Chapter 69

It had been a week since I sent Zhu Erting the photo of Zheng Chenggang.

Ever since learning that Zheng Chenggang had been released from prison, I’d been extra cautious, as if I knew there was a time bomb hidden somewhere. I didn’t hide this from my friend Zhu Erting. She was extremely vigilant, thinking Zheng Chenggang was out for revenge against me. She told me she was willing to scout around whenever she had free time, and if she spotted any trace of the man, she’d let me know right away.

So one day, while I was at Gan Ling’s place, I snapped a photo of the family portrait of the three of them during her bathroom break and sent it to Zhu Erting.

When Zhu Erting saw Gan Ling, she circled it: “This is Gan Ling?”

“Yeah.”

“I keep feeling like I’ve seen her before.”

“She’s working at Jiaxing Supermarket now.”

“Oh, she’s pretty good-looking. The kid must be the Zheng Ningning you mentioned. That Zheng Chenggang is such a piece of trash.”

A week had passed, and Zhu Erting still hadn’t found Zheng Chenggang. I wasn’t pinning any special hopes on her either.

Neng County only had two large supermarkets in total. If Zheng Chenggang went shopping at Jiaxing Supermarket, he’d inevitably run into Gan Ling—unless he was only buying daily necessities from the little shop right by his doorstep.

The odds of Gan Ling running into Zheng Chenggang were far higher than Zhu Erting’s. All I could do was urgently push forward the travel and moving plans before anything happened.

But then Zhu Erting suddenly sent a photo. I opened it and saw a side profile of a woman. Looking closely, it was Gan Ling.

Her hair was tucked behind her ear, standing by the roadside with her head down looking at her phone. Zhu Erting must have snapped it in a hurry—Gan Ling was a bit blurry, standing in front of the noodle shop, right next to Shen Liu’s little shack. Alarm bells blared in my head, and I shot up in shock, as if I’d witnessed it myself. I immediately grabbed my phone to ask Zhu Erting when she’d taken it and what had happened.

Zhu Erting: Saw her after work today and snapped a pic.

But Gan Ling was supposed to be at work today. By the time Zhu Erting got off work, she shouldn’t have clocked out yet, and she hadn’t mentioned taking any leave.

Zhu Erting: Took a couple extra glances. This person doesn’t look like the crazy hag you described at all.

Jiang Huixiang: She’s not crazy anymore now.

Zhu Erting: And she looks really young.

Jiang Huixiang: She’s only thirty-three to begin with.

If Zhu Erting was telling the truth, then Gan Ling was definitely hiding something from me.

But was it reasonable for me to ask? I was the type whose face gave away all my worries, and Gan Ling was sharp at picking up on my every little tell. If I pressed too hard, wouldn’t I give away that Zheng Chenggang was out of prison before I meant to? What if I was just overthinking it… I cautiously pushed aside the loose-leaf notebook on the coffee table and tossed it onto the sofa.

But that evening, Gan Ling came over as usual, we had dinner, watched a movie, nothing different from normal. I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

Suddenly, I felt like a mole in my own home, trying to find clues to piece together the intel. I watched Gan Ling when she went to the bathroom, and when she was scrolling on her phone with her head down, I’d sidle up to peek—only for her to casually hand me the phone to show me what she was browsing, completely open and aboveboard, with hardly any anomalies.

After observing for two or three days, my case of being spooked like a bird that had seen a bow gradually eased. The seaside trip was right around the corner.

I discussed a route with Gan Ling. Since it was my first time leaving the province, we didn’t go too far—just nearby to Qingdao. There were no direct routes from Neng County, and with pandemic restrictions, we had to take a zigzag path with transfers, ending up on a sixteen-hour train ride. Once the route was set, I felt a bit embarrassed.

I pulled out my bank card and showed her the SMS notifications on my phone, saying sheepishly to Gan Ling that though I’d been super frugal all these years without any splurges, at twenty-seven, I only had eighty thousand in savings.

Gan Ling sat cross-legged on the sofa, encouraging me instead: “Lots of people at twenty-seven are still paying off credit card debt.”

“True.”

“And you have a house—that’s something I don’t have over you.”

“I sold the old house and orchard back home to buy it here… Houses in Neng County aren’t expensive anyway.”

“Here.” Gan Ling handed me her phone. I looked—it was a budgeting app.

I looked up, and she tilted her chin, signaling me to swipe left on her meticulously tracked expenses down to the cent, which took me to the assets page. She’d clearly lived in a big city before; everything was laid out clear as day, efficient and straightforward, making my bank cards look clunky by comparison.

She had five cards from different banks, plus one credit card with 19.99 yuan still owed. The other accounts were named: Ning University, Ning Living, Salary, Savings, Expenses.

The first two cards had neat, round numbers. Gan Ling reached over and pointed along the text to guide my eyes: “There should be a few extra yuan from interest on the current accounts, but I’m too lazy to track it.”

I glanced at Gan Ling, who seemed to know what I was thinking and calmly pointed to the [Savings] account: “Once the fixed deposits mature, I’ll move it over.”

She’d saved three hundred thousand.

I had no idea how she’d done it—the Expenses card only had 342.29 yuan right now.

Salary card: 2.32 yuan.

Ning University account: one hundred thousand.

Ning Living account: another hundred thousand.

Nice, even numbers.

