If my life only had half a year left—how should I spend it?
I decided to die, and before dying, drag the murderer who killed my daughter down with me. The plan sounded great, but carrying it out was full of difficulties.
Later, I decided to give it up, and suddenly felt relaxed all over.
My life was full of regrets, but if I had to do it all over again, I might still make the same choices.
I regretted marrying Zheng Chenggang, but I didn’t regret leaving home far away.
I regretted not returning to Neng County in the past seven years to see Ningning in person, but I didn’t regret wandering and working away from home for those seven years.
Regret comes from choosing the worst option between two terrible ones. Looking back, it might have been even worse.
In my life, there had never been any good options—just rotten ones compared to other rotten ones. Get beaten by my father at home, or get married and get beaten by Zheng Chenggang? Throw the money I’d saved over seven years to Ningning’s grandma, or come back early, discover the truth, and not know how to get through the next few years?
Even if I’m a selfish piece of trash, always basing things on my own thoughts and feelings, I’ve only ever been fishing the pile of shit that’s easiest for me to grab from a whole mess of shit. There were never any good options for me, nothing that let me abandon this pile of mud and firmly choose just that one.
Even being selfish, I’ve never lived the way I wanted.
I’m a complete failure through and through, constantly compromising and giving in, with nothing that ever made me happy.
Even killing someone sounds satisfying, but it requires compromising by taking myself down too. Every time I gear up for an all-out charge forward, it always goes ding ding clang clang, dropping parts along the way. I don’t know how much more I have left to throw away for that choice of mine.
The first time I realized a golden opportunity might be appearing before me was at Jiang Xiaohui’s house.
All the childish decorations in this rabbit’s nest made me physiologically uncomfortable. A woman in her twenties, almost thirty, full of childlike innocence and righteous about it, like she was raised with love. The moment someone takes a little care of her, she reveals her spoiled side, used to being pampered—when she had painful periods, I casually took care of her, and she easily put herself in the position of being cared for, as if she was used to being treated well, born to be a pet: passive, weak, temperamental but not good at refusing.
She doesn’t make choices; she has no desires.
She’s like a silent pet rabbit that won’t make a sound even when bitten and injured by the outside world. She silently endures life, barely making a noise, until I suddenly understood—it was her conscience acting up, guilt over Ningning’s death. But the moment I pointed it out, she shoved me out of the house.
From that day on, I knew she wasn’t anyone’s pet; she just hadn’t realized she was the master.
She endures and accepts because she’s willing to endure. Her education from childhood told her endurance is honorable. She doesn’t know how to choose because others—gods—chose for her growing up. After betraying god, she’ll one day discover that the power over her life is in her own hands.
A person who doesn’t know they hold the power over their life explores in ignorance and numbness. First, she discovers what she doesn’t want: she doesn’t want me to kill. Then she seeks what she does want. Even if it was muddled and confused, running off to the city with that male colleague was her exploring what she wanted—and the life she wanted was almost built on my fantasies.
Go see the sea, strive in a livable city.
This was a shining golden choice. As long as I gave up my hatred, gave up killing Zheng Chenggang, gave up ending my meaningless life, I could strive toward this beautiful goal.
For the first time in my life, the difference between good and bad choices was so stark. The good choice sparkled on Jiang Xiaohui’s face; the rotten choice was almost blurred, invisible. If I chose Jiang Xiaohui, I would never regret it later—it was that good a choice, almost no suspense, like putting two paths before a cat: one leading to cat food cans, the other to a vet ready to neuter it. No cat would run to the pet hospital for self-torture. That’s the choice laid out before me now.
But I still hesitated.
I’d never truly gotten what I wanted, so everything in front of me felt like an illusion.
It wasn’t even that wonderful, just unreal.
Like waking up in the morning on the sofa bed I’d gotten used to, which was pretty comfortable, and seeing Jiang Xiaohui. People aren’t that good-looking right after waking up—no movie-style beautiful gaze under soft lights with full makeup; it was just a messy morning with eye gunk and drool stains. The living room needed windows opened after a night of sleep; Jiang Xiaohui’s short hair was a wild mess, I was sweaty all over from sleeping, not a bit poetic.
Just that kind of morning.
Yet it felt so unreal.
I still can’t figure out why Jiang Xiaohui and I, two women who’ve never been with women, ended up together. It just happened.
Strange emotions naturally surged in my heart, desires breeding. In my eyes, Jiang Xiaohui was soft like a fluffy little animal. Unless you’re allergic, you can’t look at her without wanting to reach out, pinch her ears, grab her waist, pick her up by an invisible tail, and nuzzle her. Jiang Xiaohui had some magical filter; by the time I reacted, she’d gone from an old-enough-to-know-better childish woman to a cute girl. I’d never seen another woman this way.
Most of the time, I didn’t think about these things, just followed instinct and gut feeling.
Until she said she was going out to play with Li Yongquan, and I casually invited her swimming too. Jiang Xiaohui clearly said she felt very lonely.
That’s when I realized her feelings were vaguely budding, unconsciously complaining toward my broken self. Dripping faucets, fish tanks, metaphors to cover it—but I understood, and I got it.
