Chapter 40: Going to Sleep

No matter how many days back, I never would have imagined that I’d take the initiative to chat up an old man just to uncover the secret of why she was working as a manager in a supermarket.

The old man didn’t lack for food or clothing; he just wanted someone to talk to. There were a few people smoking in the shady spot, so we leaned against the glass window on the other side. On the inside of the glass were all sorts of little trinkets—phone cases, data cables, earphones, cotton socks, hats, and the like.

No matter how curious I was, I couldn’t suddenly have an epiphany and master the art of questioning. At most, I could just follow up with a few sentences.

The old man explained in great detail.

Back then, he wasn’t outside looking at cars; he was inside stocking shelves. Though he was old, he was cheap labor.

Gan Ling had just been pricing and weighing items at the time, but because she had a great memory, quick hands, and was young, and the boss was also from out of town, he promoted her to manage the fresh produce section. Back then, people in Neng County weren’t used to buying groceries at supermarkets—they thought it was expensive and low quality. Even those who came would go to the Xinrong Supermarket across the street.

Gan Ling made a trip to Xinrong Supermarket, then went into the boss’s office for a talk. After coming out, she hired a few more employees for training, put up a banner, and in her usual mocking, disdainful style: “Neng County’s most hassle-free supermarket.”

She hired a bunch of part-time women workers, who didn’t do much else besides prepping veggies every day. Customers bought their produce, handed it to Jiaxing’s people to devein shrimp, peel shells, pit fruits, slice and shred, bundle with tape, and deliver it right out on the electric bike.

It was just that little thing, but it took a month of painstaking training. Sounded simple, but it was tough to pull off. Everyone was running around like headless chickens.

But she really built up some reputation for it. Jiaxing Supermarket worse than Xinrong? Well, look at them—they prep your stuff for you, even teach you how to cook it. Can’t carry it? They bring it out for you. How’s Xinrong better than Jiaxing now!

It was because of this that Gan Ling was almost promoted to manager.

But public opinion is a fearsome thing. Since both the boss and Gan Ling were from out of town, rumors spread they were from the same hometown. And with the boss unconditionally backing her, getting this crew whipped into shape and hiring even more people, folks started hinting that Gan Ling must have some shady relationship with the boss.

It was this baseless gossip that brought Zheng Chenggang to her door. On the last day of the snack aisle’s “buy snacks, hoop toss for prizes and dolls” event, in front of the kids playing games, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her home, spewing filthy words the whole way.

That’s how it happened.

It was already dark. I got on my bike to head back, pulled out my phone to check the time: 8:22.

Maybe—

I squatted at the entrance of Jiaxing Supermarket. The electric bikes parked outside were packed tight like pimples on a face. Then one by one they started leaving, riders heading off in groups of three or five, shouting and hollering, plastic bags in hand, happily departing. The roadside veggie sellers rolled up their wilted leaves, hopped on their bikes—legs slung over the crossbar, toes barely touching the pedals—pedaling circles homeward.

Gan Ling came out at 9:30, still in that faded gray-black hoodie and those washed-out jeans.

My legs were numb from squatting, so I plopped down on the curb, leaning against my electric bike. I didn’t have time to hide before Gan Ling spotted me. Honestly, I hadn’t hidden much—we were just separated by the street, an invisible crosswalk between us. No cars around, so Gan Ling crossed the road, stood in front of me, and squatted down like I was some kid.

“What’s wrong with the bike?” Gan Ling asked.

She thought I was sitting there because the electric bike had an issue. Before I could answer, she went over to check it out, like a doctor diagnosing it. She saw my busted mudguard, touched the battery, spun the wheels to listen to the sound, then came back—and realized I’d been watching her the whole time.

She didn’t say a word and started walking south.

I patted my butt and stood up. My legs were wobbly from sitting so long; I fell right back on my ass, then propped myself up and got on the bike. I didn’t even turn on the power—just pedaled with my legs to get the wheels spinning, legs straddled, sticking close to the sidewalk behind Gan Ling.

Gan Ling glanced back. I looked like a pair of chopsticks clamping the bike, walking all awkward.

She kept going, and not three or four steps later, I couldn’t hold the bike steady. It tipped right, I yelped, and hopped up. Stuff spilled out of the basket—nothing fragile. I picked it up, eyed my already trashed mudguard, propped the bike, and Gan Ling had turned back to look at me.

