Peaches and Plums Don’t Speak – Chapter 65

Conflicted

Yan Xi tossed and turned all night and didn’t sleep well. She woke up a little late the next day, and by the time she got up, Anzhi had already left for school. There was breakfast left for her in the kitchen; the millet congee was still warm.

Yan Xi ate her congee alone in the kitchen, then spaced out for a while before finally driving to work.

            

Yan Xi certainly wasn’t a homophobe. In fact, girls had been expressing their interest in her since high school, and even more so in university. Yan Xi was absolutely certain she didn’t like girls; she had never even considered the possibility of being with one.

Having grown up in a family with many boys, she and her brothers had been taught from a young age to respect and cherish girls. And as a woman herself, she was taught to have even more empathy and consideration for other women.

Her grandmother had told her: although people now champion gender equality, a woman’s path—from birth to school, from work to starting a family, from childhood to adulthood—is practically a bloody battlefield. The shackles of society, from both the opposite sex and her own, would be relentlessly piled upon her. She would have to cut through thorns and brambles to reach the end.

            

Therefore, women had to help women. This was the lesson she had been taught since she was a child.

Although same-sex love was outside the scope of her own considerations, it wasn’t her place to voice any opposition. Whenever she received admiration from other women, she had always expressed her gratitude before politely declining. She handled these situations with ease, without any trouble.

But—but this was Anzhi. The child who had grown up right beside her now had tendencies toward same-sex love.

            

No, not tendencies. Anzhi’s tone had been utterly certain. She had said, “I don’t like boys at all…” which basically ruled out the other possibility, leaving only one.

Not being homophobic and having someone close to you be gay were two different things. Yan Xi was deeply frustrated with herself for even thinking that.

She vaguely remembered a social experiment on Weibo many years ago. A group of young people called their parents without warning to come out¹. The parents, in their shock, rage, and distress, said some very harsh things. The children were hurt in turn, lamenting that their relationships with their parents could never go back to the way they were.

            

At the time, many people, especially the younger generation, had sided with the children. They argued that one’s orientation was uncontrollable, and that there was nothing wrong with love.

But Yan Xi had heard the older, parent-generation colleagues at the station express their heartbreak. They had raised their children through twenty years of hardship, hoping only for them to have happy lives and families, only to have a single, unexpected phone call inform them that their child liked the same sex. They were given no mental preparation at all, yet were expected to defy the ethics and morals of the public order and good customs² they had always known.

A senior colleague had said, “That’s not even the most hurtful part. It’s that the children so easily negate their parents’ love for them, as if not supporting them means we don’t love them. Well, what about the other way around? Do you have no love for your parents at all? You’re a coward, afraid to tell your parents about your love openly and honorably. You chose to take a shortcut, giving your parents no time to process, and still expect them to unconditionally understand and accept you. On what grounds?

            

“This path was always going to be rockier and require more strength than any other. If you don’t even have this much courage, how will you face the rest of your life?”

Yan Xi didn’t want to judge who was right or wrong, but she had to admit she was shocked by Anzhi’s confession. And after the shock, there was a faint sense of pride. What a brave girl, to choose to face the voice in her own heart.

Yan Xi was curious. What kind of image did she have in Anzhi’s mind? Was she like a foster mother, or more like a friend? Whatever the case, Anzhi must have held very high expectations for her. At the very least, Yan Xi must have made her feel safe for her to be so bold and frank.

            

That left only one question: Anzhi was still so young. Could she be sure? Could this just be a phase?

Yan Xi immediately shook her head. Impossible. She couldn’t dismiss Anzhi’s judgment of herself just because she was young. Believing you like the same sex is a very serious matter, and Anzhi had always been very clear about what she liked, ever since she was little.

Wait!

            

Yan Xi had been pacing the office corridor all morning, chewing on her pen.

Without some kind of catalyst, Anzhi shouldn’t have realized she liked girls…

Could it be…

            

Yan Xi frowned. It wasn’t what she was thinking, was it? Could it be that Xu Jia’er?

Yan Xi nearly bit her pen in half, her face a mask of worry.

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After the first two periods, the moment the bell rang, Anzhi collapsed onto her desk, her cheek pressed against the cool surface, her expression miserable.

            

Anzhi paused, then gently knocked her head against the desktop. So stupid, so impulsive. She had just blurted it out last night. What was she going to do now? She hadn’t even dared to wait for Yan Xi to wake up this morning. She was scared.

She covered her face with her hands, her mind a tangled mess.

Xu Jia’er, sitting behind her, observed her silently for a moment before poking her in the back.

            

“Leave me alone,” Anzhi mumbled.

“The teacher’s coming. Are you going to lie there for the whole period?” Xu Jia’er poked her again.

“You’re so annoying.”

            

Xu Jia’er chuckled. “Little Class Monitor, I’m not the one who has to call ‘stand up.'”

“You’re so annoying,” Anzhi repeated, sitting up.

The last class was chemistry. Anzhi couldn’t muster any energy as the teacher went over their completed exam papers. Xu Jia’er was also zoning out, though she occasionally glanced at Anzhi, who was propping her head up, clearly lost in thought.

            

The teacher read a question. “Which of the following statements is incorrect? A. Metallic sodium can be used to distinguish between ethanol and ether. Is that correct?”

