Chapter 72: [Gan Ling’s Perspective 2] Finale

I don’t want to live anymore.

Nothing means anything.

So, before dying, dragging Zheng Chenggang down to hell with me is the only way my death would be worthwhile. His death weighs heavier than Mount Tai to me, while my own is lighter than a goose feather. That day, watching Let the Bullets Fly with Jiang Xiaohui, Jiang Wen pointed at Chow Yun-fat’s Huang the Manor Lord and said, “Without you, it matters a lot to me.”

Without Zheng Chenggang, it matters a lot to me.

He’s like a lint roller, covered in all my past regrets, wrapped layer upon layer in filth and pain, swollen so huge it’s become a ticking time bomb. I can only hold onto him and sink into the ocean, tossed by the undersea waves, then let our fragments feed the fish.

That was what I was thinking, sitting on the kang.

He really should have moved somewhere else instead of slinking back like a coward to his mom’s junk-picking shack. Though there are no traces of my life here, I have infrared eyes and can see all the indelible stains.

For example, right on this kang edge where I’m sitting, my head banged against it like a grandfather clock pendulum—Zheng Chenggang yanked me upward, slamming me; even sitting here now, it still buzzes in my ears. And that gray wall in front of me, splattered with the smell of scrambled eggs with chives—he loved throwing tantrums at meals, smashing bowls and plates. Spring chives are tender and fresh green, without a hint of bitterness or stench; they splatter out into the golden egg mixture with a sizzle, freshly plated, then fly straight onto the wall, sticking like a tattered map of Hainan Island. On this floor, Zheng Chenggang’s mom wailed that she might as well die; he demanded money from her, she said there was none, and he slapped her to the ground. Beating his own mother was too wicked—even the neighbors who always took his side came to condemn him. He couldn’t face anyone, so he knelt and kowtowed on the floor, boom boom, implying directly and indirectly that I instigated it, calling it an extension of mother-in-law and daughter-in-law strife.

A guy like that was rotten to me and had zero filial piety toward his own mom. The only good thing you could say is that he was good to his daughter.

When she was little, he’d carry her out to see the lanterns; when the kid lost three yuan, he wasn’t annoyed but secretly slipped her ten, telling her not to tell her mom or she’d get scolded. When she got a bit older, he’d creak toys to make her laugh, let her watch TV, play with his phone; even when she rode on his neck, he never got mad, just chuckled good-naturedly.

I figured, no matter how rotten he was, he wouldn’t take his hatred for me out on Ningning.

I’m leaving.

In the end, all that talk of good or bad, love or not—it’s all an illusion. I personally left my daughter with Zheng Chenggang, a man dead to all conscience. My crime is unforgivable. No matter how selfish I am, I can’t just start a new life; I have to face off against Zheng Chenggang head-on.

Either he snaps and kills me, getting a few years in prison, or I kill him and get a longer sentence. But the best outcome is I kill him and die too—the wicked one gone, the sinner gone. Our rotten family rots in its own pot, without spreading to harm others outside.

Zheng Chenggang lay on the ground like a dead dog. I held the knife and straddled him; he suddenly gurgled, vomiting bile under my weight but too drunk to roll over. It clogged in his throat, making him cough and roll his eyes with a hacking sound.

I pressed his head down, letting the filth flow back down his throat. He hacked and spat dirty stuff all over his face; the booze stench and rot sprayed out, splattering my sleeve.

I’d propped up this piece of trash many times before, carried him home, cussed him out while tucking him in, afraid he’d die in the street. Sometimes drunk, he couldn’t tell cold from warm—even in the dead of winter below minus ten degrees, stripping in the greenbelt down to his underwear. I’d call his sleazy buddies, drive over, drag him home. When he woke up, he didn’t even remember I’d fished him out of the trash.

I was all too familiar with scenes like this.

After puking, Zheng Chenggang sobered up a little, but not much. He squinted at me in a daze and suddenly realized I wasn’t a dream—I was really straddling him, knife in hand.

He tried to lift his arm but couldn’t, mumbling curses: “You wanna kill your father? You dare? You don’t dare, you cheap slut… just, cheap.”

The knife lay across his neck. One stab, and it would all be over—Zheng Chenggang’s whole family turned to ash, and I, Gan Ling, buried with him. We’d all rot in one room, no bother to anyone else.

But in the end, we still bothered someone else.

I, Gan Ling, dragged the kindergarten teacher Jiang Xiaohui into it.

If Ningning were still alive, she’d definitely say I had no morals.

I’d taken her key, slept in her bed, slipped my hand into her clothes, seriously promised a future together, even lied about meeting her tomorrow night—though I never planned to live through tonight…

A fluffy rabbit had slipped into our pot of rotten meat stew, getting scalded by the boiling broth without a peep.

I was terrified that rabbit would suffer in silence without crying out.

