Peaches and Plums Don’t Speak – Chapter 54
by Little PandaIntimate Relationship (Part 2)
For some reason, Anzhi’s face grew hot. She wasn’t a little kid anymore; she was in high school now. She couldn’t just go around acting spoiled whenever she wanted. But that embrace was so tempting, so tempting, so tempting…
Her lips were sore from pouting, yet Yan Xi neither pulled her in nor stroked her head.
Anzhi saw the beer in Yan Xi’s hand and the documentary on the large screen. She remembered Yan Xi had already seen it. So why was she watching it again?
Anzhi tilted her head. Something was on Yan Xi’s mind. It could be work-related, or maybe something else. But Yan Xi didn’t show it, and she wouldn’t tell Anzhi. Instead, she was setting aside her own troubles to worry about her…
Anzhi’s heart filled with a different layer of wistfulness. She wanted to be a child, because only as a child could she be so unreservedly affectionate and close with her. But she also wanted to be an adult, or at least an adult in Yan Xi’s eyes. Maybe then Yan Xi would be able to confide in her. When she was very little, Anzhi’s view of Yan Xi was of someone tall and beautiful, who understood so many things she didn’t. Anzhi often had to crane her neck to speak to her or listen to her, feeling that she was very, very far away. But when Yan Xi took her home, holding her hand; when she picked her up for the first time; whenever she bent down to speak to her, that immense distance would instantly shrink.
From a very young age, Anzhi had been good at observing others’ emotions, especially adults’. She didn’t know which of her earliest memories it was, but she had realized she was different from other children. Other kids’ homes were bustling with noise and people, but she only had her grandfather. At their dinner table, there were only two pairs of chopsticks, not like the neighbor’s table, which was always full. And it seemed many families in the village were the same. She heard people say, “Her grandfather has it so hard. He’s retired but still has to go around asking people to help him find students, because his pension isn’t enough for the two of them, and his granddaughter will need money for school later…”
Adults had it hard. The only thing she could do was be good and not ask questions they couldn’t answer. She had always been quiet and reserved, only slowly opening up to people who made her feel safe and familiar. In all her years by Yan Xi’s side, she had grown used to being cared for, used to being the child, used to throwing the occasional tantrum and acting spoiled. She rarely took the initiative to show concern for Yan Xi.
Yan Xi got tired. She got weary and unhappy. Her work was demanding. But she rarely let Anzhi know. A sudden pang of sorrow struck Anzhi’s heart. Perhaps on many nights she knew nothing about, Yan Xi was just like this—sitting alone, watching a documentary, lonely and solitary as she mulled over her own worries.
“Hm? What’s wrong? Alright, I won’t laugh at you. You think it’s hard to beat her, but she feels the same way about you. Taotao, this isn’t like you. You’re supposed to be the one mocking others for their poor grades,” Yan Xi said with a smile, thinking Anzhi was still upset about their earlier topic.
“Mm…” Anzhi replied absently. When she registered the words, she mumbled, a little embarrassed, “…I… I’m probably getting what I deserve…”
Yan Xi straightened up slightly and gently flicked her on the forehead. “What are you talking about!”
Anzhi smiled sheepishly, bit her lip, and quietly scooted closer. Taking a breath, giving herself almost no room for hesitation, she lay down on Yan Xi’s lap.
Then, feigning a casual tone, she said, “That Xu Jia’er’s science scores are about the same as mine. We often tie in math, chemistry, and physics. It’s the humanities—her English is better than mine, and sometimes I score higher in Chinese…”
As she spoke, she watched Yan Xi’s reaction. Yan Xi had been drinking her beer and wasn’t prepared for Anzhi’s move. She hastily moved the can away with one hand, afraid of spilling it on Anzhi’s head, while her other hand reflexively went to support her. Her mind had barely had time to process what was happening before Anzhi flooded it with information. All she could manage was a soft, “Mm…”
A small smile curled Anzhi’s lips. She found a comfortable position on the sofa, her head pillowed on Yan Xi’s lap. “So, you see, I can only work harder on the humanities, and I can’t be careless with the sciences, otherwise I won’t have any chance of winning.”
“Mm… Xu Jia’er? That’s a nice name,” Yan Xi said, looking down at Anzhi. “Are your English exams all reading comprehension now?”
“Yeah. Chinese, too.”
“Oh? It’s been over a decade since I was in high school. I don’t really remember.” Yan Xi’s hand began to slowly stroke Anzhi’s hair. She tried to picture the exam paper but couldn’t recall it.
“Well…” Anzhi started counting on her fingers. “The first part is modern Chinese reading, which is divided into argumentative reading, literary text reading, and practical text reading. The second part is classical poetry reading.” She switched to her other hand. “That’s divided into classical Chinese reading, ancient poetry reading, and memorization of famous lines. Then there’s the third part, language application, which usually tests the correct use of idioms…”1
As Anzhi rattled on, she realized she’d run out of fingers on both hands. She grabbed Yan Xi’s hand and continued counting on it. “Identifying grammatically incorrect sentences, choosing appropriate expressions, and language expression questions—there are two of those—and then the essay…” She finished just as she ran out of fingers on Yan Xi’s hand.
She had been so engrossed in her counting, running through the entire Chinese exam in her head, that when she finished, she found herself holding Yan Xi’s hand, not letting go. Her fingers brushed against Yan Xi’s fingertips. Her nail polish was the color of red bean paste,2 with one or two nails slightly chipped at the edges, but it didn’t detract from their beauty.
