Heading for the Plains - Chapter 40

When Ping Yuan got home, the rain was still falling.

She closed the door very quietly, but Xia Chao heard her nonetheless. Ping Yuan stood at the entryway changing her shoes; Xia Chao stood in the kitchen, gripping a soup ladle, and after a moment of hesitation, she finally couldn’t resist turning around.

“You’re back.”

Ping Yuan nodded. “Mhm.”

She was wearing a suit today, which was now mostly damp. Grey trousers were always like that, the dark stains from the rain were glaringly obvious. Ping Yuan had seemingly forgotten her umbrella again; she brushed her long, loose hair to one side, her white shirt clinging thinly to her shoulders. The rain-soaked patches on her trousers crawled all the way up to her calves.

It was easy to imagine how she had hurried through the puddles from her car to the building, and how she must have paused in the stairwell to adjust her clothes, helplessly tucking wet strands of hair behind her ear.

The rain felt cold. Xia Chao watched her, feeling as though her own heart were being drenched right along with her.

“It’s raining. I brewed some ginger tea, would you like some?” She couldn’t help asking.

Ping Yuan looked up at her and shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“I only came back to change,” she added softly. “I have plans tonight.”

That phrase again. Xia Chao’s smile froze. Eventually, she could only whisper, “Okay.”

She watched Ping Yuan disappear into the bedroom.

This cycle had persisted for some time. Ping Yuan rarely came home for dinner anymore. Usually, she notified Xia Chao via text; occasionally, like today, she would drop by to leave her things and depart in a hurry.

The excuses were always the same: colleague gatherings, overtime, team building, dates. Xia Chao had never seen Ping Yuan’s social life look this vibrant before. Sometimes she felt that, rather than two people dealing with a failed confession, they were more like a couple “sharing a bed while dreaming different dreams” no longer a possibility, yet forced by circumstance to live under the same roof.

They saw each other every day. To avoid the awkwardness, they each used even more awkward, clumsy lies to signal their distance.

But today seemed different.

The bedroom door creaked open again. Ping Yuan stepped out, but she had changed into a white dress.

It was beautiful. Xia Chao had never seen her wear this gown. Unlike her sharp, professional office skirts, this white dress looked more like formal attire. The silk texture shimmered with a pearly glow. Ping Yuan kept her eyes downcast as she walked back to the entryway, her expression cold, her dark, damp hair now swept up to reveal the halter design and a back that was whiter than snow.

This wasn’t something you wore to a casual dinner with colleagues. Xia Chao stood at the kitchen door, clutching her apron, watching her. Ping Yuan had applied a light layer of powder to her face—not so much to hide flaws, but to redefine her features, making that translucent, snow-like silhouette feel reachable through the faint touch of makeup.

In the world of adults, a new gown and subtly painted brows are silent invitations, representing an anticipation of the event. Xia Chao might not have understood social etiquette perfectly, but she was sensitive enough to feel the ambiguous shift between a bare-faced suit and this dress.

This time, she really was going to a “date.” Xia Chao stood in her slippers, watching her in silence.

She finally realized how small she was.

There was no room in the adult world for monthly test papers, roller skates, or leaf dragonflies. The adult world was vast, filled with fluorescent office lights, endless meetings, overtime, and flights at 30,000 feet. It also had evening gowns, roses, candlelight dinners, and… rain-soaked nights of late returns.

This wasn’t hers to have at least, not yet. Compared to this, those previous moments of heartbeat-skipping ambiguity and the silent brush of fingers in the dark felt so insignificant.

It was all just a misunderstanding.

Xia Chao lowered her head and smiled faintly. After a long moment, she looked up.

“Is that person coming to pick you up?” she asked softly. “If not, take an umbrella.”

She walked over, unhooked a long-handled black umbrella from behind the door, and handed it to Ping Yuan. A long umbrella suited a gown and rain, even if splashing puddles did not. The young girl’s hand was still clean and slender; her eyes held a trace of disapproval that the “dater” hadn’t waited at the bottom of the stairs. Thinking it over, she couldn’t help but ask, “Do you want me to walk you to the car?”

Ping Yuan shook her head.

“No need,” she said. “They’re already downstairs.”

“I might… be back a bit late tonight,” she added in a low voice. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Go to sleep early.”

With that, she lowered her head, changed her shoes, and walked out.

*****

The door closed again. Outside, the rain continued to fall. From the living room window, one could see the small square below; the mottled old pond, the pavilion, the old trees, and the haphazard parking spots marked with fading paint. The lines looked fragmented under the flowing grey rainwater.

They had once watched the ripples on that pond together; they had watched the “poet’s moon.” But there was no moon now.

