Chapter 1
For six months, the woman from upstairs had been mooching off my private EV charger.
I had reminded her before. She rolled her eyes and said, “Electricity from your place can’t cost that much. Why are you so stingy?”
I just smiled and said nothing.
The next morning, I started driving to the dealership to charge my car instead. For half a month, I never charged in my own building once.
Fifteen days later, the property manager sent me a message on WeChat, followed by a string of crying emojis.
Miss Lin.
She got on her knees.
Please come back.
I replied with four words.
Not my problem.
The underground garage in my condo building always smelled faintly of mildew. Today, there was an extra layer of stale cigarette smoke hanging in the air.
My parking spot was in the corner of Section C. It was wide, roomy enough for my SUV, with extra space beside it. But that extra space was now piled high with flattened cardboard boxes, a broken plastic stool, and one of those cheap little electric neighborhood cars coated in dust.
My black charging cable was plugged into that ugly little car like a greedy leech.
The indicator light blinked green cheerfully.
I didn’t get angry. I laughed.
This was the fifth time this week.
The numbers on the electric meter kept climbing, every kilowatt mocking how patient I had been.
Just then, Mrs. Watson from upstairs came swaying over with a bag of kitchen trash in one hand. When she saw me standing beside my car, she didn’t look embarrassed at all. She tossed the trash bag by the pillar next to my spot, and foul water splashed onto my tire.
“Well, look who’s home,” she said.
Her face was pale and wrinkled, but her eyes were locked on the Hermès bag in my hand, silently calculating its price.
“Mrs. Watson,” I said evenly, pointing at the charger still in use, “this charger is mine. I pay for the electricity.”
My voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough.
She curled her lip, and that shameless, streetwise entitlement rose right to the surface.
“Oh, come on. We’re neighbors. So what if I use a little of your electricity? You drive a car like that and live in a place like this. Are you really going to care about a few bucks? I barely even see you use it. It would just go to waste.”
Classic thief’s logic.
I said nothing, only looked at her.
When she saw I wasn’t answering back, she got bolder. She even reached out and slapped the hood of my car with her greasy hand, leaving behind a grimy print.
“Besides,” she went on, “my son says this is called sharing resources. You live alone. We’re a family of five. Helping us out would earn you some blessings. Don’t be so petty. We all have to see each other around here.”
Blessings?
What I saw was resentment.