Chapter 39: Gan Ling’s Past

Jiaxing Residential Area, Unit 2, Room 502—my address. Gan Ling comes and goes as she pleases, and I haven’t asked her for a single penny.

As soon as Gan Ling left, I yanked open the door and chased after her.

Gan Ling had just stepped into the elevator when the two doors closed right in front of me. I lunged forward and could only jab at the button, but it didn’t open. The elevator box sank downward, so I turned and dashed to the stairwell, running down five flights. When I burst out of the unit door, there she was, standing off to the side with a sinister look on her face.

It was almost like she’d been waiting for me. She stood against the wall, eyes drooping, with that anime-style downturned mouth corners, against a pitch-black backdrop. A sharp speech bubble poked out from her head, marked with an ellipsis.

I was a bit annoyed and suddenly rushed over but had nothing to say. Face-to-face, Gan Ling stepped back, shifting from one wall to the next, always keeping about thirty meters between us.

She seemed like a piece of paper plastered to the shadows on the wall, like a creature from another dimension entirely.

“I’m not really asking for your money… Where are you going?!”

Gan Ling didn’t speak. She hugged her arms and lowered her head, as if melting into the shadows.

“If…” I was a little at a loss, so I just stood there apologizing. “If I hurt your feelings with my words, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to. I just thought you were being too polite—like, it kinda hurt.”

I’m not some easily ignited powder keg. This sudden explosion caught even me off guard. Anger comes unpredictably, like some natural disaster that hits without warning. But the one who got mad first was me—I was the one who chased her out.

“Teacher Xiao Jiang.”

A speech bubble silently popped up above Gan Ling’s head with the words. Her voice was faint, her expression hidden in the shadows.

I waited for more, but Gan Ling hesitated a moment, then scratched at the wall and pulled out her phone to scroll casually. “Just take it.”

“You don’t owe me that much. I’m not taking it.”

Gan Ling shrank back even further. The speech bubble shrank with her voice—I had to strain to see and hear what she said next: “I think… I said too much.”

“No, you didn’t…” She’d barely said anything—at least, there were so many things I wanted to know, and what she’d shared was just the tip of the iceberg.

“Too much.” Gan Ling’s tone was resolute, like she’d nailed down the coffin. She seemed determined to seal her lips from now on and stay away from the dangerous Jiang Xiaohui, who pries and tricks her into spilling things she doesn’t want to say—but from start to finish, it was all her spilling on her own. My interrogation skills were trash, certified rotten by Gan Ling herself.

“But…”

“Stop.”

Gan Ling cut me off abruptly and rushed toward me—but she just brushed past and headed out of the residential area.

Without Zheng Ningning around, her generosity and thrift were just a thought apart. She could toss me two thousand kuai, but she could also go crash in a hotel. I wasn’t worried about her being homeless.

But I wasn’t happy.

I didn’t have much motive to befriend Gan Ling, but she’d already come to my place, used my pots (which still weren’t washed), taken my trash bags, slept on my sofa, used my charging cable, and shared her story and her daughter’s. We’d gotten this far, and suddenly she declares she said too much? All good and well, just because I wouldn’t take her money?

This turn was too abrupt, her mood plummeting. She’d gone intermittently crazy again, and I couldn’t understand it—I wanted to. Even prison visits need a phone call first. With Gan Ling locked in a dark room, how was I supposed to understand or make sense of it? The frustration knotted in my chest, inflating an anger balloon. I floated in the air, feet off the ground, drifting after Gan Ling like a plastic bag tied to her with string, swaying helplessly behind her.

At the residential area gate, between the pedestrian iron door and the vehicle barrier was the “shoulder” of the gate, hung with some tattered couplets from who-knows-when. As Gan Ling passed, she impulsively tore at it, like ripping off dead skin for stress relief. I gripped the iron door and followed, shadowing her, my feet stomping on the head of her shadow.

I didn’t even know why I was following her—like I was the one seeking revenge, while Gan Ling held a secret I wanted to unearth. The roles had flipped: I tailed her obsessively and gloomily. My feet ached from walking, sweat pouring down my face, wrapped in some invisible black hoodie, breathing heavily. My bangs were wet in clumps, drooping over my forehead. I heard my breath echoing hollowly like from a drainpipe. Suddenly, I stopped. The wind finally caught up, bringing a bit of coolness.

The traffic light flashed. Gan Ling hurried across the street, while I stayed put.

On the other side of the road, the gloomy woman glanced back anxiously. She crumpled the half-torn couplet and chucked it into a trash bin. I didn’t chase anymore. Gan Ling bolted like she was fleeing. Two thousand one hundred eight yuan—this woman never mentioned the soda she brought me or the meals she cooked. We’d gotten this far—how hard was it to share a bit more of her story?!

That night, Gan Ling WeChatted me an explanation: I’ll come find you again in January next year.

Jiang Huixiang: Typing…

I typed a ton, almost a whole essay, but deleted it all in the end.

Gan Ling: Just take it.

I closed the chat window, turned off special notifications, and pettily dumped Gan Ling into my digital trash bin—a.k.a. my blacklist prep list, full of all sorts.

The next day, I resented WeChat’s design. The unclaimed transfer glared at me on the chat page in bright colors, plus a dedicated notification reminder.

I shut down WeChat, shoved Gan Ling out of my mind, and focused on Bright Kindergarten’s Preschool Class graduation ceremony. Before the ceremony, everyone had to take graduation photos first.

This one was heading to Hongzhi Elementary, that one to Peide Elementary—the kids waiting for photos muttered among themselves.

I wasn’t their class teacher. I wheeled over a stainless steel barrel full of mung bean water, shuffling a stack of paper cups from left hand to right and back.

