Heading for the Plains - Chapter 3

In the end, Xia Chao said nothing. She didn’t dare to.

The food was heated quickly, its aroma wafting toward her nose. Xia Chao picked up her chopsticks, trying to comfort herself.

Even if it’s leftovers, the dishes don’t look half bad. There was a plate of stir-fried celtuce with pork and another of tomato and eggs. Because they had sat overnight, the celtuce slices had turned a slight yellowish hue from soaking in the sauce.

Actually, dishes like this could be quite good; the flavors had more time to meld. Back when she was busy looking after Xia Ling in the hospital, Xia Chao had often made do with meals just like this. Besides, these had meat, eggs, and vegetables—they looked more like fresh dishes that had been tucked away in the fridge untouched rather than scraps from a meal.

So… it should be edible, right?

She pondered this, tentatively reaching out with her chopsticks to pop a slice of celtuce into her mouth.

It was saltier than a sea brine. It was as if the celtuce had been pickled in soy sauce until it died with its eyes open.

Xia Chao’s eyes and nose nearly scrunched into a ball, but under the intimidating aura of the woman across from her, she forced her features to flatten back out. She reached for the tomato and eggs, hoping the sweet-and-sour profile would counteract the salt.

******

The tomato and eggs did not save her. It seemed Ping Yuan had mistaken the sugar for salt.

A little sugar in tomato and eggs can enhance the freshness, but if there is only sugar, it’s lethal.

Xia Chao considered herself a tough kid—she’d been climbing trees at four, catching fish at five, and by twelve she could make the local street punks cry for mercy. She was thick-skinned and hardy. But she hadn’t realized that no matter how high one’s martial arts, one could still be taken down by a kitchen knife.

The clash of salt and sugar in her mouth was a chaotic mess of flavors. She nearly gagged but instead looked up with watery eyes, asking weakly, “Sister… do you… not cook at home very often?”

Ping Yuan’s beautiful eyes shifted toward her, clear and devoid of much emotion. “No.”

“I usually get off work late. If it’s after eight, I just buy a bento at the supermarket near the office,” Ping Yuan replied indifferently. “And don’t call me ‘Sister’.”

“Why? Is it bad?” She took a bite herself, and just as she was about to deliver the classic line, “Just make do…”

Crap.

She silently set down her chopsticks. “Stop eating.”

In the end, they solved dinner with instant noodles. Once they finished, Ping Yuan gave a wave of her hand, commanding her to go take a shower.

Xia Chao, who had been feeling quite out of place, received the order like a divine amnesty. she hurriedly gathered her things and scurried inside. Even she found it hard to believe how she’d turned into a mouse in front of Ping Yuan—meek as could be.

I guess this is what it feels like to live under someone else’s roof.

She let out a small sigh. She remembered that back home, getting her to take a bath was a monumental struggle. Either she’d be in the middle of a TV show and refuse to budge, or she’d treat the bath like a swimming pool and soak for an hour.

She was small then, about five or six, and a large plastic basin was just enough for her to “swim” in. She’d soak inside, draping a washcloth over her shoulders to play the fairy princess, squeezing body wash into the water to whip up a tub full of bubbles.

Those giant, weightless soap bubbles would drift through the air, shimmering with iridescent light. She would look up with sparkling eyes, wondering if this was the fairies’ amusement park.

Unfortunately, the fairy tale always ended with her mother barging in and threatening to beat her. Xia Ling would haul her out, grabbing the showerhead like she was washing a muddy radish, blasting her up and down until every slippery bubble was rinsed away.

Along with the hot water, of course, came a thorough scolding.

The water cascaded over Xia Chao, hot enough to make her skin sting slightly. She cupped a handful and splashed it onto her face.

The bathroom was filled with a faint fragrance. Ping Yuan used bar soap. A brand Xia Chao actually recognized called “Pure White Fragrance.” It was about as common and mass-market as it gets.

But on Ping Yuan, it felt strangely fitting. It was a clean, soapy scent mixed with a hint of lemon brightness, devoid of any heavy floral or powdery notes. Xia Chao thought of the white shirt; this stranger of a sister seemed to favor scents that were crisp and straightforward.

This was also very different from her home. Her house only had one bathroom, featuring a rattling plastic curtain and gaudy mosaic tiles, permanently smelling of laundry soap, body wash, styling gel, and “Bao Bao Jin Shui” (mosquito repellent tonic).

Nan County was hot and humid, crawling with insects in the summer. Every time Xia Chao bathed as a child, Xia Ling would pour a capful of that tonic into the water.

