Heading for the Plains - Chapter 17

Caught. In. The. Act.

That was Zhu Cijing’s first thought the moment she yanked open Ping Yuan’s car door.

Her visit today was a total accident. An ad shoot that was supposed to end in the morning got delayed by ninety minutes, causing her to miss her high-speed rail back to S City. Facing the choice between a grueling wait for a standby ticket or crying while buying a long-distance first-class seat, she decisively chose to pack her things and flee to her best friend in Q City.

That would be Ping Yuan.

Under normal circumstances, Zhu Cijing wasn’t the type to show up uninvited. But she knew Ping Yuan too well; she knew that woman’s private life was exactly like her name—flat, straightforward, and utterly boring. Every weekend, while Zhu Cijing was out on dates, she’d message Ping Yuan to ask what she was doing. The answer was always some combination of sleeping, reading, or “exercising.”

Early in their careers, Zhu Cijing had asked with a lewd grin what kind of exercise she meant.

The answer: three sets of light dumbbells, three sets of crunches, and a round of shoulder stretches. Because of her heart surgery, her intensity was strictly regulated—healthier than a green smoothie.

Eventually, she stopped asking. For a long time, she viewed Ping Yuan as a piece of precision machinery: no smoking, no dating, no staying up late. It was as if she only needed the bare minimum life support to function flawlessly at work forever.

So, the last thing she expected was for Ping Yuan to pull a disappearing act and reveal a “hidden treasure” in her house.

And a remarkably handsome young woman at that. Zhu Cijing’s gaze swept over the girl, taking in a clean, spirited face—a high nose bridge that suggested strength, balanced by the delicate, soft lines of her lips and jaw. She saw the girl’s long lashes flicker before her expression shifted into one of extreme wariness.

Unfortunately for the girl, she wasn’t very intimidating. In the sunlight, her pupils turned a warm amber, bright and alert like a startled deer.

Eating well, I see, Zhu Cijing thought with approval. Her old friend usually acted like she was on the path to becoming a celibate immortal, yet she clearly had excellent taste when push came to shove.

Zhu Cijing leaned into the car, ignoring the wary look, and extended her hand with a beaming smile. “Hello there, little one! I’m Zhu Cijing.”

The girl remained guarded but obediently reached out to shake her hand. “Hello. My name is Xia Chao. ‘Chao’ as in the tide.”

Very formal—like a puppy giving a paw. Zhu Cijing mused internally: So Ping Yuan likes this type? She noted the girl’s tall, lean frame and simple ponytail; she looked as fresh and vibrant as a young poplar tree in the sun.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, nudging Ping Yuan sharply with her elbow. “Are you dating a college student?”

Ping Yuan: “…”

She knew why Zhu Cijing had been acting suspicious. She and Xia Chao were staring at each other like two police dogs.

“She’s a high schooler,” Ping Yuan hissed under her breath.

“You’re a robbe—”

The word “robber” (cradle-robber) was cut off as Zhu Cijing’s eyes went wide. In a flash, she connected the dots: the stranger, the high schooler, Ping Yuan asking for exam materials, Ping Yuan mentioning she had a “sister.”

A proper, adoption-certificate-carrying, registered-on-the-household-ledger, same-mother-as-Ping-Yuan… sister.

Zhu Cijing felt like she was going to die.

Xia Chao stood there, baffled by how the woman who had looked like a provocative “vixen” just seconds ago had suddenly shifted her attitude 180 degrees.

“Hello! I’m Zhu Cijing, your sister’s friend and university classmate!” She spoke with a booming, righteous energy, as if her previous suspicious behavior had been a collective hallucination.

Xia Chao: “…” She seems to have misunderstood something, though I’m not sure what.

“Hello,” Xia Chao smiled politely, revealing two small canine teeth. “I’m not a college student yet.”

…Zhu Cijing felt like she was going to die again.

Ping Yuan had no intention of saving her. She gave a minimalist introduction—”She’s Zhu Yuan’s aunt”—locked the car, and hauled Zhu Cijing toward the building by her collar.

“Let’s go,” she called back to Xia Chao, effortlessly taking a bag of groceries from the girl’s hand. “Xia Chao?”

