Heading for the Plains - Chapter 20

Entering Ping Yuan’s bedroom, Xia Chao didn’t know whether to lead with her left foot or her right.

You couldn’t blame her for being useless; Ping Yuan just had that “do not approach” aura. Xia Chao had lived here for over a week, and she still hadn’t seen what the inside of this room looked like. Whenever she did chores, she’d mop right up to the door, see it slightly ajar, think for a second, and then obediently turn back.

I have basic manners and respect for boundaries, Xia Chao told herself.

Being yanked into the room tonight was a total accident. Standing stiffly at the threshold, she pondered for a few seconds before deciding to step in with her left foot.

The room wasn’t particularly shocking. It shared the same clean, detached aesthetic as the rest of the house: grey-toned bedding, a sleek nightlight on the nightstand, and a few books neatly organized on a small shelf. The covers were entirely in English, with colorful index tabs poking out from the sides—proof that the owner read them thoroughly and didn’t just use them for decoration.

And there, nestled among those highbrow English volumes, was a purple-covered “5-3” Gaokao workbook with big yellow letters. It was also meticulously tabbed, clearly showing that Ping Yuan had been studying it just to teach her.

Xia Chao guiltily looked away. Her textbook looked incredibly… childish among those other books.

Ping Yuan had finished brushing her teeth and was now sitting at her vanity. Hearing the movement at the door, she turned around.

“Coming in?” she asked, seeing Xia Chao standing at attention like a student in the principal’s office.

“Oh… right.” Xia Chao marched in, her movements stiff and uncoordinated.

Ping Yuan glanced at her. The girl looked like she didn’t know where to put her arms. “Sit.”

“Sit… where?”

Xia Chao scanned the room. No chairs, only the bed. She hesitated, wondering if she should just sit on the rug.

“On the bed.” Ping Yuan looked helpless. The serum on her face hadn’t fully absorbed yet, leaving her skin dewy—like a night-blooming flower touched by mist. It was a young, unguarded face.

Xia Chao suddenly found it hard to look at her. She lowered her head. “Okay.”

She sat down primly, knees together and hands folded on top.

“Take off your bra.”

“Okay… WHAT?!”

How? Where? And… where do I put it afterward?!

A flurry of panicked questions raced through Xia Chao’s mind. She stared at Ping Yuan, her wide eyes desperately broadcasting a giant question mark.

Ping Yuan just gave her a strange look. “Are you really going to sleep in a bra? It’s not good for development.” She paused, then looked hesitant. “Or… is that just how you sleep?”

Maybe I should respect her habits, Ping Yuan thought silently.

Xia Chao had only been wearing it under her pajamas because she felt it was improper to be too casual as a guest. But now that they were sharing a bed, she couldn’t exactly keep it on. She bit her lip and reached for her shirt. She wanted to tell Ping Yuan to turn around, but then realized she’d already been acting awkward for a while; saying something now would just make it weirder.

Forget it. We’re both women. We’re sleeping together anyway. Nothing to hide.

With a burst of resolve, she pulled her pajama top off. Her new pajamas were still drying, so she was wearing an old white T-shirt—thankfully not the SpongeBob one. She quickly unhooked her bra and lunged for her shirt, her hands shaking so much she fumbled while turning it right-side out.

A flash of a smooth, slender back passed before Ping Yuan’s eyes. Xia Chao’s hair, washed tonight, was down, the ends brushing her shoulders like a soft cloud.

She was clearly mortified; even her ears were a deep pink. Ping Yuan lowered her eyes, suddenly not knowing where to look herself. She hadn’t meant to look, but the mirror on the vanity had cruelly reflected the scene behind her.

Ping Yuan blinked rapidly, staring intently at a bottle of skincare product, feeling a heat rising in her own earlobes.

It’s all Xia Chao’s fault, she grumbled inwardly, though she couldn’t think of exactly why. Stupid Xia Chao.

When Xia Chao finally turned around, both of them were sitting there with bright red ears.

Well. Being shy is miserable when you’re the only one nervous, but if both people are uncomfortable, the embarrassment somehow lessens. Xia Chao took a deep breath to break the silence, though the topic was still a bit awkward.

“Where do I put my… undergarment?”

Ping Yuan kept her eyes down and pointed to a rack. “There.”

A few of Ping Yuan’s own clothes were already hanging there, an orderly row of black, white, and grey. Xia Chao hung hers up and quickly returned to the bed, not wanting to look too closely at the private items.

Ping Yuan’s bed was immaculate. Xia Chao sat on the duvet, feeling it was impolite to just lift the covers and climb in.

“Can we get into bed now?” she asked politely.

Ping Yuan was taking a sip of water and nearly choked. “Cough—cough!”

