Heading for the Plains - Chapter 43

Faced with Ping Yuan’s confession, Zhu Cijing immediately knitted her brows.

“I don’t accept that,” she stated flatly.

Zhu Cijing had always been a girl of clear loves and hates. Ping Yuan knew this; it was the reason why, after a disastrous past relationship, Cijing could still curse her ex while bravely dating again. She was fiercely protective of her own, like a lioness. Once you were in her circle, she would charge into battle to defend you.

In her eyes, Ping Yuan’s situation wasn’t a crime. But Ping Yuan only lowered her head with a faint smile, silencing her friend’s impending wave of indignant comfort with a single sentence.

“If Zhu Yuan had fallen in love with her guardian while staying with them during her senior year of high school,” she said calmly, “what would you do?”

“Considering the guardian is nine years older than her,” she added.

Zhu Cijing was suddenly at a loss for words.

Zhu Yuan was her young niece, who had just graduated high school; innocent, bright, and cheerful. If anyone dared to harbor ill intentions toward her, Cijing would be the first to break their neck.

But… but.

She finally understood the source of Ping Yuan’s agony.

Zhu Cijing’s tongue felt numb as she tried to stammer, “That… that’s different…”

“What’s different?” Ping Yuan interrupted. “Is Xia Chao not taking the Gaokao? Am I not nine years older? Did Xia Ling not entrust her to me, making me her de facto guardian?”

“That is my most unforgivable sin,” she said steadily. “Age is never the critical issue; it’s the power imbalance and the roles we were assigned.”

It was a verdict. She was the prisoner, but also the clear-eyed judge. Zhu Cijing understood. Age isn’t the most important thing in a relationship; plenty of couples have a ten or twenty-year gap. “May-December” romances might be scandalous to some, but they aren’t universally condemned.

Besides, Ping Yuan was still so young; the term barely applied. Cijing recalled seeing the two of them standing in the sun, carrying groceries and laughing. The sunlight had illuminated their faces with a warm, fuzzy gold border; they looked like the two most well-matched young women in the world.

But Ping Yuan was Xia Chao’s Sister.

What does that word mean? It’s not just an affectionate title; it’s the watershed between an adult and a child. Both of them knew that in this relationship, the adult held every advantage—age, experience, assets. Meanwhile, the young girl, with no other kin, had nothing. She was even sleeping in a storage room just to finish her exams.

If Ping Yuan had been oblivious, she could at least claim innocence. But she knew that from the start, she had uncontrollably sought to lure the girl in.

How can there be fairness in such a relationship? There was no need to discuss mutual feelings, because this love should never have been allowed to exist.

Zhu Cijing fell into silence alongside Ping Yuan. The sharp truth tore open a vast, unbearable void. She leaned against her headboard, for a moment wishing she had a cigarette.

Ping Yuan was the one to break the silence. Perhaps because things had reached this point, she tried to force a joke in a clumsy, cheerful tone. “Don’t look like it’s the end of the world. Maybe I don’t really love her. Maybe I’m just trying to understand maternal love through her?”

She was still good at self-deprecating deadpan humor. But this time, only silence met her.

If the previous silence was Cijing wondering if this love was a mistake, this new silence was her realizing that Ping Yuan’s stubborn denial only made the truth more credible. When does love look most like love? When you are fighting it with everything you have. Only those truly drowning know they are beyond saving; only they pretend nothing is happening.

Zhu Cijing was all too familiar with that feeling.

Finally, she said expressionlessly, “Generally speaking, unless you have an Oedipus complex, no one feels desire for their mother. Besides, Xia Chao isn’t your mother.”

“Do you know how to verify if you truly love her?” she asked.

“How?” Ping Yuan asked. A person unversed in love, her first awakening made her as confused as a naive animal. Even a hunter would be moved by that dazed expression.

Zhu Cijing sighed. “Read what I just said again. Desire cannot verify love, but love always verifies desire.“

Ping Yuan went silent.

“It seems she really didn’t know,” Cijing laughed helplessly. “Fine, let’s stop here. It’s late. Sleep. Don’t be like me when I was heartbroken, or we’ll both be too pathetic. Goodnight.”

******

The call ended. The room returned to a silence that felt like being submerged in the deep sea. Ping Yuan buried herself in the soft quilt, like a child hiding in a fortress made of pillows.

She spaced out. After a long time, she finally sighed and put her phone down. Then she went to the bathroom and quietly washed her hands.

When she returned, the room was still quiet. She had dimmed the nightlight, but she hesitated by the nightstand. Finally, she lay back down without a word.

Then, she bit her lip and tentatively reached her hand downward. A small sigh escaped her nose, which she quickly suppressed.

…Ping Yuan knew exactly what Zhu Cijing’s last words meant.

She was an adult; she had needs. In the back corner of that nightstand sat a small toy she had bought out of curiosity years ago when she first started working. She rarely used it; the experience wasn’t great—the machine was too mechanical, and she was too sensitive. Even basic self-pleasure felt like an exhausting chore. She had eventually given up, assuming she was just “broken” when it came to passion.

But today, she realized she was wrong.

Zhu Cijing was right. She couldn’t imagine Xia Ling, but she could imagine Xia Chao.

She wanted Xia Chao.

This wasn’t a little girl wanting a doll; it was raw, visceral desire. She wanted to embrace her, be messed up by her, be coaxed by her—and in return, bite the girl’s shoulder. She wanted the storm, the tide, the fire. She craved everything forbidden and indescribable.

When did this madness start?

