Chapter 27: She’s Crying

If Gan Ling were a relationship expert, I’d have her figure out what exactly the man and woman on the screen had going on between them.

Zhu Erting finally entered the frame too, alongside a strange middle-aged man. The guy was decked out in a full black suit in the middle of summer, looking just like a sleazy real estate agent—greasy hair, powdered face. I took one look and didn’t like him one bit. And yet, she was actually holding onto his arm as they walked.

When I spotted them, I frowned slightly, squinting first at Zhu Erting, then at the man. My expression clearly didn’t scream “I just saw the perp.”

Gan Ling spoke in that mechanical Siri-like tone: “Acquaintances?” Then she flipped to the next photo. I hurriedly grabbed her: “Go back, let me take a closer look… Neng County Hotel…”

The Neng County Hotel had been renovated, with a flower bed built right at the front entrance. In front of the flower bed stood a stone gate like a mini Arc de Triomphe, tall stone pillars propping it up, topped with a gilded plaque reading “Neng County Grand Hotel” in big characters. The lanterns hung up for New Year’s were still glowing bright red, and seeing those four clumps of red in the summer heat was honestly kinda irritating.

Looking closer, Zhu Erting and the man were standing pretty close, but not exactly intimate. And they didn’t really resemble each other either. I’d once glimpsed Zhu Erting’s old man from afar—he was a proper weathered farmer type, back forever hunched, skin dark as dirt, nothing like this slick face.

I studied it for a moment but couldn’t figure it out. Gan Ling finally lost patience and flipped forward again. I yanked her wrist once more, like a kid begging their parents to rewind the cartoon: “Go back, I haven’t gotten a good look yet.”

“What’s so hard to understand?” Gan Ling smacked my hand away. I walked over to the TV and pointed at Zhu Erting. “This one’s my coworker. She’s only twenty-four. This guy? No idea who he is.”

“They’re dating, duh.” Gan Ling thought I was being ridiculous and ignored my protests as she flipped the photos back. I was about to blurt out that Zhu Erting had a boyfriend, but then I remembered I’d never actually seen the guy before. Could it really be this suit-wearing weirdo parading around in the summer heat?

Or maybe Zhu Erting was house-hunting? I grabbed Gan Ling again. “You’re good at reading people. Help me check out this guy…”

“Good at reading people?” Gan Ling dodged my reaching hand, twisting my head toward the TV a few times without success. She could only spare a third of a glance at the man.

“Hmm, on the surface, can’t tell much. Real estate agent?”

I thought to myself, even Gan Ling sees it that way. If this guy wasn’t in real estate, he should switch careers pronto. Just like how people take one look at me and peg me as a preschool teacher or nanny—it’s a natural gift for misleading with looks.

Gan Ling studied it some more, zooming in on the phone photo to check the details. “Your coworker isn’t that close with this guy.”

“How can you tell?”

“When she was holding his arm—” Gan Ling beckoned, borrowing my arm like an accessory and draping it over her elbow. I stumbled onto the sofa from the pull. She blocked me lightly. “You’re too close.”

I twisted my neck away. Gan Ling pulled my arm free and shoved me off. “See? We’ve known each other for over a month now. If I pulled you like this, what distance do our bodies keep? Look again.”

Zhu Erting and the middle-aged guy had their palms linked to elbows, but their shoulders weren’t touching. I glanced at Gan Ling’s shoulder and panicked, scooting to the corner of the sofa.

Gan Ling coldly rolled her eyes up at me. “Can we keep looking at the photos now?”

I kept watching the TV, my mind flashing through bits and pieces of Zhu Erting’s clues. Suddenly, Gan Ling said, “Can you stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

Her words hit me like a splash of cold water, snapping me out of it. I nodded. “Yeah… I’m being a bit annoying. Forget it.”

When I’d first met Zhu Erting, she’d called me “sis.” Later, at Bright Kindergarten, her class kids kept dragging me into hold-ups, and before long, we got familiar. Sure, I kept clear colleague boundaries with her, but if I had to pick friends from the whole friend group chat, Zhu Erting would top the list—no one else.

For this rare friend of mine, I’d been tossing and turning over it. But I didn’t want to actually meddle. The next day, Zhu Erting said my looks at her were off, like a high school homeroom teacher’s glare.

I couldn’t hide my stares, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna admit some girl had been tailing her nonstop and I’d seen it all. I could only say the Children’s Day show had me so nervous I lost control of my expressions. Zhu Erting bought it completely, pulling me into the office and slapping an ice-cold cola against my face.

“Take a breather.” Zhu Erting dug out a box of snacks to share with everyone. The shrimp strips were torn to bits.

It was way too hot. One teacher started a milk tea group order. The stuff in the county was just powdered mixes—nothing special. When the delivery arrived, a female teacher sent Li Yongquan to sneak it back through the railings past the kids.

Li Yongquan clutched the bags like he held the power of life and death, striking a dramatic pose for the group of limp women slumped in chairs. He rummaged fussily and pulled one out: “Here, Xiaohui-jie, yours is honey pomelo water.”

I took it. Li Yongquan grinned. I forced a smile back, still mulling over Zhu Erting and the middle-aged guy. Zhu Erting had ordered two, stabbing two straws in—slurping a third of the oolong milk tea, a third of the grape fruit tea—then bolted off.

