Heading for the Plains - Chapter 19

Every time she heard the name “Sister Cijing,” Ping Yuan felt a faint urge to laugh.

Zhu Cijing had always prided herself on being a sophisticated fashionista of the international metropolis; she loathed the “sentimental, old-fashioned” name her mother had given her more than anything in life. Ping Yuan couldn’t even imagine the complex internal turmoil Cijing felt when she heard Xia Chao call her that with such obedient, traditional charm.

Watching Cijing scroll through her phone, Ping Yuan felt a wave of amusement and typed a reply: “Mhm.”

The “younger one” on the other end was clearly delighted to have found a kindred spirit, her text practically jumping with joy: “I knew it! Essays are the worst!”

Eight hundred words; the mere thought gave Xia Chao a headache. Ping Yuan had previously claimed that essays were the easiest part; as long as you memorized the “eight-legged” structural frameworks, a passing grade was guaranteed. But memorizing a framework was one level of difficulty; knowing how to apply it creatively was another beast entirely.

Xia Chao had agonized over this more than once.

Now that she had caught Ping Yuan in a moment of fallibility, she was gloating: “And you acted like you were so above it all! You told me that with the right ‘formula,’ I could get a high score with my eyes closed.”

She was wagging her metaphorical tail, and Ping Yuan couldn’t help but let her own lips curve upward.

She mused that Xia Chao probably didn’t realize that, in the eyes of an adult, a high schooler’s heart is transparent. It was like how high school teachers could always sniff out “early romance” with perfect accuracy. A child’s mind is far too easy to read—clear and limpid, like their own eyes, where you can see all the way to the bottom at a glance.

A single “So you couldn’t do it either” was enough to establish a tiny alliance between two people drowning in the sea of test papers.

Watching the screen, Ping Yuan’s eyes crinkled. It was a novel sensation.

The seventeen-year-old Ping Yuan had never enjoyed this kind of treatment. Her grades had been too high—flawlessly high. No one ever tried to build a rapport with her by complaining about exams; they felt that venting to a top student was just asking for humiliation. Ping Yuan, for her part, had no interest in feigning struggle just to appear more approachable.

So, at the end of every monthly exam, she would clear her desk in solitary silence, eat her meals in solitary silence, and when the rankings were posted and everyone was frantically calculating their standing, she would sit in her seat, solitary and silent. She never calculated her score or checked her answers in advance—not because she didn’t care about winning, but because she knew her competitive drive was deeper than anyone else’s.

She was just too lazy to perform. The outcome was fixed; she’d find out eventually.

Of course, she hadn’t realized back then that her composure was itself a form of high-altitude arrogance—a way to keep others at a distance. Consequently, she had no friends. But you couldn’t blame anyone; the Gaokao is cruel, and so is youth. A group of teenagers, in the prime of their lives, stuffing themselves into exam-oriented molds—their very bones aching with calculation, while their lips maintained a facade of indifference.

Ping Yuan held no grudge against the Gaokao. Since it gave many a relatively fair chance, it was only natural that it would take something away in return.

She just never dreamed that one day, nine years after her own graduation, she would be listening to a “kid” enjoyably roasting the essay topics with her.

It was a very strange experience.

So, she didn’t tell Xia Chao the real reason her Gaokao essay had been poor: the topic that year had been about “Family Traditions and the Concept of Home.” Back then, she didn’t even know her own birthday, let alone the concept of a home. Zhu Cijing didn’t know the truth because every region has different exam papers, and they weren’t from the same place. Ping Yuan had kept her mouth shut to save Cijing from a kowtow of guilty apology.

She remained silent now with Xia Chao because the girl’s light-hearted interruption made her realize that the pain had finally passed.

Not knowing one’s birthday wasn’t such a big deal. She hadn’t even asked Xia Ling about it. She was an adult now; she could pick any month she liked to celebrate. In fact, she was usually too lazy to celebrate at all. Her date of birth was flexible, depending on when she needed a discount from a department store.

Besides… her essay had only been “relatively” poor.

Ping Yuan lowered her eyes and typed a message into the box: “Do you know what my score for that essay actually was?”

The girl, predictably naive, asked: “What?”

Ping Yuan smiled and gave a number that was anything but low—one high enough to be used as a model essay.

“Even though I wasn’t familiar with the topic,” she typed, unable to resist a bit of mischief, “I still did quite well thanks to the outlines and the vocabulary bank I’d memorized.”

“So… do you still want to learn how to write these essays?”

Xia Chao seemed to have been struck dumb. After ten seconds of silence, she sent a very formal, very honest reply: “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

Even her WeChat bubbles looked dejected: “Sister, have you ever considered that you were truly born to be a teacher?” (The kind that makes people fall perfectly into line).

“I know,” Ping Yuan replied, unbothered. “I used to make good money as a tutor in university.”

