Heading for the Plains - Chapter 30

When they finally walked out of the police station, it was already four in the afternoon. The slanting sun lay across the streets, still bright and persistent.

Xiao Zhen’s roommate was already waiting for her at the entrance. The damage to the shop was roughly what they had estimated; two blenders and two juicers destroyed. The loss wasn’t massive, and the compensation from the Tian family would cover the hole perfectly.

The thirty-thousand-yuan disaster hanging over her head had finally been cleared. Xiao Zhen looked much happier. When Ping Yuan offered to drive them home, the girl shook her head cheerfully, saying she and her friend were going to grab spicy hotpot, something red and fiery to burn away the bad luck!

She invited Xia Chao and Ping Yuan to join, but Xia Chao looked at Xiao Zhen, then at Ping Yuan, knowing that with Ping Yuan’s refined palate, she would never enjoy the chaos of a street-side hotpot stall. She shook her head and said, “I’ll join you next time!”

Xiao Zhen flashed that familiar look of mock disdain that said, “Fine, go live with your sister forever then!”

However, Ping Yuan’s “heroic descent” to save the day had caused Xiao Zhen’s admiration for her to skyrocket to unprecedented heights. Earlier, while confirming the paperwork, Xiao Zhen had watched Ping Yuan lean over to sign the documents with crisp, professional movements, her eyes turning into literal hearts. She had grabbed Xia Chao and shaken her violently: “Your sister is so cool! Your sister is so cool!”

Xia Chao felt like her brain was being scrambled. “Stop thinking about my sister!”

So now that Xia Chao had rejected her for Ping Yuan’s sake, Xiao Zhen wasn’t annoyed. She gave Xia Chao’s shoulder a cheerful pat and looked up at Ping Yuan with a sycophantic grin: “Sister! We’ll eat together next time then!”

Ping Yuan gave her a faint, polite smile. “Alright.”

They watched as Xiao Zhen happily hopped onto her friend’s electric scooter and zipped away.

******

Once they were gone, only the two of them remained at the station entrance. The afternoon sun fell gently upon them, making the world feel quiet and transparent for a moment. Xia Chao squinted against the light, finally feeling the reality of the situation settling in.

Everything that had happened today was terrifying. She thought back to the fight this morning, remembering the flash of the blade, and let out a long, heavy sigh.

Because of the police statement, she had taken the afternoon off and had nowhere else to go. She calculated in her head that she should probably just go home, rest, and finish that Geography paper.

She wondered what Ping Yuan’s plans were. She turned to look and realized that Ping Yuan had, at some point, rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt. Her slender, pale forearms were exposed, looking sharp and ready as if she were prepared to get into another fight at a moment’s notice. Xia Chao was amused by the thought and couldn’t help but grin.

“You’re really amazing,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t expect you to pull a trick like that on Tian Lao-liu.”

Ping Yuan glanced at her leisurely. “Why didn’t you expect it?”

Xia Chao thought for a moment. “I thought you were a ‘good girl’.” The kind who was a top student from childhood, decisive and capable, always the ice-cold class monitor that teachers trusted most.

Before Xia Chao could even start listing her reasons, the woman beside her laughed.

“I just tested well,” Ping Yuan said smoothly, as if reading her mind. “That doesn’t make me a ‘good girl.’ I broke more school rules in high school than you can imagine.”

Xia Chao couldn’t help but laugh back. “Like what?”

Perhaps Xia Chao didn’t even notice, but her voice carried a hint of curiosity and a touch of defiance. It wasn’t the tone of a younger sister talking to an elder.

Ping Yuan answered lazily, “Cutting my hair.”

“Cutting hair?” Xia Chao repeated. “What’s the big deal about that? Everyone has to cut their hair in high school.”

But her voice trailed off. Xia Chao had a good memory; she turned to look at Ping Yuan. “You mentioned it in the car before. You said someone cut your hair for you.”

“Yes,” Ping Yuan replied, that loose smile still hanging on her face. Her voice was light yet sharp. “The shortest I ever had it was a buzz cut.”

“It was my senior year,” she continued. “You know how it is—the school tradition. In the third year, everyone is required to cut their hair. Girls’ hair must be ear-length, boys must have buzz cuts. Every day there were grooming inspections. They wanted to ‘sever the threads of emotion’ with a sword of discipline, forcing everyone to put 120% of their energy into the Gaokao.”

