Chapter 54: The Third Day of the Outing

The hotel bedsheet was covered in layer upon layer of wrinkles. I felt just like the princess and the pea, unable to tolerate even the slightest ripple. After sleeping for a bit, I got up to smooth out the sheets and tidy everything up. Drenched in sweat, I stood there, haphazardly tying my hair into a bun, when a inexplicable impulse suddenly surged in my heart.

Gan Ling’s words had planted a magical seed in my mind, and now it had grown straight up to the heavens. I wanted to climb the beanstalk to the giants’ realm and see the world. The cramped hotel room grew even narrower under the air conditioning, the front and back walls pressing close like two sheets of paper.

I didn’t have much luggage to begin with. After a quick pack-up, I checked the train info, bought a ticket, and called a cab. I hoisted my bag and went down to check out. It was deep into the night, and the ride-hailing app took a full ten minutes to find a car. When I got in, I filled in the emergency contact.

Gan Ling sent a message: Call me.

There’s this safety tip about taking cabs at night—you should voice chat with family so that even if you run into someone with bad intentions, there’s a chance for a turnaround. One, your family knows your whereabouts; two, the creep might hesitate.

Gan Ling had saved her number in my phone, reliably telling me like a big sis from the streets to hit her up if anything happened. She was paranoid that something bad would always befall me—male colleagues and their friends all had ulterior motives, everyone on the road was full of malice, cab drivers harbored evil schemes. Jiang Xiaohui was like a kid tossed into society’s big furnace, making Gan Ling occasionally lift the lid to check how well-done I was.

On the phone, Gan Ling casually chatted with me for a couple sentences.

“Are you heading back to Neng County? You got the one after four? Then you’ll have to hustle when you get off.”

I checked the time—yeah, I’d dawdled a bit.

“Got it.”

In the rearview mirror, the driver didn’t even look up, eyes fixed ahead as he sped through the empty nighttime streets, flying straight to the train station. I checked the time, slung my bag over my shoulder, and Gan Ling’s voice crackled intermittently in my earbuds: “Run.”

Run. So I didn’t think about anything, charging straight into the station. There weren’t many people taking the night train, and thanks to the pandemic, fewer folks sleeping in the station. After I got settled on board, it suddenly hit me with eerie reality—I’d climbed the beanstalk. The scenery rushed by, night lights sparse and dim. The train was full of sleeping people, half the carriage lights on, giving off that hotel-room intimacy.

It dawned on me then: On a whim, I’d listened to Gan Ling and cut short the trip with Li Yongquan, who still had four days left, fleeing straight back to Neng County? Just because Liu Ming had made that gross, lewd move in front of me? Now I’d have to face the awkwardness of not getting along with male colleagues at Bright Kindergarten?

What mind-altering drug had I taken? What kind of fit had I thrown?

Wide awake, I leaned against the seat, uncomfortable as hell, rubbing my face and wishing it was all a dream—the real me still lying in the hotel, having this weird dream from bad sleep…

So, in a daze, half-asleep half-awake, I didn’t even know how I hoisted my bag off the train, followed the crowd out of the station, showed my green code and ticket for verification, and stepped out to a bunch of people yelling, “Cab? Cab?” The morning breeze around six swept over my head, and the aroma of youtiao from the breakfast stalls on the station street eagerly drilled into my nose.

Gan Ling pushed through the swarm of touting drivers and took the bag off my shoulder.

I snapped back: “You came to pick me up?”

“Let’s go.”

Gan Ling led me out of the crowd, winding through a few dark alleys along the street, until we were near where she lived. One more turn, and we were at her place.

Gan Ling pulled out her keys, shrugged her shoulder against the door, and jabbed the key into the lock. Her lips were pursed tight. The keys rattled and shook; she glanced up at me. I straightened up. The key turned two full rotations, and Gan Ling shoved the door open with her body, stepping aside to let me in.

The lights were on inside. Gan Ling locked up again, my backpack slung over her shoulder, the strap slowly slipping off. She caught it with her hand.

The photo wall right in my face made me briefly squeeze my eyes shut and steady myself against the wall to pass by.

That chubby bag was casually plopped by the bedhead, against Gan Ling’s neatly folded quilt.

I hadn’t said a word, processing my bizarre actions. Gan Ling didn’t speak either, taking my phone from my hand and hanging up the call with herself. Battery was almost dead.

Gan Ling was frying bread slices—she’d found an all-night convenience store for bread. No matter what, it felt like a hallucination. I leaned in close, rubbing my face, treating this dream as real. I smoothed my hair; my mouth tasted stale from overnight. In a daze, I automatically grabbed my toothbrush to freshen up. After rinsing noisily, Gan Ling handed me a warm cup of milk, casually spreading her towel on the counter as a placemat, and set down a plate of fried toast slices.

“Want a fried egg?” Gan Ling asked.

I shook my head, mechanically chewing the crispy-outside-soft-inside toast dipped in milk.

