Heading for the Plains - Chapter 26

When the weekend finally arrived, they indeed went to explore the morning market. It was a rare day off, yet both had to painfully “peel” themselves out of bed at seven in the morning. As they brushed their teeth and washed up with half-closed eyes, they each felt a lingering regret for the reckless things they had blurted out in the middle of the night.

But words are like spilled water; impossible to retrieve. Fortunately, the bustling weekend morning market did not disappoint anyone.

Except for Ping Yuan.

After witnessing Ping Yuan complete a transaction where she paid exactly what the stall owner quoted without a second thought, Xia Chao finally realized another significant reason why Ping Yuan disliked the market, besides being busy with work.

She had absolutely no idea how to haggle.

Of course, this wasn’t to say Ping Yuan was a naive fool who didn’t understand the value of a dollar. On the contrary, because of her job, Xia Chao knew she was incredibly sensitive to numbers. However, that sharp, penny-pinching acumen completely vanished when she faced an elderly lady carrying a vegetable yoke, tremblingly tying greens together with rice straw.

Xia Chao watched with amusement as Ping Yuan obediently paid for an overpriced section of lotus root. She finally couldn’t help but walk over, take the root, and say helplessly, “You know you overpaid, right?”

She had already realized that Ping Yuan was a classic case of “tough talk, soft heart.” Ping Yuan likely realized it too, as a faint pink hue touched her cheeks. Her straight black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and standing in this noisy market, she looked a bit out of place in her cleanliness—like a little girl stepping into a wet market for the first time.

This reminded Xia Chao of when she was ten. Back then, she had been just as stiff, clutching the dirty bills Xia Ling had given her, too embarrassed to open her mouth.

Looking at the Ping Yuan of today, Xia Chao’s heart softened. She found herself repeating the very words Xia Ling had said to her during her first trip to the market.

“If you’re embarrassed to haggle, let me do it.”

Haggling at the market isn’t exactly a vital survival skill; Ping Yuan lived perfectly well using grocery apps. Xia Chao saw no reason to make things difficult for her, or to force someone so thin-skinned to crouch before a vegetable stall over a few cents.

Ping Yuan seemed to understand the kindness, as her ears turned a shade redder. She gave Xia Chao a blustering glare and retorted with the same stubbornness Xia Chao had shown at age ten: “If you knew I was overpaying, why didn’t you say something earlier?”

Xia Chao just laughed. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

In reality, she just didn’t want to embarrass her. This time, Xia Chao hooked her finger into the hem of Ping Yuan’s shirt and pulled her along. “Leave the rest to me.”

******

Unlike a supermarket where vegetables are neatly displayed, priced, and washed a brilliant green, the market at 8:00 AM was a chaotic, complex ocean. Freshly slaughtered pork and beef arrived steaming from the slaughterhouse, hanging in full sides from the oily, black iron hooks of the meat stalls. You could still see the blue inspection stamps on the snowy-white pigskin.

Morning is always when everything is at its freshest. Stalls displayed a riot of colors: deep greens, bright yellows, vivid reds, and heavy purples. Elderly shoppers, hands behind their backs and clutching supermarket bags or pulling small plastic carts, hovered before the stalls, meticulously selecting each stalk of mountain yam.

The air carried the scent of fermented rice and pickled vegetables. The owner of the pickle shop was hauling out heavy, dark iron vats one by one. Seeing Ping Yuan looking over, he called out warmly, “Homemade sweet rice wine and pickles! Taste before you buy!”

Ping Yuan instinctively gave a polite shake of her head, but Xia Chao was already pulling her away. “Let’s get breakfast first!”

Breakfast, of course, wasn’t pickles. The empty space next to the pickle shop was where the mobile street vendors gathered. A tricycle was parked there, holding several layers of large white-tin steamers stacked high, each layer covered with a white cloth and billowing steam.