Only a “date” waiting below. Xia Chao stood by the window and saw the person—tall, holding an umbrella by the car.

The rain fell steadily. The umbrella hid his face, but she could see him holding a large, vibrant bouquet of fresh flowers as he stepped quickly toward Ping Yuan.

Ping Yuan waited at the entrance. Twilight had arrived, and everything looked like a movie scene. The female lead quietly held up her skirt, becoming, along with that bouquet of white roses; the only bright spots in a grey world.

She was almost glowing.

Then, he put an arm around her shoulder. She lifted her hem and ran lightly under his umbrella toward the car. They were just a pair of lovers hiding under one umbrella, forgetting the world outside.

Ping Yuan never did take that long-handled umbrella Xia Chao had offered. It leaned lonely against the shoe cabinet, never getting its chance to be drenched.

The car headlights flickered on, the warm yellow beams cutting through the rain like a knight breaking through the night. The car reversed, turned, accelerated, and vanished into the vast rainy night.

*****

The car sped through the dark rain.

Ping Yuan sat in the driver’s seat, holding the flowers in silence. Watching the rainwater on the glass being forced backward by the wind, she finally sighed. “Alright, let’s switch. I’ll drive the rest of the way.”

The car wobbled violently.

The young girl beside her, Amy, gripped the steering wheel and stammered as if facing a surprise inspection. She turned to Ping Yuan in a panic. “Sierra, how… how do I stop this thing?”

Ping Yuan: “…”

Do kids these days only get their licenses without ever actually driving on the road?

Ping Yuan took a deep breath and relaxed her grip on the door handle. “…Turn on your signal, check the mirrors. If there’s no car behind us, slowly turn the wheel and pull over.”

“Right! Yes!”

With guidance, Amy finally found her bearings. Her maneuvers were aggressive yet clumsy, eventually wobbling the car to the curb at a snail’s pace. Ping Yuan opened the door and swapped places with her. The girl sat back in the passenger seat and took a deep breath, feeling as though she had finally returned to the “kids’ table.”

It was seven o’clock. The streetlights were all lit, casting orange-yellow umbrellas of light above. Ping Yuan pressed the clutch and glanced over. “Shall I take you home?”

“Oh… yes!” Amy straightened her back instantly. “Just drop me at the entrance of my complex. Thank you, Sierra!”

“Alright.” Ping Yuan gave a faint smile, a sharp contrast to Amy’s high-pitched energy and shifted gears. The car returned to the road. This time, the ride was much smoother.

Amy sat obediently, stealing glances at Ping Yuan. The wipers worked rhythmically, clearing a clean arc on the glass while the droplets at the edges refracted the streetlights, casting wet shadows across Ping Yuan’s face.

She didn’t look happy. Even though today was the celebration of a major case their team had closed, even though the client had sent that massive bouquet of white roses as a token of gratitude even with the light makeup, her face looked weary.

Amy, a recent graduate, didn’t understand that kind of weariness. She was twenty-three, just out of her Master’s program. She’d gotten her license four years ago but had barely driven since. Usually, she hitched a ride with Ping Yuan. Today’s attempt at driving was a total accident.

Her boss was stern and didn’t talk much, but she was good to her subordinates. Amy and another junior usually took the subway, but on rainy days or crowded Fridays, Ping Yuan would often offer them a ride.

Ping Yuan didn’t talk much in the car. After two months of working together, Amy’s impression of her remained: “A beautiful, cold, but kind boss.”

So, when Ping Yuan asked after work if she could come by her place and help drive for a short stretch, Amy agreed without a second thought, eager to return the favor. Even though she didn’t know why Ping Yuan had made the request.

Standing by the car earlier, Amy had watched her boss open the building’s door. Ping Yuan’s eyes were downcast, her face clearly showing a trace of loneliness, yet she had forced a smile when she saw Amy, running through the rain with her.

That smile hadn’t been for her. Amy knew that. Sitting there, watching the wipers, she wondered: What is a twenty-seven-year-old woman in a beautiful white gown thinking about, driving wearily through a rainy night like a stranger to herself?

Ultimately, she didn’t ask. Everyone has secrets; a boss’s privacy is especially off-limits. Amy guessed it was like when she used her friends as a cover for her mom, every family has its own difficult story.

Wait, has my leader ever mentioned her parents?

It seemed not. If she hadn’t occasionally mentioned having a sister, Amy would have thought she was entirely alone.

*****

The car slowed down as they reached Amy’s complex. Ping Yuan signaled and drove through the rising gate.

“The rain is quite heavy,” she said calmly. “I’ll take you to your building. Which one is it?”

Amy was overwhelmed. “A12,” she said, clutching her seatbelt with excitement.

