On Fridays, at half past six, I put his wife's identity card away in the left-hand drawer and give her a visitor's badge. She says thank you in English. I answer in English. We smile at each other. It lasts three seconds and it has been going on for two years.
I know her name by heart: 陈嘉宁. I know her date of birth, the eighteen digits of her card and her parents' address in Suzhou. You learn things behind a counter. I also know that she waits standing by the display stand, that she never touches the hot water dispenser, and that she has one coat per season, very plain, the kind that costs a lot.
The girls in the teaching office think I don't know who she is. I know exactly who she is. He's the one who told me, before he even kissed me: I have someone, she knows about it, we're both free. In Europe people do that. They call it an open relationship. I checked the expression on my phone that same evening, to be sure I hadn't got the wrong word.