Humans and beasts are different, after all.
The dignity of being human makes one weak, turning that dignity into a thin sheet of paper before those barbaric, unreasonable things.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—it’s a refreshing thing to do.
But I couldn’t do it. From childhood to now, I’ve always been a coward, a weakling. Later, there was a term for it: a bleeding heart.
Sometimes, accepting one’s own cowardice is a good thing. It means I won’t chase after things beyond my capabilities, like seeking revenge or killing someone.
I didn’t know how much time had passed when Gan Ling finally let me go. I was still hugging my arms in place, watching as she subtly rubbed her knee, sat back on the sofa, crossed her hands as if about to negotiate with me. But she opened her mouth several times and failed each time. In the end, she didn’t say a single word. She just yanked me up, threw me onto the sofa, then pulled out her phone and left.
I blocked her at the door. “Add me on WeChat.”
Gan Ling didn’t say anything. She just showed me her QR code. I sent the friend request. Gan Ling’s profile picture was very wolfish—a wolf with glowing blue eyes facing the camera. Her WeChat name was Gan Ling, and her signature was: Awoo—
She accepted the friend request right there in front of me and hurriedly left without a word.
Later, I counted the marks I’d scratched into my notebook—seven or eight lines. And Gan Ling had only said a few words to me? That woman seemed to calmly withdraw, distancing herself from my freakout zone to let me cool down on my own.
Showing that dazed, out-of-control side in front of Gan Ling wasn’t my intention. But the words had escalated to that point, and I truly thought she could hear everything I’d been through. In that moment, I wanted to accept Gan Ling, to pour out my heart and tell her all my hardships, why I couldn’t tell her—there were so many factors: the law, dignity, sympathy, and many things I couldn’t put into words.
Thinking back, it was impulsive. Gan Ling was an impenetrable iron wall. Did I really think her showing a bit of vulnerability was real? Turns out it was all fake, a bunch of made-up nonsense. Ghosts from the graveyard could brush past her, and she’d still be that stinking, hard rock. I absolutely didn’t believe any expression on her face.
It pissed me off.
I shoved Gan Ling to the back of my mind and slept. When I woke up, there were several little red dots on my Moments feed. I tapped in and saw that Gan Ling had gone through my Moments like she was reviewing memorials, liking twenty posts in a row—all videos and photos of the kids rehearsing that I’d posted.
She even had to like them to prove she’d been there. On the most recent one, she left a comment: Very good.
That post was a nine-grid photo of Sunflower Class’s rehearsal. Parents had left comments below—mostly confetti, thumbs up, and smiles. Yihan was right in the middle, wearing a rabbit hat, with a rabbit tail on her butt, grinning roundly with her teeth bared.
I hesitated over my Moments privacy settings for a good while. In the end, I checked that mine were only visible for three months anyway, so she couldn’t dig up anything incriminating. I held back and didn’t block Gan Ling.
Gan Ling’s Moments were much simpler than mine: she hadn’t posted anything. Just an old check-in from years ago, automatically shared by some vocab app.
I felt like a glass vessel—whatever was inside was completely transparent, no secrets at all.
Even the kids could easily see through my worries.
Yihan was inseparable from her rabbit getup, the tail on her butt bouncing as she moved. The rabbit ears were poor quality and looked like donkey ears from afar. Since it was summer, the outer rabbit fur was replaced by a white rabbit vest and skirt, plus white stockings and fluffy sandals. Though Yihan complained it was hot and took off her shoes, she still sat cross-legged on the little stool very neatly to keep her white socks from touching the ground. She hugged a raw carrot, laboriously scraping it layer by layer with her front teeth.
I stood by watching the kids rest, pouring sour plum soup into paper cups. One by one, the kids drank theirs in front of me. When they asked for seconds, there were none left, so they got mung bean soup instead.
Suddenly, a little bean sprout stood in front of me, her two donkey ears drooping. I tore off a paper cup.
Yihan said, “Teacher Xiao Jiang, Zhao Nan took two cups of sour plum soup, and you gave them both to her.”
“Huh?” I didn’t quite catch on. Yihan said, “Teacher, you look like you have something on your mind.”