She had no answer. Her long lashes trembled in the dim light. She bit her lip and let her imagination run wild. The phantom touch had never felt so real. She imagined her own hand was Xia Chao’s.

The hand wandered over her, tracing the moisture of her eyes and nose, the bitten-red lips, lingering from chin to neck. Fingertips toyed with her heartbeat. A young person’s breath is always so warm and powerful. She closed her eyes, imagining that breath on her nose, just like their first fight or like their first time skating—falling softly, brushing over her reddened knees.

Her nerves frayed like a plucked string, melting into the spring breeze.

She almost cried out; a plaintive, aggrieved whimper, her eyes welling with tears. But a second later, she snapped back to reality and clamped her hand over her mouth.

Don’t make a sound. Don’t scream.

She swallowed the noise. She knew the person she was fantasizing about was sleeping soundly next door. In the deep of night, the girl’s heart must be pure and innocent.

She remembered coming home late from overtime; Xia Chao would be there at the table, a small lamp illuminating the fine peach fuzz on her cheek. The girl would look up with concern, her gaze like warm water—clean and pure. Yet Ping Yuan had stared at the pen in the girl’s hand, imagining for a fleeting second what it would feel like to be held by those long, slender fingers.

This wasn’t her first lapse.

The moment she closed her eyes in the fields, the moment Xia Chao knelt to buckle her pads, the moment their eyes met as the skates brought them closer—behind her cold, arrogant exterior, her mind had wandered. She was waiting for the girl’s warm breath, waiting for her to hear the silent invitation in her heart:

Welcome. Come and mess me up.

A gasp escaped her throat. She squeezed her legs together and buried her face in the pillow, trying to stifle the chaotic sound of her sobbing. But the dark, damp desire left her nowhere to hide. Her long hair was a mess now, strands caught under her own body and snapping as she moved, but she didn’t care.

Xia Chao.

She whispered the name in her mind, hand over her mouth, unsure if she was desecrating the girl or herself. Dark hair splayed over white skin, soaked with sweat, sticking to her forehead and shoulders. The room was filled with an intimate, chaotic atmosphere, yet remained utterly silent.

Ping Yuan curled up, unaware that her restrained distress only made her look more fragile.

****

The madness lasted until she fell from the peak into a blank void. Her silk nightgown slid over her skin, causing a final shiver. She panted silently, facing upward, slowly letting her arched back settle.

She remembered her first day knowing Xia Chao; the tension, the arguments, the fact that she wouldn’t even let the girl call her “Sister.” Now, she was fantasizing about Xia Chao pinning her down, kissing her, touching her… breaking everything.

The afterglow lingered. The realism made her shudder.

Xia Chao was still sleeping next door. The night was eerily quiet. Ping Yuan let out a tiny sob, noticing her hand was covered in teeth marks from where she had bitten it. She lowered her hand, feeling an infinite, hollow emptiness.

She had verified the answer. But what now? Zhu Cijing was right. Desire had proven the love. But the love only proved her guilt. She loved Xia Chao, and Xia Chao loved her. So what?

One answer only birthed new questions. Her stance on how to face this had not changed. This love was unnatural and illegitimate. It was born of her calculated luring, her greedy, innate need to steal love and attention since childhood.

There were enough tragic examples. There was Lu Miaomiao’s bitter tears. There was the failed adoption at age six despite her desperate attempts to please. She thought she had outgrown those mistakes, but it turned out her nature was immutable. She had used her seniority, her status as a sister, the convenience of living together, even the girl’s grief over her mother. She had used it all.

She had betrayed Xia Ling’s trust. She was beyond redemption.

So, let it end here.

Her trembling stopped. She stood up on weak legs, feeling a shameful, hidden dampness trailing down her inner thigh. Everything had happened so suddenly; she was unprepared. The sticky traces made her ears and eyes burn with shame. She wanted to incinerate the ruined sheets and nightgown immediately.

Yet, terrified of waking her sister, she had to hold her breath and move with agonizing silence.

What a pathetic situation. She let out a cold laugh, walked barefoot to the rack, and threw on a shirt. With a sudden, fierce strength, she stripped the damp, sticky sheets and walked barefoot out of the room.

The cold moonlight lay on the living room tiles. Her bare legs were exposed beneath the shirt; even in summer, the floor felt icy at night. But she made no sound. She stood there like an executioner after a murder, staring at the dark drum of the washing machine before violently stuffing the soiled laundry inside.

The hidden sound of rushing water swallowed her secret in the dark.

*****

The next morning, Xia Chao was woken by the roar of the washing machine. The noise of the spin cycle was deafening. She opened her eyes groggily and walked out to see Ping Yuan hanging up laundry.

Usually, they washed their clothes together. Xia Chao habitually walked over to help. Ping Yuan flinched and dodged her.

The machine was already empty. Xia Chao glanced inside and realized Ping Yuan had only washed her own things. A single set of sheets and a nightgown.

The scent of detergent and softener filled the air. The freshly washed items were damp and clean; strikingly separate from Xia Chao’s pile in the laundry basket.

Her sister hung the clothes in silence, head down. Her long lashes cast shadows, and her soft black hair hid her pale profile, yet her gaze remained sharp.

“From now on, we wash our clothes separately,” she announced coldly.

Xia Chao heard the iron-clad resolve in her voice. Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s. From this moment on, Ping Yuan was unwilling to have any overlap between them.

And Xia Chao had no choice but to obey her sister’s decree.

At least, that was how it was supposed to be. If only something hadn’t happened later.

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