Heading for the Plains - Chapter 21

At two o’clock in the morning, Xia Chao opened her eyes again, feeling a mix of indignation and resignation as she looked at the deeply sleeping Ping Yuan beside her.

She finally understood why Zhu Cijing refused to share a bed with this woman.

Because her sleeping posture was terrible.

Before drifting off, they had been back-to-back, each occupying half of the quilt. By the middle of the night, however, the air-conditioning blanket had been entirely requisitioned by Ping Yuan.

The AC hummed coldly in the room. Without the bedding, Xia Chao’s hands and feet were turning icy. She grabbed a corner of the quilt, trying to pull it back, only to find it seemingly welded to Ping Yuan’s body. No matter how hard she tugged, it wouldn’t budge.

Looking over with a complex expression, Xia Chao realized that Ping Yuan had somehow wrapped herself in the blanket like a human burrito. She occupied most of the quilt, and worse, her weight was firmly pinning it down, making it impossible to reclaim.

Xia Chao lay stiffly on the bed, feeling a wave of despair.

There was only one way to get it back: unwrap Ping Yuan like a zongzi leaf and yank the blanket free. But that would be too loud, would definitely wake her up, and frankly, would look a bit… creepy.

She didn’t want to be labeled a midnight creep.

But she was so cold.

The comfortable, cool temperature from earlier had become a form of torture. Xia Chao curled into a ball, swearing never again to say she liked “blasting the AC while under a heavy quilt.” Ping Yuan was truly a menace; no wonder Xia Ling used to scold her as a child.

Shaking like a bean sprout in a winter gale, Xia Chao rolled back and forth on the empty half of the bed until she finally couldn’t take it anymore and sat up.

Creep it is, then. As the saying goes: Dignity is small, but freezing to death is a big deal!

Ping Yuan remained fast asleep. After a moment of mental preparation, Xia Chao took a deep breath and reached out.

The night was so quiet that she could hear her own heartbeat, thudding like a drum, growing clearer with every second. She moved with extreme care, hoping not to wake her. One turn, two turns… until the weight on the quilt vanished, and she gingerly pulled it back to her side.

Success. Ping Yuan didn’t wake. The thin quilt settled over Xia Chao like a soft cloud, the silky fabric brushing her shins. She let out a long sigh of relief, finally feeling the warmth return.

Drowsiness washed over her. It’s that blissful moment of being half-awake, knowing you’re about to fall into a deep, dark sleep. She stretched her arms, ready to drift off, when she suddenly felt a soft, fuzzy warmth on her arm.

Ping Yuan had hugged her.

Well, “hugged” wasn’t exactly right. Ping Yuan had simply rolled over and happened to latch onto Xia Chao’s arm. Probably because she had been moved to the center of the bed during the “quilt heist,” she had instinctively turned and grabbed the nearest heat source.

Soft, long hair brushed against Xia Chao’s forearm, creating a light itch. Ping Yuan’s breath was steady and even, falling into the hollow of Xia Chao’s neck like a snowflake waiting to melt. She was completely unguarded, her vulnerability on full display.

I’ll say it three times: Didn’t you warn me before bed not to lean too close?

So what is this…?

Xia Chao was pinned. The contact was a constant source of warmth—soft and humid—making her head feel heavy. In her entire life, she had never been this close to anyone other than her mother. Her heart hammered. She tried to carefully slide her arm out.

Then, she heard Ping Yuan mumbling in her sleep.

First came a string of unintelligible English, followed by fragments of talk about “clients” and “spreadsheets.” Finally, with her eyes closed and her long lashes trembling, she actually started reciting a text.

“In the Northern Ocean there is a fish… its name is Kun… the Kun is so large… cut it into pieces, add ginger, sear it in a hot pan, add hot water, boil until the soup is milky white…”

It was Free and Easy Wandering mixed with the fish soup recipe Xia Chao had taught her at dinner.

Ping Yuan continued her broken, quiet mumbles, and Xia Chao had to punch her own thigh to keep from laughing out loud.

Who would believe this? The woman who was so arrogant and composed before bed was now snuggled up, mumbling nonsense about cooking legendary fish.

Ping Yuan, you’ve finally met your match.

Xia Chao bit her lip to suppress a grin, but curiosity got the better of her. She leaned in closer to hear what else was happening in Ping Yuan’s dream.

