Chapter 129: Those Impurities

After closing the door, Jiang Zhique stepped into the motel hallway.

This small motel had been a deliberate choice for them because it was so inconspicuous—it was on the second floor of an auto repair shop, requiring one to pass through the shop to enter or leave. The environment naturally couldn’t be very good. Some parts of the hallway were so narrow that only one person could pass through sideways. Through the window, one could see someone else’s kitchen directly opposite. The lighting was dim; most of the light bulbs were already broken and blackened on their surfaces. The few remaining intact ones, still emitting a faint yellow light, flickered occasionally.

A carpet was even laid in such a hallway, though its color could only be described as horrifying. The patterns on it were blurred into irregular blotches, covered in a mix of dark brown and grayish-black stains. Dirt and accumulated dust were deeply embedded into its fibers. The edges, stuck to the walls, were frayed beyond recognition, emitting a damp smell.

For some reason, this scene reminded her of the thick carpet of mycelium covering the floor in that shop they had entered for the second time.

She sidled down the stairs. The old wooden staircase was tall and steep, some steps slightly sunken, creaking under her weight. Reaching the first floor, she saw a woman sitting before the counter. The woman wore a thick padded jacket and looked to be in her thirties or forties, but her expression was that of a child. Sniffling, she had a cell phone propped up in front of her on a biscuit box. There were no communicators; the phone’s sound played out loud, seemingly broadcasting some kind of variety show.

“Excuse me, is there a pharmacy nearby? Or a clinic?”

Jiang Zhique asked. It took the woman a moment to realize Jiang Zhique was talking to her. She gave a somewhat simple-minded smile. “Band-aids? I have band-aids. Five yuan. Do you want one?”

“No, not a band-aid. My friend accidentally broke some glass and cut her hand,” Jiang Zhique shook her head. “Is there a pharmacy near here?”

“Band-aids, very useful,” the woman smiled again, bending down to take a box of band-aids from the cabinet. “Do you want to buy one?”

Jiang Zhique sighed and shook her head. “No thanks.”

She had mostly guessed that this woman was likely a patient—not a patient like them, but a patient in the true sense of the word. Perhaps brain paralysis, or some other mental illness. Sure enough, seeing Jiang Zhique shake her head, the woman put the band-aids back in the counter and continued staring blankly at the cell phone in front of her. Jiang Zhique couldn’t quite tell if she really understood the images on the phone or was just watching for the spectacle, because she neither laughed nor showed any expression, only watching intently.

Thinking of this, Jiang Zhique couldn’t help but feel a trace of sympathy for the woman before her. This feeling was truly unpleasant.

She stepped outside, passing through the auto repair shop. The gazes of the young apprentices sitting on wooden chairs converged on her. They all looked to be seventeen or eighteen years old, likely vocational school graduates who had come straight to work as mechanics, all sporting identical bowl-cut hairstyles. Some wore rather tight jeans, their two legs as thin as a mantis’s limbs, or perhaps bamboo poles. Others wore capri pants that were too short, exposing bony ankles.

In the cold December wind, they were shivering like frightened quails, yet still sitting on wooden chairs, playing on their phones and chatting with laughter.

This reminded Jiang Zhique of something Li Siwen had once told her. He said such young people were usually a uniform group of left-behind children. They lacked family and education, and would settle downwards layer by layer like impurities.

After finishing elementary school, they’d go to the worst middle schools. After finishing the worst middle schools, they’d go to the worst vocational schools. Everyone they came into contact with was falling downwards, so they could only follow in falling. Because they were typically afraid of loneliness. Their childhoods had been filled with enough loneliness for one person. They would rather choose to fall alongside so-called “friends” than face the prospect of studying hard alone.

Because that meant enduring at least three more years, or even longer, of tedium, loneliness, and the unknown. They’d rather die than do that.

Many aspects of life were unknown and terrifying to them. University was a somewhat distant, frightening, unknown term to them. Furthermore, deep inside them was a profound sense of inferiority. Even if you told them they could choose between a university acceptance letter and ten thousand yuan, many of them would choose the ten thousand yuan—because they had no confidence they could graduate from university. University was an unknown to them. Rather than choosing university, they’d rather take the ten thousand yuan that was truly within reach first.

As for telling them things like “invest in yourself,” or “sharpening your axe won’t delay the job of cutting wood,” or “you can get a better job after graduating university”—all that talk was nonsense. Deep down, they believed they were not worthy of such jobs. Scientist, doctor, astronaut… those things were just used to fool kindergarteners.

They said ideals were like fragile sugar coatings, and life was a long whip. Every child who tried to protect themselves with that sugar coating would, under the lash that tore flesh open, learn to mature overnight, selling their tattered sugar coating for money. Smarter children would hide their sugar coating early on, taking it out only occasionally for a lick, tasting the sweetness before putting it away, and that was it; just don’t be foolishly obsessed.

Li Siwen said this mentality was what’s called short-sightedness, the short-sightedness brought by poverty. It was a disease, and a hereditary one at that, passed down from generation to generation. The medicine to cure it was simple: money. Let one generation suddenly have money, and their next generation would be cured. Just that simple. Money was the miracle cure.

Hearing this theory, Jiang Zhique only felt a sense of sorrow.

That sorrow wasn’t condescending. It wasn’t the pity of a student born in a big city with a decent family background and a smooth path into university, finding such a family merely ordinary, mixed with surprise and compassion. Nor was it the sympathy tossed out by a student who treats the tragic lives of peers as courtroom evidence, using the sharpest, most incisive words to critique society and human nature, satisfying their own sense of coldly observing the world before casting it from their mind.

Her sadness wasn’t noble, nor was it pure. It was more akin to the fox mourning the rabbit’s death—the shared suffering between impurities.

—After all, whether impurities or patients, it was all the same. Neither were considered human anyway.

Seeing her appearance clearly, the boys became somewhat fidgety. It looked as if they wanted to strike up a conversation but didn’t know how to start. One boy tried clumsily to whistle, but being nervous, it came out a mess. He could only avert his gaze and pretend he hadn’t done anything. Another boy nudged the one next to him, who nudged him back… eventually, they huddled together, looking both comical and ridiculous.

Jiang Zhique walked past them, suppressing the urge to ask a question. She was the same as those young apprentices; she also wasn’t good at talking to strangers. At this thought, she suddenly felt a bit frustrated. If it were Qi Ran here right now, she would naturally start a conversation and ask those apprentices without any hesitation or unease.

Qi Ran was always like that, as if she would never panic no matter what happened. No matter what happened, she could always find the most suitable path forward. This was something Jiang Zhique felt she could never do, no matter what.

Everything that had happened recently was bewildering and unacceptable to her, like mountains pressing down on her Mind Lake. She couldn’t guess what else would happen next, nor did she know how the current events would develop. She was being herded around like a headless fly, barely having time to adapt to one change before a new one arrived, like waves, one after another. All she could do was desperately try to keep her head above water to survive.

Thank goodness, at least I have Qi Ran, Jiang Zhique silently thought. She couldn’t quite imagine how she would endure these changes if she hadn’t met Qi Ran.

After stepping out of the auto repair shop, the December air was ultimately somewhat cold. A deep, somber haze enveloped the edge of the sky. Outside the eaves, there was an almost imperceptible drizzle. She stretched her hand out; only a few barely noticeable raindrops fell onto her almost stark-white hand.