These past two days, an incident that hardly qualified as news had unfolded.
The matter of Teacher Wen from Unit 3 hooking up with a student’s parent had gone quiet, but right this week, it suddenly got a follow-up. Apparently, the student’s other parent—the legitimate wife—had shown up at the door with a gang of fierce maternal relatives, all burly and intimidating as they blocked the entrance to Unit 3. A woman in a floral shirt stood at the doorway hurling curses until security intervened and chased her off. I only heard the play-by-play from my neighbor when I got back from work.
The floral-shirt woman had brought along a bunch of relatives ready to splash paint on the outer wall: “Wen Rujing, shameless, no teacher ethics, seducing students’ parents, wrecking families, giving birth to rotten bastards…”
A string of filthy language followed. The relative holding the paint bucket was hard of hearing, so the woman repeated herself several times, summing it up by demanding that he mainly write the first three lines.
They hadn’t even touched the brush to the wall when property management showed up, along with a crowd of security guards. Unable to mediate, a man and a woman came down from upstairs, both in matching couple’s pajamas—one blue, one pink—with Gray Wolf and Red Wolf printed on the backs, even their slippers a matching pair. It pissed the floral-shirt woman off so much she plopped right down on the ground.
The floral-shirt woman scrambled up from the ground, lunging straight at the one in pink pajamas. “Wen Rujing, you shameless little homewrecker, old hag, slut…” My neighbor vividly mimicked the rest for me, but her husband coughed, and she held back, going on to describe the spectacle. Property management had five or six people, security three or four, plus onlookers—it was like a damn play, voices pitched high like coloratura opera, all singing and shouting. The floral-shirt woman yanked viciously at Teacher Wen’s clothes in the pink pajamas, ripping open the collar to show the crowd just how “shamelessly endowed” Wen Rujing was to seduce her man.
Wen Rujing got pissed after that tug, grabbing the floral-shirt woman’s collar with her left hand and yanking her hair with her right, striking from both sides. As a teacher, she was methodical and quickly pinned the woman, twisting her into a crooked tree before she toppled over. Having lost two key holds, the floral-shirt woman beat a tactical retreat, ignoring the pain in her scalp as she wound up and slapped Wen Rujing twice across the face—smack, smack! Wen Rujing let go on instinct, switching from clawing to blocking, clutching her face and falling into defense. The floral-shirt wife pressed her advantage, flying in with a kick that sent Wen Rujing tumbling to the ground. But Wen Rujing had a counter—before falling, she yanked the floral-shirt woman’s hair, and they both crashed down together, clawing at hair and slapping faces. Wen Rujing stayed calm and composed, her words piercing straight to the heart each time: shrew, hag, old hag. The floral-shirt woman unleashed a barrage like machine-gun fire, overwhelming with sheer volume—local slang obscenities my neighbor couldn’t even understand or repeat, plus some colorful metaphors.
They scrapped for a good while before the man in the blue pajamas seemed to finally realize the fighters had something to do with him. He strode out all majestic, hands on hips. “What the hell are you fighting about? Look at you two, like a couple of crazy bitches. Especially you, Wen Rujing—are you even a educated woman anymore, stooping to her level?”
Having been cursed at too, the floral-shirt woman immediately latched onto the man. “You still have a conscience? I gave you a son just so you could hook up with an elementary school teacher? All these years I’ve scrubbed pots, cooked, served you without a single complaint, and now you’ve been shacked up at another woman’s place forever—it’s about damn time you came home!”
Unexpectedly, the man shoved her away like toppling a vase, utterly ruthless, shaking out his hand. “I’m not going home. I don’t want the son anymore—take him. We’re getting divorced!”
Under everyone’s gaze, the man spat out those words, and the floral-shirt woman collapsed in despair, fainting from crying. Her relatives surged forward to beat the crap out of him, but somehow elbows nudged each other first, and soon it was a symphony of elbow jabs as they united in hurling a few harsh words before dragging her away.
Then the female teacher Wen Rujing smoothed out her messy hair. The man snapped irritably, “I told you, I told you to toss the trash and wipe the delivery info, and look, she found us. Such a pain in the ass!”
I quickly cut off my neighbor’s retelling. “The floral-shirt woman runs a relay station or something? Delivery info what?”
My neighbor fished the melon seed shell from her mouth and flung it into the trash. “Nah, I pick up packages every day—never seen her around.”