Xia Chao frowned. “Hair length doesn’t affect exam scores! You just tie it back. If someone isn’t focused, they’ll get distracted by the reflection off their own bald head if they have to!”

Spending most of her high school years in a hospital, Xia Chao wasn’t used to such rigid school management. Ping Yuan laughed at the vivid, absurd imagery. “True.”

She spoke softly. “So, before my year, the hair rule was just a suggestion. Teachers usually turned a blind eye as long as you looked tidy. But it just so happened that when it was our turn, the school brought in a psycho Dean of Students.”

“Apparently, the previous class didn’t do so well? The university admission rates dropped by a few percentage points, and the school panicked. They introduced military-style management, determined to reclaim their glory with our class.”

She drawled on, “They set a schedule strict to the minute. Dorm lights on at 5:30 AM. Drills, lectures, and formations at 5:45. Quick breakfast, then back to the classroom by 6:15 for morning reading. After the schedule, they mandated the ear-length hair. If you didn’t comply, you were pulled out of class during inspection and had your hair cut right then and there by barbers the school had hired.”

Xia Chao hissed through her teeth. “How is that any different from a public humiliation?”

“Exactly,” Ping Yuan smiled. “I didn’t care about the length of my hair, but I hated being forced. So, I cut it myself. A buzz cut.”

Ping Yuan still remembered the sensation. The first inspection was split over two days, starting with the humanities classes, which had the most girls. Many girls had hoped to slip through with shoulder-length hair; they were called out and cried as their hair was shorn on the spot.

Back then, they didn’t understand. The essence of military management is obedience. Cutting hair is a form of breaking one’s will. In this society, some will demand you grow it long to maintain “feminine appeal,” while others demand you cut it short to link it to “upright character.”

You see? Is the length of the hair really what matters? It’s just a way for them to strip away control over your own body and will.

Of course, these were realizations Ping Yuan only came to after growing up. On that gloomy night at eighteen, she had simply felt a profound sense of disgust. So, she picked up the scissors. The first cut was right against the scalp.

Thinking back, it was the most ridiculous haircut of her life. It was a boarding school; they couldn’t leave, and they certainly didn’t have professional shears or electric clippers. She had to use regular scissors, snip by snip.

Her hair was actually quite beautiful. Perhaps it was a gift from fate, but orphan life hadn’t left her hair dry like straw. Instead, she had naturally straight, soft hair that her roommates often envied.

“When my long hair fell to the floor in clumps, everyone was stunned. But I didn’t feel much of anything.”

In dramas, when a woman cuts her hair, it’s always a sign of a heartbreaking story or a grand revelation. But in real life, for an eighteen-year-old girl, a prickly short cut was just a blatant declaration: I possess the right to control my own body and my own will. No one else is allowed to touch it.

Ping Yuan tilted her head back. Her skin was so pale and translucent in the crisp sunlight, like a piece of ice submerged in water. She looked like a solitary, noble narcissist that would never bow.

Xia Chao looked at her intently, finally understanding why Ping Yuan had once spoken about “breaking the rules.” She felt the infection of that spirit and asked, “And then?”

Ping Yuan smirked. “Then, I made sure the school’s first mandatory haircutting was also its last.”

She remembered the sensation she caused the next day. Every girl had ear-length hair; hers was practically a buzz cut. Even the boys’ cuts were neater. Her hair stood up defiantly in every direction like a hedgehog’s spines or a bird’s ruffled feathers.

At the morning assembly, every eye was on her. Not just because of the hair, but because she was supposed to be honored as the top science student of the assembly.

The Dean’s face was as dark as the bottom of a scorched pot. In this kingdom built of textbooks and test papers, they had forged the law that scores were supreme. And now, a student was using that “medal of immunity” to defy him.

But he couldn’t say anything. He could only ask with a forced, mocking smile, “Why did you cut your hair like that?”

Her answer was polite enough. Ping Yuan remembered answering loudly, “I tried to cut it myself and messed it up. I’m sorry, teacher.”

No one could find a fault. She was rank one in her year. She had followed the rule to have short hair; she had even “over-complied” by making a mess of it. But as she stood there, her slender neck exposed, every prickly strand of hair said silently: “I do not submit.”

