Lu Jinshi steadied my shoulders and said in a low voice, “If she bullies you, I’ll stand up for you. Don’t be afraid of her.”
“Thanks,” I slipped out from under his hand, hugging my arms as I walked outward. “I’ll transfer the money to you when I get back.”
“You’re just too kind, too easy to bully. If she harasses you once, call the cops, or buy some wolf spray or something. Give her a few beatings—if she lays a hand on you, you’re not scared, right? If she dares to hurt someone, won’t the law stand on your side?” Lu Jinshi gave me advice as we walked side by side outward. We both carried the scent of butter hotpot. I was that piece of ginger mixed in with the bamboo shoots and potatoes in the hotpot, picked up by Lu Jinshi to examine and comfort.
Just like back then.
His advice was flawless, all from the starting point of wanting the best for me.
“It’s not… it’s not that.” The one improvement I’d made in the six years since was that I could now manage a slight explanation.
“I know mothers can be pitiful. You sympathize with others and end up like this…” Lu Jinshi was still walking behind me. The street was bustling with people coming and going, so we leaned against a lamppost to talk.
I didn’t want to stay too closely connected with my ex. Lu Jinshi and I were just two people in an ordinary almost-married situation—not soulmates, not friends, not lovers, just awkwardly positioned.
So his empathetic concern and comfort made me deeply uncomfortable. I was eager to shut down his words.
“It was my fault to begin with,” I raised my voice loudly. “I deserved it.”
“You’re using her to punish yourself, but the problem is, I’ve always thought you were weird. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Lu Jinshi laughed in exasperation, repeating the exact same words from before, insisting I believe I wasn’t at fault, that I was just an ordinary person—even a really good person.
In the end, Lu Jinshi would surely go on to say that ordinary people couldn’t possibly not fear a knife-wielding killer. Why should a teacher be required to selflessly sacrifice their life for a student? If I’d rushed forward back then and been sliced up like a melon by the killer, he, Lu Jinshi, would have spent his whole life in grief. That teacher who ran during the Wenchuan earthquake got condemned, sure, but she lived, didn’t she? So what? Protecting yourself well is the greatest kindness to those who care about you—
Then when I tried to retort, Lu Jinshi would hit me with a lofty “Moreover.”
Moreover, back then I wasn’t indifferent—I’d saved another kid who nearly fell to their death. I just had limited abilities. I was even skinnier then than now, like a leaf, blown ten million miles away by the killer in one breath. Even a physically useless teacher like me had lunged at the killer in the end, hadn’t I? It was all the killer’s fault—the killer was utterly ruthless, striking too viciously. Despite my speed and timeliness, I couldn’t save the child, who died on the spot. How could it be my fault?
His combo of “Why should” followed by “Moreover” was unfailingly effective. I was speechless, unable to articulate my inner feelings to Lu Jinshi.
I knew my inner thoughts were wrong, but from childhood to now, I’d grown up molded by that framework. Guilt and self-blame were factory settings, coursing through my veins to every part of my body. I couldn’t control it. Could I remake myself from scratch? My parents were nothing but skeletons now!
Six years ago, my response was curt. I said people have consciences, and mine wouldn’t let me off.
Lu Jinshi got angry then: “Do I not have a conscience? If you’d sacrificed yourself, what about me? Students’ lives are lives, but yours isn’t? Selfishly speaking, I think you’re a hundred times more important than any student, but you think even a dog is more important than you, cats are more precious, students’ parents’ feelings matter more than mine. I’m the one grieving—Jiang Xiaohui, that’s what I call lacking a conscience! Do you really think dying would be a good ending for you? That’s irresponsible!”
We fell silent for a long time after that, parting on bad terms.
Six years later, I didn’t bring up conscience again. I was afraid it’d drag in old feelings with Lu Jinshi.
I never figured out why Lu Jinshi liked me. Later, I thought maybe it was because I was so marriage-material: compliant girl with no strong opinions, suitable job, no family to rely on, owned my own place. I never dared say this to Lu Jinshi—I was afraid he’d thunder back asking if I had no love for him, how could I think of our relationship so utilitarianly…
I swallowed the old feelings in one gulp, stuffing conscience back into my belly too.
The lamplight fell between me and Lu Jinshi. The cars streaming down the wide road vanished in an instant. In La La Land, the leads danced hand in hand just like our shadows intertwined. I stepped farther away, tearing the shadow apart, and the clamor around us resumed.