It was fragrant. Xia Chao could still sing the little jingle from the commercial. At six years old, she knew nothing of bottles and jars; she only knew her mother’s warm hands could turn stone into gold, making clothes clean and hair smooth. To the young Xia Chao, the bathroom was a mysterious kingdom of complex scents.

And her mother was the first “fairy” she ever knew, long before any storybook.

A faint smile touched her lips.

Unfortunately, the person who actually belonged in this home didn’t like her.

Ping Yuan had made that clear from the moment they met. That was why, when the lock got stuck at the door earlier, Xia Chao had hesitated. She had a pencil stub in her bag that could have lubricated the tumblers, but she hadn’t spoken up. Even when they were making the noodles, she’d wavered on whether to volunteer to cook, but ultimately remained silent.

She knew Ping Yuan didn’t like it. Ping Yuan didn’t like her presence, so she likely wouldn’t want an unwelcome guest meddling in her life. Even if that person was her sister in name.

Xia Chao unconsciously bit the soft flesh inside her cheek, then let go, sighing with a trace of hurt. Ultimately, if she hates my being here so much, why did she let me come?

Probably because of Xia Ling’s dying wish.

“Biological mother she’d never met” and “dying wish”—both were heavy phrases. Ping Yuan was clearly being forced by a moral obligation to take her in.

Xia Chao lowered her head, letting out a deep sigh this time. She wasn’t the type to take advantage of others. She knew that Xia Ling’s desire for her to see Ping Yuan held a layer of “entrusting the orphan” beyond just a mother’s longing. Xia Ling hoped the two sisters would look after each other.

But how unfair must that seem to Ping Yuan? One adult, one kid—who was looking after whom?

Xia Chao thought silently. Throughout the journey, she had bowed her head and endured Ping Yuan’s small flashes of temper. She didn’t want to disturb Ping Yuan; if possible, she would leave early.

Bridges to bridges, roads to roads. That would be best.

The bubbles burst, and the last of the foam was rinsed away. She turned off the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and began to dress.

The change of clothes was her own, but the towel was new, bought by Ping Yuan. It was a clean, stark white, hanging next to a matching face towel. If Xia Chao were a more worldly kid, she might have muttered that this looked exactly like hotel linens. But she didn’t have that kind of experience. In her life, besides home, she’d only slept on hospital cots. So, Xia Chao only thought to herself, Why does this towel feel like the hospital’s?

Of course, she couldn’t say that aloud; it was bad luck. Life, aging, illness, and death were inevitable paths, yet they were always feared because of their unpredictability. When Xia Ling first passed away, Xia Chao was all alone, and every relative seemed to want to take a detour just to avoid her. They were terrified that if they blinked, they’d be saddled with this “burden.”

It was only natural.

The summer was still too hot. The shower had been enough to make her feel a bit lightheaded. Xia Chao stared at herself in the mirror and, moved by some inexplicable impulse, leaned her face in until the tip of her nose touched the glass.

So cold.

Her breath left a small patch of damp white mist on the surface. She lingered for only a moment before pulling her flushed face away from the icy mirror.

The bathroom really was a place that invited daydreaming… but she couldn’t delay any longer. Xia Chao dried her hair, feeling a bit self-conscious for some reason, and put on the new underwear she’d taken out before her shower. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the bathroom.

Then, her back foot froze.

Ping Yuan was sitting in the living room. Likely because of the heat, she had at some point taken off her white shirt, wearing only a black vest that exposed the sharp, elegant lines of her shoulders and back.

As the steam from the bathroom drifted out, carrying the soft, clean scent of soap, Ping Yuan looked up. She saw the tall girl looking back at her, head slightly tilted.

Xia Chao’s hair was damp, and un-wiped droplets of water traced a path downward, soaking into her thin pajamas and revealing the faint, blurred outline of her underwear beneath.

It was Ping Yuan’s turn for her eyes to flicker. She suddenly felt a wave of heat.

Having a sister is such a hassle. She cleared her throat awkwardly, suddenly wanting to put her shirt back on.

But she quickly steadied herself, adopting the tone of an older sister. “Done with your shower?”

“Get your household registration, graduation file, and all those materials out.”

Her voice was calm and objective, as if that fleeting moment of embarrassment had been a mere hallucination. “Per your mother’s request, let’s talk about you repeating your senior year.”

That was the real reason Xia Chao had frozen.

Her hand gripped the cold doorknob unconsciously, her knuckles whitening with the force. It took a long time before she found her voice.

“I’m not going back to school.”

She heard herself say.

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