That was the second time tonight she’d choked over the topic of sleeping, for reasons she couldn’t explain. Xia Chao was looking at her with a clear, innocent face, waiting for an answer. Her soft pajama fabric draped loosely over her.

Ping Yuan took a deep breath. “Sure… go ahead. It’s late.”

Xia Chao climbed under the covers. The faint scent of gardenias enveloped her again. Ping Yuan’s 1.8-meter bed was much more spacious than the narrow guest bed; sharing it really was more logical than the sofa. The soft cotton sheets smelled like fresh laundry—a familiar comfort that made Xia Chao yawn. Tears pricked her eyes as she blinked at the nightlight.

The AC hummed, and the sheets felt silky and cool. She stretched out like a snail extending its feelers, feeling her body heat gradually warm the space.

Then, she felt a sudden draft. Ping Yuan had lifted the quilt and flopped down beside her.

“What?” Ping Yuan asked, seeing Xia Chao’s startled look.

“…Nothing.” I just feel like an idiot for being so formal.

Ping Yuan didn’t press her. She stretched, turned over, and—click—flicked off the main light. Only the small nightlight remained, a dim, hazy glow like a personal moon in the room.

Ping Yuan was wearing a set of cream-colored loungewear, soft and fragrant. The cotton fabric made her look approachable. Her long black hair spilled across the pillow, the strands catching the light from behind, making her features look soft and gentle—like the negative space around a moon in an ink painting.

Xia Chao slowed her breathing, afraid to break the peace. She moved carefully, trying not to brush against Ping Yuan.

Ping Yuan was thinking. She remembered how Cijing and Xia Chao had argued over the bed earlier and felt a bit miffed. Some of my younger staff are scared of me too, she sighed. She decided to offer an olive branch.

She shifted her leg slightly toward Xia Chao.

A warm presence drew closer. The faint, clean scent of someone’s hair wafted over. Xia Chao’s eyes widened as she saw Ping Yuan’s hair nestling against a pale cheek—an image of unexpected softness.

Then, she heard Ping Yuan’s soft voice: “Did you memorize tonight’s text?”

…?

She still remembers that?! Xia Chao thought they were taking the night off after the mall and the guest!

“I… I didn’t…” she stammered.

Ping Yuan gave a “just as I thought” look. “Then let’s do it now.”

I should have just gone to sleep! Xia Chao cried internally. “Okay.”

Usually, they did written dictation. “Should I get a pen?” she asked.

“No.” Ping Yuan held out her palm. “Write it on my hand.”

Xia Chao was stunned. “You can tell what I’m writing just by feel?” Some characters were very complex.

“Mhm,” Ping Yuan nodded. “When I was in the hospital as a kid, I was bored. I used to beg the lady in the next bed to play guessing games with me.”

Wow… Xia Chao felt a surge of admiration and a sudden softening of her heart. She’d been to hospitals; she knew what they were like. Imagining a tiny Ping Yuan in a hospital gown, huddled on a bed guessing characters to pass the time, made her heart ache.

“Okay then.”

They were lying on their sides, facing each other. For the first time, Xia Chao spoke in a whisper, realizing her breath was ruffling the hair near Ping Yuan’s nose. Her heart began to race.

“Begin,” Ping Yuan said.

And so, they started. It was serious, dry, and relentless—moving from classical prose to English vocabulary.

Ping Yuan hadn’t been bragging; she caught every hesitation. Whenever Xia Chao tried to fudge a stroke, Ping Yuan would catch her immediately, her eyes crinkling with that familiar, triumphant smirk.

If she got it right, Ping Yuan gave a soft “Mm” of approval. If wrong, a breathy “Uh-uh” to stop her. The sounds were as light as feathers, yet the “judge” was merciless. Xia Chao bit her lip in deep concentration, her heart being toyed with by every sound.

The distance was too close. The warmth and the breath were right there. Xia Chao realized that this soft, warm contact was a distracting, itchy kind of interference. At the peak of her focus, her ears were burning, yet the judge just lifted her chin and looked at her with an unguarded, provocative face.

Xia Chao was so annoyed she wanted to bite her. She probably tastes great.

The “judge,” however, was oblivious. Ping Yuan’s smile deepened. She admitted this back-and-forth was pleasant—like watching a flickering flame in the dark; you couldn’t help but want to get closer.

Xia Chao, her mind a mess under that gaze, looked down and—moved by some strange impulse—drew a little cat. A circle, two pointy ears, a pressed-shut mouth, and proud eyes.

“Wrong,” Ping Yuan said instantly.

Xia Chao’s heart hammered, but she didn’t give in. “Where is it wrong?”

“Everything is wrong.”