I suddenly remembered Gan Ling mentioning before that for the past seven years, she’d been sending money every month to Ningning’s grandma—if that came back to her, she’d have even more.

Money from selling pancakes, from street vending, from cleaning, from starting businesses, from farming, from typing away at keyboards—she’d done it all, picking up a bit of skill from every trade, like grabbing a handful of silver coins from each industry and stuffing them in her pocket.

Then Gan Ling took back her phone, turned it off, and tossed it aside. I held back tears as she continued: “For the trip, then when we get back, we’ll pack up our stuff and head somewhere together. Have you thought about where?”

I pulled out my shortlist: Dali, Zhuhai, Wuhan, Chengdu. This was the result of aggregating from Xiaohongshu, Weibo, Zhihu, and various forums, each with pros and cons. Gan Ling tilted her head against the sofa back: “I haven’t decided either. How about rock-paper-scissors?”

“How?”

“One pair at a time. Like now, you’re Dali, I’m Zhuhai—we play, best of three, winner advances, then…”

“Got it. Let’s go.”

And just like that, we settled it with rock-paper-scissors. Dali and Wuhan advanced. Gan Ling repped Dali, I repped Wuhan. At the final round, Gan Ling reneged and cheated, declaring outright: “Wuhan it is. You can pig out and gain some weight there.”

“Rock-paper-scissors.”

I waved my arms and hollered with Gan Ling, like we were missing just a couple plates of peanuts and glasses of baijiu. She lazily extended her hand and waved it up and down like a beckoning cat.

Thud.

Rock-paper-scissors—Gan Ling threw paper, I threw scissors. Wuhan triumphed gloriously in my palm.

Two more rounds. Rock-paper-scissors—I threw rock, Gan Ling hesitated, then grabbed my hand and bit it like a monster chomping down. I yelped and shook free: “Cheater, cheater!”

Gan Ling leaned back on the sofa and lazily reached out, and as expected, I won.

Four more days, and we’d board the train to see the sea. After a five-day trip, we’d return, officially pack up, and head off together to make a go of it in some unfamiliar city.

This was my first time leaving the province, right on the heels of leaving Neng County and Zheng Chenggang behind—I suddenly got all excited. Gan Ling lounged lazily on the sofa with her eyes closed. It hit me: “But jobs are hard to find now. What if I go and can’t find work… and it’s so far away.”

“We’ll take our time looking.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry that far ahead. What’s saving money for, then?”

Gan Ling’s words settled me down. Excitement and anxiety intertwined, finally easing into place. I brimmed with hopeful expectations for the future, along with plenty of worries—but thinking back on these seven years, even through the pandemic, Gan Ling had taken on every job out there and lived earnestly to this day was proof that one could make a proper life.

I’d never told Gan Ling how I felt about her—it had just naturally led to us deciding to shack up together. Gan Ling was better at expressing herself; she’d dropped that not-quite-confession confession, but I never had, and I didn’t know how to say it anyway. Coming back to myself, the future meant living with this person. We’d made such a huge decision—not after deep deliberation, not after some life upheaval like mine before, but simply because she invited me. So I stood up, like heading to the dance floor, made my choice with a spin, and the world turned utterly different.

There was never anything very romantic between us—not even Zheng Chenggang and Gan Ling’s meeting was as romantic as that. Gan Ling and I had met solidly amid rabbit towels, minced meat eggplant, electric bikes, and little parks. That night, mulling over future plans, I was too nervous to sleep. What I wanted was coming into focus: a taste that was balanced and calm—not the addictive burn of chili, not the sweet romance of candy, not the bitter astringency of coptis, not the brow-puckering sourness of aged vinegar. I didn’t want much; I just wanted to live peacefully and freely.

What a person without big ambitions.

Beyond this calm life lay all sorts of disturbances. Zheng Ningning’s voice had gone quiet for a while, but Zheng Chenggang’s shadow lingered. As long as I kept running, I could leave that shadow behind.

Gan Ling’s arm draped across my chest as she mumbled: “Sleep. I’ll go running with you in the morning.”

In my heart surges gratitude for life. In the darkness, I am born again in a confined space filled with the scent of fennel. My mother, having drunk her fill of fennel soup, holds me and sits leaning against the quilt. I shed endless tears that flood me and flow downward. Lu Jinshi pulls my hand and fishes me out, so I walk to Neng County. A startling thunder briefly streaks across the sky. Blade light and blood trap me for seven years. Seven years later, Gan Ling violently bursts through the door. The sea of bitterness surges in. Suddenly, a small boat glides before me.

The night makes people feel sentimental and teary-eyed. I look at Gan Ling, wanting very much to say something to her.

But I said nothing, contentedly closing my eyes and falling asleep.

That day, sweat soaked the sofa bed beneath me. It creaked squeakily under the unbearable weight—like an old boat that had sprung a leak, its wooden planks grinding against one another. In panic, I clawed tightly at the woman’s back and lifted my face, seeing waves crashing toward me, silently submerging me. I trembled in her arms as she reached for her clothes.

I clearly heard the crisp sound as she reached into her pocket, like nails clinking against a razor blade, but I think I was delirious from the heat and misheard. What she took out was clearly orange-flavored fruit candy, which she peeled and popped into my mouth. Gan Ling’s surname is really something—sweet with a lingering aftertaste.

*

Note 1: Made up.

Note 2: Qianji APP is very useful.