The official show was Children’s Day morning. The heat turned everyone’s faces into oil fields, Li Yongquan worst of all. He begged a female teacher for some blotting paper. The kids were a riot, AC blasting while it scorched outside—hot and cold clashing, everyone on the verge of melting.

Before going on stage, I secretly handed each kid a veggie cracker to tide them over. Yihan skipped hers, sucking in her belly for that perfect figure. I patted her back, and her little tummy immediately pooched out round as a ball—you can’t expect a four-and-a-half-year-old to be all curves or super slim. That’s messed up.

“Don’t suck in. It’ll make you choke on your lines.”

Yihan pouted unhappily. I said the carrot-shaped veggie cracker was hers to keep. She perked right up, happily scampering backstage to wait for Zhu Erting’s cues. Zhu Erting peeked through a gap in the curtain at the sea of packed parents: “Not enough seats. Whole families showed up.”

Some parents in the audience wore masks, some didn’t, some had them pulled under their chins. No matter how hard the AC worked, the crowd’s body heat mingled and overwhelmed it.

I hunched over, weaving from under the stage, through backstage, through the audience—playing traffic cop to keep order. Finally, I climbed to the front of the curtain, grabbed the mic, and announced the show was about to start.

Scattered applause from below. I bowed once, killed the mic, and dove offstage.

On stage, I spotted Gan Ling in the audience, but she’d come late and was stuck at the back, wearing that super hot black hoodie. Hair loose over her shoulders, lips pressed tight. If this were a movie, she’d be the assassin lying in wait—face cold and stern.

Lights out, venue dark. Stage lit up. In the shadows, Gan Ling stood arms crossed, stock still.

Kids performed, adults laughed, clapped, cheered them on. Happy times all around. Teachers breathed sighs of relief.

Handed over Yihan’s owed veggie cracker, and Bright Kindergarten’s Children’s Day was officially done.

They stretched the holiday straight to Dragon Boat Festival. Classes resumed June 6th, but then Preschool Class had graduation—just a few rushed weeks left at most.

Adults led kids out hand-in-hand. The jammed-up cars, motorcycles, and scooters out front gradually cleared. Teachers tidied up, then dumped everything in storage for next year.

A quick wrap-up meeting in the afternoon, and the teachers were herded out like sheep.

WeChat pinged with two messages.

Gan Ling: Send me the photos on your phone.

Gan Ling: Ningning’s.

I pretended not to see. Went grocery shopping, got home, slowly blanched some vermicelli into a bowl, sliced mini chilies and minced garlic. Was just about to drizzle the sauce when WeChat popped a voice message.

No dodging it. Gan Ling on the other end: “Kindergarten’s on break? Can we look at a few more over the next couple days? Lots of photos.”

Bright Kindergarten’s Children’s Day gala had poured oil on Gan Ling’s revenge fire—she was burning extra fierce.

I said sure.

After finishing the cold vermicelli salad, I realized I hadn’t used the shredded cucumber I’d prepped. I just mixed it with some oil and vinegar in a bowl. Hadn’t even picked up my chopsticks when Gan Ling knocked.

Her urgency didn’t show on her face—it was all in her actions. She tossed her phone straight onto the sofa: “Kindergarten’s off in the afternoon. Let’s get to it.”

“Eaten yet?” I was picking at the cucumber shreds. Gan Ling glanced and took the bowl right from my hands.

Gan Ling ate the cucumber while I turned on the TV. Screen barely lit up, and she set the empty bowl down—spotless.

“Too little. I’ll boil some noodles.” I took the bowl to the kitchen, splashed more soy and green onions over the remnants, tasted it with chopstick tip. Added white pepper and a dash of chicken bouillon, dug in half a spoonful of lard.

The more I stalled, the more urgent Gan Ling seemed. From the kitchen, I heard her pacing outside, sounding especially antsy.

After frying an egg and starting the water, I peeked out. She’d paced off the edge, now sitting on the sofa, fingers buried in her hair, palm over her eyes, unmoving for a while.

Gan Ling lifted her head slightly. The TV screen reflected my peering face.

For once, Gan Ling volunteered: “I went to Bright Kindergarten today to watch the show.”

I glanced back—the water wasn’t boiling yet. “Mm.”

Gan Ling kept her head down, shoulders hunched high, buried deep.

I pulled out some hanging noodles and pinched off a bundle. Bubbles gurgled up from the bottom of the pot.

“She never properly attended kindergarten… Her grandma said to just send her straight to elementary school… It was me who insisted, who stubbornly enrolled her in Plum Kindergarten…”

The program Zheng Ningning had failed to perform was called Planting the Sun.

I have~ a beautiful wish~ for when I grow up…

She didn’t grow up.

The water boiled. I spread the noodles into the pot amid rising steam, turned on the range hood. I couldn’t hear Gan Ling’s crying anymore. One bowl of noodles topped with a fried egg, four hot pot meatballs, and two slices of lettuce. I added too much soy sauce, so the color was a bit dark. Oil flecks and chopped green onions floated on the surface.

I sat in the kitchen picking at my fingers. The noodles turned into a mushy clump amid the sobs.