66: Chapter 69 Searching for Someone at the Night Market: The True Face of a Rebellious Girl

8:10 PM.

The hustle and bustle of the Nanqiao Night Market, mixed with cumin and barbecue oil, surged deep into the alley.

Small stalls on both sides of the road propped up their folding tables on the curb.

Red plastic stools were arranged in a row.

The light bulbs hanging overhead were stained yellow by the oil smoke.

Fang Jiming changed into a dark gray shirt, tucked his thermos into his pocket, and walked slowly along the alley by himself.

He walked from the night market entrance to the end of the first alley, but saw no one.

He turned back and entered the second alley; still no one.

At the end of the third alley, a small barbecue stall was set up around the corner.

A girl in an oversized hoodie sat sideways on a plastic stool by the stall.

Her hat brim was pulled low, and a backpack rested at her feet.

On the folding table in front of her were two unopened bottles of beer and a cold grilled corn.

There was no one else nearby.

Fang Jiming scanned the surrounding tables; they were all occupied by local residents eating late-night snacks.

There was no one who looked like a delinquent.

A-Fei was not present.

He walked over, pulled an empty stool opposite Han Bingbing, and sat down with a thud.

The plastic stool creaked.

Han Bingbing was staring blankly at the ground, then looked up and saw Fang Jiming sitting opposite her, and her whole body jolted.

The surprise lasted less than a second.

She quickly adjusted her expression, pulled her hat brim lower, leaned back, and adopted an indifferent posture.

“Teacher Fang, why are you also tracking me like my mom?”

Fang Jiming ignored her comment.

His gaze fell on the two bottles of beer on the table, their green bodies labeled with “0.0% Non-Alcoholic.”

Fang Jiming picked up a bottle and, under the dim yellow light, turned it over to read the instructions on the bottom.

Then he smiled.

“Rebellious enough to drink non-alcoholic beer, your rebellion is quite healthy.”

Han Bingbing’s face instantly flushed, though it wasn't very noticeable in the warm glow of the night market.

But her reddened earlobes betrayed her.

“I just grabbed it; who knew it was non-alcoholic.”

Fang Jiming put the bottle back and waved to the barbecue stall owner.

“Boss, two skewers of grilled gluten, one with garlic, one spicy.”

Han Bingbing watched Fang Jiming sit steadily opposite her, as if he had come specifically to eat at the night market, not to catch a truant.

Her expression became somewhat uncertain.

“Teacher Fang, what exactly are you here for?”

“To eat gluten.”

“You ran from school to the night market in the middle of the night just to eat gluten?”

“Otherwise? The gluten at the night market tastes better than the Cafeteria at school.”

Han Bingbing: (·᷄ᐦ·᷅)

She wanted to retort but felt something was off, so she simply shut her mouth.

The gluten arrived, and Fang Jiming tore off a skewer and handed it to her.

Han Bingbing didn't take it, crossing her arms over her chest and shrinking into her hoodie.

Fang Jiming didn't force her, taking two bites himself, and slowly asked.

“Who is A-Fei?”

Han Bingbing's body visibly tensed.

“You're asking about that too?”

“Your mother said you were hanging out with a delinquent and not coming home.”

Han Bingbing let out a cold laugh, a bitter taste in it that didn't match her age at all.

“Delinquent, she sure knows how to make things up.”

Han Bingbing was silent for a long time.

So long that Fang Jiming finished his first skewer of gluten before she spoke.

“A-Fei is someone I met online, added as a friend while playing games. He's two or three years older than us and works outside.”

“We just chat, about things at school that no one else listens to me talk about.”

“And then?”

“Then my mom saw the chat history when she went through my phone. She didn't ask anything, not a single word.”

Han Bingbing’s voice sounded somewhat hollow against the noisy background of the night market.

“She just smashed my phone. When I got it back from the kitchen, the screen was shattered with cracks.”

“Then she locked my room door, from the outside, and told me I'd be fine after two days of self-reflection.”

Fang Jiming paused his action of eating gluten.

Zhao Dazhuang’s words echoed in his mind: mostly alone.

She wasn't being rebellious.

She was just sitting alone in a corner of the night market, staring blankly at two bottles of non-alcoholic beer and a cold corn.

Fang Jiming threw the bamboo skewer into the bowl, his voice very soft.

“You climbed out the window?”

Han Bingbing nodded, a very slight movement.

“Second floor, did you get hurt when you fell?”

“Just twisted my ankle a bit, it’s fine.”

Fang Jiming pushed the second skewer of gluten towards her, saying nothing.

Han Bingbing stared at the skewer of gluten for a few seconds, then reached out and took a small bite.

The streetlights at the end of the alley flickered on and off twice.

Someone rode past on an electric bike, honking.

The wind dispersed some of the smoke from the barbecue stall.

Fang Jiming didn't rush her or press for answers; he just sat there, slowly unscrewing his thermos and drinking water.

It was as if he was waiting for someone to decide for themselves whether to open the door.

Han Bingbing chewed the gluten for a long time before swallowing, her voice suddenly lowered.

The lowering wasn't out of fear of being overheard by others nearby.

It was fear that once she said it, she wouldn't be able to take it back.

“Teacher Fang, do you know my mom installed a camera in my room?”

Fang Jiming’s hand, halfway through twisting the thermos lid, stopped.

He slowly screwed the lid on and placed it on the table, looking at Han Bingbing.

Han Bingbing didn't look at him, holding the gluten to her mouth without taking another bite.

The streetlight cast a shadow under her lowered hat brim, obscuring her expression but not her reddened eyes.

“It’s on the shelf directly above my desk. She thought I didn’t know.”

Han Bingbing's voice began to sound hoarse.

“She said it was for my own good, afraid I’d use my phone in my room and fall behind in my studies.”

“But even changing clothes in my own room, I have to be on edge.”

Han Bingbing bit her lip until it turned white, stifling her tears.

Fang Jiming: (ᴗ̤̆_ᴗ̤̆)

His fingers tightened around the thermos, and a vein pulsed on the back of his hand.

This feeling was more suffocating than being in Boss Ma’s black workshop.

In that black workshop, at least he could kick over a table and rush in to save someone.

What trapped her wasn't a locked iron door.

It was a mother's love.

How do you kick that down?

Fang Jiming was quiet for several seconds, then placed the thermos on the table, his voice low.

“Han Bingbing, finish this gluten.”

Han Bingbing looked up at him.

Fang Jiming pulled out a tissue from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Once you're done, we'll talk about what's next.”

Han Bingbing took the tissue, dabbed at the corner of her eye, then forced the gluten into her mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed.

Fang Jiming leaned back in the plastic chair, facing the bustling night market, with the muggy Nanqiao night behind him.

He looked at this girl, full of thorns, yet only daring to buy non-alcoholic beer, and that familiar tension returned to his heart.

A-rank transformation difficulty was no joke.

Fang Jiming waited for Han Bingbing to crumple the tissue and tuck it into her pocket, then spoke.

He didn't say she should understand her mother, or that her mother was doing it for her own good.

He certainly didn't tell her to be considerate of her parents' efforts.

He asked a question no one had ever asked Han Bingbing before.

“Do you want to go back to school?”