Heading for the Plains - Chapter 11

Ping Yuan stopped wasting breath on high-level concepts like fluid mechanics. She handed the paper to Xia Chao. “Wait until you can score an 80 in Physics before you ask for an explanation. For now, let’s just get the basics down, okay?”

Xia Chao nodded and took the paper with both hands, looking at it with such focus it was as if she were receiving a sacred scroll. After a moment of hesitation, she scribbled a small “Okay” on the corner.

“Why are you writing?”

“Eh,” Xia Chao looked up, pointing to the paper. “I saw you wrote ‘OK?’ and I thought you wanted me to sign for confirmation.”

Her fair fingertip rested on the paper, right next to the scrawl Ping Yuan had made while asking her “Okay?” earlier.

I thought she was making me sign a blood oath, Xia Chao muttered to herself.

Looking at Xia Chao’s perfectly innocent expression, Ping Yuan felt her face flush again. She did have a habit—born from her high school years when she avoided talking to people—of scribbling random thoughts and words on draft paper. She hadn’t expected that after all this time, this childish habit would still be there.

She let out an awkward cough. “It’s not a contract!”

Xia Chao felt the weight of a glare. Ping Yuan’s cheeks were tinged with a faint pink, which sapped the lethality from her angry expression. Her irritation felt like a thin layer of spring snow—one touch from a fingertip, and the ice would melt away into nothing.

Still, Xia Chao knew when to play it safe. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.

“…You don’t need to apologize.” It makes me look like I’m bullying a kid.

Ping Yuan decided she couldn’t talk to Xia Chao anymore tonight. Her emotions were swinging too wildly, making her feel uncharacteristically unstable and immature. Adopting her “Older Sister” authority, she commanded, “Go take a shower.”

It was an abrupt shift. Xia Chao looked confused. “Aren’t you going first?” Yesterday, Ping Yuan had insisted on the first slot.

“No, I want to play on my phone,” Ping Yuan said, doubling down on her stubbornness. “You’re a kid. You’re not allowed to play on your phone.”

It was a statement so tyrannical it was almost childish.

Xia Chao let out a soft, tender laugh—one so quiet only she could hear it. The sound surprised her, but she didn’t overthink it. She simply asked, “Do you want me to cut the watermelon for you?”

It was Ping Yuan’s turn to freeze. She looked up.

She had bought half a watermelon on her way home today. Ever since Xia Chao started cooking, Ping Yuan found herself bringing something back every evening—sometimes fresh watermelon, other times a bunch of green grapes, a few tangerines, or freshly steamed osmanthus cakes. The perk of living together was that anything too fresh to last the night could be shared.

But her shock wasn’t about the fruit. It was the way the girl looked standing under the light—her long black hair tied back in a casual, messy ponytail, her regular features lit up by a crinkled, sweet smile.

There was a spirited spark in her eyes. When she looked at you with that intensity, she appeared bright and composed, as if you were the center of her entire world.

I really am too used to being alone, Ping Yuan thought. Otherwise, why would a simple bit of care make her feel so restless? She felt as if she didn’t know where to put her hands or feet.

She bit her lip, uneasy with the sensation, and shook her head. “No need. Go shower. I’ll cut it myself.”

“Okay.”

Soon, the sound of “rain” echoed from the bathroom. The tropical monsoon from the geography textbooks seemed to be swirling silently through the small living room.

*****

Ping Yuan rested her chin on her hand, let out a quiet sigh of relief, and pulled out her phone. She decided to ask her friend about the Gaokao subject choices.

She had two WeChat accounts: one for work, filled with clients and colleagues, and a private one for close friends and former classmates. Her private list was tiny—the one benefit of being a loner. She laughed self-deprecatingly; she never had to worry about hiding her “Moments” from family, because she had none.

She scrolled down and found the chat she was looking for.

[You patted ‘Mirror’ and said she is the most beautiful woman in the world]

[Sleepyhead: Miss Mirror, do you change your ‘pat-pat’ alias eight hundred times a day?]

[Mirror: Got a problem with that?]

[Sleepyhead: No problem. Hey, don’t you have a niece who just graduated high school?]

[Mirror: Yeah, why?]

[Sleepyhead: Can I ‘borrow’ her? I want to ask some Gaokao-related questions and maybe see her study materials.]

[Mirror: Sure… but wait. Why are you researching the Gaokao? Who’s going into Senior Year?]

Mirror was a friend from university. They had known each other for seven or eight years. She knew Ping Yuan came from an orphanage and had no relatives. Ping Yuan coughed guiltily and kept typing.

[Sleepyhead: I have a sister who’s about to take the Gaokao.]

The reply was instantaneous.

[Mirror: What kind of ‘sister’? The ‘she’s just a sister to me~’ kind of sister?]

[Sleepyhead: Not that kind… it’s a very proper relationship.]

[Mirror: How proper? Biological-proper?]

[Sleepyhead: …No.]

[Mirror: Then it IS that kind of sister! Wow, Ping Yuan! You’ve been silent for years, haven’t dated once in nearly a decade, and you were hiding THIS?]

[Sleepyhead: I told you, it’s not like that!]

[Mirror: Then tell me: what’s the age gap?]

Ping Yuan went silent. Even though she knew the answer, she did the math in her head again. “Nine years.”

The other side went silent too. Half a minute later, an impassioned voice note arrived.

Mirror: “You beast in a suit! Confess! How did you meet? Online? Tinder? A one-night stand at a bar? Did you lurk outside her high school, or did she corner you at your office?”

