Heading for the Plains - Chapter 18

People truly do romanticize their memories. Xia Chao thought somberly, or to put it in plain terms, once the wound heals, the pain is forgotten.

Take the last time she ate Ping Yuan’s cooking: it was simultaneously so sweet and so salty that she’d spent half the night hunting for water. But because Ping Yuan looked so refined and elegant, a few days later, Xia Chao couldn’t help but wonder: Maybe it wasn’t that bad? Maybe my appetite was just off that day?

Or take right now. After tending to Zhu Cijing, Ping Yuan had come back to the kitchen to learn. Xia Chao taught her how to cut across the grain of the beef and slice it thin. Watching her move with such poise, Xia Chao found herself thinking, “She’s a fast learner. Maybe it’s safe to let her take the lead?”

Then, a massive, unhesitating scoop of salt from Ping Yuan brought Xia Chao crashing back to reality.

Her scalp tingled. “Stop!” she yelled.

Seeing the entire dish about to meet its doom, she rushed forward like a mother hen protecting its nest. “You don’t need that much salt!”

“Oh,” the human-sized kitchen disaster replied calmly, retracting her hand. “You told me to add a ‘suitable amount.’ I just added what felt right based on experience.”

Her calm tone actually left Xia Chao speechless for a moment. To be fair, for a normal dish, the amount of salt Ping Yuan had grabbed wasn’t outrageous—maybe just a bit on the savory side. Xia Chao sighed, feeling like the fault was hers for not being clear.

“My bad,” she said softly. “For other stir-fries, that amount of salt is fine. But we already brined the bitter melon and the beef in salt earlier, so they’re already seasoned. When they hit the pan, we have to cut the salt way back.”

She almost took the spatula from Ping Yuan’s hand but decided against it. Instead, she stood close by her side and whispered, “Reduce the salt by about a third.”

When it came to numbers, Ping Yuan’s reaction was lightning fast. She held the small spoon, and with a flick of her wrist, she measured out exactly what Xia Chao requested.

“Now, cover it and let it steam for thirty seconds.”

The bitter melon, sliced at an angle, had already been tossed until it was a glistening, deep oily green. Ping Yuan covered the pot as instructed and almost imperceptibly pressed her lips together.

Her long, straight lashes lowered like two small fans. Xia Chao was starting to understand her now; she knew that when Ping Yuan made that face, she was likely counting the seconds in her head with absolute seriousness. She was always so earnest about the smallest details, which made her appear almost clumsily adorable. Xia Chao had meant to say “just eye-ball the time,” but seeing that solemn expression, she found herself counting along in her head too.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

It was as if their heartbeats had synced for a moment. Ping Yuan lifted the lid, and the unique fragrance of bitter melon filled the kitchen.

“What’s next?” She instinctively turned back to look at Xia Chao.

The way she waited for instructions was also cute. Xia Chao nodded and continued, “Plate the bitter melon first. Then sauté the garlic and fermented black beans. When you smell the aroma, toss in the beef and turn up the heat.”

“Stir-fry until it’s medium-well. Yes, just that hint of pink.” Xia Chao’s hand landed on Ping Yuan’s wrist, giving it a gentle pat. “Add the melon back in. Pour the starch slurry.”

Sizzle.

The pre-mixed slurry collided with the hot oil, exploding into a dense, fragrant cloud of white steam. The exhaust fan hummed loudly. Xia Chao stood behind her; because she was tall enough, she didn’t even have to stand on her tiptoes.

Ping Yuan turned her head, and their eyes met. In the white mist, Ping Yuan’s features were both blurred and sharp, like a frame from a dream. Her chin was nearly touching Xia Chao’s nose. Their breath was close. A heartbeat missed its step—suddenly accelerating for half a beat, then dragging for the next.

People are always at their most charming when they are focused and in command.

Ping Yuan thought of Xia Chao standing behind her. Despite wearing those childish white cat slippers, the girl had been composed and methodical, directing the flow of the kitchen like a seasoned conductor. The clatter of the pots, the sizzle of the beans, and the complex, passionate aromas intertwining felt like a piece of magic.

And Ping Yuan realized that during those thirty seconds of silent counting, she had trusted Xia Chao completely.

How strange, she thought, dazed. Cooking is actually fun.

Ping Yuan, who had always viewed cooking as a tedious chore, found herself actually starting to like it. She knew the meal went quickly today because Xia Chao had meticulously prepared the ingredients, but as the saying goes, “Interest is a good start.” She had always had a gift for learning, and she was very satisfied with this beginning.

Buoyed by this pleasant mood, she finished the cabbage dish in one go.