Zhu Cijing noted that the way Ping Yuan said “Xia Chao” was significantly softer. Forgetting friends once she has a sister, she thought gloomily as she trudged up the stairs in her heels. It was just after the Dragon Boat Festival, and moxa and calamus hung from the iron doors of the apartments, filling the hallway with a fresh scent.

She had to admit this neighborhood was peaceful yet full of life. Ping Yuan was like that—just when you think she’s a monk, she shows she has excellent taste.

Once inside, Zhu Cijing wailed as she kicked off her stilettos. She wanted to toss the “instruments of torture” aside but remembered they were her new Jimmy Choos and set them down carefully. Ping Yuan watched this and sighed inwardly. Just as Zhu Cijing suspected Ping Yuan would one day shave her head and join a convent, Ping Yuan didn’t understand her friend’s obsession with material things. Jimmy Choos, Prada bags, Vivienne Westwood dresses, and Tom Ford “16” lipstick—Zhu Cijing was like a bird trying to stick peacock feathers onto her already beautiful wings, as if trying to fill a hole in her heart.

Xia Chao, meanwhile, handed Ping Yuan a glass of honey-lemon water—chilled and refreshing—before turning to pour tea for Zhu Cijing. Ping Yuan took a sip, her expression softening like a picky cat that had finally been given its favorite treats. Seeing this gave Xia Chao a huge sense of accomplishment; she was becoming very interested in “feeding” Ping Yuan.

Zhu Cijing, claiming she was cutting sugar, accepted the barley tea. She then stayed in the living room to catch up with Ping Yuan while Xia Chao retreated to the kitchen.

“Who cares if she’s a ‘Great Miss’! Just because she’s rich and beautiful!” Zhu Cijing’s indignant voice drifted into the kitchen. “I’m a ‘Great Miss’ too! I’m Miss Mirror!”

Xia Chao didn’t see Zhu Cijing making a Sailor Moon pose, but she heard Ping Yuan’s deadpan response: “Mimi shrimp strips.” (A pun on “Mirror” and a cheap snack).

“Say another dry joke like that and I’m calling the police!”

Xia Chao laughed out loud. The conversation continued as Zhu Cijing vented months of stress. She complained about the celebrity Bai Xixue, who had suddenly demanded to be interviewed by a specific, serious news magazine called The Truth instead of a fashion glossy.

“It nearly drove me insane! Canceling the S shoot, reshuffling the layout, and finding a whole new angle with ‘insight’—I lost so much hair!” Zhu Cijing looked tormented.

“At least the follow-up engagement was good,” Ping Yuan consoled her.

“That’s the worst part!” Zhu Cijing wailed. “The journalist who interviewed her was my high school senior—I’ve liked her forever! And Bai Xixue’s team actually dragged a ‘civilian’ into a ‘ship’ for PR! Shameless! How dare she ship herself with my Senior!”

So that’s the issue, Ping Yuan thought. She had heard this story. How a beautiful senior had shared an umbrella with Zhu Cijing during a rainstorm years ago, and Zhu Cijing had never forgotten her face. As a pure “visual stan,” Zhu Cijing just liked looking at her. Ping Yuan searched for the “ship” photos on her phone; even though they were blurry long-shots, the two women did look incredibly well-matched.

“You look good together,” Ping Yuan nodded, delivering the killing blow. “You’re just a ‘solo stan’ who hates a ‘real couple.'”

“Your mouth is going to get you in trouble one day!”

In the kitchen, Xia Chao was cutting ginger. The pale yellow slivers fell in threads, releasing a sharp, spirit-like aroma. She thought of Xia Ling; when she was tiny, her mother would do the same, stacking thin ginger slices to cut them into fine needles while the sun moved slowly across the kitchen tiles.

She felt a bit dejected that she hadn’t gotten a chance to reply to Ping Yuan’s request for cooking lessons. The moment had passed like a drifting cloud.

Suddenly, she felt a soft, warm breath on the back of her neck. Xia Chao jumped. “Who’s there?”

It was Ping Yuan.

She was wearing her pea-green puppy slippers and was just a tiny bit shorter than Xia Chao, so she was standing on her tiptoes, peeking over the girl’s shoulder.

“Where are the cherries we bought today?” Ping Yuan asked calmly, as if she hadn’t just startled the life out of someone.

