This world cannot be without Gan Ling, nor will there ever be a second Gan Ling.
The woman leaned against the wall hugging me. We were like high school students sneaking out over the fence to scarf down some spicy hot pot in a clandestine meetup. After hugging for a while, Gan Ling finally steadied her breathing. She didn’t ask anymore about the police, the witnesses, Zheng Chenggang, or Zheng Ningning. She just freed up one hand to take mine, dragging me along like I was a plastic bag onto the street, across the road, around the barricades. The two roads, gleaming oily under the moonlight and streetlights, crossed each other. Gan Ling let go, watching as I took a step back toward the road to Jiaxing Residential Area, which suddenly turned pitch black. I turned my head, and Gan Ling suddenly said she wanted to walk me there.
Kinda sticky.
We’d said goodbye several times, given instructions several times. The mood was right, but we still didn’t part. I didn’t know what we were so reluctant to leave about—like chewing gum stuck to the highway, breaking but still connected by strings. I said okay, and walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Gan Ling again. We walked for a bit without saying a word.
There was clearly nothing to say, but she insisted on seeing me off. As we walked, our steps synced up. Her laced white canvas shoes and my beige dad sneakers both stepped out with the right foot—right, left, right, right-left-right. Too neat, making our pace seem fast. I deliberately paused a beat, so it became right, right, left. The woman seemed to be laughing, lips pursed, shoulders shaking, then syncing with me again—right-left-right.
I didn’t know why I suddenly wanted to laugh so bad. I covered my mouth and changed it up—left-right-left. Gan Ling kicked my heel—not too light, not too heavy. She knew I was doing it on purpose and didn’t adjust deliberately. She walked behind me; her legs were long, her stride different from mine, swaying side to side, watching me hop.
I said, “Gan Ling, aren’t you childish?” Gan Ling just pointed at the rabbit on my tank top—a silent mockery that said it all. I shut up, turned back around. I didn’t look down at my steps, but as we walked, they synced up again.
At the entrance to Jiaxing Residential Area, Gan Ling stopped and waved for me to go in.
“You’re coming in?”
Gan Ling waved again, hands in pockets, and walked off. It wasn’t too late yet, so I didn’t press her to stay.
On Thursday, Gan Ling sent me an emoji—the sharp-eyed Usami from Nichijou. I was waiting for more, but she didn’t say anything. I studied the image for ages and still didn’t get it. That night, Gan Ling sent another one: the rabbit from The Secret Life of Pets hugging a carrot, blinking its innocent big eyes.
Jiang Huixiang: There are way too many cartoon rabbits in the world!
I changed my profile pic to Bugs Bunny.
Gan Ling: Doesn’t look like you.
Jiang Huixiang: ??? Usami looks like me?
Gan Ling: Yeah.
I was getting mad when I noticed Gan Ling had changed her avatar—from that stern wolf to a familiar canine. I screenshotted it and reverse image searched, finding an emoji pack. Two wolves looking serious, but that one with its head down grinning like an idiot.
Fine.
I switched to Usami.
Maybe in the adult world, your avatar ties to who you are. By Saturday, two parents had messaged asking “Who are you?”
Those parents weren’t a big deal—they don’t read chat history or names. A quick explanation sufficed. But acquaintances would come greet me.
Like Zhu Erting, who rarely checks this stuff. She asked where I got the avatar from, so I sent her a pic of Usami and Kumakichi together.
Zhu Erting: I know this one. I saw Li Yongquan change his avatar. Oh… you guys have progressed that far?
I immediately checked Li Yongquan’s profile pic.
He hadn’t messaged me, just changed it to Kumakichi on his own, which annoyed me. Asking him about an avatar seemed petty, so I just pretended not to notice.
Sunday morning, I woke up to see Li Yongquan pulling me and some guy named echo—male, located in Iceland—into the same group. He renamed it: Go Play Duck Squad. I realized that guy was Liu Ming.
Liu Ming quickly sent a friend request. I didn’t accept it yet, watching Li Yongquan spam the group with Dianping links and set it to Do Not Disturb.
A bit later, Liu Ming sent a screenshot of the group name.
echo: Haha, so wild, really wild.
Li Yongquan kept posting links, probably not checking the group. Liu Ming randomly sent another pic—of some guys and girls in heavy makeup posing for the camera.
echo: Haha go play ya
I knew what he meant but didn’t know how to reply. I closed the chat window and pretended I was still asleep.
Like running where you can beat side stitches, leg burn, teary eyes—but just one tiny pebble underfoot trips you up. I suddenly felt a subtle resistance to the upcoming trip. Liu Ming must’ve studied whenever; to me, he spent most time spamming the group with useless crap. That night he kept urging in the group for me to accept his friend request. I closed my Moments to him.
echo: Why won’t you let me see your Moments!
Jiang Huixiang: Oh, all kids’ stuff, nothing to see.
echo: It’s fine, don’t be shy.
Li Yongquan had already shared our rough itinerary in the group, cutting Liu Ming off. I still didn’t open my Moments.
Gan Ling was stir-frying eggplant in the kitchen, saving my lazy ass from starving since I suck at cooking. While I chatted with Li Yongquan and Liu Ming, Gan Ling shoved a small bowl my way. I quickly hid my phone, feeling guilty.
Gan Ling: Hiding something shady?
I said no, took the bowl. Gan Ling kicked the trash bin to my feet, assigning me garlic peeling.
Gan Ling had clearly warned me that traveling with Li Yongquan might cause trouble. She even said directly—if anything, come to her. She wasn’t rooting for me. Talking travel with Li Yongquan felt rebellious, and I didn’t dare let her see.