The kids lined up like a long dragon, following the teachers up onto the risers. Their class teacher, Teacher Xu, had makeup different from usual. The Principal stood gracefully under the plum tree for shade, with a few teachers chatting nearby. Li Yongquan hunched over in front of the photographer, peering curiously. The photographer waved: “Right side, yes, third row far right—switch those two kids.”

Once the kids were settled, the Principal sat primly in the center, teachers clustered around with beaming smiles.

The backdrop was a pink wall with lions and sheep holding hands, their eyes and brows like half-moons.

I twisted open the faucet to fill mung bean water cups and waited. After one class finished photos and grabbed their mung bean water, bouncing back happily, I’d wheel over the next.

By the time all classes were done, the small auditorium was a noisy chaos. All the kids were thrilled, bouncing in their seats. Not many kids— the first five rows filled up. Class teachers reached out to discipline the naughty ones. Facing all the kids, Bright Kindergarten made some changes: a big screen played an animated promo video.

The closing line: Goodbye, little friends—the future is yours!

Then the class teachers egged the kids on to clap. A chorus of smacking palms below, but the kids didn’t know when to stop, so the applause dragged on. Often, after everyone tired out, some mischief-maker would start up again, thinking they could outlast everyone. Hands red but still slapping away—finally, the teachers heroically clamped it down.

Then, they graduated.

After graduation, parents picked up the kids—this was their first graduation in life. Zhu Erting’s Sunflower Class all pressed against the glass looking down, super envious that they got out early.

Zhu Erting was a cheeky one. Privately, she said parents definitely wanted delayed dismissal—no vacation. Kids were like divine beasts wreaking havoc at home. Back in early 2020 with stay-at-home orders, parents begged for kindergarten to reopen. Kids had no clue.

I shooed the kids down from the windows, pinched fingers to fortune-tell: two more years for you all. Some kids saw my grave soothsaying face and thought graduation was up to me. One tugged my pant leg: Could I graduate this year? I said no. Everyone got mad, and the whole afternoon’s classes were rowdy chaos.

Successfully sent off a cohort of little ones. The Principal ordered milk tea for all teachers. Perfect timing as we clocked out too—we tucked them into our electric bike baskets. The boba and milk tea shook and melted into one on the road. Suddenly, I ran into Yihan’s mom biking with Yihan. Yihan lounged princess-style in the back seat, arms outstretched. As she passed me, our bikes side-by-side, she boldly tugged my clothes. I warned immediately: “Dangerous—hands back!”

Yihan’s mom spotted me and slowed: “Teacher Xiao Jiang off work too?”

“Yeah, yeah!”

I’m no good at chit-chat. Awkward pause, then Yihan’s mom said: “Off to buy veggies—see ya!”

“Sure, sure!”

I hastily slowed my bike. Yihan waved wildly from the back seat. Seeing me outside kindergarten got her super excited. I wanted veggies too, but I knew kids fantasize teachers as otherworldly beings, so I waited half an hour before showing up at the supermarket—Xinrong Supermarket across from Jiaxing Supermarket.

I stocked up on yogurt, drinks, snacks, plus colored cardstock, gift wrapping bags, glitter, solid glue, 502—all for crafts.

Xinrong Supermarket wasn’t as stocked as Jiaxing. I scraped together what I could and decided to net-shop the rest.

There was a bit of spite to it.

As soon as I came out and put the stuff in the bike basket, the lame old man hobbled over, pointed at the Jiaxing Supermarket across the street, and grunted: “Huh?”

I looked up, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you go to Jiaxing? Why come here?”

“Oh, just convenient.” Facing the old man’s questioning, I felt a bit lost for words. I couldn’t exactly say I’d had a falling out with Gan Ling, blocked her, and didn’t want to see her.

The old man waved it off, putting on airs like Jiaxing Supermarket’s client manager, and said directly: “Jiaxing’s better than Xinrong. Next time, go to Jiaxing. Park here—no charge.”

His mask was probably still the same one from the first time I’d seen him, dangling around his neck like mere decoration. But the smile on his face was different now. It was like, thanks to Gan Ling, I’d become someone he knew. Without any sense of boundaries, he grabbed my arm and tried to drag me over near Jiaxing Supermarket.

I said another day, and he let go with a silly grin. His lame leg limping unevenly, he circled my bike once, patted the seat, and chuckled: “Looks good. Go on, go on. Next time, come to Jiaxing.”

I gripped the handlebars to leave and noticed the old man staring at me.

Something suddenly clicked. “You know Gan Ling? She… she works at Jiaxing Supermarket.”

“Yeah! She used to work there, handling business—almost made manager. She’s amazing at running events. Back then, Xinrong was way better than Jiaxing, but once she came, Jiaxing turned around.”

The old man chattered on happily, in great detail. I stopped the bike to listen intently. Old folks have this habit of always tracing back to the origins: “Aiya, back then Jiaxing didn’t have this boss—it changed owners, everyone changed. If it’d been the old one, he’d have given her way more money for sure.”

“Was she a manager before?”

“Nah, almost—almost… That day they were running an event when her man stormed in, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her out. The boss is a good guy; he wouldn’t let him beat his wife in front of all those people. They got into a fight… Sigh, not even two days later, Gan Ling quit and went home.”

“She was so capable… Why did her—her husband…”

“Sigh, ’cause the woman was earning more than the man…” The old man made a lewd gesture while scorning Zheng Chenggang, then waved it off with a heavy sigh. “He was a pretty decent guy at first… But once he starts drinking, he’s nothing—just rotten to the core. Don’t drink like this grandpa does—keep it light!”

The old man suddenly slapped my shoulder and fanned the air in front of his nose, as if he were already reeking of booze.