Every kid has their worries. Yihan once dreamed she wasn’t the smartest kid in class anymore. She jolted awake in terror, grabbed me, and bawled. Every day since, she needed thumbs-up encouragement from me to confirm she was still the smartest in class. There’s a kid named Xu in Tangerine Class who was terrified his shadow would run off, often crouching in the blazing sun to coax it to follow properly. In Bluebell Class, there’s a competitive kid about Yihan’s age who anxiously asked me if he could still stay at the kindergarten if his parents divorced. In Cactus Class, there’s a doll-like cute kid whose worry was that too many people told her she was their best friend, but then she’d turn around and see them playing with others, leaving her deep in thought.
Every kid has worries as big as their fists. Some dissipate like smoke once voiced; others remain shrouded in fog. Yihan’s worries are as numerous as her talents, so she often wears them on her sleeve.
I told her I had nothing on my mind—her rabbit ears were drooping, and I’d pad them with some needle and thread later. The sly adult deftly diverted the kid’s attention. Yihan stopped talking about it, so I had nothing on my mind.
I glued some scrap fabric together, let it harden, and sewed it inside the rabbit ears. Now they looked even more like donkey ears, but Yihan clearly had never seen a real donkey. She thought they were perky rabbit ears now, strutting off proudly. Zhu Erting said, “Look what you’ve done—you’ve equipped the Little Demon King with epic gear. Nice job.”
I said if I didn’t appease this great demon lord, she’d tear the class apart. Zhu Erting said I was the one spoiling and indulging her—that all the bad guys got to be played by her.
Our banter sounded just like a married couple grumbling at each other. The assistant teacher in Sunflower Class was at the back, surrounded by kids as she awkwardly moved stools. Zhu Erting waved her hand grandly and, after chatting, told me the principal wanted to see me.
The principal was in her office, hands crossed. Something had gone wrong with her tattooed eyebrows—thin peaks flushed with an unnatural red. The moment I walked in, I saw those red peaks arched high.
Straight to the point, the principal asked how I’d been lately.
I said pretty good.
The principal said, “That crazy woman hasn’t come around lately. Looks safe now. Nothing’s happened, right?”
I hadn’t expected the principal to still be thinking about it after so long. Flattered, I looked up and saw her face still full of worry. I swallowed my words and said, “What happened now?”
“Are you asking me, or am I asking you?”
“Oh, nothing’s happened to me. What about you? Your eyebrows look…”
“It’s not Xiao Jiang—not, not the eyebrows. I just wanted to know about the situation seven years ago.”
I was about to say I couldn’t talk about it when I saw the principal’s eyelid twitch. The woman immediately covered her face and rubbed it, emerging looking a bit sleepy as she gazed at me.
I instantly had a hunch and just said, “Alright, I’ll fill you in.”
The principal was shocked. I’d been as stubborn as a rock in a latrine, and now I was suddenly cracking open to spill secrets. She leaned forward involuntarily, inviting me to sit properly on the sofa. Beads of sweat kept breaking out on her face.
I figured the principal suddenly asking about a crazy woman who no longer harassed the kindergarten must have her reasons. I gave a brief account of the events from seven years ago, hiding the killer’s identity and appearance, all habits and features omitted. I only simply said how the killer had burst in, how they killed, and how I reacted.
That night, I verified my guess about the principal’s motives. I opened the WeChat chat and, after thinking, messaged Gan Ling: Where have you been these past few days?
Nearly half an hour later, Gan Ling replied: Elsewhere.
Jiang Huixiang: Did you go harass our kindergarten principal?
Gan Ling: No.
I didn’t believe her. The chat window kept spitting out one message after another. I was waiting for the truth.
Gan Ling: I didn’t harass anyone.
Gan Ling: I’m not crazy.
Gan Ling: I just asked where Plum Kindergarten’s principal went.
Gan Ling: That couple—I know about them. When I dropped Ningning off at kindergarten, you weren’t at Plum Kindergarten yet.
Gan Ling: That couple ran away. They definitely know what the killer looks like.
Gan Ling: I’m not saying I want revenge. You stay out of it too.
Looks like that was the truth. I thought to myself, if you’re not crazy, then no one in this world is.