The mumbling moved on to the Memorial on the Case for the Expedition. “The Late Emperor had not yet finished his grand design before the budget ran out… damn it… even an Emperor couldn’t handle this budget…”

A string of complex corporate jargon followed. Hearing it made Xia Chao feel like her brain was short-circuiting.

Fine, I guess working all day and studying all night is torturing both of us.

Feeling a renewed sense of camaraderie, Xia Chao gave Ping Yuan’s shoulder a comforting pat and tried once more to slowly extract her arm.

“Don’t go.”

In the darkness, her hand was suddenly gripped tight. Xia Chao’s eyes went wide as she heard a whisper.

“Mama.”

This whimper was nothing like the previous mumbling. The peacefully sleeping Ping Yuan vanished. As Xia Chao tried to pull away, Ping Yuan gripped her with such force her knuckles turned white, trapped in the clutches of a nightmare.

“Don’t leave me… don’t leave Yuanyuan…” She remained with her eyes shut, her long lashes trembling. “Please, don’t leave me at the hospital gates.”

“I’ll be good, I’ll eat well, I’ll sleep… I won’t be naughty anymore… Mama…” her voice was a tragic plea. “Please, don’t let go of me…”

The grip on Xia Chao’s wrist was painful. For a moment, Xia Chao wished she couldn’t understand what Ping Yuan was saying; the pain that flared in her chest was sharp and tearing.

She knew exactly what Ping Yuan was begging for. In her dream, she was four years old again, the child begging her mother not to abandon her.

But her mother wasn’t coming back.

Xia Chao looked at her deeply, finally realizing that her own presence must be a form of cruelty to Ping Yuan. All the optimism and courage Xia Chao possessed came from a mother’s love, but to Ping Yuan, those things were like exhibits behind a glass window—visible but unreachable.

Xia Ling hadn’t intentionally abandoned them, but time and death had. Ping Yuan was separated from her mother by twenty years of lost time and the finality of death. The truth of her past and the news of her mother’s death had arrived together; her mother’s love had turned into a phantom the moment she found it.

Ping Yuan had every reason to hate her. Their relationship was like the moon—one side bright, the other destined to remain in the dark.

But Ping Yuan hadn’t done anything. In the silence of the night, she just cried quietly without a word of resentment. As a sister, she had been more than good enough—kind and incredibly patient.

Xia Chao felt a sudden surge of regret. She shouldn’t have argued with her on that first night.

She watched Ping Yuan’s wet lashes, clumped together like the wings of a butterfly caught in the rain. She wanted to hug her—to look into her eyes, press her forehead against hers, and smooth out her tangled hair. She even wanted to kiss her tear-stained eyes, just as a mother comforts a child.

She couldn’t name the feeling. Was it sisterly bond? Was she standing in for their mother? Or was it something else entirely, woven from the two?

She couldn’t describe it. Finally, she just reached out and gently wiped a tear from the corner of Ping Yuan’s eye. Her arm settled back down, letting Ping Yuan hold onto her, while she turned and pulled her sister into a protective embrace.

She patted Ping Yuan’s back softly. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. I’m right here.”

The weeping woman curled into her arms. Her face was wet. Xia Chao felt a soft, damp “fire” against her cheek—the heat of it made her shiver.

But this time she didn’t let go. Instead, she pulled her sister tighter, allowing her to nestle deeper into her embrace. They were pressed close, their legs tangling together under the quilt, their bare skin sharing warmth. Xia Chao felt hot, but Ping Yuan seemed to think it wasn’t enough, clutching Xia Chao’s collar until it was wrinkled.

“So cold,” Ping Yuan whispered.

Xia Chao finally understood why she hogged the quilt; she was freezing. Because she was afraid of being left behind, she clung to whatever was near, wrapping herself in layers to hide from fate.

Big dummy.

Xia Chao thought of Ping Yuan’s words from earlier and whispered in her heart: Sister, you’re the big dummy.

The “dummy” didn’t know she was being teased. She just felt the embrace and snuggled closer with a sigh of satisfaction. Her hair was long and silky, and as Xia Chao stroked it, it felt even better than she had imagined.

