Heading for the Plains - Chapter 16

When Xia Chao heard Ping Yuan’s question, she froze for a moment.

There was actually so much she could say. Xia Ling was, without a doubt, a wonderful mother, and her love manifested in the smallest details of daily life. On summer nights, Xia Ling would fan her with a cattail leaf, wipe down the bamboo mats with water infused with floral tonic, and hang jasmine flowers strung on silk threads by the head of the bed.

In winter, she knitted sweaters, scarves, and even woolen leggings. Those thick, colorful scarves would wrap Xia Chao up until she looked like a little bear. Every day as Xia Chao headed out, she’d hear the same nagging: “Pull up your collar! You’ll get sick if the wind gets in!” And Xia Chao, pedaling away on her bike, would shout back into the wind, “I know, I know!”

In the mornings, they ate white congee. The side dish was often a salted duck egg steamed right on top of the rice. When sliced in half, the golden, oily yolk would be scooped out by Xia Ling and placed specifically in Xia Chao’s bowl.

Xia Ling’s cooking was always delicious. Xia Chao loved her winter melon soup, steamed ribs with olive seeds, sautéed radish with dried mussels, steamed egg custard… For a long time, every time her third-grade self wrote an essay titled My Mother, her teacher would sigh and poke her forehead: “Are you writing an essay or a menu? You can’t hit the word count just by listing dishes. The graders will get hungry and give you a low score!”

Yet, she always ended up with decent marks. Her young teacher, a gentle woman, would use a red pen to underline the descriptions of flavors and aromas, writing a delicate comment in the margin: True emotion is moving.

Xia Chao knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she had grown up surrounded by love. But now, she remained silent.

After a long pause, she spoke with restraint. “Xia Ling was a very good person.”

“Before she got sick, she worked as a cleaner. It was hard work. She had to get up at dawn every day, and on weekends she did housekeeping for other families. Many people looked down on her,” Xia Chao said, syllable by syllable. “But I don’t think there was anything shameful about it.”

Her voice was steady. “Because the floors she swept were always the cleanest.”

Ping Yuan was stunned for a second. Xia Chao raised her eyes, meeting her gaze through the reflection of the windshield. But the car was moving; their eyes didn’t truly lock. Ping Yuan kept her focus on the road ahead.

So, Xia Chao sat quietly, looking at the path before them, her voice repeating softly: “Xia Ling was a very good person, and a very good mother.”

This was the truth. In the past, she would have had endless stories about Xia Ling, just like her primary school essays. But she said nothing more. She omitted the intimate details of their life because she was grown up now; she no longer needed to clutch a ballpoint pen and struggle to fill three hundred words.

And she knew that those warm, sweet memories, once lost, became salt rubbed into a wound if recounted one by one. Especially for Ping Yuan.

So, she only said in a gentle voice: “From the time I was small, she prepared everything in pairs. In the summer, she’d string three strands of jasmine—one for me, and two she’d wear on her own wrist. In the winter, she’d knit two scarves—a bright red one for my neck, and a pure white one that she’d tuck away in the wardrobe.”

“She always believed you would come back,” she whispered. The memories that used to ache felt peaceful now that she knew Ping Yuan was the one listening. It was like moonlight shining over a scar.

Her voice carried a trace of a smile. “I used to hate you when I was little. I was a wild kid; I’d wear a scarf for half a day and it would be filthy, but Mom refused to give me the one in the closet. She said that one was for you.”

“I used to stare at that beautiful white scarf every day, huffing to myself, wondering why you hadn’t come back yet.”

“And whenever I got into trouble, Xia Ling would spank me. I’d wail and shout that she didn’t love me, that she only loved my sister, and that she’d never hit my sister like this if she made a mistake!”

Pfft. Ping Yuan seemed to let out a short laugh, but when Xia Chao turned to look, she only saw an impassive face. “What did your mom say to that?”

“She’d just keep spanking me,” Xia Chao said with a wry smile. “She said you would never get into a fight with the big goose at the village entrance.”

This time, Ping Yuan actually laughed—the kind where the corners of her mouth rose more than just a few pixels. “I certainly wouldn’t.”

“That’s why I hated you,” Xia Chao quipped, half-joking, then looked at her seriously. “But you look so beautiful when you smile.”

Like a night-blooming cereus—a fleeting fragrance, gone in an instant.

The most terrifying thing in the world is the sincere gaze of a young girl; even a joke sounds as clear as a confession of love. The car swerved for a fraction of a second before returning to its line. Ping Yuan’s expression flattened, her grip on the steering wheel calm and composed. “You really do deserve a spanking.”

“I was wrongly accused sometimes, okay?” Xia Chao protested. “Most of the time, they were the ones who bullied me first!”

“How?”

“If they couldn’t beat me at ball games, they’d bring upperclassmen to fight me.” Her voice lost its humor. “And they called me an abandoned ‘jinx’ and a ‘mutt.'”