Anyway, after chewing out both women, the man’s face changed. He wrapped an arm around Wen Rujing’s waist and shoved through the crowd stone-faced, leaving everyone with the sight of Gray Wolf and Red Wolf heading upstairs.
“Tsk, you know, being a teacher ain’t bad. You run into students and boom, you know what kind of trash their parents are—no more worrying about finding a partner,” my neighbor sighed dramatically. I counted myself as a teacher and didn’t chime in. In our kindergarten, I’m far from the one with the closest ties to parents. The one with the tightest bond is barreling down the road to becoming a murderer every day—this topic felt downright foreign to me.
Her husband rolled his eyes at her—still so lovey-dovey, jealous as hell. “Why don’t you go get certified now? You could totally teach at Hongzhi Elementary. Their parents are way better than me.”
“Elementary teachers need grad school degrees these days. I ain’t got that kinda skill—just being a shop girl suits me fine.”
Word of Teacher Wen’s drama reached Zhu Erting’s ears. Thinking I had some insider scoop, she gossiped with me about it, so I relayed my neighbor’s tale. After hearing it, she said she wanted to come over.
Zhu Erting had previously shared her relationship woes, and after hearing about Teacher Wen, she immediately put herself in the man’s shoes, fretting anxiously about being caught between two men. What if they fought over her? How would she even stand there?
I remembered Gan Ling telling me not to meddle, but in front of Zhu Erting, I got a bit excited, fully immersed as she vented her worries. The words rolled to the tip of my tongue before I vaguely asked, “If they fought, who do you think would win?”
“Definitely my boyfriend—he’s young and strong. Sigh, maybe I should just break it off with the online guy?”
I nearly blurted out that they’d already broken up three times, but Gan Ling’s ghost echoed “don’t interfere” in my head. I said, up to you. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up thinking the online guy’s better than your boyfriend. Does the online one have a family? Is he single?
Zhu Erting hesitated. “Think I forgot to ask? Oh god, I gotta go check. This is getting way too messy—if he’s got a wife and kid, and I’m cheating behind my boyfriend’s back too, it’ll never end. I don’t want people ripping my hair out on the street.”
I recalled that real estate agent-looking guy and figured he definitely had a wife and kid, but I couldn’t say for sure, so I just told her to play it by ear.
Having temporarily shelved her own issue, Zhu Erting started pressing me about when I’d introduce her to my boyfriend that day. I phrased it carefully: there wasn’t one. She was convinced I was hiding a man, giving me this ambiguous look like I was joking with her.
Sometimes I swear, even armed with facts, I can’t defend myself—my mouth’s that clumsy. By the time Gan Ling arrived, I’d been through two rounds of gossip and rumors, drained of energy, slumped on the sofa watching My Neighbor Totoro. Gan Ling said, “Someone downstairs is moving out. Hired a professional wailer to accompany the side-by-side packing.”
“What?”
“She’s wailing right next to it, all dramatic ups and downs—you can even pick out the tune.”
When Gan Ling got snarky, her face lit up with this vivid softness. I peeked out the window and saw Teacher Wen with a man loading stuff onto a truck, while the floral-shirt woman sat on the ground howling her heart out.
I filled Gan Ling in on the whole thing, including the backstory.
Gan Ling was peeling potatoes, head down, chuckling. “We had shit like that back in the day.”
“Really?”
“My mom—she was the mistress. Eloped with my dad. He was my brother’s teacher, and she fell for him, forced the original wife to divorce. She brought the kid and shacked up with my dad.”
That’s when I noticed she’d come in carrying potatoes and started peeling them on her own. “What are you doing?” Gan Ling said she was making mashed potatoes. I didn’t say anything, letting her mess around in the kitchen. After a bit, she came out and picked up the thread: “My mom’s education policy was hardcore—learn by doing, work then learn. After junior high, I went to work, then vocational school.”
“Gave the money to your brother?”
“Mm. Then Mom forced gratitude down my throat, told me to be a good girl. I told her to fuck off, you homewrecker—I ran away. Got dragged back later.”
Gan Ling said it all breezily. After a moment, she brought out the plate on her own, mashing the potatoes with a spoon, arms flexing slightly, face blank like she was chatting about someone else’s drama.
“And then?”
