Heading for the Plains - Chapter 1

It was a scorching summer.

By the time Xia Chao realized just how stifling it was, she had been standing at the station exit for a long time.

The northern sky always seemed so high and distant, just as Xia Chao had seen on television. It lacked the humid, heavy density of the southern sky, devoid of those plump, white clouds that piled up against the horizon back home. The sunlight was piercing and loud, like a thousand musicians simultaneously blasting the highest notes on golden trumpets. It tore through the dry, lofty blue, stripping everything down to its clearest, most clinical form.

The sky was like a sheet of brand-new plate glass, so bright it made one’s eyes ache. Xia Chao rubbed them, only to find that a drop of salty, bitter sweat had stung its way in.

The heat was relentless. The back of her shirt had soaked through and dried repeatedly, yet the person scheduled to pick her up was long overdue.

The station entrance was deserted. After all, it had been half an hour since her train pulled in. The last waiting passenger had left five minutes ago. A stylish girl, likely a student on summer break. Xia Chao had watched her idly; the girl’s sticker-covered suitcase had glittered, as had her backpack, which was weighed down by charms and metal pins.

When the girl waved, a middle-aged woman jumped out of a car, followed by her husband and a younger child. The girl threw herself into her mother’s arms, and the family, laughing and chatting, packed their bags and vanished into the distance without a backward glance.

Only the local drivers remained, sitting in the shade and occasionally eyeing Xia Chao. Realizing she had been standing there for thirty minutes, they eventually turned away in boredom.

How annoying.

Passengers weren’t allowed to loiter at the exit, so she was forced to stand miles away from the air conditioning. The summer heat slapped her face, flushing her cheeks. Under the weight of passing gazes, she felt like needles were pricking her back. She lowered her head, trying to look like she was expecting someone, but there was no one to be found.

Just as she was about to pull out her phone for the thousand-and-first time, a horn blared behind her.

It was sharp—two short, impatient bursts that made it easy to imagine the driver’s irritated scowl. Panicking, Xia Chao realized she was blocking the way and scrambled to the side.

In her haste, her foot caught the curb. She stumbled and hit the ground hard.

Cold sweat instantly broke out across her back. The thin fabric of her summer pants offered no protection; the impact left her seeing stars. Still, remembering she had to move, she gritted her teeth and looked up, ready to shout, “Wait a second!”

But the words froze in her throat.

A car had crawled forward, stopping perfectly in front of her. The young woman in the driver’s seat turned her head. Her face was expressionless, but her voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Xia Chao?”

Still sprawled on the ground, Xia Chao propped herself up, wincing as she rubbed her backside. “You know me?”

The woman didn’t answer. She simply fixed her gaze on the road ahead. “I’m Ping Yuan.”

A woman of very few words, Xia Chao thought silently.

She stopped asking questions and stepped back, forcing a small, crinkled smile. “Sister.”

That was the reason she was here. A day ago, she had shouldered her bag and boarded a rattling bus to the provincial capital, then a ten-hour train across fifteen hundred kilometers. All to fulfill her mother’s final wish: to meet the older sister she had never known, Ping Yuan.

A faint scent wafted from the car’s AC—orange blossoms, crisp and cold with a metallic chill. The driver’s eyes shared that same frigid quality. Without another word, Xia Chao quietly climbed inside.

The door thudded shut behind her. Xia Chao glanced at the woman in the driver’s seat. She wore a black vest under an open white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal slender forearms. She looked sharp, beautiful, and utterly cold.

The beautiful woman seemed to be studying her through the rearview mirror, but as soon as Xia Chao looked back, she shifted her gaze. “Sorry. Work traffic. I’m late.”

Her tone was as flat as her expression. Xia Chao couldn’t detect a hint of actual apology, so she simply shook her head. “It’s okay.”

The woman didn’t reply.

Silence settled over the car. The tinted glass softened the harsh sunlight outside. Xia Chao looked out the window, watching the unfamiliar streets of a strange city overlap with her own reflection.

The girl in the glass wore a white T-shirt. It was an old one, washed thin, but because she always scrubbed the collar with care, it still looked fresh and clean.

Even though the person who taught her to use a tiny toothbrush dipped in bleach was gone now.

