. I’m not killing for revenge anymore,” Gan Ling’s lips pressed to my forehead, murmuring softly. “I haven’t fully let go in my heart yet… I might still need time…”
She didn’t know Zheng Chenggang had already been released from prison. I shrank my head tight, hearing Gan Ling whisper, “I want you to move on too, and live well from now on.”
“I want to live with you.”
—
