Heading for the Plains - Chapter 14

After that night, Xia Chao’s memorization improved significantly.

Ping Yuan kept a stack of small sticky notes. Wherever Xia Chao wasn’t fluent enough, she’d gently slap a note down; it stayed until the next recitation was perfect. Xia Chao spent her days muttering over annotations, finally devouring those classical texts that had been plastered with so many notes they looked like rainbow flags.

God, why did ancient people flip their sentences around five times just to say the same thing?

She gritted her teeth through the poetry, and by the time she started on Li Sao, her long-awaited single day off finally arrived.

She had assumed that when Ping Yuan mentioned “going to the mall for a few things,” she meant the neighborhood supermarket for household supplies. She hadn’t expected Ping Yuan to hop into the car, click her seatbelt, and floor the gas toward the largest luxury shopping center downtown.

As the old saying goes: Today, Senior Duanmu took me to Mete○bonwe.

Xia Chao was born too late to know the exact drama-drama reference, but Ping Yuan clearly saw the same wide-eyed shock on her face as the female lead in a cheesy idol show. Except the actress was faking it, and Xia Chao’s bulging eyes were the real deal.

It was summer break, and the mall was swarming. Xia Chao felt like a “country puppy” entering the city—craning her neck everywhere, certain she had never seen so many people in her life.

To Ping Yuan, the mall was just a glass tower in the CBD. White-collar workers drifted in and out; some browsed the glittering luxury displays on the first floor, while others grabbed a budget-friendly fast-food meal in the basement. Overhead, a massive digital billboard displayed the celebrity Bai Xixue, draped in pigeon-blood rubies—the very campaign Ping Yuan’s friend Zhu Cijing was in charge of. Mirror had once woken up in a cold sweat shouting, “I want to be the Emperor, I don’t want to be the Service Provider!”

The world was small; as escalators rose and fell, the stories of the masses intersected and diverged. But to Xia Chao, it was all frighteningly large. In the countryside, there were no malls this bright, and no people dressed this fashionably. A young couple pushed a Maltese in a stroller, chatting as they passed; a girl with pink hair laughed into her phone about a post-grad celebration dinner. Everything was new and beautiful—except for Xia Chao in her old T-shirt and sneakers.

Oh, and Ping Yuan.

Noticing the girl’s gaze, Ping Yuan who’s also in a white T-shirt with her hair in a ponytail, turned and asked bluntly, “What?”

“Working in sleeveless suits and dresses for clients is exhausting, okay?” she grumbled. “Corporate dress codes are anti-human.”

Fine. Ping Yuan was still beautiful even in an old shirt and sneakers, looking like a vibrant university senior or an aloof model at a campsite. A meticulous nature and a “don’t care” attitude lived in contradiction and harmony within her.

Xia Chao looked at a nearby poster and complimented her sincerely: “You look like the model up there.”

Ping Yuan’s face remained blank. “Because I’m wearing that brand.”

Xia Chao: “…” Can’t it just be because you’re pretty?

She was silenced as Ping Yuan pulled her directly into the store with the massive glass windows. The spotlights made her dizzy; she felt like she had fallen into an ocean of clothes and mirrors. The scent of aromatic diffusers hit her nose, she sniffed tentatively, and then sneezed three times in a row.

“…”

Tears almost sprang from her eyes. Ping Yuan found it funny to see her rubbing her reddened nose. It was also a little cute.

The store wasn’t high-end—a Japanese chain known for simple styles and decent fabrics. When Ping Yuan was too lazy to think about fashion, she’d just grab a few things here. Seeing Xia Chao’s mix of caution and curiosity, she thought the girl was like a puppy in a mall for the first time—needing to see, hear, and smell everything, yet ready to bolt at the slightest noise.

The image of that Maltese “rag-dog” from earlier flashed in her mind. Ping Yuan smiled to herself and reached out, hooking her finger into the hem of Xia Chao’s T-shirt and giving it a light tug.

“This way,” she whispered. “Women’s section is over there.”

Xia Chao followed obediently.

The sheer volume of clothing clearly made Xia Chao’s head spin again. Ping Yuan let out a soft laugh and pulled a few items from the racks, dropping them into a basket. “Try these first?”

“Okay.”

Xia Chao ducked into the fitting room. Ping Yuan sat in the waiting area, resting her chin on her hand and checking her phone. Her job was consulting—glamorous in name, but fundamentally a service role. Even on Sunday, she had to stay online. Fortunately, her inbox was empty. She breathed a sigh of relief and looked up just as Xia Chao pulled back the curtain of her stall.

Beautiful. That was the first thought that hit Ping Yuan.

If some people were born to wear T-shirts and casual button-downs, it was Xia Chao. She had the height, the lean frame, and a clean face that gave the clothes a refreshing, effortless lightness. Like a white bird taking flight from a wild field.