The conversation was spiraling out of control. Ping Yuan scrambled to put on her headphones the moment she heard “beast in a suit.” She glanced at the bathroom, making sure the water was still running, before hissing into her phone: “Zhu Cijing, don’t project your nonsense onto me!”

She took three deep breaths to steady her racing heart before typing her explanation.

Sleepyhead: She’s my mother’s adopted daughter. She came to me after my mother passed away.

Zhu Cijing was her closest friend; she knew about Xia Ling, but not the details. Ping Yuan added a minimalist explanation: We’re essentially strangers. She’s just staying for the summer.

Mirror: …Tsk.

Ping Yuan could practically see Zhu Cijing’s face falling in disappointment. Deprived of gossip, her friend lost all her momentum. Ping Yuan ignored the sulking and reminded her: Just ask your niece for me.

Mirror: Fine, fine. How boring. ‘Niece,’ my foot. If you ask me, you’re the one acting like a smitten ‘auntie’ right now.

Ping Yuan laughed. Her friend had a strange magic; her annoyed expressions always made other people happy.

*****

When Xia Chao emerged from the bathroom, she saw Ping Yuan curled lazily on the sofa, phone held to her ear, a playful and gentle smile on her face. It was a new expression, one Xia Chao had never seen before and it was so beautiful it was hard to look away.

But Xia Chao forced herself to look away. Staring at an unaware person was rude, she thought, though she couldn’t help but wonder who could make Ping Yuan smile like that. It had to be someone very close.

Xia Chao stood quietly by the bathroom door until Ping Yuan finished her message and set the phone down with a lingering smile. She cleared her throat softly. “I’m done.”

Ping Yuan looked up, a trace of surprise on her face. “Did I scare you?” Xia Chao asked apologetically.

Ping Yuan shook her head. She wasn’t that easily startled. She’d heard the water stop and knew Xia Chao was almost out. What she hadn’t expected was for Xia Chao to just stand there patiently, waiting for her to finish her business.

Quite well-disciplined, Ping Yuan thought, the phrase making her smile again. She glanced at Xia Chao, noting she was wearing the same faded, thin pajamas. The fabric draped over her tall, lean frame, hinting at the soft curves of her developing body.

Xia Chao was wearing a bra under her pajamas again. Ping Yuan wondered—is this what kids who never lived in a dorm are like? Ping Yuan had lived in shared housing since childhood. In an eight-person high school dorm, with everyone racing against the clock, she’d gotten used to people dressing however they wanted. She’d be changing facing a wall while her bunkmate dashed to the latrine in just her underwear.

Ping Yuan opened her mouth to tell Xia Chao she didn’t have to wear a bra at home, that it wasn’t good for her while she was still growing. But then she closed it. Xia Chao looked at her curiously, noticing a faint blush on Ping Yuan’s face.

Is the ventilation in here really that bad? Xia Chao wondered if she’d forgotten the exhaust fan in the bathroom and the steam was overheating Ping Yuan.

Without a word, Ping Yuan stood up and grabbed a drink from the fridge. She was wearing a grey-blue shirt today, buttoned primly to the very top. Only now did she allow herself to relax. Xia Chao watched as she unfastened the top button with one hand, letting out a breath.

“I just asked a friend about the exams,” Ping Yuan said, cutting straight to the point. “She has a niece who just finished the Gaokao. I’ve forwarded you her contact; you can talk to her about subject choices.”

Ping Yuan tossed her a bottle. “I’m going to shower.” She headed into her room for her pajamas.

Xia Chao stood alone, the realization hitting her: that heart-stirring smile from earlier had been because Ping Yuan was taking care of her business.

Her mood brightened instantly.

Ping Yuan looked beautiful when she loosened her collar. Xia Chao had seen people on TV buttoned up like that; their buttons looked formal and expensive. But Ping Yuan’s buttons looked like a silent line of defense. When she pulled them loose, the movement was light yet weary, like letting out a trapped breeze.

And a young girl’s heart is a tiny white cloud, one breeze is enough to send it drifting.

Xia Chao looked down at the icy bottle in her hand. The label read “Calpis.” The blue-and-white design looked like the very essence of summer.

When Ping Yuan had tossed it to her, she had already thoughtfully twisted the cap loose. Xia Chao thought of those pale hands and took a sip.

Soda bubbles danced across her tongue like chilled and fleeting like shooting stars, leaving a faint, pleasant tingle. She let out a small “Mmm,” tasting the sweet, tart, milky flavor.

It was the taste of summer.

Xia Chao held the bottle like a hamster clutching its most prized sunflower seed. Ping Yuan was in the shower now, and it was Xia Chao’s turn to listen to the rain. She looked out the window. There was no moon tonight, but there were stars.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the cicadas outside were still singing at the top of their lungs. Xia Chao remembered reading somewhere that these tiny creatures wait underground for years just to sing for a single summer.

Above them, the eternal stars blinked gently. That shimmering starlight, flickering like soda bubbles, had traveled for thousands of years.

Fleeting bubbles, cicada songs, eternal stars and a wonderful summer.

The water continued to splash in the bathroom, and the warm, clean scent of soap began to fill the room, but Xia Chao’s tongue was still cool and sweet. She rested her chin in her hands and couldn’t stop smiling, feeling like she must look incredibly silly.

Does Physics have an ‘eternal’?

Xia Chao didn’t know. She only thought of that phrase again:

In this moment, all the stars in the universe are spinning.

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