Chapter 13: Don't Touch Me

At three in the afternoon, Wen Ting’an sat in his office reading a due-diligence report on an acquisition. He set down his pen and checked his phone. No new messages. Nothing since her “Mm” that morning. It was 3:07.

Two knocks sounded, and his secretary entered. “Mr. Wen, dinner with Director Wang is set for seven at Donghu Mansion. I’ve confirmed with Li Cheng; he—”

“Send Li Cheng.” Ting’an didn’t look up.

The secretary paused in surprise. Li Cheng was his assistant, but Ting’an normally attended dinners with someone of Director Wang’s standing himself. “You mean you won’t go tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” She withdrew without further questions and closed the door softly.

In the quiet office, Ting’an closed the file and leaned back, rubbing his thumb twice along the edge of his phone. He opened Ban Ban’s conversation, looked at the solitary “Mm,” exited and locked the screen.

At 5:50 he took his jacket and left. In the descending elevator, he straightened his collar in the polished metal doors and adjusted his watch.

He arrived home at six. Auntie Jiang was tidying the coffee table and looked visibly surprised. “You’re home early, Young Master.”

“Mm.” He changed shoes and surveyed the living room. The television was off. The white roses on the coffee table were still blooming, but an unfinished cup of milk tea sat crookedly on a coaster, its straw bitten out of shape.

“Where’s Madam?”

Auntie Jiang wiped her hands. “She went upstairs after shopping this morning and hasn’t come down. I asked; she said she wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t have dinner.”

His fingers stopped at his cuff links.

Auntie Jiang chose her words. “Perhaps she’s tired, but she also looked as though something upset her. She came home listless, quite different from the happy way she left this morning.”

He nodded, his expression unchanged, though his fingers paused before continuing. He rolled his sleeves to mid-forearm and went upstairs a little faster than usual.

The primary bedroom door was ajar. He pushed it gently open. Outside light fell over the small figure on the bed. Ban Ban lay on her side facing the window, quilt to her shoulders, only the rounded back of her head and a little of her neck visible. She appeared asleep.

He watched for several seconds without speaking, then gently closed the door.

He ate dinner alone. Auntie Jiang served four dishes and a soup: braised ribs, stir-fried vegetables, tomatoes and eggs, and mushroom soup, all things Ban Ban liked. Ting’an took only a few bites before putting down his chopsticks.

“Not to your taste?” Auntie Jiang asked from the kitchen.

“I’m full.” He stood.

She looked at his nearly untouched rice, wanting to speak but holding back. The young master was behaving strangely. Why had he come home so early?

In the study, he sat with a document open but couldn’t take in a word. He removed his glasses and pressed his brow, Auntie Jiang’s observation—she looked upset—repeating in his mind.

That morning Ban Ban had sent a cheerful message saying she was going out. Had something happened?

He shook his head. How had a young woman come to affect his mood? He told himself that Ban Ban had married and moved a thousand miles from home; even as a husband in name, he couldn’t let her be mistreated.

He opened his banking app and checked the black card. Five purchases that morning, all at Hengfeng Plaza: clothes, shoes, accessories. Ordinary shopping, none a large amount.

His gaze stopped on the plaza’s name. He suddenly remembered accompanying Lin Rou there to buy jewelry that morning.

He put his phone face down, leaned back and pressed a temple. Ban Ban must have seen him shopping for jewelry with another woman. No wonder she’d returned and refused dinner. She was angry.

He sat in the study a long time as the sky outside darkened from gray-blue to black and the ginkgo leaves rustled in the night wind. He stood at the window for a while.

At nine, he opened the bedroom door.

Ban Ban was awake. In a pink silk nightdress, hair loosely pinned back, she lay on the bed looking through a food magazine. Her lower legs were lifted, ankles crossed, the hem of her dress sliding to mid-thigh.

Seeing her pale legs and alluring curves, Ting’an swallowed uneasily.

She looked back at the sound of the door, her gaze resting on his face for a moment before she returned to the magazine.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her. One hand supported her chin while the other turned the pages a little forcefully, their edges whispering against her fingers.

“You didn’t have dinner. Are you hungry?”

“No.” She didn’t look up.

He touched the top of her hair lightly, fingers brushing the edge of her pinned-up bun. “Would you like some fruit?”

“No.” She closed the magazine, rolled under the quilt and turned her back, pulling the covers to her chin so only the back of her head showed. The movement was so swift and seamless it might have been rehearsed.