One day, I made up a story about seeing a ghost. Jiang Xiaohui’s face changed drastically. A lot happened that day: she snatched my phone, domineering in a way unlike a rabbit—out of character. Later, I went to find the principal of Bright Kindergarten. I don’t know what she told Jiang Xiaohui, but I deliberately said a lot to see her reaction.
That day, Jiang Xiaohui rode over like a midnight street racer, fierce-faced, stopping like a movie heroine, majestic.
She flung her arm, righteously declaring she’d handle this to the end, interfere with my revenge, her goal to stop me from killing. But I didn’t hate it. I got on the bike; the wind traced her T-shirt, outlining her slender waist. Jiang Xiaohui was so thin and weak, I even felt embarrassed to hold on.
Jiang Xiaohui spouted nonsense about Jiang Ziya and Gandalf—very uncharacteristic, like panic making her blurt things out.
But for some reason, the harsh words in my heart couldn’t come out.
If I still insisted on killing Zheng Chenggang, with only half a year of life left—how would I spend it?
I’d been pondering that question, turning life and death into a huge conflict.
If I chose to kill, I’d have to distance myself from Jiang Xiaohui, and my remaining half year would be like a walking corpse.
If I didn’t choose to kill, I could guilt-free get close to Jiang Xiaohui, and my remaining life wouldn’t be just half a year.
Such an obvious choice—why was I hesitating? That satisfying killing option was sharp as a blade, swiftly cutting off my remaining life.
Jiang Xiaohui sent another message. 32 unread.
I still opened it. The latest was a crying rabbit emoji.
Then a new message popped up:
Tuza: I’m so clingy.
Tuza: Next time you’re busy, can you tell me in advance? I’m really worried.
Tuza: I heard a big noise at your place.
Tuza: Can I come find you?
Did she know Zheng Chenggang was out of prison? Did she know I’d learned about it?
Right now, I’m sitting in Zheng Chenggang’s house, using a hacksaw blade to break the lock, calmly sitting on the kang, holding a knife. Just now during the call, Zheng Chenggang came back and accidentally knocked over the grape trellis in the yard that wasn’t set up yet.
He lives in our old rented house. After getting out, he rented it back. The money I’d sent back over seven years was in the old lady’s account—now it’s Zheng Chenggang’s.
I passed by the bank planning to sort my savings—our future plans with Jiang Xiaohui were just starting—when I saw Zheng Chenggang coming out of the bank.
Zheng Chenggang has been home for eleven minutes now, drunk, staggering in plastered, thin as a stiff skeleton, lying on the ground clutching his belly. He hazily saw me on the kang.
He thought it was a dream, chuckled: “Bitch. If you’ve got the guts, don’t come back.”
Then he stretched out his arms, lying still.
I slid out the blade, staring blankly at Zheng Chenggang. He’d aged fast; prison had ground him down into something extremely unfamiliar—dark, gaunt, no trace of his former tall, handsome self.
Now two choices before me: kill him, or not.
I replied to Jiang Xiaohui: Phone’s almost out of battery.
Tuza: Oh, you okay?
Gan Ling: Forgot to charge the phone, don’t worry. I’ll come find you tomorrow night, okay?
Tuza: Okay.
After lying, I sat there. Zheng Chenggang gasped one moment, yelled the next. After a while, he started whimpering and crying, calling for mom.
How could he, how dare he, what right did he have?
I suddenly jumped up from the kang, the utility knife blade clicking out—
No sounds around me anymore. I could hear my own heart pounding: thump, thump, thump.
“Mommy. Mooom—” Ningning dragged out her tone.
I snapped, “What?”
“Can you fold a paper boat?”
“No, wait till your dad gets back and ask him.”
So the kid waited for Zheng Chenggang to return. She believed her dad could fold a paper boat.
But Zheng Chenggang didn’t come back that day. She was still sitting on the doorstep waiting. I said, “Come inside already. Don’t let all the mosquitoes into the house.”
She still wanted to fold a paper boat because she was so slow—she was the only one who hadn’t learned when the kindergarten teacher taught everyone to fold paper boats.
I said, “Fine, let me look it up.”
The kid took out a few sheets of paper. I folded an ugly boat following a tutorial and placed it in her hands. “Now that you’ve got it, go to sleep.”
“The teacher also taught us origami cranes.”
I knew how to do that one, but I was too tired. I said, “Tomorrow.”
She never did learn to fold an origami crane. That scumbag dad Zheng Chenggang, fuck your mom’s donkey-shit egg! Your dad died early, your mom’s as crooked as they come from top to bottom, and you’re a murderer who killed your own daughter! She’s waiting for you to come home and teach her how to fold an origami crane. From start to finish, she believed you loved her more than I did. She said her dad was the best dad in the world!
What right do you have to call me “mom”? What right do you have to get out early? You’ve even robbed me of these past six months to think things over. Jiang Xiaohui is happily planning our wonderful future trips, so what right do you have to suddenly show up in front of me, taking my seven years’ worth of money and drinking yourself into a stinking pile of shit—
I knew full well that if I just chose to let you go, I’d have a smooth and open road ahead in life. Jiang Xiaohui and I could go see the ocean, travel to another city. Even if we parted ways later, I’d have lived out the happy days and life I wanted—
But I still chose to kill you.
