Heading for the Plains - Chapter 2

Ping Yuan hated summer.

Who actually likes it? It was too hot, too crowded, and the irritability of the sweltering heat lingered like the sticky residue of a melted popsicle on one’s fingertips. Even during lunch, when she’d head down to the convenience store for some oden, the place would be a cacophony of elementary schoolers on summer break.

Besides, adults don’t get summer breaks. Ping Yuan gave a grim, inward smile; ever since she graduated, whenever she thought of summer as “Q3,” plum blossoms might as well have fallen all over Nanshan.

Naturally, Ping Yuan didn’t like Xia Chao either.

She had worked overtime for three consecutive days this week. If it weren’t for picking up Xia Chao, today would have been the fourth. She had been drowning in proposals and subordinate reports until her head spun. Finally finishing her work and stepping outside, she was immediately greeted by the evening rush hour.

To make matters worse, an unobservant male driver tried to cut her off. Ping Yuan set her jaw, floored the gas, and forced him back with raw mechanical aggression.

Curses drifted in through her window. Ping Yuan let out a cold sneer and, without a word, raised her hand to give him a sharp middle finger.

A split second before he could react, she accelerated with a blank expression, a streak of lightning that left his shouting far behind before the green light faded.

What an utterly unpleasant summer, she thought, frowning.

What made it even more unpleasant was that the culprit behind all this trouble seemed completely oblivious to her frustration. Ping Yuan cast a cold glance back and saw Xia Chao standing behind her, craning her neck to stare at the jingling keys in Ping Yuan’s hand like some dim-witted goose.

The “Goose” noticed her gaze and tilted her head in confusion, her eyes practically broadcasting: Is there something you need?

Ping Yuan silently turned back around.

She lived in an old-school complex, a development from over a decade ago. The location was excellent, essentially a dormitory for government employees. The layout was square, the environment was quiet, and everything was fine… except there was no elevator. Returning home every day required seven flights of stairs, her forced cardio.

She had always thought that was the biggest flaw, but she hadn’t realized that the primary enemy preventing her from entering her own home today would be a rusted lock.

The lock was showing its age. It had been acting up lately, but between the overtime and her own procrastination, she had pushed it until today.

And now, she was in a jam.

Ping Yuan pressed her lips together, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck.

Xia Chao was still standing behind her. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on and off with the rattling of the keys, casting Xia Chao’s shadow over Ping Yuan. Despite the distance between them, Ping Yuan felt as if she could sense the girl’s breath on her neck.

Blame it on the heat. When two people are within half a meter of each other in this weather, a stifling humidity is born out of thin air. She hated this stickiness. She wanted to fan herself but feared it would make her look weak, so she endured it.

What exactly do kids eat these days? Ping Yuan didn’t consider herself short, yet eighteen-year-old Xia Chao had sprouted up to be even taller than her.

She felt a twinge of resentment—hard to say if it was adult pride or a sister’s stubborn vanity. What annoyed her more was that Xia Chao actually had a strikingly sharp, clear face. Bright eyes, jet-black hair—she still carried the softness of adolescence, but her posture was as straight and resilient as a young bamboo shoot breaking through snow.

Except her hair was a mess. Sweat had matted a few strands to her forehead, while another tuft poked out stubbornly. Back in the car, Ping Yuan had glimpsed her in the rearview mirror; the girl was clutching her backpack and staring out the window, her face written with defiance.

A wild child, Ping Yuan muttered to herself. Who knows where she got that rebellious streak.

Fortunately, the key finally turned. Ping Yuan didn’t have to continue her mental struggle. She took a deep breath, pushed the key in a bit further, found that elusive “sweet spot,” caught the spring, and applied pressure.

Click. The door swung open.

******

Xia Chao followed Ping Yuan into the apartment.

The moment she stepped inside, the “deathly exhaustion” of a workday finally crushed Ping Yuan. She kicked off her shoes, marched into the living room toward the kitchen, and with practiced nonchalance, kicked two dusty dumbbells under the table as she passed.