A student answered, “Correct. Sodium reacts with ethanol to produce bubbles, but it doesn’t react with ether.”

The teacher continued, “B. An acidic potassium permanganate solution can be used to distinguish between hexane and 3-hexene. Class Monitor, Class Monitor, you answer this one?”

            

There was no response.

Xu Jia’er snapped out of her daze and answered for Anzhi. “3-hexene can decolorize an acidic potassium permanganate solution, while hexane cannot. So it’s correct.”

The chemistry teacher glanced at her and nodded. “Correct. C. Water can be used to distinguish between benzene and bromobenzene. Class Monitor?”

            

Xu Jia’er waited a moment for Anzhi to speak. In fact, the teacher and the entire class were waiting for Anzhi’s answer. This subject was her home field; no one was better at it than her. Was this question too simple for her to bother answering?

“Mm, the density of benzene is less than water, while the density of bromobenzene is greater than water. They can be distinguished using water, so C is also correct,” Xu Jia’er had to answer again.

The chemistry teacher adjusted her glasses. “Since the first three options are correct, then option D must be incorrect. What’s wrong with it? Class Monitor? Class Monitor Tao Anzhi?”

            

Xu Jia’er was about to answer for her again when Anzhi finally lowered her hand. “The molecular structure of methyl formate also contains an aldehyde group, so a freshly prepared silver ammonia solution cannot be used to distinguish between methyl formate and acetaldehyde. Therefore, option D is incorrect.”

The chemistry teacher stared at her for two seconds before continuing with the lesson.

Anzhi sighed wistfully.

            

When school let out, she slung her backpack on and prepared to go home. Xu Jia’er picked up her own bag and followed her for a stretch.

“Something on your mind?” Xu Jia’er ducked her head to look at her. Anzhi was walking with her head down, slowly counting her steps.

“Hey…” Xu Jia’er walked backward in front of her for a few steps, still watching her. Anzhi ignored her, looking like a dejected rabbit.

            

Xu Jia’er turned back around to walk beside her, then suddenly leaned in close, tilting her head. “Talk to me! Aren’t we friends?”

Anzhi finally looked up at her. “We’re friends, but I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Xu Jia’er’s lips curved into a smile. She felt that whenever Anzhi was in a bad mood, her cheeks would puff up like a little bun³. But because she’d lost a lot of her baby fat, she now looked like a half-full bun.

            

How could she be so cute?

“Then I’ll wait until you’re in a better mood to talk to me?” Xu Jia’er said in a gentle voice.

Anzhi walked on for two steps in silence, then looked up at her again. “Sorry, I’m just in a bad mood. I’m going home now.”

            

Xu Jia’er watched Anzhi walk out of the school gate, the corners of her lips lifting.

Anzhi took the bus home. Yan Xi wasn’t back yet. Grandma Liu had already prepared dinner, so she took it out of the fridge to heat it up.

She hesitated, wondering if she should call Yan Xi and ask when she’d be back, to wait for her to eat together.

            

But she didn’t dare.

And Yan Xi didn’t call her, either. Anzhi felt a wave of fear.

She let out a soft sob, on the verge of tears. She waited for a while, but Yan Xi still didn’t come home. She ate dinner by herself, washed the dishes, went upstairs, took a shower, and did her homework.

            

Anzhi pulled out an English test paper to work on. The large amount of reading required her to concentrate. She completed the entire paper, even writing the essay. When she checked her answers, she sighed. Three mistakes. This was the worst she’d ever done.

She put the paper down and walked out of her room, only to find Yan Xi sitting in the living room. She had no idea how long she’d been back.

Yan Xi was reading a book, looking for all the world as if nothing was wrong. When she saw Anzhi come out, she straightened up slightly and looked at her, seeming to want to say something.

            

She came back and didn’t even tell me.

A sudden sense of grievance washed over Anzhi.

She turned her head away, ignoring her, and ran down the stairs with a thump-thump-thump.

            

Before Yan Xi could say a word, Anzhi was gone, her cheeks puffed out as if she were angry. Yan Xi blinked. What just happened?

Yan Xi waited a while. She had been trying to organize her words all evening, feeling like she should talk to Anzhi, yet also feeling like she should pretend nothing had happened.

She had dithered back and forth so much that she hadn’t turned a single page of her book.

            

She listened closely. Anzhi had probably gone downstairs for a drink of water or a snack. She should be coming back up soon. Crap, she still hadn’t decided. Should she talk to her or not?

Anzhi came back up. She reached the living room and stopped again. She took a few steps forward, then paused, her head bowed, loose strands of hair falling beside her cheeks as she stared at her feet.

“Um… Taotao?” Yan Xi called softly.

            

Anzhi looked up at her and pouted childishly. “…I got three questions wrong on the reading section.”

Yan Xi raised her eyebrows, a little taken aback. “…Huh?”

Anzhi choked for a second, shot her an annoyed look, and turned back to her room in a huff.

            

Yan Xi tilted her head in confusion.

What was that all about?

She got three reading questions wrong… Is that… a lot?

            

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The author has something to say:

Hahaha, Old Auntie Yan Xi, she doesn’t understand anything at all.

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