Her faith had some saying, something about silent endurance being a revered virtue. She always urged me to give up revenge.

It sounded so saintly. Oh, and the saints were from her faith too—she was an fundamentalist saint, insisting there were no saints in the world originally; people just talked them into existence.

I got it. If it were about some other god’s will, killing Zheng Chenggang would bring karma on me—even if it was revenge, it’d still bear bitter fruit. His evil was his own karma; I could only manage myself, do good deeds, and accumulate virtue.

But the thing was, I had no will to live anymore. Even if killing him made my next life as a pig or dog, I’d do it willingly. Whether I fared well or not was another matter—I just had to get Zheng Chenggang dead first.

Zheng Chenggang had no idea he was standing at death’s door. Staring at me, he struggled to scrape together a full sentence from his brain: “You finally, came back, cheap slut. Again, ran off… with a man. No man, you can’t live.”

Yeah, because I’d met Zheng Chenggang and foolishly followed him too cheaply; he and his mom always looked down on me.

I was a woman who didn’t respect herself, no bride price, no dowry, nothing to weigh me down with valuables—I was light as air, unworthy of respect.

I wanted to go back in time, board the train, and when I first looked at Zheng Chenggang, kick over that passenger trying to grope me, shoving all my misplaced affection back down. I’d followed him out of love; I had to admit I’d truly been smitten with Zheng Chenggang once.

But then I thought of Jiang Xiaohui. What about Jiang Xiaohui? When she followed me, did she demand a bride price or bring a dowry? She’s just like me—no parents to back her up, drifting like duckweed. If I bullied her, what could she do?

What made her want to follow me? She sent so many strategy messages, as if there were a million paths to a beautiful future, then got all clingy. I didn’t even dare look at her words on the screen. Why? What did I have worth valuing? I hadn’t even done anything heroic—not like I saved her; I was the thug who bullied her. Why did she trust me so much because of that?

Zheng Chenggang struggled to flip over; I jolted, realizing I’d zoned out. The knife slipped half an inch, drawing a thin line on his neck. Blood seeped out, and he yelped—not from pain, but like he’d thrown his back, clawing uselessly at the ground.

Still, he was a man in his thirties, burly. After another round of sour vomit, he actually managed to prop himself against the wall and stagger to his feet.

I realized I couldn’t just lop his head off like chopping veggies or slice him open like a watermelon. I’d never killed anyone; under my fingertips, his veins and flesh pulsed with life, like strings of vitality. So when he flipped up, I jumped back.

“You, came back, for what?”

Zheng Chenggang tried to jab a finger at my nose, but I was probably swaying in his eyes. He bellowed, “Stop swaying, swaying your mom’s ass! Stand still!”

I saw him swaying: “I came back to kill you.”

I’d never been this calm. Zheng Chenggang laughed like it’d heard a joke, but only half a chuckle before he couldn’t anymore, thudding onto the kang edge, waving me off: “I ain’t messing with you. Go live with whoever. Your father never married you. Legally, no wife of Zheng Chenggang… Get lost. I wanna sleep.”

I couldn’t help but want to laugh, reminding him: “Look at you now, you rotten mess—think you’d do well in prison? Folks hear you killed your own daughter, how’s that for impressive? All praising you, huh?”

Zheng Chenggang got pissed, flailing an arm at me like a duck flapping wings: “Say that again, I dare you?”

“What’s the rush? Prison’s full of killers and arsonists—common ground, right? How’d you lose so much weight? Beat ’em or got beat? Big shot like in American movies, or the guards’ bitch?”

“Go fuck your mom, Gan Ling! Say it again, I dare you!”

I stood there, waiting for him to lunge so I could jam the utility knife into his throat.

I realized how fragile I was—I couldn’t actively kill him. Murder’s a skill that needs practice; too bad, I wasn’t ready yet.

“No need for me to say it? You come back and hit the bank—bet there’s not much money there, huh? Not enough for your boozing, whoring, gambling. No skills, right? In the end, you still need me to support you. Your mom got pissed off to death by you, saved all that money for you, and you still slapped her. So capable, Zheng Chenggang—living off women. Not the big macho man? Real machos eat soft rice hard, huh? You’re amazing.”

I sneered mockingly. Zheng Chenggang was heavily drunk, his speech slurred and movements disjointed. He lunged at me, but I easily dodged.

After a few provocations, I naturally lured him to the wall. I pressed close to it—just one more dodge, and he’d crash into the wall. Then I’d stab with the knife. Perfect.

Zheng Chenggang slurred thickly, “If you’ve got the guts, stop talking.”

“I still gotta say it—kill Ningning, does that make you happy? I even thought ahead for you, maybe find the kid a wicked stepmom. Didn’t expect you’d be even more vicious than a stepmom. You were afraid the kid would ruin your chances of remarrying and fooling someone, so you killed your own daughter. Oh wow, can’t kill me, so you go kill a kid instead? That’s all you’re good at, huh?”