“Then… I just couldn’t ever escape. Didn’t even know where to go. Farthest I got was the city… So I figured, gotta get married quick to get out.” Gan Ling scooped the mash into little bowls and started simmering her gravy, pulling out the pot—my kitchenware utilization skyrocketed in her hands. “Ran into Zheng Chenggang on the road, so we eloped… Oh, Zheng Chenggang’s my husband, Ningning’s dad.”
“Oh.”
I took the mashed potatoes Gan Ling made and had a spoonful. It suddenly hit me she’d gotten off work half an hour early. It wasn’t even nine when I tasted the mash.
“Otherwise, how could it be called ‘deserving it’? The man was my own choice, and the kid was one I decided to have…” Gan Ling took a long breath. She’d said more than usual today. I bit down on my spoon, watching her. Gan Ling’s gaze landed on my expression, and she added, “Only kids bite spoons. Eat properly.”
“Mind your own business! This is my bowl, my spoon, I…”
“Eat yours.” Gan Ling gave me a push. I wasn’t eating much anyway, but after two bites of mashed potatoes, my appetite kicked in. Spoon tip in my mouth, I trailed after Gan Ling as she wandered around my own home. Gan Ling patted the sofa, felt around, found the knob, and flattened it out.
“You’re crashing at my place again tonight?” I scraped the last of the mashed potatoes from the bowl with my spoon, trying not to make it sound like I was kicking her out.
“The house collapsed.” Gan Ling said.
I froze for a second, suddenly realizing what she meant by “collapsed”—damn internet slang.
“Your bungalow collapsed…?”
“Mm, I saw it had collapsed when I got back.”
“What about Ningning’s photo?”
“I scanned a digital copy ages ago. I’ll just print a new one later.” Gan Ling had already grabbed my blanket with practiced ease and tucked it into the sofa corner, looking every bit like she was settling in for a long stay in my living room.
Two buttons suddenly popped up in front of my eyes: one to play it cool and accept Gan Ling, the other to boot her out to fend for herself.
Before I could pick, Gan Ling found the pillow and gave it a pat. “You live alone and keep this stuff around… Did your ex-boyfriend come over?”
“Yeah, he slept right there where you are now.”
I pointed with my spoon, and the buttons vanished. Gan Ling lowered her head to inspect her spot, nodding faintly. “Fine.”
“I’m done. Any more?”
“Scoop it yourself.”
I’d just ducked into the kitchen when a special-notification buzz from my phone made me fish it out. Gan Ling had sent me a 100-yuan transfer, note: tonight’s room fee.
I sent it back: No need.
Gan Ling—with that fierce wolf cut of hers—fired off a pitiful emoji.
I was instantly flustered. Gan Ling sent another transfer. I hesitated, and two buttons popped up again: accept or decline, that was the question.
I sneaked a peek at the living room. Gan Ling sat on the sofa, pillow and blanket neatly stacked, like she wouldn’t lie down unless I took the money.
I hit accept anyway. Her house was gone; she was homeless and had come to me.
“Want me to buy you a toothbrush?” I offered. Maybe next time she worked late, she could crash; she could use my towels, toothpaste, face wash, whatever.
Gan Ling suddenly burst out laughing. “I’m just roughing it for one night. Don’t turn your place into a hotel.”
She flopped onto the sofa, shoes lined up perfectly side by side next to it.
I suddenly got pissed. “You’re the one who offered money first. Are you treating my home like a hotel—or one of those homestays that cooks for you?!”
Gan Ling stopped laughing and slowly sat up straight. “I’m putting you out…”
“Then you owe me a ton in reimbursements!”
At least the money for fixing my e-bike. I thought bitterly, hoping her conscience would kick in.
But this woman was soft on the surface, steely underneath. She raised an eyebrow slightly, pondered, then grabbed her phone.
She transferred 2,000 yuan.
“Are you nuts? Get out—this shop’s closed!” I flung my phone onto the sofa in a rage and grabbed Gan Ling’s collar.
I was hoping she’d hit back with her usual “exploded again” jab, so I could explain why I was mad. But today, it was like she’d spiked the mashed potatoes with a mute pill—she stayed silent for ages. All those muscles were useless as I dragged her to the door.
I yanked the door open but couldn’t bring myself to shove her out. I turned to grab my phone and sent back the 100-yuan transfer.
She accepted it briskly. Gan Ling silently pointed at the sofa. I froze; she walked over, slipped on her shoes neatly, then headed to the door.
As she passed me, her throat bobbed slightly, but she said nothing. She gave me one haughty, superior glance from above and shut the door herself.
