Heading for the Plains - Chapter 34

The wind brushed past their ears once more.

The bicycle sped along the road. The path in front of the orphanage wasn’t a main highway; cars rarely passed, and now, there was nothing but the straight road stretching toward the horizon.

Xia Chao pedaled briskly, her grip light on the handlebars. The scenery blurred past and approaching rapidly, then vanishing behind them in an instant.

They zipped past cornfields and rice paddies, past low brick houses scattered across the landscape, and past an old yellow ox standing in silent rumination by the roadside. The sun sank lower in the west. Finally, the world began to feel like evening. The sunset spread across the western sky, grand and magnificent, its intense red glow momentarily outshining the brilliance of the day.

The boundless fields of corn and rice stood hushed in the sunset, save for the crisp rustle of the wind. Waves of grain rippled toward the distance, as if this racing road would never end.

It was a sight Ping Yuan rarely saw.

During her decade at the orphanage, illness had limited her familiarity to the small, square patch of blue sky above the courtyard. Sitting on the back seat, Ping Yuan looked up at the vastness, only to hear Xia Chao’s voice drift back from the front.

“Ping Yuan,” she said, as if remembering something, “reach into my pocket. I have something for you.”

What is it?

Ping Yuan wanted to ask, but she didn’t. She reached in as instructed, and when she pulled her hand out, she was holding a bamboo dragonfly.

Actually, it was more like a leaf dragonfly. A vibrant green camphor leaf had been meticulously torn in half, releasing a faint fragrance. The slender stem had been folded and wedged between the leaf halves. With a quick twirl, it became the simplest of toys.

Heaven knows when she had found the time to make it.

“Surprise!” Xia Chao laughed, her voice crisp and cool, like the first sip of water after eating a peppermint. “Xia Ling taught me. We used to make these all the time when I was little. I’ve been wanting to show you.”

It was a delicate little thing. Bright and fresh, held between her fingertips, it looked ready to take flight, just like the real dragonfly that had landed outside the gate when she was eight. Ping Yuan looked at it, a smile touching her eyes, though she teased, “Can this actually fly?”

“Of course it can!” Unable to see her expression, Xia Chao grew anxious. “The wind is perfect right now. Just put it in your palms and give it a rub—it’ll take off!”

Ping Yuan found herself smiling again. It was strange; the summer was only halfway over, yet she felt she had smiled more in these weeks than in the rest of her life combined.

She knew it would fly. At this speed, with this rushing wind, even a plain leaf would dance, let alone a dragonfly.

But she didn’t say that. She simply gave a soft “Mhm.”

She held the tiny toy. The camphor leaf had a unique luster, as if it had been waxed. She touched the torn edges with her fingertips, caught the scent, and then placed it between her palms. With a gentle rub, she watched it whirl upward, spinning into the sky.

Suddenly, everything became very quiet.

The world was vast, and everything felt clear. The wind rushed into her clothes, billowing her white shirt like a silver-white sail ready for flight.

In that moment, she heard her own heartbeat. A single human heart was as small as a leaf in this immense world. Ping Yuan lowered her eyes, suddenly placing her hands on Xia Chao’s waist, and whispered, “Slow down.”

What’s wrong? Xia Chao instinctively slowed. She was about to turn and ask when the bicycle wobbled slightly. Ping Yuan had stood up on the back pegs.

“Don’t move.”

It was Ping Yuan’s voice. Standing on the pedals and leaning over Xia Chao’s shoulder, she reached forward and tucked a Bluetooth earbud into Xia Chao’s ear.

Gentle music flowed out, swirling into her ear.

“An old Beatles song,” Ping Yuan said. She had the other earbud in her own ear. Xia Chao stared at the road ahead, listening to Ping Yuan’s low voice. “I used to listen to this all the time when I was small.”

“We didn’t have Walkmans back then, so I could only listen to the orphanage teacher’s radio,” she smiled. “I hadn’t learned English then and couldn’t understand the lyrics. I just hummed along to the melody.”

Yesterday Once More was surely one of them, Xia Chao thought, remembering those nights of insomnia. No wonder Ping Yuan always listened to old songs.

“I like this one too,” Xia Chao whispered. “My middle school English teacher loved playing it.”

Students usually look down on their teachers’ tastes—the songs played in class are often too “safe” or “classic,” mocked as being old-fashioned. But Xia Chao loved this one specifically.

“I used to listen to it whenever I missed home,” she said.

“Me too.”

“And when I missed Mom.”

“Mhm.”

After that, they fell silent. The world sank into quietude once more. After a while, Xia Chao heard Ping Yuan’s voice, so soft, as if she had finally made up her mind about something.

“Xia Ling… I mean, Mom… was she okay at the end?”

Xia Chao replied softly, “She was… okay.”

“It was late-stage breast cancer,” she whispered. “It was caught too late, and the metastasis was aggressive. It came back after the first surgery, spreading to the bone marrow. No medicine could cure it.”