One layer held warm corn juice and black soy milk; others were filled with various steamed buns—meat, pickled vegetable, or vegetarian, each pinched into different pleats or marked with colored dots to tell them apart.

That familiar, smoky atmosphere… it seemed breakfast stalls were the same all across the country. As Xia Chao greeted the vendor, she turned to check on Ping Yuan. “Still one vegetable bun, one meat bun, and a cup of soy milk?”

This was the breakfast habit she had summarized for Ping Yuan over the past two weeks. The other woman gave a dignified nod.

The buns were handed over, snowy white and piping hot; the steam hit their faces with every bite. Ping Yuan took a sip of soy milk and watched as Xia Chao began to shop.

In just half a month, Xia Chao had become completely familiar with the market people. It was hard for anyone to reject such a pretty, cheerful girl. Ping Yuan watched her greet every auntie and grandma at the stalls with a smile—first complimenting the woman at the meat stall on her lucky red outfit, then praising the fruit vendor’s stylish new perm.

She had everyone beaming, their eyes filled with maternal affection as they tipped the scales high in her favor. While Ping Yuan bit into her bun, Xia Chao managed to get a 20% discount on fresh ribs for soup. While Ping Yuan sipped her milk, the fruit vendor laughingly gave Xia Chao a handful of fresh yellow cherries for free.

Even Ping Yuan benefited. When the vegetable vendor saw Xia Chao coming, she called out from a distance, “Little Xia! I saved some of the new tender mustard greens just for you. Buy some for your sister!”

“Thanks, Auntie Huang!” Xia Chao replied loudly. “But my sister doesn’t like greens! She’s a picky eater!”

This brat! Ping Yuan was about to glare at her, but the vendor was already laughing. “Oh, right, you mentioned that. I forgot. Want some fresh bamboo shoots? They’re delicious stir-fried with meat!”

“I’ll take them!” Xia Chao replied, her voice crisp and sweet. “Auntie Huang, your vegetables are always the best!”

A plump shoot was picked up, the dirt brushed off, the husks peeled away to reveal the clean, white meat inside. This stall used an electronic scale. Xia Chao took a plastic bag, packed the shoot, and then leaned down to pick out some freshly harvested cucumbers.

The rolling droplets of water made the produce look vivid and dew-fresh. Ping Yuan watched her navigate the crowd of vendors with ease, her high ponytail swaying energetically behind her head. She suspected every stall owner wanted to adopt her.

Xia Chao seemed to have a natural gift for making people like her. Ping Yuan thought of the scene at the milk tea shop she’d witnessed, and the laughter and chatter she was hearing now.

Suddenly, Xia Chao was back at her side, her eyes bright and smiling. “Open up.”

Surprised, Ping Yuan was about to ask why when a fresh cherry was popped into her mouth. Soft, tart, and sweet.

This time, it was Xia Chao’s turn to ask with crinkled eyes, “Is it good?”

It was indeed good. Ping Yuan nodded instinctively.

Xia Chao’s smile grew even more brilliant. “That’s good.”

Her gaze was so single-minded, as if her entire world was centered on Ping Yuan. Looking at her, Ping Yuan felt her footsteps grow momentarily light and airy.

*******

It was a strange feeling. It wasn’t that Ping Yuan lacked experience in the real world. During the year she was shortest on tuition in university, she had worked multiple tutoring jobs, clutching a meager salary and calculating every day how to solve her meals in the cheapest way possible.

But those were survival experiences within an ivory tower. She was familiar with discounted bread past its “best before” date from convenience stores, 60-cent portions of rice from the canteen, and free soups as thin as dishwater.

Living like a lone wolf, she had never wandered through a wet market with someone else. On those nights at twenty years old, sitting on a high stool by a convenience store window, she could never have dreamed that one day she would stand in a morning market with another person, eating hot buns, drinking soy milk, and sharing a handful of fresh cherries.

This feeling… felt like running a home.

And she didn’t even hate it. Even though the roles were reversed and she, who was used to keeping everything in her own grip, was being taken care of by Xia Chao.