“You’re lying,” Xia Chao whispered. “It’s not that easy to guess.”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

Ping Yuan raised her eyes.

Xia Chao was lying. They both knew it, but neither chose to expose it. Ping Yuan felt her breathing slow as she gazed at the girl. Youth is wonderful, she thought. Jet-black hair, fair skin; everything looked so clear in the hazy light. Xia Chao had a very straight nose; with the nightlight behind her, her face was lit in “Rembrandt lighting”—soft yet mysterious.

Ping Yuan wondered what those eyes would look like when the girl was thirty; they would probably be as deep as a dark, wine-colored sea. But now, at eighteen, they were shallow enough to see the bottom.

She realized why she wasn’t exposing the lie. She liked seeing Xia Chao’s blustering nerves. The way she looked at you with her whole heart on display, even as she bit her lip as if she were telling a monumental lie. She was cute when she was being “bad.”

Ping Yuan lowered her eyes, grabbed Xia Chao’s wrist, and wrote on her palm, stroke by stroke: I hate you.

Then, she let go. “Now, you try.”

Xia Chao fell into deep thought, guessing aimlessly and predictably getting every single one wrong. Ping Yuan’s lips curled in that same silent, irritating smile.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Xia Chao was going crazy. She tried every combination of three-letter words she could think of. The result was always: “Nope.”

Finally, Xia Chao surrendered in defeat. “I can’t guess it. Just tell me.”

“Big dummy.” (Da Ben Dan).

“Hey! Why are you calling me names just to unlock the code!”

“I’m not calling you a name,” Ping Yuan said calmly, her cheek nestled in the duvet, looking both soft and cold. “I’m saying I wrote ‘Big Dummy’.”

“You’re cheating!” Xia Chao was shocked by her audacity, but then she realized something. They were facing each other, so the characters were mirrored—except for “Big” (大), which looks the same mirrored. “The ‘Big’ isn’t written like that! Your first character wasn’t symmetrical! You cheated!”

A soft laugh escaped Ping Yuan, a genuine one this time.

“I didn’t,” she lied shamelessly. “It’s just not that easy to guess. If I’m lying, I’m a puppy.”

She was definitely wrong. Xia Chao couldn’t believe someone could be so bold-faced. Then it hit her: Ping Yuan was using Xia Chao’s own trick against her.

She finally understood how annoying it was to have someone refuse to admit a lie. Xia Chao pouted, but she couldn’t admit her own fault. I am NOT admitting I drew a cat!

Ping Yuan saw every shift of expression on the girl’s face. Finally, Xia Chao turned away like a pufferfish—bloated with annoyance and guilt. She rolled over, buried her face in the quilt, and wrapped herself into a “cocoon” like a silkworm.

A total escape from reality. Ping Yuan narrowed her eyes, reached over, and patted the cocoon. “Mad?”

Silence.

Ping Yuan thought for a moment and lightly patted her back. “I’ll tell you a secret if you turn around.”

No response.

“Do you want to know the trick to how I always guess right?”

The cocoon slowly unwound. “Tell me.”

“Answer one question first,” Ping Yuan said seriously. She held up her left hand. “This is ‘Mad’.” She held up her right. “This is ‘Not Mad’.”

She held both hands in front of Xia Chao. “Which one do you pick?”

Xia Chao huffed and slapped the “Not Mad” hand.

“Mhm,” Ping Yuan nodded with satisfaction. “Now you’re the puppy.”

Xia Chao’s eyes went wide. She was about to protest when she realized this was a popular “dog-training” meme. Xiao Zhen always watched videos of Border Collies putting their paws in their owners’ hands.

Great. I’m the Border Collie. Or maybe the stupidest kind of dog.

Xia Chao was fuming. Seeing Ping Yuan looking happier than she had in years, she wanted to swear never to speak to her again, but she still wanted that “secret.”

“The trick…?” she grumbled.

“That,” the mischievous adult mused. “First, I memorized all this stuff perfectly years ago; the muscle memory is still there. Second…” she turned serious, “…you are a terrible liar.”

“Every time you encounter a character you’re unsure of, you stop and think. You either touch your nose or bite your lip. As long as I see you thinking, I pay extra attention to that word.”

“Thirty percent skill, seventy percent luck,” she said breezily, let out a yawn. “That’s enough for today.”

“Supposedly, I have a terrible sleeping posture. Be careful not to lean too close. Goodnight.”

With that, she let out a pleasant stretch.

She is a total villain! Xia Chao thought. A face of ice and a heart full of ink. She watched as Ping Yuan buried her face in the quilt, swearing she wouldn’t talk to her until work tomorrow.

Of course, that oath was broken very quickly.

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