“Over there,” Xia Chao pointed. Afraid of the fishy smell on her hands, she rinsed them. “I’ll wash them.”

“No need,” Ping Yuan shook her head. “You keep busy. I’m just washing them to shut Zhu Cijing up.”

Xia Chao laughed. “What happened to her?”

“Nothing much,” Ping Yuan said, rinsing the cherries in a bowl. “She deleted her ex eight hundred years ago, but today she’s begging me to open my WeChat so she can stalk their feed.”

Gossip, Xia Chao thought, her ears figuratively pricking up. “And then?”

“I accidentally ‘liked’ a post, and she started screaming like the ex was going to hunt her down through the internet,” Ping Yuan said casually. “Open your mouth.”

The command was so sudden Xia Chao just blinked. “Huh?”

A damp cherry was pressed into her mouth.

Ping Yuan’s slender, pale fingertips were still dripping. She gave the cherry a little poke with her finger and tilted her head. “Bite it.”

Xia Chao didn’t dare move. Ping Yuan just looked up at her with a clear, calm gaze and repeated: “Bite.”

Xia Chao obeyed. Afraid of biting Ping Yuan’s finger, she very gently caught the cherry with her teeth. Ping Yuan’s eyes lowered, and she gave a quick pull.

Pop.

The stem was pulled out. It was a fresh yellow cherry; the stem was still vibrant green. The round, translucent fruit gave way under Xia Chao’s teeth, the thin skin bursting to release a spray of tender, juicy flesh.

It was sweet. Like a summer kiss.

Xia Chao had never been kissed, but in her meager teenage fantasies, if she were to receive one, she hoped it would be like this cherry. She held it in her mouth, looking at Ping Yuan with wide, dazed eyes, and instinctively licked the small opening where the stem had been.

She must have looked silly, because Ping Yuan smiled, her eyes crinkling almost imperceptibly. “Have you never had a cherry before?” she asked softly. Her voice sounded just like the snap of the cherry stem. It was light, yet crystalline in Xia Chao’s ears.

Xia Chao felt her ears beginning to burn. “…Mhm.”

She really hadn’t. Especially not these northern cherries—delicate and juicy, the kind that wouldn’t survive long-distance shipping. But that wasn’t why her ears were hot. “I can do it myself…” she whispered.

Her face was flushed red. Standing in the semi-enclosed kitchen, shoulder-to-shoulder, the space felt impossibly small. The air was heavy with things left unsaid.

“Is it good?” Ping Yuan asked, leaning in a fraction closer. Her dark eyes were steady and clear.

Time seemed to slow down in those eyes. Xia Chao lost her bearings for a second. “It’s… it’s good.”

Her heart was a ticking clock being wound too fast. The culprit just gave a tiny, satisfied smirk. “Good.”

“I’ll leave a handful for you. I’m taking the rest to gag Zhu Cijing,” she said, picking up the fruit plate. “Wait for me to come back before you start the stove.”

“Eh?” Xia Chao was confused. “Aren’t you going to chat with Sister Cijing?”

“No, she’s in a video conference,” Ping Yuan paused and looked at her. “Besides, didn’t I say I wanted to learn how to cook from you?”

Then, in a lower voice: “You can call me ‘Sister’ from now on.”

After their talk in the car, Ping Yuan had decided to be nicer to her. She’s just a girl who traveled a thousand miles to find me, and I gave her the cold shoulder while she’s here making my meals. Her conscience was pricking her. And… it would be good to learn about Xia Ling through her, she thought, waving a hand. “Wait for me.”

Xia Chao stood alone. She could hear the click of Zhu Cijing’s keyboard and her “I’m changing it, I’m changing it!” responses.

But her own heartbeat was louder than the typing. She actually remembered.

Xia Chao noticed the faucet was still running. She turned it off, the water splashing her face and making her shiver. Why am I so happy?

She washed her hands and splashed more water on her face to cool down. The droplets felt like Ping Yuan’s damp fingers.

“Sister,” she whispered the word to herself. She took a second cherry, caught the stem between her teeth, and—pop—pulled it out. A spray of tart, sweet juice.

Full, red, and brimming with a sweet sort of joy. Just like her heart.

A joy that would last exactly ten minutes, until Ping Yuan returned to “blow up” the kitchen.

Support