“So I beat them all up.”

She would never forget that afternoon. It started with a game; she and her friends had arrived early to claim the small court. Half an hour later, a group of boys arrived, arrogantly claiming it was their “territory” and telling the girls to get lost and go play jump-rope somewhere else.

It escalated from an argument to a shove. A boy reached out to pull her hair, but Xia Chao grabbed his wrist, and in an instant, she was a whirlwind of fury.

Children’s fights have no technique, only raw aggression, and Xia Chao never lacked for that. The boys cursed at her; a punch left her nose bleeding and her ears ringing. She said nothing, spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, twisted an arm, and pinned those wild boys to the concrete.

The pavement was rough; skin-thin knees and chins were instantly bloodied. Those who had been acting tough were soon howling for their mothers. She didn’t let go until a security guard rushed over. The ringleader, the only fifth-grader there, had been called in as backup only to be beaten into a pulp by Xia Chao. Feeling his dignity shattered in front of the adults, he wailed through tears and snot: “Just you wait! You’re nothing but an unwanted mutt!”

Xia Chao gave him one more punch. This time, she hit harder, her own nosebleed dripping onto the ground as she swung.

If I’m a mutt, I’m a mutt, she thought. In that moment, she chose to be a small beast with sharp teeth and bristling fur—one that would growl from a corner and tear off a piece of the enemy’s flesh before going down.

She ended up knocking out one of the boy’s teeth. It was only a loose baby tooth, but it was enough to leave his mouth a bloody mess, making him scream like a slaughtered pig.

No matter how many times she recalled that ridiculous scene, a sliver of a smile would appear on Xia Chao’s lips.

The car’s AC blew cold air. Ping Yuan glanced at the girl, seeing her lost in thought with a faint, proud smirk. That spirited, youthful pride made Ping Yuan’s own lips curl.

“And then?”

“And then?” Xia Chao mused. “Then the grudge was set. The losers found older help to corner me on my way home, threatening to cut my clothes and hair. Even the teachers got involved.”

“But don’t worry,” she took a sip of her now-cold milk tea, her cheeks puffing out—the sharp edge gone, replaced by the look of a hamster. “I’ve always fought when I could win and ran when I couldn’t. Not only is my hair perfectly fine, but my sprinting times improved significantly.”

She added solemnly in a soft voice: “My only regret is not hitting them harder back then, to pay off the future debt in advance.”

Quite the fan of ‘pre-emptive consumption,’ Ping Yuan smiled. “That’s good.”

She wasn’t surprised. Who was it that said young girls were made of ribbons, bows, and sugar? True girls were more like young wolves or cubs—born with a rebellious streak and always ready to leap off a cliff. Only those who have lived through girlhood understand the innocence and cruelty, the cunning and the fragility within.

Ping Yuan’s lips curved. “I had my hair cut once.”

“What happened?” Xia Chao asked tentatively.

“Then I did what they said and cut it,” Ping Yuan answered casually, her slender fingers resting on the wheel with calm composure, showing no trace of humiliation.

Xia Chao instinctively felt it wasn’t that simple. “You’re lying.”

“Believe what you want,” Ping Yuan replied lightly. “I’m telling the truth.” She narrowed her eyes and gave a cold, sharp smile.

It was a smile unlike her usual ones—light, frigid, and arrogant. Xia Chao froze for a second, and the window to ask more slipped away. Before she could speak, Ping Yuan blocked her with a question.

“So,” she said, looking straight ahead, cutting to the heart of the matter. “You never told Xia Ling what they called you, did you?”

Xia Chao thought for a moment. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because Xia Ling showed up,” Xia Chao said softly, with no intention of lying.

When a parent points a finger at you, screaming “wild brat” because their precious son was beaten black and blue, you wipe the blood from your lip and prepare a cold retort about how he deserved it. But the words stuck in her throat. Because Xia Ling was there.

She would always remember Xia Ling standing in front of her, her voice as hard as a steel spike driven into concrete. Later, Xia Chao learned the parent was so arrogant because Xia Ling had been working as a cleaner in their home at the time. Their weekly cleaning was scheduled for Saturday mornings. The day of the fight had been a weekend; Xia Ling had seen that parent just the day before.

But even so, she heard Xia Ling say, word for word: “Xia Chao is my daughter. My daughter never starts a fight without a reason. One of yours must have bullied her first.”

It was the first time she’d heard Xia Ling use such a stern tone. In a flash of insight, Xia Chao decided to swallow her words. In the end, she just lifted her chin stubbornly and said, “They hit me with the ball first. That’s why I did it.”

“You already knew about the adoption then,” Ping Yuan said quietly.

Xia Chao shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“I just instinctively kept quiet,” she lowered her lashes. “I only pieced it together later.”

Why was there a missing sister in the house? Why were the rumors so persistent? Why did her homeroom teacher always look at her so seriously whenever she mentioned her mother, saying, “Your mother loves you very much”? Likely, Xia Ling had asked the teacher to keep the secret and look out for her.