Jiang Huixiang: You’ve reminded me—I do need to stick my nose in.
Gan Ling: Your principal said she’d tell me about what happened seven years ago.
Jiang Huixiang: ?
Good thing I’d held back—I only gave the rundown of events. To Gan Ling, those details might not even matter. I’d dropped hints before, and she could guess. But what use is knowing the details of your daughter’s death when you’re out for revenge?
I hurriedly searched my contacts, only to remember I had no way to reach that couple from Plum Kindergarten. After it happened, they swiftly packaged up and sold the kindergarten, cutting ties with the incident and leaving Neng County for good.
After a while, another message popped up in the chat:
Gan Ling: Are you home?
Jiang Huixiang: No! I’m out.
Gan Ling: Got it.
I stood at the door, unsure whether to head out or stay home and play dead. After a moment, I lowered my head and typed: I’m home. Wanna come over?
Gan Ling: Mm.
Jiang Huixiang: Don’t move. Where are you? I’ll bike over to pick you up.
I couldn’t stand waiting at home for a lunatic to show up at my door—it felt weird, like I was in a horror movie scene. I grabbed my keys and bolted downstairs, jammed them into the lock, twisted on the headlight. Finally, a location pin popped up on WeChat.
Gan Ling: It’s late.
Jiang Huixiang: Not far.
I was a transparent glass vessel. She didn’t even need to contact me—Gan Ling knew exactly what I was doing, the same old routine with the kids, saying similar things, doing similar chores. Gan Ling was a black box, constantly brewing something dangerous, dragging in unrelated people, her obsessions like tentacles that had to pull everyone involved into her box. I closed my eyes, and just imagining Gan Ling’s actions made my mind uneasy.
Lu Jinshi, the Principal, that couple—and who knew who else by then. I was afraid Gan Ling might accidentally stumble onto the truth without me knowing, and then everything would be irredeemable.
I had to take the initiative. Even if I couldn’t do anything, I absolutely would not, would not just sit there in fear, waiting for Gan Ling to get her way and turn into a murderer.
If I could stop it, then the murderer wouldn’t become a murderer.
The electric bike’s headlight glowed faintly, casting two snot-like beams. I pulled over to the roadside and wiped the sweat from my neck. “Hop on.”
Gan Ling had a hint of teasing in her expression. “Whoa—”
I thought of Lu Jinshi again and shot Gan Ling a fierce glare. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Gan Ling climbed onto the back seat. “You’re really seeing this busybody business through to the end… I wasn’t even planning to pry anything out of you, but you’ve decided to be an accomplice, huh?”
“A lot of people hate eating ginger. Weird taste, it’s everywhere, and it’s easy to mistake. In diced chicken, it looks like chicken; in soup, like bone; in hotpot, it looks like anything; stir-fried with potato shreds, it looks like potato shreds.” I turned the bike around. “But you know, people can’t do without ginger. Pound it into juice, grind it into powder, add it to dumpling filling; it can even become dessert, like ginger milk curd… and ginger candies… stew meat, simmer soup to remove fishiness and add fragrance…”
Gan Ling gripped the backrest behind me. “You don’t pick your surname. I still have the surname Gan.”
“I’m super annoying, I’m everywhere, nosy, people pick me up with chopsticks and toss me away, too tough even for the bone plate. But when they pick me up, my flavor lingers… I know you think I’m annoying.”
“Oh.” Gan Ling’s voice was faint.
I racked my brains, hoping Gan Ling would take interest in what I was saying—this was key to persuading her not to seek revenge. “I think I can definitely convince you… Look, my ancestor was… uh, Jiang Ziya. And yours? Gandalf. Both great mages. We must have common ground. I won’t let you turn into a murderer.”
Gan Ling let out a laugh. “Gandalf…”
I’d reached the end of my references and stuttered to a stop, focusing on biking instead.
At a turn, Gan Ling suddenly grabbed my shirt to steady herself.
That tank top finally got yanked, its collar slumping off my shoulder.
Gan Ling clearly panicked for a second, then immediately reached up to fix my collar for me.
Looks like this person wasn’t beyond saving yet. I definitely, definitely could persuade her to give up on revenge.