Fitting room mirrors usually beautify people, but Ping Yuan felt Xia Chao looked better in person than in the reflection. The mirror couldn’t capture the faint flush on her cheeks. She stood under the light, pretending to be composed while Ping Yuan appraised her.

“Looks good,” Ping Yuan said, her mouth unusually honest. “Try the others.”

Ping Yuan didn’t have many friends to shop with besides Mirror, so seeing someone cycle through different looks was a novel experience. It felt like a real-life dress-up game.

But when the next set came, only Xia Chao’s head poked out.

Ping Yuan looked up to see her clutching the curtain tight. “Ping Yuan?” she whispered, her face tense. She mouthed: “Can you come in here for a second?”

What’s wrong? Ping Yuan stood up, glancing instinctively at the store clerk, then remembered they were both women—and sisters. There was nothing to be awkward about. The clerk seemed to agree, smiling as she watched the “sisters” with amusement.

Ping Yuan walked over, feeling strangely clumsy. “What is it?”

She thought a zipper was stuck or the size was wrong. She leaned in to help, only to be met with a pair of bright red ears.

“I…” Xia Chao whispered. “I think I started my period.”

The light-colored pants that has still with the tags on—were stained with a spot of blood. They were fine when she tried on the first pair, but the second… Xia Chao wanted to sink into the floor.

Her cycle had been irregular lately, likely due to stress. From Xia Ling’s illness until today, it had been nearly two months. She had worn a pad on the way to Q City just in case, but after settling in and starting work, she had put it out of her mind. And now, it had returned with a vengeance.

She lowered her head, feeling dejected. It wasn’t that she hated her period; she just felt like she was a burden to Ping Yuan again. This was their first outing. She sniffed, her heart feeling like a sponge cake soaked in lemon juice—sour and ready to crumble at a touch.

So embarrassing.

Ping Yuan looked down and saw tears brimming in the girl’s eyes. Xia Chao looked truly defeated, her shoulders slumped. Ping Yuan looked at her from this rare angle and noticing her bitten lip and red nose.

Still just a young girl, Ping Yuan thought. She remembered being eighteen. How a spot of blood on white school pants felt like the end of the world. But it was okay. A period was just blood. It was as clean as any other part of the body.

A smile touched her voice, and without realizing it, she spoke as an older sister for the first time. “It’s okay.”

“We’ll just buy them,” she said softly, gesturing to Xia Chao. “Step back a few feet?”

“Eh?” Xia Chao looked up, confused, but obeyed.

“Mhm, they look good on you,” Ping Yuan nodded seriously. “Money well spent.”

She had started the sentence to comfort her, but it ended as a sincere truth. The shorts were a pale beige, well-cut and smooth, making Xia Chao’s legs look long, white, and as agile as a deer’s.

Ping Yuan’s gaze flickered away when it reached the girl’s slender ankles. The air in the fitting room felt a bit thin. She reached out and patted Xia Chao’s shoulder to break the silence. “Don’t worry, I have a pad in my bag. Let’s go pay.”

Xia Chao felt a weight on her shoulder. Ping Yuan had hung her own crossbody bag there. She leaned down to adjust it so it perfectly covered the stain. “There. Perfect.”

She then took Xia Chao’s hand, leading her out of the fitting room with calm, unbothered poise.

Payment went smoothly. The clerk kindly pointed them toward the restrooms. As they walked, Ping Yuan told her where the pads were in her bag. “There are some wet wipes in there too,” she said. “You can change into the other new pair of pants while you’re at it.”

Xia Chao nodded but looked down and didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?” Ping Yuan asked. She followed Xia Chao’s gaze and realized she was still holding the girl’s hand.

Their hands were entwined. Half a second later, they jerked apart in a panic. Their fingertips collided—a tiny, frantic accident.

Ahem. Ping Yuan let out a meaningless cough. “Go on,” she said awkwardly.

When Xia Chao returned, her face was less red. She had changed her pants and seemingly washed her face; her cheeks were damp and her fingertips still held a trace of moisture. She took off the bag and handed it back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Ping Yuan replied simply.

As the bag passed between them, their fingers brushed again—a fleeting, glancing touch.

“The restroom was out of paper towels,” Xia Chao said, sounding strangely apologetic.

Ping Yuan nodded. “Summer crowds. Tissues are in high demand.”

The conversation was disjointed—meaningless chatter to fill the air. They stepped onto the escalator side-by-side, their hands held strictly at their sides. No one reached out again. The mirrored ceiling reflected their slow ascent. Xia Chao stared at their reflections, her mind drifting.

Then, she heard Ping Yuan ask softly beside her: “Just now… did you hate that?”

“What?”

Xia Chao froze. Good god, since when did Ping Yuan’s voice sound so delicate?

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