His hand hung in the air, then slowly dropped to his side. He got up and went into the bathroom.

Ban Ban poked her head out of the quilt and muttered, “Why is he home so early? Of course, he spent the morning buying her jewelry. I suppose he doesn’t need to keep her company tonight.”

When Ting’an came out, she was still in the same position, motionless. He lifted the quilt and lay down. The mattress dipped. Turning toward her, he reached for her waist.

The moment his palm touched the silk at her lower back, she rolled away to the edge of the bed, leaving a pillow’s width between them. The quilt lifted in a little breeze carrying the scent of her body wash.

“It’s too hot,” she said, muffled beneath the covers. “Don’t hold me while we sleep.”

His hand stopped in midair. Her shoulders drew inward beneath the silk, like a snail retreating into its shell.

He pressed a temple, propped himself up and reached past her, bracing his arm on the pillow in front of her and leaning over so she was between him and the mattress. His warm breath brushed the fine hair at her nape.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

She drew in her neck, ears reddening, but held still. “Nothing,” she said in a small, sulky voice.

“Tell me,” he said even more softly, trying to coax her. “Don’t keep it bottled up.”

He was too close. She could feel the heat from his chest a few centimeters behind her. His braced arm was taut, the sleeve rolled back enough to expose the veins inside his forearm. She shrank into the quilt, but his chest was behind her; she had nowhere to retreat.

Suddenly she turned over. Their noses nearly touched. She jerked her head back, but he supported it with his hand. He paused too. They were close enough to count each other’s lashes.

She looked up at him. The hurt she’d suppressed all day surged up, her nose stinging, her voice trembling. “I saw you shopping with a beautiful woman this morning.”

The words came quickly, as if she feared she couldn’t continue if she stopped. “You were so close. She held your arm and you didn’t push her away. So I’ve been very unhappy today.”

She looked away, fixing on the second button of his pajama top, fingers unconsciously clutching the quilt.

He was silent for two seconds, still braced above her, looking at her reddened eyes and pressed lips. “Her name is Lin Rou. She’s an actress. We grew up together and went to university together.”

Her lashes moved, but she didn’t look up.

“Last night at a business dinner, a friend, Lin Sang, was being pressured to drink by one of her superiors. She called me for help. I sent Lin Rou, and as thanks I promised her a piece of jewelry today.”

Ban Ban finally met his eyes. “Did you have to be so close? She was holding your arm.”

He brushed her cheek and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

She stared. She’d expected more explanation, but there wasn’t any. He’d said he’d be more careful next time. The words she’d prepared caught in her throat.

After a silence, she asked, “What kind of help did you need a woman for?” Her gaze was direct, without a roundabout test; she simply wanted to know.

He looked at her for two seconds, frowned slightly, then relaxed. “Business is complicated. You wouldn’t understand.” He didn’t avert his eyes.

“Who is Lin Sang?”

He was silent for two seconds, looking at her clear, unguarded eyes. His lips moved as though he might speak, but finally pressed together.

Ban Ban understood. Surely another woman.

She slid out from under his arm, turned her back again and pulled the quilt to her chin. “Forget it. Sleep.” After a second she added, “Don’t touch me.”

He slowly lowered his arm. Her shoulders were hunched under the covers, even her neck tense. He lay down without touching her. The mattress dipped, an empty stretch between them, and a line of cool air slipped under the quilt.

The bedroom was quiet for a long time. Ban Ban watched the strip of night visible between the curtains. Behind her, Ting’an’s breathing was even but shallow; he wasn’t asleep. She couldn’t sleep either. The names Lin Rou and Lin Sang kept turning in her mind: one holding his arm while choosing jewelry, the other calling him late at night to rescue her from a drinking party.

“Wen Ting’an,” she said softly.

“Yes?”

“Have you had many girlfriends?”

After several seconds’ silence, his voice came low. “No.”

“Then why are there so many women around you?”

“Just playing along for appearances.”

“How did you break up with them?”

Another silence, longer this time, long enough that she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he spoke, his voice deeper. “I didn’t need to.”

“Why?”

“My rules.”

Startled, Ban Ban turned to look at him, her face scrunched as if to say he was a faithless playboy. Then she turned away again.

Much later, when her breathing had grown long and even and she thought Ting’an behind her had fallen asleep too, she felt the edge of the quilt lift gently.

A hand reached over and rested at her waist. Through her silk nightdress, his palm was warm against its hollow. He didn’t tighten his hold or pull her closer. He simply left his hand there.