Thinking of Ningning’s death left me in so much pain I couldn’t speak, chills crawling up my scalp in waves of disgust. But I had to say it.

Unexpectedly, Zheng Chenggang suddenly roared, “Bitch, you bitch! You ran off with some wild man and now you’re calling me out? Calling me? Idiot! The kid liked you, you ran away but still pretend to be a good mom? You’re the vicious one, the most vicious! Women’s hearts are the most poisonous—no mom like you!”

After roaring, he lunged too hard, about to slam into the wall, but his foot slipped on the food he’d vomited, sliding with a squelch. He bowed deeply to me, kneeling on the ground, unable to get up for a while as he started puking again.

“I’m not pretending to be a good mom—” I started to argue, then realized I’d be playing into Zheng Chenggang’s words, so I circled back, “No one’s calling out anyone. You piece of trash, why are you kneeling to me? Realize you did wrong? Too late!”

I couldn’t wait for him to lunge anymore. He was rolling in vomit and booze. I grabbed his collar, the paper cutter slashing through his clothes, line after line, not cutting deep into flesh, just shallow marks.

“You’re crazy! Kill me and you’ll go to jail too—taste that flavor!”

“Ha! Jail ain’t fun, huh? Damn it, they only gave you seven years—what kind of justice is that!”

Zheng Chenggang and I wrestled in the vomit, the paper cutter always in my hand. Some mystical force stopped me from stabbing straight into his neck, from hitting vital spots. Through that barrier, I still subdued him, pinning him down and stepping on his arm.

Zheng Chenggang struggled, “If you’ve got the guts! If you’ve got the guts! Your father here hasn’t eaten, no strength—otherwise I’d kill you!”

The man’s back was covered in vomit like rotten mud, clothes shredded by me, hanging off his back like a toilet mop.

His collar was slashed open too, exposing a scrawny neck, spine bones clearly visible. I knew exactly where to strike—

Pfft.

Pfft, pfft.

I stabbed three times.

Not into Zheng Chenggang’s flesh—just the ill-fitting clothes. I thrust deep holes into the fabric, three of them, not even as deep as what I could’ve torn by hand. My hands and clothes got splattered with filth poking those holes.

Then I slapped him twice.

I let him go.

Not because I wanted to forgive him—I never would, never forgive him. I wasn’t satisfied with the court’s verdict either, my inner grievances unsoothed.

I’ve always been selfish, only caring about what I want to do.

And I wanted to die.

But occasionally, just occasionally, I’d think of others.

As I furiously cleaned the filth from my body and hair, I thought—I made a choice for her.

For her, in this obvious multiple-choice question, I finally picked the good one.

I did it for her.

It was my choice for you, Jiang Xiaohui. I did it for you. I’m selfish, always expecting payback. I want you to reward me, forgive my lies. I knew the killer’s address long ago, I went there. Next January, you don’t need to tell me the killer’s name anymore. From now on, I don’t want to hear about him, and I won’t return to Neng County.

I kept washing myself, three or four times over. I sprayed perfume to mask the stench in my hallucinations, bought candy to coax and trick you into making love with me, changed clothes to make myself different, used the key you gave me to open your door. I really gave up revenge. Without Zheng Chenggang, it’s not important to me—but without you, none of it matters.

That’s how it all went down. Now, both of us are drowsy-eyed, squeezed together sleeping on this train. You see the trees flashing by backward outside. Right now, you and I are on the same train I took when I first came to Neng County—the tracks I crawled over creak beneath us.

You see that path by the reservoir we walked before. Back then you were so frail, like a little kid. I still encouraged you to keep going, tricked you by saying I’d drop the questions about the killer’s name at the end. Back then, I was sincere—I just wanted you to walk with me back to the beginning.

Don’t worry too much. From now on, everything I say is true. I’m not chasing revenge against him anymore, unless he shows up in front of me.

You’ve seen the real me—I never forgive. But you know what they say: hate lasts longer than love, but love is better than hate. For the first time in my life, between two choices, I picked the good one.

Noon came, I pulled the curtains against the sun.

Suddenly, I saw Ningning walking in the wild fields. She heard the train, looked up toward the window at me and Jiang Xiaohui. She stood there in the dance costume from Planting the Sun, waved calmly, and watched the train depart.

We plunged into a tunnel, darkness sudden all around. Jiang Xiaohui leaned up, trying to peek from a clever angle, but saw nothing. Emerging from the short tunnel, we both looked out—the train had left the city, phones catching messages from the neighboring city’s tourism bureau.

A passenger in the train jolted awake from a nap and sighed, “We’re out of Neng County!”

“We left ages ago,” someone chimed in.

—