“Radiotherapy was agonizing. She lost all her hair, and there were so many complications… but it could only slow things down. She said if it was destined to be incurable, she didn’t want another surgery. She didn’t want to lose her dignity at the end, kept alive by a ventilator, just dragging things out and suffering.”

“So, after talking with the doctors, we chose palliative care. We took the money borrowed for the second surgery and used it for a better ward and the best targeted drugs we could get.”

“In the end, she didn’t suffer much. We used pain relief, so there was no pain,” she whispered. “Especially since she found you at the end. When she left, she was smiling.”

“Your appearance was her greatest comfort.”

Xia Chao spoke gently, with total sincerity.

In truth, she had left out many painful details. The debt, the decision to forgo the surgery—chemotherapy was far more agonizing than the few words she used to describe it. It didn’t just take a person’s hair; it made the skin crack and rot from the inside out.

And a single dose of targeted medication cost as much as twenty or thirty thousand yuan. Some weren’t covered by insurance, but you had to grit your teeth and buy them because they were so effective—the clear liquid dripping into the veins could make the vitals return to normal overnight.

But how long could that “normal” last? A day, two, three? As soon as one dose finished, you had to start the next.

End-of-life care is a heavy burden. Facing certain death, sometimes it feels like every choice you make is wrong. At Xia Ling’s funeral, Xia Chao had faced cold glares and gossip. Relatives whispered that she was an ungrateful “white-eyed wolf” who had given up on Xia Ling’s treatment just to keep what little inheritance was left.

But she only wanted Xia Ling to stop hurting.

She never spoke those defenses aloud. Sometimes, when facing death, even if every choice feels wrong, someone still has to make the final call.

She was that person.

She had come of age just as summer arrived. Her coming-of-age ceremony was her mother’s funeral. It was as if she were destined eighteen years ago to bear the weight of these choices.

And she had no regrets.

Xia Chao looked up at the road ahead. The sky was darkening, and the streetlights flickered to life with a dim, yellow glow. Moths began to spiral around the lights against a peacock-blue sky. Ping Yuan, sitting on the back, suddenly wrapped her arms gently around Xia Chao’s waist.

Something soft pressed against Xia Chao’s back—likely Ping Yuan’s cheek. She leaned into her, a silent embrace.

“Thank you,” Ping Yuan whispered. “You really, really did a good job.”

Her voice was as light as a violet blooming in the twilight. It drifted into Xia Chao’s ear along with the music, making Xia Chao’s nose suddenly sting.

This was a rare moment. Usually, she would rather bleed than cry. Crying felt like weakness, and she felt as though she were walking through a vast wilderness where she couldn’t afford to stop and show her exhaustion.

She didn’t complain about the responsibility, but that didn’t mean there was no pain. Sometimes, she wondered: Did I make a mistake in my decision? If I hadn’t given up on the surgery, would Xia Ling still be alive?

But no one could give her the answer.

Ping Yuan sat quietly, knowing exactly what was on Xia Chao’s mind.

The weight of death shouldn’t have been hers to carry alone. Ping Yuan knew in her heart that Xia Chao had shouldered everything for her. While she had resented Xia Chao for “stealing” their mother’s love, Xia Chao had simultaneously borne the pain that should have been Ping Yuan’s to share.

Her heart felt soft, like a spilled cup of warm lemon water. She leaned her head against Xia Chao’s back and whispered, “It’s okay now.”

“Life and death are things everyone must face,” she said, each word deliberate. “All we can do is let those who leave suffer as little as possible and keep their dignity.”

“You did perfectly. Don’t listen to them. You are the daughter Xia Ling was most proud of.”

The back of her shirt felt a little damp. Xia Chao didn’t point it out. She lowered her head, a single small tear falling in the night wind and drying instantly. “Mhm.”

“You too,” she said earnestly. “You are also the daughter Xia Ling was most proud of.”

“Mhm.”

They fell into silence again. The sky darkened further, the deep blue of night settling over the fields as everything stood still. The universe was vast and fair; whether it was rice or weeds, everything faced the cycle of life and death.

Only the transparent melody continued to flow.

Hey Jude, don’t make it bad…

Take a sad song and make it better…

Remember to let her into your heart…

Then you can start to make it better…

The singer continued in their ears. They were like two quiet stalks of rice under the vault of heaven, leaning on each other, listening together.

The earbuds were a tiny spaceship, carrying them as they floated along this endless road, drifting into the deepening night.

The sky turned a beautiful, heavy blue, like dark velvet. Ping Yuan looked up, feeling the immense canopy of heaven enveloping the earth—so high, so pure, yet incredibly soft.

In this night, tears had washed everything transparent. Only two small hearts remained, hearing each other’s resonance in the peaceful dark.

The night wind blew again, distant and gentle, like a mother’s hand brushing their cheeks. Ping Yuan smelled the fragrance from Xia Chao’s clothes—the same laundry detergent as hers, but with the unique, fresh scent of a young girl.

She suddenly wanted this moment to last forever.

“Xia Chao,” she whispered, tugging at the hem of her shirt, “accompany me to the amusement park tonight.”

She didn’t realize that these words would change everything.

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