At twenty-seven, I, Jiang Xiaohui, had matured a bit: “Everyone knows their own hot and cold… Some people wonder why it wasn’t them who died, others feel lucky it wasn’t them… Nothing much to discuss there. Both make sense. I’m no saint who has to persuade others to think like me. I just… find it easier to bear thinking this way.”
“Tch.” Lu Jinshi didn’t say more. My stubbornness left him clueless how to respond. He lit a cigarette with his head down, puffing clouds under the lamplight, abruptly killing the topic.
After standing a bit, I remembered the excuse I’d come to chat with Lu Jinshi about, so I brought up his son again: “How’s your son? Everything good at home? The kid’s health okay?”
“Doudou’s a bit naughty. His sister doesn’t like him. I figured with a second kid, the older one might feel unbalanced, so I promised a trip to the city. But then the pandemic hit, missed the chance. Later he went back to school, staying with his maternal grandma. Usually at home he’s noisy and chattery, too much racket, but not seeing him often makes me miss him weirdly.” Lu Jinshi started rambling about his kid. I turned my head to look—he’d been photoshoot-fattened a bit by Gan Ling, but in person, not much. At thirty, he outshone ninety percent of Neng County’s men.
I offered genuine blessings: “That’s great.”
Lu Jinshi fiddled with his cigarette: “Actually, these six years—no, seven—I’ve thought about that Plum Kindergarten incident too…”
“What’s there to think about?”
“If not for that, we’d have gotten married. Later I wondered what it’d be like if we did. Kinda can’t imagine it anymore.” Lu Jinshi chuckled, a bit wistful.
What would marriage to Lu Jinshi be like? I could picture it. I’d obey, he’d make decisions, then the woman bearing the second child would be someone else, the one his mom waited on would change, the family menu swapped, the kids’ looks altered. Lu Jinshi wouldn’t change much. He’d just post on Moments.
But the one difference: If I’d married Lu Jinshi, he wouldn’t have a first love to meet up with.
Thinking of that, seeing it wasn’t early, I quickly urged: “It’s late. Thanks for today. If anyone harasses you, just say you know nothing, haha. Head back quick.”
Lu Jinshi waved it off: “No worries. Wife’s in the city, can’t control me.”
Still, I needed to avoid suspicion: “Gotta work tomorrow, so I’ll head out first.”
“Mm, take care. Want a ride? I can drive.”
“No need, not far.”
“What if that woman comes looking for you?”
“It’s fine.”
Back and forth, Lu Jinshi didn’t insist like when settling the bill. He waved with the cigarette in hand as farewell. I hopped on my scooter, weaving through traffic. Scenes of married life with Lu Jinshi flickered around me. For some reason, even in a wedding dress with a big belly, the face was blurry, like it wasn’t me.
I really hadn’t eaten enough. I stopped roadside and bought some roasted cold noodles, straddling the seat as I ate slowly.
Each has their own path. Lu Jinshi and I aren’t traveling the same road.
In the end, his life was too perfect—right before my eyes, within reach, yet separated by eight hundred dimensions from me.
I’d always chased Lu Jinshi’s pace. No degree, no standout looks or talents, no impressive job. To earn approval from him and his family, I’d run hard, learning what modern people should know, ditching my theology courses I’d mastered, casting off my parents’ death shadows, frantically pursuing Lu Jinshi because his steps were so swift and strong, heading toward a beautiful life.
But Zheng Ningning’s death was a barrier. I halted, staying blurred in place. The world’s lens shifted to Lu Jinshi, looking forward to a vibrant life full of vigor. I grayed out in the background, like from another world.
In that outdated world, for a long time, I alone existed in blurry form.
Until Gan Ling appeared.
Piercing the gray, bleeding, blinding and painful, yet making me realize I was still alive.
The ones in pain are the living. The sleepless are the living. The guilty are the living. The ones needing to choose are the living.
Lu Jinshi wouldn’t understand. People like me have rigid programming, prone to crashes. Without clearing the past, we can’t move forward.
He looks ahead; I look back. One side bursts with flowers and brocade, vibrant with new life burgeoning, life thriving joyously. The other: withered bones and desolate graves, unresolved with ghosts, demanding an accounting.
—