That was the strangest part. This inexplicable sense of security was actually quite unsettling.

This peculiar feeling lasted until Xia Chao finished shopping and reached out a hand. “All done. Let’s head back?”

Her left hand was full, and her attempt to free up her right hand looked quite comical. Normally, Ping Yuan would have swatted her hand away and made some dry remark about taking care of herself first.

But today, to combat the unease in her heart, she proactively took Xia Chao’s hand. Her other hand naturally took half the weight of the groceries.

“Let’s go,” she said softly. “Let’s go home and cook.”

And so, they walked home hand in hand. The market was close, so they didn’t need the car. They swayed their hands, carrying the vegetables, as they strolled back.

Behind them, the morning market was winding down. Fixed-stall owners began organizing their goods, while mobile vendors packed away their tables, umbrellas, and pots, preparing to head home themselves.

A thin, dried blade of straw caught in Ping Yuan’s hair—likely from a stray brush against a vegetable stall. Ping Yuan thought about letting go to remove it, but for some reason, her hand remained clasped in Xia Chao’s.

It’s fine. We’re just sisters, she told herself. Everything is normal. This is just what sisters do.

Holding hands, eating, sleeping—just like playmates in an orphanage. If she hadn’t been lost, if Xia Ling had still adopted Xia Chao, then these things would have been as familiar as a fish is to water. They would be used to each other’s pace and the texture of each other’s palms.

Now, it was just eighteen years late.

Ping Yuan gave her head a little shake, letting the blade of straw drift away, just as she gently set aside the sudden sense of strangeness.

*****

They returned home.

From that day on, their relationship became abruptly intimate.

Xiao Zhen was the first to notice. Xia Chao began to mention Ping Yuan with a smile more and more often; soon, the entire milk tea shop knew she had a “very, very good sister.”

Then, Ping Yuan’s colleagues noticed the change in her lunches. When she heated her food in the company microwave—a double-layered Lock&Lock box with three dishes and a soup. It nearly made her subordinate Amy’s jaw drop.

Her leader had always been someone whose eyes saw only work. For a professional, the effort required to make a proper three-course meal with soup is expensive. But Ping Yuan’s words soon quelled Amy’s suspicion. She just smiled faintly and said, “My sister is staying for the summer. We made too much for dinner last night.”

Oh, I see, Amy thought, relieved. It’s just a sister.

Everyone’s gossiping hearts were put to rest. After all, there’s nothing to gossip about when it comes to sisters. Anyone who has an older or younger sister understands. Sisters are bound by blood or kinship from birth; you are destined to love or hate the same mother, compete at the dinner table for her affection, or act as each other’s cover when dealing with parents over teenage romances.

You eat at the same table and do homework at the same table. You get flicked on the forehead by an older sister for getting a math problem wrong, and you drape a blanket over a younger sister when she falls asleep on the sofa.

You cook together, watch movies together, and share headphones to listen to the same song.

And on restless nights, you might walk out of your room to find your sister sitting on the sofa with her soft hair down, one earbud in, though you can’t tell if she’s actually listening to music. You’ll naturally walk over, sit beside her, take one of the earbuds, and guess how many times the song has looped.

Then, she will gently lean her head on your shoulder without a word, and you will ask her, “Want to sleep together?”

She will think for a moment, and then nod.

Another night of sleeping in each other’s arms. The soft, heavy blue of the night covered them like a feathered quilt in a fairy tale, hiding the single pea that would have kept a princess awake all night.

As the saying goes, everything was as it should be. No one questioned this intimacy, not even themselves.

It would be a long, long time before an accident occurred and everyone understood: the most terrifying thing about the phrase “everything as it should be” is the assumption that it will remain so. Because the phrase itself implies that, in the present or the future, something is already starting to happen.

Just like that pea—even hidden under twelve layers of velvet quilts, it was destined to be found.

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