Then she turned away again.

I flipped on the power and followed slowly. Finally, Gan Ling stopped, stood at the roadside, and beckoned me over.

I just stopped the bike when a wave of hot air hit from behind—a bus pulled up beside her. Gan Ling glanced at me and boarded quickly.

It was the No. 2 bus; I knew its route roughly, so I chased after it.

Through South Street heading north, then further, then east… Southeast corner, where blocks of flat-roofed houses appeared, connecting to vast farmlands dotted with scattered homes. I realized this must be Nanyuan Shantytown. But how did Gan Ling find a place to live here?

The bus stopped at a station next to a small tobacco and liquor shop. Gan Ling stood at the shop door, my battery died. From 200 meters away, I dragged the bike forward like rowing with my feet.

She finally waited for me.

She turned back, facing me. I struggled to pedal the bike over and caught my breath.

“What exactly do you want to know?” Gan Ling asked.

“Huh?” I was still panting, like I’d biked here on a regular bicycle instead.

“You’re… chasing after me like this. What do you want to know? Just ask directly.”

Gan Ling was straightforward. I’d just pulled her out of my mental blacklist reserves and hadn’t thought of an opener yet. Pretending I was too out of breath to hear the noise around us, I played deaf again: “Huh?”

“You want to know about Ningning… right.” Gan Ling answered herself and steadied my electric bike.

It was pitch black all around, the bike’s light dim to near invisibility—it was already on its last bar of battery, clinging to life, now totally dead. Twisting the power a few more times did nothing.

Only the tobacco and liquor shop’s light illuminated us, a thin line leaking under the half-shuttered door.

All around was inky darkness—crops to the left, rows of flat houses to the right. The scent of strangers alerted some dog, which barked wildly at the moon hidden behind clouds. The other dogs heard the signal and joined in, woofing away.

I got off and pushed the bike; Gan Ling walked slowly, shining her phone’s flashlight, one hand on my basket.

Winding around from the shop, into a narrow alley—the dog barks grew distant. Through the depths of the alley, surprisingly, a patch of dry grass, and beyond that, a courtyard with a crooked wooden gate.

Inside, it was a dangerous shack, leaning like a squished cake, all gray and dusty. The wooden door creaked open and shut nonstop, held in place by bricks, like a broken fan blade creaking cool air into the house. The windows were old-style with paper pasted on them. Gan Ling kicked the bricks aside, pulled open the door, and I parked the bike in the yard.

No running water, no well, no electricity—groping in the dark like a mysterious cave. Gan Ling and I were like primitives before discovering fire, fumbling in the blackness. I smelled the dank earth, and immediately grabbed Gan Ling’s arm.

Gan Ling had a knack for finding dangerous buildings others overlooked and secretly living in them. Even stepping inside, I could hear the wood and bricks grinding and creaking. The last flat house collapsed in the rain while she was at work—that was some luck. This time, it felt like she was tempting fate: Come on, collapse on me this time, bury me under bricks and stones in my sleep like a blanket!

I tugged her outward, but she tugged me inward. We played tug-of-war at the threshold—I wasn’t as strong as Gan Ling and got dragged into her room.

A cold kang bed, but covered with felt and oilcloth, and surprisingly, a quilt on top. The light flashed, and stuff on the kang vanished—this place felt like a prop from an escape room game, not somewhere humans would live.

Gan Ling sat on the kang, checked the time: “It’s too late. No power at my place. Wait till 6 AM tomorrow when the supermarket opens, charge it up there and go. Make do here tonight.”

She arranged it just like that—not only dragging me into this cave-like death trap, but making me sleep on the kang overnight.

Gan Ling wasn’t short on money. If she wanted, she could rent a decent little courtyard here for 1,500 yuan a year—with water, electricity, furniture, windows, and a yard. Instead, she insisted on this shaky deathtrap. I felt uneasy: “Can’t we crash at someone else’s place?”

“If you want to go…” Gan Ling meant I was free to.

But I’d come this far following Gan Ling, and she was clearly rooted to this broken kang. No choice. I turned on my phone light to check the ceiling, but Gan Ling said: “If I were you, I wouldn’t look up.”

I took off my shoes, hugged my knees on the kang. Gan Ling shook out the quilt; I said I wasn’t sleeping yet.

Gan Ling showed me the time on her phone: past ten.