Gan Ling sat sideways on the bed’s edge, legs stretched out, slowly pinching the fabric to straighten her pant seam with her fingers. Her hair fell over her shoulders, like a stylist’s careful mess—disheveled yet with an aesthetic curve. Lips pursed, she focused on fussing with her pants. I leaned against the counter, finishing that milk while facing her, like some flirty cowboy holding a wine glass to admire a beauty. The surroundings felt like a hazy dream. I couldn’t figure it out—how had one sentence made me inexplicably bolt back to Neng County, solidly ditching Li Yongquan.

Most crucially, Gan Ling had satisfied my dramatic urge to bail emergently—toast slices and hot milk. I’d just suddenly, suddenly craved it, even though I’m not really into food.

Gan Ling seemed to notice me staring, took a slight breath, but didn’t look up. She just said, “Full?”

“Mm.”

“Rinse and sleep.” Gan Ling stood, not meeting my eyes, checking the time on her phone before clearing the cup and plate.

The problem was right here—why had I come back to Neng County and inexplicably ended up first at Gan Ling’s place, eating her fried bread? Gan Ling and I had both defaulted to me sleeping here? She’d even taken my bag to the top of the cabinet, spread out the blanket, and cranked up the AC.

I sat on the bed’s edge, the all-nighter exhaustion pressing me down, that inexplicable familiarity an accomplice, clamping my shoulders from both sides to make me pillow on Gan Ling’s pillow—but an indescribable fear crept up. I froze in place, wobbling like a roly-poly toy before sitting straight, fumbling in panic to grab my bag.

Under Gan Ling’s surprised gaze, I hurriedly explained, “Ah, I, I’ll go home to sleep.”

There was two people’s distance between Gan Ling and me. She held the door, turning back, standing there stunned for a good while. I felt my suddenness was pretty weird too. Gan Ling rubbed the back of her neck, thinking tiredly for a bit before stepping aside: “Let’s go.”

For an instant, I sensed a disappointment—she’d worried about me half the night, and now I was suddenly ungrateful.

But Gan Ling stayed calm, just tilting her face slightly, puzzled why I was still hesitating. Did I really want to step out that door or not?

I didn’t mind sleeping here; I didn’t dislike Gan Ling.

It was just this bizarre fear rising inexplicably, like once I lay down, the world would tilt ninety degrees like me, spilling out a vast ocean to drown me, some strange fate fishing me up in the churning waves onto an unfamiliar ship.

That moment made me want to fly out of this space.

Hugging my bag, I dawdled to the door. Gan Ling wearily rubbed her eye sockets.

I suddenly tamped down the panic in my heart, like swallowing a huge chunk of bread whole. Facing Gan Ling who’d bustled all night worrying about me, I had no reason to inexplicably run out.

A big bridge stretched from the city to the county—this side Gan Ling, that side Li Yongquan and Liu Ming. I’d already blown up the pier on that side; the bridge had half-collapsed. If I stepped out from here, I’d be alone again.

I even knew I’d blown that side up precisely to come here. No way could I step out this door.

But Gan Ling saw my hesitation and suddenly smiled: “If you wanna stay, stay. Wanna go, go.”

I stood there awkwardly, at a crossroads. Gan Ling, arms crossed, added: “Don’t worry about me.”

With that, I made up my mind, dropped the bag, sat on the bed, untied my shoelaces, and threw myself onto her single bed, rolling up in the blanket.

Unexpectedly, Gan Ling came over and poked me: “What’re you doing? Wanna go, then go.”

I pretended to be asleep. Nighttime fatigue caught up; I closed my eyes, half-dreaming half-awake again, split in two, the part listening to Gan Ling like a wandering soul.

“You can ditch the male colleague and come back—that’s good. Put yourself first. If something happens, or anything feels off, follow one rule: as long as you’re happy with it. So if you wanna go, go quick. Don’t fake concern for my feelings here.”

I was already a wandering soul, but her advice grounded me back in my body, sleeping soundly without a care.

It wasn’t that I wanted to leave and got up; it was this strange thing wrapping me, urging me into panicked action.

Gan Ling pushed me again, confirming I was out cold.

With my last shred of awareness, that strange fear a heavy shadow—as it lunged, I muzzily grabbed Gan Ling’s hand, instinctively pulling it to my chest.

Gan Ling stumbled as I yanked her, propping herself up on her elbow to look at me.

That fearful afterimage gradually receded, hiding in the shadows of my consciousness. I had no idea when the next assault would come.

The woman’s hand was rough yet warm, the calluses on her knuckles like simple, primal piano keys.

Unknowing and numb, I slightly raised my fingers and slowly played a melody from “Amazing Grace” on the back of the woman’s hand.

Gan Ling gathered my hand and tucked it under the blanket.

I closed my eyes. I felt a gaze settling on me—quiet and lingering. Before I drifted off to sleep, Gan Ling softly called my name.

“Jiang Xiaohui.”

I think I responded, but I don’t remember.