Anzhi had never looked at her hands from this close before. They were a little larger than hers, with slender, delicate fingers, a narrow back, and a thin wrist. Anzhi’s fingers gently traced the bones of her hand, and she fell into a daze.
A soft laugh came from above. “What are you doing?”
Anzhi looked up. Yan Xi was watching her with a teasing, knowing smile. Anzhi’s cheeks flushed for no reason. Unable to bear her playful gaze, she turned and buried her face in Yan Xi’s stomach.
Yan Xi blinked, looking down at the little head burrowed into her abdomen, and ruffled her hair. What’s there to be shy about?
She cleared her throat and returned to the previous topic. “So, have you looked at this classmate Xu Jia’er’s exam papers?”
“Huh?” Anzhi looked up with wide eyes, like a curious rabbit perking up its ears.
“You should look at her papers and find out where she loses points. Know the enemy and know yourself, and you can fight a hundred battles without defeat.”3
“Hmm…” Anzhi frowned, beginning to think.
“No need to rush. Just take a look after this month’s exam.”
“Okay,” Anzhi nodded.
Yan Xi smiled at her and took a sip of beer. The column of her fair, slender throat moved as she swallowed, and her gaze returned to the screen.
Anzhi watched her. The topic seemed to be closed, but since Yan Xi hadn’t told her to get up, Anzhi pretended not to notice. She pulled her phone out of her nightgown pocket and started playing with it, occasionally glancing at the screen.
“In 1953, the National Cultural Heritage Administration invited master restorers from all trades to establish a cultural relics restoration workshop in the Forbidden City…” The narrator’s voice was soothing and calm. Anzhi grew tired of scrolling through the web. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted off to sleep, her phone falling with a soft thud.
Yan Xi sat up straight and put her beer down. She looked down at Anzhi, then gathered her into a half-embrace, resting her against her own body and patting her gently, one pat after another. The movements were natural, but her thoughts were still on what Liu Yiyi had said to her.
“Aren’t you lonely? No, not just physically lonely, but… intimacy4, you know? The lack of an intimate relationship. Westerners say intimacy is inseparable from three words, the three Rs: relatives, roommates, and romance. Kinship, roommates—meaning friendship, and romance—meaning love. It’s that craving, that desire for someone to appreciate you, that sense of resonance—not just intellectually, but physically too. The intimacy of spirit and flesh united. Of course, that’s something you can only chance upon, not seek out. Many people settle for second best; physical satisfaction is enough. But Yan Xi, I really think you’ve been living like a nun all these years…” Liu Yiyi had been gesticulating wildly, speaking with such fervor that spit flew from her mouth.
“If this goes on, you’ll even lose the ability to love.”
Yan Xi stared blankly into space. Honestly, she was a little confused. After Gao Jiming, she truly hadn’t fallen in love with anyone else. The men who had pursued her over the years were by no means lacking in excellence, yet not a single one had moved her. No instances where her heart suddenly moved, no love at first sight. Most of the time, her heart was as calm as a mirror. And she had to admit, Liao Chengyu was the only man in all these years with whom she felt comfortable.
But it wasn’t love.
That physical and spiritual intimacy, that resonance of a united spirit and flesh—what did it even feel like?
Yan Xi felt bewildered, lost, and doubtful.
Does such a feeling even exist? Does anyone really encounter it?
Yan Xi sank deep into thought. She had a sudden feeling that perhaps she would never encounter it in her entire life. Maybe she would never even feel it. The kind of scorching, intense emotion Liu Yiyi had—she would never be able to experience it, nor was she capable of it. Perhaps, just as she’d said, she had already lost the ability to love.
Suddenly, Anzhi stirred with a soft murmur. As if she had been in one position for too long, she shifted and opened her eyes.
She looked at Yan Xi, still dazed with sleep.
“Hm? Auntie?”
But Yan Xi seemed to be in a trance.
Anzhi blinked, watching her for a moment.
She had never seen Yan Xi like this—eyebrows furrowed, a look of confusion on her face, and a low, heavy silence about her.
Anzhi’s heart clenched. She sat up, moved closer, and wrapped her arms around Yan Xi’s neck. “Auntie…”
“Oh… you’re awake?” Yan Xi came back to her senses and looked at her.
But her gaze was still somewhat unfocused.
Anzhi’s heart clenched even tighter. She couldn’t stand seeing Yan Xi with such an expression. Without a second thought, she leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Yan Xi’s cheek, like a butterfly’s wings brushing against a flower petal.
The moment their skin touched, Anzhi froze. Yan Xi’s eyelashes fluttered, and the light in her eyes focused, staring straight at Anzhi.
Footnotes
- Anzhi is describing the typical structure of the Chinese language portion of the Gaokao, China’s national college entrance examination. It is known for its rigorous and comprehensive testing of both classical and modern language skills.
- Dòushā sè (豆沙色), or ‘red bean paste color,’ is a popular shade in East Asian cosmetics. It is a muted, dusty rose or mauve color, similar to the color of sweet red bean paste used in desserts.
- A famous quote from Sun Tzu’s ‘The Art of War’ (知己知彼，百战不殆, zhījǐzhībǐ, bǎizhànbùdài). It emphasizes the importance of understanding both one’s own strengths and the opponent’s weaknesses.
- The words ‘intimacy,’ ‘three Rs,’ ‘relatives,’ ‘roommates,’ and ‘romance’ appear in English in the original Chinese text.
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