Three Yuan and a False Accusation

I covered three yuan in printing fees for Chen Tang. She was twenty-six. During the day, she delivered takeout orders, and at night she came to a public-benefit vocational training class to study accounting. She was only missing these registration materials before she could apply for the study subsidy. The papers had barely come out of the print shop when Zhao Man, the President of the Student Mutual Aid Association, blocked me at the entrance to the training center with her phone held up for a livestream. “Everyone, take a good look. This is Lin Zhiwan. In the name of helping struggling students, she even dares to dip into the class fund.” She forced Chen Tang to explain in front of everyone whether I had tricked her into fraudulently claiming subsidies. Chen Tang clutched those sheets of paper so tightly her lips had gone white. Zhao Man still wasn’t satisfied. She turned around and posted a notice in the group chat: starting today, Chen Tang’s meal stipend, housing subsidy, and exam registration slot were all suspended. “They’ll be reinstated when Lin Zhiwan finishes a five-thousand-word self-criticism.” I watched her shove the three-yuan receipt right up to the camera, and suddenly I laughed. She had no idea. The classrooms in this training center, the scholarships, the job placement recommendations, and even that so-called class fund ledger in her hands had all been donated by me anonymously. Three yuan, and she dared to say I stole it. Then I’d make her spit out every last cent of the money she’d swallowed.