Chapter 15: The Gathering

Ban Ban rolled over and checked her phone. Six oh three. She turned again and looked at the person beside her.

Ting’an was still asleep on his side, one arm outside the quilt. She lay watching him for a long time. Truthfully, ever since they met, every time she saw his face she thought him handsome.

At their first meeting in the Jiang City private dining room, he’d walked in with his hair swept back, defined brows, broad shoulders and long legs. She’d lost her train of thought. He was so handsome; the arranged marriage wasn’t a bad deal.

Later she’d searched for his photos. The financial magazine cover was handsome too, but in person he had more presence.

She leaned closer. In sleep his lashes seemed longer, his nose straight, the curve of his lips lovely. Holding her breath, she edged closer still, then quickly dipped her head and kissed his cheek with a smack.

She immediately withdrew, threw back the quilt, got out of bed and slipped barefoot from the room. The whole thing took less than five seconds.

As the door closed, Ting’an opened his eyes. He’d woken when she turned for her phone but hadn’t moved. When she leaned close, he’d felt her warm breath on his face and wondered what she was going to do. The soft kiss on his cheek had surprised him.

His little wife, outwardly quiet and soft-spoken, was bolder than he’d thought.

Downstairs the kitchen was fragrant. Ban Ban stood at the stove in an apron, a clay pot bubbling with steam. The rich but not greasy aroma of duck broth filled the house. On the board beside her lay freshly rolled thread noodles, fine and white, neatly arranged on a lightly floured wooden tray.

She heard footsteps and turned. Ting’an came down in house clothes, hair unstyled and a little messy, and leaned in the kitchen doorway to watch her.

“You smelled it? The duck broth has simmered over an hour.” She lifted the lid and stirred with a ladle, smiling back. “Thread noodles. Have you had them? They’re a southern specialty.”

He shook his head.

She dropped the noodles into boiling water, timed them, drained them into a bowl and poured over the hot duck broth. The soup was clear and golden, shredded duck laid over the noodles with a scattering of scallions.

“Try it.” She carried the bowl to the table.

He sat and lifted a mouthful. The noodles were fine and smooth, tender yet resilient, coated in the rich savory broth. He drank some soup: clear and sweet, full of duck flavor without being greasy.

“Delicious.”

Ban Ban watched him eat, chin lifted in a charmingly proud expression. Only when he’d finished a large bowl and most of the soup did she turn, satisfied, to fetch coffee.

This time it was a latte, with fine, dense foam and a leaf design poured on top. He sipped: a touch of bitterness giving way to sweetness, smooth and mellow, worlds away from yesterday’s extra-strong Americano.

He set down the cup and looked up. She leaned forward with both hands on the table, expression serious. “When I’m happy, breakfast tastes good. When I’m unhappy, breakfast tastes bad.”

He leaned back and touched the top of her head. She neither dodged nor blushed. She realized she was growing used to it: the gesture came more naturally to him, and she accepted it more naturally too.

“All right,” he said. “I promise to keep Ban Ban happy from now on.”

She tilted her head. “You’d better keep that promise.”

He withdrew his hand and went upstairs to change. When he came down, she waited by the entryway. “What time are you picking me up tonight?”

“Six.”

“Got it.” Leaning against the cabinet, she watched him change shoes. At the door he looked back, remembering the kiss on his cheek. The corner of his mouth moved, but he said nothing and left.

That afternoon Ban Ban video-called Ban Ruo. She sat cross-legged on the bedroom sofa, phone raised; her sister was in her office on the screen.

“Sis.”

“How have you been these past few days? Happy?”

“Very good. Happy every day.” Ban Ban brought the phone closer. “Ting’an gave me a card too, with no limit.”

Ban Ruo stopped turning a document. “How much?”

“I don’t know. It’s a black card. He said to use it however I like.”

“Have you spent any?”

“Not much, just some clothes.”

“He’s your husband. Take what he gives you and use it occasionally.”

“I know, Sis.”

Ban Ruo smiled broadly. Her sister’s smile and light tone were entirely different from before, easing her mind. But she still repeated what she said on every call: “If he treats you badly, don’t put up with it. Tell me.”

“I know. I won’t let myself be mistreated. Don’t worry.”

Ban Ruo smiled. After the call, she thought that her sister looked gentle and easygoing but was actually the most stubborn. Once she’d made up her mind, no persuasion worked. No one had stopped her from marrying; if she said things were good now, they probably really were. And if she were mistreated, she likely wouldn’t endure it quietly. Ting’an might not be able to handle her.

At five, Ban Ban began getting ready. She took out the dusty pink dress: a French boat neckline, sleeveless, fitted at the waist, with a full skirt falling to mid-calf. She turned before the mirror; the neckline showed her collarbones and fair shoulders, the skirt light and full as it spun.