The car stopped in front of Building A12. The lush greenery was punctuated by spots of yellow light. The sound of crickets could be heard through the rain. It was the tail end of dinner time; the scent of cooking drifted between the buildings.

Amy lived with her parents, and the tradition of inviting guests for dinner was ingrained in her DNA. “Sierra, do you want to come up for dinner? My mom’s braised pork trotters are amazing!”

Ping Yuan looked at Amy’s clear, eager eyes and guessed she was a girl from a happy, complete home. She smiled and shook her head. “Thank you, but I have things to do. Another time.”

“Oh… okay.” Amy nodded. She was young, so she couldn’t help but let a bit of curiosity slip. “Where are you going?”

The moment she asked, she wanted to slap herself. How dare you ask that?

Fortunately, Ping Yuan didn’t mind. She just smiled. “To dinner and a movie.”

So she really was using me as a cover, Amy realized. She gave her beautiful boss a teasing wink. “Then… have a great date! Bye!”

Ping Yuan seemed amused, her lips curling slightly. “Bye.”

*****

Once Amy was gone and the stairwell lights went out, Ping Yuan slowly turned the car around. She drove out of the complex but didn’t go far. She pulled over at a corner where a 7-Eleven stood, its orange and green sign glowing in the rainy night.

Ping Yuan opened her umbrella and walked inside. The thick scent of oden greeted her. The AC was blasting. The glass steamer was covered in a warm mist, holding rows of plump buns.

She didn’t look at them. She walked straight to the refrigerated section, picked up a seaweed rice ball and a bottle of milk. She took them to the counter. “Heat this up, please.”

Ding. The warm rice ball was back in her hand. She sat at the narrow table by the window, expertly wrapping the seaweed around the rice.

The rain continued. A few people stood under the shop’s awning to avoid the downpour. Cars passed by, their lights illuminating the rain like a silent play. People cast admiring glances at her. A woman in a formal white gown, looking like a runaway bride in a cramped convenience store, was a striking sight.

But no one dared speak to her. Perhaps it was the weariness and coldness on her face. A customer waiting for oden picked up his phone to sneak a photo of her back, but she turned and caught him; under her sharp, indifferent gaze, he sheepishly put it away.

Ping Yuan finished her rice ball, a cold-chain product nearing its expiration date, exactly the taste she remembered from university.

Fresh rice balls can be eaten cold; every grain of rice and shred of cucumber is distinct. But those past their “best taste” window need heating; even if the ingredients aren’t spoiled, the rice and vegetables become a mushy mess. This was knowledge Ping Yuan had engraved in her heart during college. Xia Chao often nagged her about not liking carrots and cucumbers; the truth was, she had eaten too many of them back then.

She threw the wrapper into the bin. She was trying to use that rice ball to help her remember the feeling of living alone. So far, it was working.

Time to go.

She stood up, walked out the automatic doors, and opened her umbrella. Her hem was soaked and clinging to her calves; the AC chill made her feel like she might catch a cold. She got back in the car.

She hadn’t lied to Amy about “dinner and a movie.” She checked her phone for showtimes. Summer season was always the same: thrillers, comedies, action blockbusters, and family animations. With the Qixi Festival approaching, romance movies featured airbrushed posters of leads in profile with themes of “eternal love.”

She picked a random action movie and drove to the theater.

When she entered, the movie had already been playing for ten minutes. She lifted her skirt and walked along the glowing floor lights. She thought an action movie would help her avoid screaming children, but the theater was packed.

Ping Yuan sat in the corner. She remembered Zhu Cijing once teasing her that watching La La Land alone at an airport on Christmas was a “Level 10” challenge of international loneliness. She hadn’t said anything then.

In truth, she felt most relaxed hiding in a crowded theater. Especially lately.

She was so exhausted. Since that night, she had suffered from insomnia every single night, yet she had to pretend everything was normal during the day. Her logic was practically schizophrenic.

She smelled the sweet popcorn from the row in front.

She suddenly felt drowsy. The movie was boring—a cliché hero narrative—but the explosions were bright. The thunderous sound effects roared in her ears, and on the screen, heroes bled and buildings crumbled. No one cared about the woman in the dark corner who had quietly closed her eyes and fallen asleep.

She slept so deeply she lost track of where she was.

When she woke up, the movie was over. Because she had bought her ticket late, her seat was at the very edge, and luckily, no one had disturbed her. A cleaning lady was already tidying up, dragging a large trash bag and picking up popcorn buckets. Seeing the woman in white, the lady called out gently to wake her.

“Miss? Why aren’t you going home?”

The voice brought Ping Yuan back. She looked around, realizing the lights were on and the theater was empty. The bleeding heroes and the carnage were gone. She sat there alone, her mind a blank, wondering:

Where is my home?

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