…No wonder she’s such a pro. Xia Chao was thoroughly defeated, feeling the urge to bow to her. “I’ll study hard from now on, Sister-Teacher.”

Pfft. Ping Yuan let out a laugh.

Zhu Cijing, currently in the heat of a chat with her newest crush, looked up and stared at Ping Yuan in horror. Her old friend was looking at her phone with a faint smile—a smile so subtle it would look dismissive on anyone else, but on Ping Yuan, it was like a solitary narcissist flower suddenly opening a petal in the silence.

It was eerie.

Who is it? A woman? A man? A colleague? A classmate? A pig looking to steal her “cabbage”? An internet scammer?

It wasn’t that she was afraid of Ping Yuan dating; she was afraid of Ping Yuan dating with this kind of “soft-as-water” tenderness. Her friend had zero dating experience; her emotional landscape was like Pandora’s box until it was fully open, you never knew what was hidden at the bottom. Cijing was terrified it might be a monster.

When Ping Yuan looked up, she saw Cijing’s panicked expression.

“Why that face?” She frowned in confusion.

Cijing looked at her solemnly. “Ping Yuan, who were you just chatting with? You looked way too beautiful smiling like that.”

Ping Yuan lost count of how many times she’d been rendered speechless by Cijing tonight. She took a deep breath. “It’s my sister.”

“You said my essays were trash earlier. She actually believed it and was trying to negotiate her way out of memorizing her outlines,” she said calmly.

Cijing let out a massive sigh of relief.

Oh, thank god, it’s just the sister. Not a monster, not a pig, but the “eight or nine o’clock sun”—a blooming flower of the nation! Cijing, being someone who was easily swayed by good food, already had a great impression of Xia Chao. The girl was pretty, cooked well, and had a much better personality than her older sister. Cijing smiled to herself, deciding that she had “badly influenced” the flower of the nation just enough for one night.

They didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. Xia Chao came out, and seeing the movie was over, she flicked the living room lights on. The world returned to brightness.

Thinking it best to give Ping Yuan and Cijing some space, Xia Chao grabbed her pajamas and headed for a shower. Cijing, inspired by how refreshed the girl looked, followed suit and quickly washed off her makeup.

Once Ping Yuan had finished drying her hair and joined them, the three of them sat on the sofa and realized a logistical problem had arisen.

Three people. Two beds. How would they sleep?

Zhu Cijing was the first to stake her claim to avoid trouble. “First off, I am NOT sleeping with Ping Yuan.”

This was an established rule between them. Because Ping Yuan… had a terrible sleeping posture. Could you believe a woman this “cold-as-frost” would hog all the blankets? Cijing could; she had once caught a helpless cold after failing to win a midnight tug-of-war for the quilt. She wouldn’t ask for that kind of suffering again.

Wanting to save Ping Yuan some dignity, she simply said, “I’ll sleep on the sofa in the living room.”

Xia Chao immediately protested. “No way! You’re the guest, you should sleep in the room. I’ll take the sofa.”

Cijing shook her head. “No, no, no! You sleep in the room. I’m fine with the sofa. Really!”

The back-and-forth began, noisy as if ten parrots had flown into the house. Ping Yuan watched this modern-day “sacrificial politeness” dance and wondered if it was really necessary. You’d think her beds were made of teeth.

She walked over to pour herself some lemon water, preparing to sit back and watch the fireworks of their argument, but the air suddenly went still. Two pairs of eyes landed on her simultaneously.

Uh oh.

Cijing’s “peach-blossom” eyes were shimmering: “Ping Yuan.”

Xia Chao’s “puppy” eyes were full of trust: “Ping Yuan.”

Then, in unison, they tossed the hot potato to her: “You decide!”

Oh, so NOW you remember I exist!

A mouthful of water caught in her throat. Ping Yuan’s face went wooden as she nearly choked on her lemon water.

It was a bizarre scene. A “big” pair of eyes and a “small” pair of eyes staring at her, like a pet owner trying to divide a treat between a rowdy bird and a dog.

“Fine.” She rubbed her temples with a headache. As the homeowner, the responsibility was indeed hers.

She couldn’t let her guest, Cijing, go without a bed. Likewise, she couldn’t mistreat a kid and make Xia Chao sleep on the sofa. And she had work tomorrow; she didn’t want to be put in a “headlock” by a heartbroken Cijing in the middle of the night, listening to her wail about her tragic love life.

So, she let out a long sigh and began to assign the positions.

“Zhu Cijing, you take the storage room.”

Then, she pointed directly at Xia Chao. “You… are sleeping with me tonight.”

Heh, no quilt-tugging for me tonight! Cijing pumped her fist in silent victory, but then cast a sympathetic look at Xia Chao. Her flirtatious eyes were full of silent blessings: Good luck tonight, Little Sister.

She was happy. But Xia Chao stood frozen in place. For some reason, she felt as if her heart had stopped beating for a second.

Even though she had no idea what was in store for her tonight.

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