She curled her hair slightly, tied it in a low Korean-style ponytail and left a few strands by her ears. She applied a little base, defined her brows and used a milk-tea-colored matte lipstick, doing only those few things.

Auntie Jiang watched from the living room, smiling. “You look beautiful, Madam.”

“Really?” Ban Ban spun again, the skirt rising and falling. “It’s Korean style. Sis taught me; she says it suits me.”

“Everything suits you.”

At six precisely, a car engine sounded outside. Ban Ban rose from the sofa just as Ting’an opened the door.

He saw her in the center of the room, her dusty pink skirt swaying under warm lights, low ponytail over one shoulder, her fair neck exposed. His steps paused in the entryway.

She hurried over. “You’re back?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She stopped before him, hands behind her back, face tilted up. “Do I look pretty?”

Looking down at her confident smile, he suppressed a smile of his own and nodded. “You do.”

“Do I look like a rich young lady from a Korean drama?” She stepped back and spun again, holding her skirt.

Were young women nowadays all this confident, he wondered? The women he knew, however beautiful, tended to put on a front or hold something back around him. She freely asked whether she was pretty, then followed it with the clear conviction that she was.

He lightly steadied her lower back, laughter in his voice. “You do.”

Satisfied, Ban Ban nodded and went to change shoes. She wore flat, delicate strappy sandals decorated with tiny pearls, her ankles slender and fair.

On the drive to the restaurant she talked more than usual. She’d styled her hair that afternoon, using a curling iron because a perm might damage it. She’d drawn her eyebrows several times to make them even, and spent ages choosing lipstick; the tea color was neither too formal nor too casual.

Ting’an drove, occasionally murmuring to show he was listening. He didn’t find her chatter noisy. It made the car livelier, filling the silence he was used to when driving alone.

At a red light he glanced over. She was checking the mirror behind the sun visor for lipstick on her teeth, mouth slightly open, cheeks round. He looked back at the road. The longer he knew her, the more he saw how unaffected and comfortable she was around him. He liked that.

At the restaurant he parked, came around and opened her door, offering a hand. She placed hers in his palm and used it to rise. His hand was warm, its grip gentle but steady.

Leading her inside, he said, “When they give you welcome gifts, accept them graciously. Don’t stand on ceremony.”

“What kind of gifts?”

“Everyone’s is different. Just accept them.”

She nodded.

The private room was at the end of the second floor. When the door opened, Ban Ban paused. Ting’an had said “a few friends,” but the round table, large enough for twenty, was almost full. Men and women were formally dressed, with elegant cold dishes and drinks on the table.

Zhou Lin was first to rise, wearing a pale blue casual suit and looking considerably more respectable than he had outside the hospital. “You’re here! Hello, sister-in-law!”

Her ears warmed at the address.

Zhou Lin turned to Ting’an and lowered his voice. “Everyone heard you were bringing your wife and wanted to come. I couldn’t stop them.”

Ting’an surveyed the table, displeased. “And what are those women doing here?”

Zhou Lin scratched his head and leaned closer. “They wanted to see your wife. They’re friends’ companions. I swear I didn’t arrange it.”

Ting’an glanced at him and shifted half a step toward the door. Zhou Lin caught his arm. “Give me a break, please. If you leave now, what am I supposed to tell everyone?”

Ting’an stopped and looked down at the hand on his arm. Zhou Lin promptly let go. “Keep them under control,” Ting’an said.

“Of course.” Relieved, Zhou Lin ushered Ban Ban in. “This way, sister-in-law. We saved you the seat of honor.”

He took a small rectangular box from his pocket, wrapped in dark green velvet with a thin ribbon. “Last time outside the hospital I failed to recognize you and spoke out of turn. A welcome gift. I hope you like it.”

Ban Ban accepted and thanked him. The small box had some weight.

Song Chengyuan followed, dressed in a suit, appearing steadier than Zhou Lin and smiling courteously. “Hello, sister-in-law. I’m Ting’an’s childhood friend, Song Chengyuan. A small gift for our first meeting.” He offered a slightly larger box, and she thanked him.

A young woman rose from the table and approached. A little taller than Ban Ban, she wore a dark green dress, her medium-length hair loose. Her features were even and her open smile put people at ease.

She carried a small white paper bag. “Hello, I’m Zhuo Wenjing. This is for you. I hope you like it.”

Ban Ban accepted, struck by her poised manner, unhurried voice and sincere eyes. She seemed easy to get along with.

Zhuo Wenjing naturally linked her arm. “Let’s sit together. You don’t know anyone else here; we can chat.”

“All right.” They sat side by side, the gifts beside Ban Ban, Ting’an on her other side.

There were about seventeen or eighteen people. Several women opposite were looking her way, impeccably dressed and made up, their gazes appraising. Ting’an introduced Ban Ban after sitting, without saying much else.