Phone under my butt, I didn’t touch it till dinner was done.
A bit of garlic-mixed eggplant, some sliced sauced beef from the deli. Gan Ling made cold noodles. We sat in our spots on the sofa, bowls in hand by the coffee table, eating slowly. TV on, screen-cast Spy x Family.
Since she worked Sundays too, and it was late, Gan Ling was crashing at my place.
When I got up to wash dishes and clean, my phone escaped being sat on. But like a thief, I tucked it into my apron pocket to hide any WeChat pings from Gan Ling. She laughed in exasperation: “You think I don’t know what you’re chatting about? Isn’t it just going to the city the day after? So sneaky.”
Busted, I didn’t make a sound, just scrubbed the bowls squeakily.
A bit later, I heard footsteps and perked my ears. Gan Ling called out: “I’m heading out.”
“I got your blanket out.”
“Nah, I’m going.”
When I came out of the kitchen, she’d already put on her shoes, toed them in, leaving me her back view. Door open, she was gone.
I didn’t chase. Can’t exactly run after saying “Okay, look at my chat history, see what I said to Li Yongquan and Liu Ming!” For some reason, this stuff felt so guilty. I opened the group again—Li Yongquan @’d me, asking if I’d packed.
The backpack from our last Liujia Village trip wasn’t unpacked; I’d just toss stuff in my suitcase. Nothing to prep. Replied ok.
Switched back to Gan Ling’s chat. Without thinking, I mocked her.
Jiang Huixiang: What? Mad I won’t show you my phone? Petty.
Gan Ling: None of my business.
Jiang Huixiang: Then why’d you suddenly leave?
I sent a teary rabbit emoji. A while later, Gan Ling: You’re off the day after tomorrow; gotta pack tomorrow.
The next day I didn’t pack, just stared at that crybaby rabbit I’d sent, wishing I could reach through the screen and delete the phony thing.
But messages over two minutes can’t be unsent. I deluded myself by deleting the emoji from my chat log, but the words stayed—making my lines sound phony, and the culprit was Jiang Xiaohui, not the rabbit.
Whatever.
Later, when Li Yongquan and Liu Ming saw me, I only had a backpack—last Liujia Village one plus some changes of clothes.
No time to pack properly; got myself ready, and time was up.
County to city was over an hour on the train. After showing nucleic acid tests and green codes, the three of us stood at the ticket gate.
Li Yongquan and I were colleagues, so not too awkward. Add Liu Ming, and the vibe changed.
Liu Ming could spin any detail on me into a topic.
Like my short hair soft against my scalp. He glanced and suddenly talked about a female entrepreneur he knew—thirty-something, decisive, 80% with my hairstyle. Said I was a rich lady in training, and he wasn’t gonna strive anymore.
I glanced at Li Yongquan. He said: “Kindergarten teachers can’t be rich ladies; we don’t make bank. Our unit’s pay isn’t high.”
His salary was a bit more than mine. First, male kindergarten teacher; second, actual teacher—I’m just a life skills one. I knew staying this way, kindergarten life had no future. Forget rich lady—even retirement was iffy.
If considering him as a marriage prospect, Li Yongquan isn’t particularly qualified. With the shrewd gaze of a 27-year-old woman, I appraised his score but bit my tongue and stopped.
I’m not here for a blind date.
The hotel was booked together as agreed; the two of them share a room, and I’m upstairs. After arriving and dropping off our luggage, Li Yongquan said he wanted milk tea and initiated a group order for takeout in the chat.
Li Yongquan: Let’s go! Let’s go!
Jiang Huixiang: Not going out for drinks? We can walk around and check it out. The cultural relics exhibition is the day after tomorrow; today there’s a film history themed exhibition right nearby, free—might as well take a quick look.
Li Yongquan was silent for a moment: “Coming right away.”
When I got to their room door, Liu Ming was lying on the bed. Li Yongquan was unplugging his phone from the charger and urging him: “Hurry up, hurry up! Don’t sleep, don’t sleep—how can you sleep right after we got here!”
Liu Ming: “Didn’t we say we’d order milk tea?”
I stood at the door when Li Yongquan suddenly thought of something: “Then tell me what you want to drink and send it to me—I’ll bring it back. You sleep first.”
He closed the door, leaving me alone with Li Yongquan. We went downstairs and each ordered a mango pomelo sago. I opened navigation to find that exhibition.
Li Yongquan started a topic: “Do you like movies?”
“Ah? Not really… just taking a casual look.”
I bit down on the straw and followed the navigation. Li Yongquan was like a kid being led to the bathroom, hands neatly clasped behind his back, walking obediently behind me—stopping at red lights, going at green ones. His white T-shirt was soaked with sweat on the back, and he kept tugging at it, fanning himself with a whooshing sound.
Gan Ling sent a WeChat: Arrived?
I stood still to reply: Just got here. There’s an exhibition—gonna take a quick look on the way.
Li Yongquan: “Green light! Green light!”
“Oh.” I glanced up to cross the street while typing. This dangerous behavior worried Li Yongquan so much that he snatched my phone, shoved it back into my hand, told me to hold it, and pulled me across the road.
After being tugged and pulled by him, when I reopened the chat window, I saw I’d sent a bunch of garbled text.
Gan Ling: ?? You get robbed?
A voice message came through—this woman’s reactions were as quick as ever.
I hurriedly declined it.
Jiang Huixiang: All good, all good! Phone slipped out of my hand.
Li Yongquan: Who are you chatting with?
I said nothing and pocketed the phone after turning off the screen.
*
Note 1: Nichijou