The Ping Yuan of the daytime was as sharp and cold as glass, but held like this, she was so soft. Every inch of their skin seemed to touch, creating a hazy, alluring heat. The warm breath against her neck, still damp with tears, made Xia Chao feel a strange, delicate emotion washing through her.

She couldn’t explain the feeling, but in that moment, for the sake of the quiet breathing in her arms, she wanted to be both a blade to protect her and a torch to warm her. For now, she just stayed in the gentle silence, counting heartbeats, carrying a dream and a pair of eyes that had run out of tears.

She didn’t know how to name this tenderness, so she just stared at the sleeping Ping Yuan in a daze.

The night was very still. She suddenly heard the sound of rain outside.

It was a light rain, tapping gently against the glass. The moon hid behind the clouds, and the amber streetlights illuminated the drifting mist of water. The world felt lonely and clean, leaving only the flickering thoughts in her heart.

She didn’t know when the rain had started. Maybe just now, or maybe a long time ago; her heartbeat had been too loud to hear it. Summer rains are like that: either world-shaking or completely silent, drifting in the dark places where the streetlights can’t reach, waiting.

And she listened in the dark, her heart both chaotic and calm.

When does the heart of an eighteen-year-old begin to stir? So many people try to define the exact moment of a first crush, not knowing that a young girl’s heart is a hazy thing. By the time you start wondering “is this it?”, the feeling is already there. By the time you realize you like someone, you find that the moment of wonder was already the sprout of love.

Just like this summer night: by the time you notice the rain, it has already been falling for a long time.

Xia Chao, of course, was still unaware of this. As the rain fell, she simply closed her eyes. She had expected a long, difficult night, but she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The next morning, she was the first to wake. Everything was as it usually was. She got up at seven. Ping Yuan was still groggy; Xia Chao gently tucked the quilt around her, told her she could sleep longer, and then let go to go brush her teeth. She began her busy morning shift as she always did.

The rain had stopped. The morning light grew brighter, like a white horse passing the window. The leaves were washed a brilliant emerald. Everything was brand new.

Regarding last night’s tears, she decided to keep them a secret. She wouldn’t tell anyone. Not even Ping Yuan.

So, Ping Yuan had no idea what had happened. To her, it was just another day with the sun rising as usual. She woke up in the light, hearing her alarm just as she became aware of the brightness.

Her body felt light and warm, like a fresh feather pillow. Her cheek brushed against the quilt; everything felt cozy and soft. For the first time, she wanted to stay in bed.

How strange. I thought I’d sleep poorly last night. She knew she got cold easily when she slept, and she’d turned the AC up for Xia Chao’s sake.

Speaking of Xia Chao, the spot beside her was empty. She must have gone to work. Ping Yuan stifled a yawn and went to wash up.

The moment she stepped out of the room, she smelled breakfast. She walked over to find a plate of round, white buns, steaming hot.

For the sake of convenience, she usually ate Western breakfasts—cold milk with cereal or a bagel with ham and lettuce. It was healthy and fast but a bit meager. Xia Chao had put up with it for a while, but finally reached her limit. Yesterday, she’d bought a dozen “Chinese bagels” (A.K.A. frozen buns). The hot dough had a solid, comforting fragrance. The steam rose in sweet clouds, warming Ping Yuan’s stomach just by smelling it.

There was a sticky note on the fridge. Ping Yuan pulled it off and saw Xia Chao’s handwriting:

Breakfast is in the pot! Eat it while it’s hot! 🙂

She had even drawn a smiley face at the end.

Zhu Cijing emerged from the bathroom. She had to catch an early train. The normally flashy beauty was yawning incessantly, her fiery red hair flat and messy.

Ping Yuan looked at the note and gave her a faint smile. “Morning.”

Cijing looked at her as if she’d seen a ghost and slammed the bathroom door shut. Three seconds later, she poked her head out cautiously. “You’re in a suspiciously good mood today. Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” Ping Yuan thought. But for some reason, the words wouldn’t come out. It felt too awkward to admit she’d slept well because she was with Xia Chao. It made it sound like she couldn’t sleep alone.

She was convinced the good sleep was just a coincidence.

Cijing’s suspicious gaze scanned her face. Finally, Ping Yuan suppressed the urge to smile, looked away, and replied coolly, “It was alright.”

To Cijing’s ears, that meant “absolutely wonderful.”

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