I didn’t dare look up, just lay on my side. Gan Ling took off her hoodie, folded it as a pillow under her head, facing me.

No power—in the dark, I could only make out part of Gan Ling’s features; I figured she was the same for me. We were like half-faces submerged in water, wrapped in semitransparent darkness. No beauty or status mattered, just lips moving, spitting out fragmented words.

Gan Ling said, “My relationship with my husband isn’t good. Sometimes, I run outside, but I’m not really trying to run away. I just want to give him a piece of my mind… Because we have a kid, you can’t just up and leave. Sometimes I find all sorts of abandoned places. In Neng County, lots of people go out to work, there are tons of elderly folks, and plenty of them pass away, leaving empty houses. So I just move in… Sometimes it’s just like that Korean movie, Parasite. You’ve probably seen it.”

“Mm.”

“This place is too. Super remote. I sleep inside, and this quilt was already here from before… Zheng Chenggang couldn’t find me. I went back on my own later. They said I went out to spend the night with some guy. I didn’t bother refuting it. Whoever cursed me to my face, I cursed right back… I don’t really care what other people think… But Ningning’s still little. She’ll think I’m exactly the kind of person everyone says I am.”

“Mm.”

“Actually, if I really wanted to leave, I could’ve left anytime… Zheng Chenggang and I never registered our marriage. No wedding either. I just left home, met him twice, and decided to elope with him… His mom looks down on me hard. I didn’t ask for any bride price, no dowry. She thinks I’m the type to throw myself at him, a shameless woman, calls me cheap goods.”

As Gan Ling spoke, I silently cut her off. “If you keep talking to me like this, won’t you start feeling like… um, you’ve said too much, and then…”

My question really interrupted Gan Ling’s next bunch of storytelling. Her eyes flickered slightly. Then she suddenly leaned in close. Up close, I could see her expression clearly.

Deeply sunken eyes, a somewhat haggard face. Gan Ling pursed her lips, staring at me with serious, resolute intensity.

“You never replied to me.”

She was talking about WeChat.

“I don’t want your money,” I said.

Gan Ling propped up the quilt with her arm, carefully draping most of it over me like she was gingerly sliding a pancake into a vat of boiling oil.

“Why are you always following me?” Gan Ling asked again. She’d already answered her own question, but she still wanted to hear it from me.

I had no answer. I just wanted to follow her.

I closed my eyes and started playing innocent, pretending I was gradually drifting off to sleep amid her story. But my “sleep” came too abruptly, with zero actual drowsiness. I had no idea how much time passed before Gan Ling seemed to feel cold and curled up toward the center of the quilt—but she didn’t snatch even half an inch from me.

Under the quilt, a hand rested on my waist, tugging me a little closer into her arms.

I snapped my eyes open on reflex. Couldn’t keep up the act. The proximity set off blaring alarms in my heart.

The last person to hold me like this was Lu Jinshi. Drunk off his ass, he’d stuck me to him like a human hot water bottle. I’d felt overheated; he started undoing my clothes. He was my fiancé, so I warily accepted life’s bitter pill—I suddenly remembered that whole half-hearted-consent, blurry mess of an incident that left me feeling super uncomfortable afterward. Oh god, Gan Ling meant no harm—I could tell. She had zero ulterior motives. She just had this sleeping habit of hugging onto something, like how a kid clutches a stuffed toy. Totally reasonable.

I clutched my collar. Gan Ling realized I wasn’t asleep and shifted half a body length away. The alarms went quiet.

I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding like an outright rebellion—countless tiny rebels in my left and right atria hollering, Charge! Burst out the throat, smash through the chest! War drums booming. I gripped the front of my shirt, cold sweat beading one drop at a time down my back. I reached to grab Gan Ling’s arm, but could only snag the strap of her camisole.

Now with something to hold onto, I felt a bit steadier. Gan Ling looked puzzled, one arm raised, unsure whether to lay it on me.

My breathing finally slowed. My head was drenched in cold sweat. Gan Ling’s hand found its way over, wiped the sweat from my forehead—dripping wet—then disgustedly smeared it onto my arm.

To make Gan Ling feel like she wasn’t the only one spilling her guts, or maybe just to make myself feel better, I started telling her about Lu Jinshi.

“I… uh, randomly remembered my ex-boyfriend… y’know, there’s this one thing… I don’t even know how to put it.”