The fish soup had been simmering to the side. When the food hit the table, Zhu Cijing looked ready to weep with gratitude. “My god!” she cried, looking deeply moved. “You actually ‘washed your hands to make me soup.’ Darling, you really do care about me.”

Hearing that sappy, professional tone, Ping Yuan knew work had fried her friend’s brain. She showed mercy and didn’t snap back, simply placing a piece of beef in her bowl. “Just eat.”

Xia Chao ladled a bowl of soup for Ping Yuan, watching her with a silent smile.

Everyone had been busy all afternoon, so the meal was delicious. Afterward, the three of them sat on the sofa, experiencing a mild “carb coma.” Zhu Cijing suggested a movie. Ping Yuan asked what she wanted to see, and after a moment’s thought, she picked La La Land.

The melodious music began. Under a bright, blazing sun, a traffic jam in Los Angeles led two protagonists to meet, inevitably fall in love, and eventually—inevitably—separate for their respective dreams. A classic story, timeless and bittersweet. The colors were beautiful, the music was stunning, and the heroine’s yellow dress spinning against a purple sunset was captivating.

Xia Chao admitted she was a bit moved.

Zhu Cijing clearly wasn’t watching it for the first time. During the final scene, when the two leads gaze at each other through the crowd to the most heartbreaking strains of the music, she gritted her teeth and said, “I’m so jealous.”

“I want to show off in front of my ex like that,” she muttered fiercely. “For that kind of success, I’d be willing to stay single for the rest of my life!”

Her grudge against her ex was clearly profound.

Xia Chao listened intently in the darkened living room. She heard Zhu Cijing nudge Ping Yuan with her elbow. “They re-released this in theaters last winter. Did you see it?”

Ping Yuan thought for a moment. “I did. I was on a business trip over Christmas. I watched it at the airport while waiting for my flight.”

“Christmas… traveling alone… watching a movie like this,” Zhu Cijing grumbled. “You’re really challenging the international levels of loneliness.”

“It was fine,” Ping Yuan replied breezily. “The music is good, and it doesn’t require much brainpower.”

“Did you have any takeaways?” Zhu Cijing pressed.

Ping Yuan mused. “Dancing in high heels must be exhausting for the feet.”

Another cool, detached remark. It made the love-starved Zhu Cijing feel utterly vulgar. She decided to pivot.

Xia Chao felt a nudge on her own arm. Zhu Cijing leaned over Ping Yuan and whispered to her, “You know, I heard your sister was ranked first in the city for her Science scores back then. You’d better study hard.”

“But,” she added mischievously, “her Gaokao essay was actually quite poor. Weird, right? Your sister has been a rigid little ‘fuddy-duddy’ who couldn’t write a proper essay since she was a kid.”

“…” Ping Yuan was silent for a breath. Then, she said calmly, “Zhu Cijing, I can hear everything you say behind my back.”

Having successfully scored a point through pettiness, Zhu Cijing cackled. She didn’t mean to expose Ping Yuan’s flaws; rather, it was because she knew Ping Yuan was a decathlete in every subject except PE that she dared to fan the flames like this.

Xia Chao couldn’t help but laugh too. How cute. She thought of Ping Yuan’s serious face while teaching her classical poetry. Who would have thought? This version of Ping Yuan, when she was eighteen, just Xia Chao’s age, also struggled with those “boxed characters” and formulaic essays.

Of course, the “struggling” part was just Xia Chao’s personal imaginative flourish. But it didn’t stop her from being in a great mood. She felt like she understood Ping Yuan just a little bit more.

The movie reached the end credits. Xia Chao got up to go to the bathroom and noticed they were almost out of toilet paper, so she sent Ping Yuan a message. Outside, Zhu Cijing was still chatting away, but Ping Yuan replied instantly; clearly used to multitasking while dealing with a chatterbox.

Really Want to Sleep: “Toilet paper is in the bottom shelf of the mirror cabinet.”

Xia Chao nodded, then realized Ping Yuan couldn’t see her. Outside the frosted glass door, the living room was dim; she knew the lights hadn’t been turned on yet. The movie music was fading out, and the “Special Thanks” section was scrolling—the darkest moment of a film.

Clutching her phone, Xia Chao imagined Ping Yuan sitting there in the dark, her phone screen illuminating her face as she sent her secret reply. It felt like they were passing notes in class.

Xia Chao swung her legs slightly, not wanting the conversation to end too quickly. She searched for something to say and typed: “Hey, Sister Cijing said your Gaokao essay was really bad. Is that true?”

Oho.

She’s still thinking about that? Ping Yuan set her phone down and turned to give the culprit sitting next to her a long, silent look.

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