She yanked open the fridge, poured herself a glass of lemon water, and downed it in one go. Setting the glass down with a soft clack, she turned back to see Xia Chao still standing there.

“Come in. Why are you hovering at the door?” she asked.

Trapped at the threshold, Xia Chao’s fingers dug awkwardly into the doorframe. After a long pause, she stammered, “I… I don’t have shoes…”

She admitted to a certain sense of trepidation.

Ping Yuan’s home wasn’t large, but it was unmistakably the sanctuary of a single urban woman. Everything in sight was tidy. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall, and a bird-shaped chandelier dangled from the ceiling. Xia Chao watched as Ping Yuan snapped her fingers, calling out to some sort of electronic spirit and a moment later, a lamp flickered on and a humidifier began to puff out milky-white mist.

The scent was citrusy, like a fresh orange being sliced open. It was bright and pleasant.

Xia Chao looked down at her own filthy shoes. They weren’t just covered in dust and mud; there were also two clear footprints from someone stepping on her in the crowd during the trip.

Ugly and dirty. She was a country kid, out of place in every way.

Back home, there were no lights that responded to a voice, and no robot vacuums that moved on their own. There was only an old bamboo broom, as old as she was. Usually, she used it to sweep the floor; when she was being a brat, her mother used it to swat her.

But that was a long time ago. She fell silent.

Ping Yuan, of course, neither knew nor cared what Xia Chao was thinking. Because she had kicked the dumbbells too hard earlier, her toe was throbbing, but she was far too stubborn to let it show. She merely swept her gaze over Xia Chao, noticing her awkwardly clutching the hem of her white T-shirt.

The young girl’s hands were long and elegant, her features clean and well-defined. Even with her shirt bunched into a wrinkled mess, she still looked fresh and vibrant.

The vitality of youth, Ping Yuan thought, taking a sip of water. And she’s so tall. It really wasn’t fair. It was one thing for her mother to abandon her, but why couldn’t she have given her those height genes too?

She walked over with a cool expression and pointed. “Your slippers are here.”

“They’re new.”

Xia Chao followed her gesture to a pair of brand-new, pure white slippers. They featured a 3D rubber decoration of a round-headed white cat.

However, the cat looked displeased; its mouth was represented by a black “X.”

Xia Chao glanced at Ping Yuan’s feet. She was wearing pea-green slippers decorated with a round-headed, floppy-eared tan puppy.

The pea-green suited Ping Yuan; her skin was fair, and the muted green made her legs look even paler. But the dog looked… rustic. A bit goofy.

“What?” Ping Yuan saw her dazed expression and assumed she didn’t like them. “Just make do. They were on sale at the supermarket downstairs; two pairs for nineteen-ninety.”

Cheap and nasty, Ping Yuan thought. She was convinced these slippers were knock-offs of Miffy the Rabbit and Line Dog, legally distinct only because the lines were so abstract.

Xia Chao shook her head. “They’re cute. Thank you.”

The wild child has manners.

Ping Yuan didn’t acknowledge the compliment. She turned and headed back to the kitchen.

Assuming she was going to cook, Xia Chao followed quickly, intending to help. She prided herself on being a decent cook; since Xia Ling got sick, her life had revolved around school, the hospital, and home. Naturally, she handled the meals.

Then, she watched Ping Yuan lean down, open the fridge, and pull out one… two… plates of leftovers covered in plastic wrap.

The rice cooker emitted a timely beep as the timer finished. Ping Yuan walked over and popped the lid, instantly filling the room with the aroma of rice.

Xia Chao stood in the kitchen and peered into the cooker.

The rice was clearly made with too much water. When Ping Yuan stirred it, it looked mushy and gelatinous.

Ping Yuan peeled off the plastic wrap and tossed the plates into the microwave. Xia Chao remained silent, staring at the woman’s back with growing apprehension.

Is this food… actually edible?

*****

Author’s Note:

“Staring out the window, whenever I think of the things I regret in this life / plum blossoms fall all over Nanshan.” From the poem In the Mirror by Zhang Zao.

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