Xia Chao looked down. Her hair was tied in a ponytail. Before getting off the train, she had brushed it carefully to look presentable, but a stubborn tuft at the end still managed to poke out defiantly.

The AC continued to hum.

A sense of dejection and restlessness washed over her. Her eyes kept drifting toward Ping Yuan—the “sister” who had honked at her so impatiently ten minutes ago, and who was now focused intently on navigating the heavy traffic.

The rearview mirror caught her face. Ping Yuan had almond-shaped eyes with slightly upturned corners, like a cat’s.

A second later, Xia Chao was “stung” by the frost in those dark, feline eyes. As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Ping Yuan asked, “Is something wrong?”

Xia Chao shook her head quickly.

“There’s candy in the car,” Ping Yuan said. “Eat one if you’re hungry. It’s rush hour; I can’t stop to get you food.”

The light turned green. Xia Chao watched her flick the blinker and deftly spin the wheel to the left. “If you’re not hungry, we’ll eat at my place. Your mother told you, right?”

“I don’t have a spare bedroom for you. Only a storage room.”

The brief flash of concern ended there; clipped, efficient, and devoid of sentiment. Xia Chao’s mouth hung open slightly, the words sticking in her throat. “Okay.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

“Don’t call me that,” the woman replied. “I’m only doing this because your mother asked. I want the debt settled.”

Ping Yuan didn’t like her. Xia Chao could see that clearly now. First the impatient honking, and now, even inside the car, Ping Yuan refused to use her name. It was just “you” this and “your mother” that.

Whose mother she really is… that’s still up for debate, Xia Chao thought, biting her lip. This was the hardest she had ever worked to suppress her temper. Back in Nan County, if any kid had spoken about Xia Ling in that weird, detached tone, she would have used her fists to flatten them.

But this was Q City. Xia Chao took a deep breath and forced her hands to relax.

She clutched her entire life’s belongings in her lap, a bulging backpack stuffed with a few changes of clothes, ID documents, and some instant noodles for the trip.

The noodles were gone now. Only a single, round tangerine remained in her hand.

It was a specialty of her hometown—dull, dark green skin that peeled away to reveal a tender, juicy heart. It had come from the tree in her front yard. Before leaving, she had carefully packed a few, hoping Ping Yuan would taste them so she could share stories of home.

Like how that tree was reportedly planted by Xia Ling the year Ping Yuan was born. Or how Xia Chao, as a mischievous child, had carved her name into the trunk with scissors and cried when Xia Ling scolded her.

The tree is so tall now.

Xia Chao lowered her eyes. She actually had so much she wanted to tell Ping Yuan.

After all, with Xia Ling gone, she was all alone in the world. She couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope at the thought of suddenly having a sister. On the way to Q City, she had been so nervous she’d visited the train bathroom multiple times, too anxious to look at the scenery. She had been mentally rehearsing her self-introduction over and over, wishing she had a pencil to write it all down.

And all she got was a wall of ice.

How annoying. Xia Chao lowered her lashes, deciding to swallow her introduction and the tangerine together, never to let them see the light of day.

The car moved on. The evening rush hour was no joke. The golden headlights and red taillights formed two opposing lines, diverging and then weaving together at intersections, braiding the smooth, dark blue night into the shimmering tail of a peacock.

They hit a jam near a toll gate. As they sat there, the air filled with the sound of anxious, irritable horns.

A song was playing in the car—Blue, a decade-old track about unrequited love. Ping Yuan didn’t look back. Her expression remained indifferent, completely unaware that the backseat was currently filled with the clattering sound of a young girl’s breaking heart.

Xia Chao rolled down the window. Outside, the city was draped in deep blue.

A strange city, strange people, strange intersections. Everything reflected in her eyes was brilliant yet surreal. The night wind stirred her hair. She closed her eyes, feeling like a strand of seagrass drifting aimlessly in the dark ripples of the night.

This was her first summer night in Q City, fifteen hundred kilometers away from her mother’s grave. The night was dry, but a rain cloud had gathered in her chest. The lush green hills and crisscrossing rivers of her hometown had been left behind by the speeding train. The sky was the color of a peacock’s plume, and the tangerine in her hand felt like a sour, heavy heart.

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