Several men joked, “The south really does produce beauties. She looks so fresh and lovely. Brother Wen is lucky.”

Ban Ban smiled and sipped juice. The women opposite said nothing, but exchanged glances; one curled her lip slightly. Ban Ban wasn’t sure whether she was imagining it, but their scrutiny made her uncomfortable.

Zhuo Wenjing leaned close. “Add me on WeChat. I think we’ll have things in common.”

Ban Ban nodded, turned and tapped Ting’an’s arm. “My phone, please.” She’d brought no bag, so it was in his trouser pocket. He took it out and handed it over with the ease of long practice.

Ban Ban added Wenjing and saved her name. Wenjing quickly typed a message, set down her phone and whispered, “See those women opposite? The one in black on the far left and the two in white beside her? They’re all here for Wen Ting’an.”

Ban Ban followed her gaze, then turned and glared at her husband. He was drinking; he set down his glass and looked at her questioningly. She ignored him and turned back.

“What about you? Are you here for him too?”

Wenjing smiled and indicated Zhou Lin with her chin. “See the one beside me?”

Ban Ban looked. Zhou Lin sat on Wenjing’s other side, gesturing animatedly as he spoke to Song Chengyuan. “Yes.”

Wenjing leaned back, relaxed. “My family is in pharmaceuticals; his runs hospitals. I’m going to marry him. An arranged marriage.”

Ban Ban understood.

“That’s why I said we have something in common. Mine was arranged too, though our situations differ. You had a choice. Mine was decided when I was little; I can’t escape it.”

Ban Ban considered. “I didn’t really have a choice either. The Wens helped my family enormously. I had to repay them.”

Wenjing patted her hand and smiled. “It’s all right. Ask me whenever you don’t understand something. I know who’s decent and who’s putting on an innocent act in this circle. I’ve been tied to Zhou Lin for over ten years; I know what everyone’s like.”

Ban Ban liked her straightforwardness. She raised her juice. “A toast to you.”

Wenjing clinked her glass. Ban Ban sipped, then indicated the polished women opposite. “What about those women? What do they do?”

Wenjing glanced over. “The one in black is Meng Lin, an actress who’s been in a few web dramas. She came with someone in Song Chengyuan’s group. The two in white are a model and an internet celebrity. They tagged along; they don’t usually get a chance to see your husband. They heard he was bringing his wife and made a special effort to come. They might make trouble for you.”

Ban Ban sipped her juice, her expression unchanged, silently sorting the information. Actress, model, internet celebrity, all here for Ting’an. She glanced at him; he was looking across the table, listening to Song Chengyuan.

Seeing her expression, Wenjing leaned closer. “Don’t worry. They’re just looking. Your Wen Ting’an is taken now; they won’t dare do anything.”

Ban Ban looked away and smiled. “I’m not afraid of what they’ll do. I just think they’re an eyesore, sitting there.”

Wenjing blinked, then laughed. “You’re right. Don’t worry, I’ll help you keep an eye on them.”

Glasses clinked and the room gradually grew lively. Zhou Lin came to toast Ban Ban, said many kind things and drank three glasses himself to apologize for his earlier remarks. Song Chengyuan came too, politely calling her sister-in-law and asking whether she’d settled in Dong City.

She answered each, clinking her glass of juice and taking occasional sips. When people urged her to drink alcohol, Ting’an naturally blocked them with an arm across her front. “Juice is fine for her.” They laughed and moved on.

After eating enough to settle her stomach, Ban Ban put down her chopsticks and chatted with Wenjing. Wenjing described the complicated branches of Zhou Lin’s family: who had conflicts, who was polite in public but undermined whom in private. Ban Ban listened eagerly, asking “And then?” now and again. Wenjing spoke animatedly, and the two leaned together for nearly half an hour.

Ban Ban sipped more juice and caught sight of the actress in black rising with a glass of wine and approaching. Her heels were slender, her dress slit to mid-thigh, her posture graceful. Ban Ban glanced at her but didn’t move.

The actress stopped beside Ting’an and raised her glass with a polished smile. “Mr. Wen, it’s been a while. We met at the awards ceremony. I don’t know if you remember me.”

He glanced at her, expressionless, and shook his head.

She moved half a step closer, her voice faintly coquettish. “Important people forget so easily. It’s rare to see you today; let me offer a toast.”

He didn’t lift his glass. Reclining in his chair, he looked at her briefly, then away. “I’m driving,” he said evenly.

Her smile stiffened for a second, then returned. “Th-then perhaps another time—”

He had already turned back to Song Chengyuan. She stood with her glass, smiling awkwardly.

Under the table, Wenjing squeezed Ban Ban’s hand and whispered, “See? Your husband ignored her.”

Ban Ban sipped her juice, smiling without speaking. Wenjing noticed her fingertips tap the glass twice, as though she were in a very good mood.