Eventually, the storm passed. The Dean laughed it off awkwardly and ended the assembly in a hurry. The school couldn’t do anything to her, and the students were in an uproar, feeling the policy was inhumane. The whole grade cheered. Ping Yuan, putting down her scissors, couldn’t help but let her lips curl.

“I haven’t cut it short since then,” Ping Yuan said easily, concluding the thrilling story.

Xia Chao noticed that when Ping Yuan spoke of these things, her tone was always flat and detached—the voice of a perfect student. But using that voice to talk about the “bad” things she had done was a provocation in itself. It wasn’t a boast; it was a report. It was a notice of a decision already made.

How arrogant, Xia Chao thought. She finally understood why Ping Yuan hadn’t looked surprised when she heard Xia Chao had beaten those thugs into a bloody mess. Perhaps they were the same kind of people. Life was like a vector arrow; they only sped in the direction they believed was right. Never regretting, never looking back.

“That’s great,” Xia Chao smiled softly.

Ping Yuan glanced at her. “What are you laughing at?”

“I just think you’re amazing,” she answered with a beam. “Don’t you think we’re actually quite suited for getting into trouble together?”

“Oh,” Ping Yuan mused, cutting straight to the point. “You mean being thugs and rogues.”

Xia Chao stumbled. “Ping Yuan, I swear if you licked your own lip, you’d die of your own poison!”

She huffed at the cold, rock-hard woman. Ping Yuan turned her head and saw the girl pouting, her nose wrinkled in frustration.

How can eyes be so bright?

The dried bloodstain was still on her face, but her eyes were pure and clean. The sunlight was so good. Almost too good, as it filtered through the swaying leaves, casting shimmering patterns like swimming fish across her hair and shoulders. Her eyes were turned into translucent glass by the gentle light, yet filled with fallen stars.

Ping Yuan had always known she was possessive. In high school, she wanted the best grades; in her career, she wanted the best offers. Even if she didn’t care for material things, she insisted on being comfortable. Perhaps it was to compensate for what she lacked as a child.Sshe felt she deserved the unique, good things in this world.

Seeing Xia Chao looking at her so grumpily, like a provoked puppy holding back its bite, made her feel wonderful.

A smile appeared at the corners of Ping Yuan’s mouth. Xia Chao watched her, and seeing that leap of brightness, her own heart softened into a tender smile.

Then, Xia Chao felt something cool touch her cheek.

It was a clean wet wipe. Ping Yuan’s slender fingers held it, gently cleaning her face.

“There was still blood on your face that didn’t get wiped off,” Ping Yuan said flatly.

I don’t like blood on your face, Ping Yuan didn’t say. She liked absolute cleanliness, and that dirty mark had stained the gentle face looking back at her. After all, she was her sister—couldn’t an older sister do whatever she wanted to a younger one?

The soft, damp cloth swept across her cheek, bringing a clean fragrance. Xia Chao looked at her and could only see those lowered, delicate lashes. Ping Yuan was so focused that Xia Chao’s own gaze involuntarily softened. The collar of Ping Yuan’s white shirt was half-open, revealing a delicate collarbone. Xia Chao smelled the scent—it was a narcissist leaning down toward her, opening its unique petal.

Her heart began to race.

“Let’s go,” Ping Yuan said.

The question on Xia Chao’s lips went unasked, as Ping Yuan had already started the car. Amidst the hum of the engine, Xia Chao heard her voice.

“I’m going to take you somewhere. Do you want to go?”

“Where?”

“The orphanage where I grew up,” Ping Yuan said calmly. “Do you dare?”

The car sped off, out of the shade of the trees. The brilliant sunlight poured in, making the whole world glow. Xia Chao turned her head and saw Ping Yuan gripping the steering wheel, her sleeves rolled up, looking sharp. At this moment, she looked beautiful driving—fingers long, slender, and clean, like a swordsman in total control, possessed of an arrogant nonchalance.

Xia Chao laughed, accepting the challenge. “Of course.”

****

The car sped forward, the wind rushing through the windows and blowing their long hair. Both girls looked out at the world.

The wind continued to blow. Under the brilliant sun, everything seemed to shine. Summer is always like this—endless and long. It is the “adolescence” of time: hot, blinding, reckless, and unreasonable. It willfully flutters the dresses and shorts of passersby, rushes through fields and mountains, and lets everything fly high.

Neither the discipline of the scissors nor the rules of the fist could ever make them compromise.

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