A small county town isn’t large; today’s secret becomes tomorrow’s legend. Meddlers used the rumors to hurt her; those who loved her used the secret to protect her. And she decided to be a brave young girl, retracting her quills to protect her mother. The secret remained sealed for nearly ten years.

“To this day, I don’t know if Xia Ling knew that I had guessed the secret in the third grade.” she smiled, a look as clear as the bright sky.

Perhaps they had lived in a silent understanding for years, or perhaps Xia Ling only intended to reveal it by handing over the papers on her deathbed. It didn’t matter. The secret wasn’t important; the love was.

Silence fell over the car again, filled by the soft flow of music. Ping Yuan remained quiet, calmly shifting gears. Then, Xia Chao heard her let out a very, very soft sigh.

At that moment, no words were needed.

Fate is a strange thing. Ping Yuan knew she should resent Xia Chao’s openness; resent her for taking her place and being surrounded by love. But in this moment, she was strangely moved by the girl’s heart. She thought of how Xia Chao spoke of Xia Ling; their mother was a cleaner.

That was why Xia Chao had reacted so strongly to her first insult about “sweeping streets” without a degree. Xia Chao had looked at her and said that ordinary people aren’t wrong just because their jobs or backgrounds are humble. Ping Yuan’s malice back then must have stung.

Yet Xia Chao had said nothing of her own pain. She hadn’t countered Ping Yuan’s arrogance with the truth about Xia Ling. Instead, she had gently comforted her, saying, “It’s not your fault.”

We are forced onto a bloody path by the world and mocked by fate. It’s not our fault.

It was the world that was mean—to her, to Xia Chao, to Xia Ling.

Xia Chao is actually very well-bred, Ping Yuan thought, watching the sun-drenched asphalt. This “breeding” didn’t refer to a prestigious family name, but to a natural empathy—a sincere, equal way of treating others. Xia Ling must have been a very good mother, for she had raised Xia Chao well. If they could have been sisters sooner, if she could have been Xia Ling’s daughter while she was still alive… perhaps her childhood would have been happy, too.

The AC hummed quietly. On this brilliant afternoon, the leaves shimmered like a crown for a Little Prince. Ping Yuan looked at it all and realized: she understood Xia Chao now.

Because she, too, was missing Xia Ling—the mother they shared—just as they had shared the sight of the moon that night. Long after, Ping Yuan would think that perhaps it was at this very moment of contemplation that she truly felt they had become sisters.

But for now, she just felt a strange emotion washing through her. She sat in silence, listening to the new song starting on the radio. A sigh-like voice filled the void, the melody swaying like waves from a distant station. Xia Chao sat with her chin in her hand, watching the lyrics scroll across the screen:

All my best memories

come back clearly to me

Some can even make me cry

Just like before

It’s yesterday once more

” Yesterday Once More,” Ping Yuan said softly along with the melody. “It’s a very old song.”

They were almost home. She looked ahead. It was an ordinary afternoon, the world outside blinded by white light. The heat shimmered off the road while the AC provided a steady hum of white noise. Her palm began to warm against the leather of the steering wheel. Three seconds later, she finally made a decision.

“Xia Chao.”

She called her name, speaking seriously. “Teach me how to cook.”

Xia Chao’s eyes widened in surprise, then curved into a smile. She seemed about to say something.

But she never got the chance.

The car turned into the apartment complex. The sudden shade made everything dim for a moment before they emerged back into the light. A woman—both familiar and a stranger—was standing in the shadow of the building entrance, wearing sunglasses and talking impatiently into her phone.

When Ping Yuan’s car pulled up, she looked up and broke into a grin.

“Why aren’t you answering my calls!”

The window rolled down, and the woman’s voice drifted in. Ping Yuan looked down, only now realizing that while she was driving, her phone had been flooded with messages.

Mirror: I’m in Q City for a shoot today. You free? Let’s grab dinner?

Mirror: [Missed Call]

Mirror: ? Ping Yuan, where are you? On a date? Is there a situation?

Mirror: [Missed Call]

Mirror: I don’t care! My ticket back is tomorrow. I am launching a surprise strike on your apartment!

I really can’t stand Zhu Cijing. Ping Yuan looked up, expressionless.

To Xia Chao, this looked like a flashy, beautiful woman had suddenly appeared at their doorstep—red lips, a black dress, and sharp-toed heels, radiating a seductive kind of power. Her long, fiery red hair shone like silk in the sun.

As soon as Ping Yuan unbuckled her seatbelt, the woman strode over, yanked the car door open, and planted two firm kisses on Ping Yuan’s cheeks.

“Babe! I missed you so much!”

The behavior was outrageous! Velvet-red lip prints were left on Ping Yuan’s pale face. Xia Chao’s eyes widened, and she admitted to herself that in that moment, she was so angry she wanted to bare her teeth.

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