Chapter 16: A Small Disturbance

Ban Ban had drunk a little too much juice. “I’m going to the restroom,” she told Ting’an.

“Can you go alone?”

She nodded. “I’m not a child.”

When she came out of the restroom, three women stood in the wash area. She paid little attention, rinsing her fingers at the sink. As she reached for a paper towel, the three spread out before her, blocking the way to the exit.

She looked up. In front was Meng Lin, the actress in black. More than half a head taller, impeccably made up, red lips curved in a cold smile, she looked down at Ban Ban.

“You’re Ban Ban, right?”

Ban Ban dropped the towel in the bin and straightened. “What is it?”

Meng Lin stepped half a pace closer. “Nothing much. Just something to tell you. Young Master Wen only married you because his family forced him. A little girl like you isn’t good enough for him.”

A woman in white added in a shrill voice, “Exactly. You look like a high school student. Who knows how you climbed your way into the Wen family?”

“I heard your family needed money and you married him for the Wens’ wealth.”

Anger rose in Ban Ban, but she didn’t immediately react. She looked at Meng Lin, then each of the other two, taking care to see their faces. She reached for her phone before remembering her dress had no pockets; it was with Ting’an.

She drew a breath and stepped forward. “What I want is none of your business.”

Meng Lin’s expression changed, apparently surprised that the short young woman dared answer back. She moved closer. Ban Ban stepped aside, trying to go around them.

The woman in white blocked her, and Meng Lin pushed her. The restroom tiles had just been mopped and were a little slick. Ban Ban slipped and staggered backward, striking her back on the edge of a partition and her wrist against a metal handle.

Sharp pain ran from wrist to fingertips. She hissed and looked down. The skin on the outside of her wrist was scraped, bruising darkening around it.

When she looked up, clutching her wrist, the three women seemed frightened and were already turning to leave. At the door Meng Lin looked back. “Don’t think marrying into the Wen family makes you a young mistress.” Her heels clicked away.

Ban Ban crouched for a moment to recover. Her wrist hurt badly; small beads of blood appeared on the scrape. She looked around. No one else was there.

She stayed crouched, her skirt touching a wet patch on the floor, darkening a small area of pink fabric.

Footsteps approached down the corridor, leather shoes crisp on marble, then stopped.

Ting’an had come looking for her. He found her crouching, hem wet, one hand gripping the opposite wrist, head lowered, loose strands from her ponytail against her face.

He crouched before her, noticing first the wet hem and then the way she held her wrist. “Ban Ban?”

He gently drew her hand away, revealing the bruise and scrape. “How did this happen?” His voice was lower and tighter than usual.

She looked up. “I slipped,” she said dully.

He said nothing. He looked around the restroom. There were no water marks on the partition, and though the floor was damp, it wasn’t slippery. He looked back at her.

Uneasy under his gaze, she pressed her lips together. More quietly, she said, “Those three women pushed me.”

“Which three?”

“The three from the room, in black and white dresses.” She held out her wrist. “Look. It’s bruised and scraped.”

He studied the injury. The bruise stood out on her fair skin, red around the edges, tiny beads of blood at the scrape. His gaze darkened, his mouth tightened and his throat moved; restraint gave way to a chill in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you resist?” He pulled her up, his voice colder.

She stood, eyes lowered, supporting the injured wrist with her other hand. “I did. But they had a point. If you hadn’t married me, you wouldn’t have had to be forced into marriage.”

She looked up, eyes red but dry, lips pressed down before relaxing. “I know you didn’t really want to marry me.”

Ting’an looked at her injured wrist, wet skirt and red nose, not a tear falling. She stated his reluctance as if it were a fact she’d already accepted. Something caught in his chest. He took her uninjured hand, gripping it more firmly than usual.

“No one forced me.”

She looked up.

“If I don’t want to do something, no one can force me. Not even Wen Henian.” He met her eyes, serious. “You say you know I didn’t want to. How do you know? Did you ask me?”

Her lashes trembled. “I…”

“You decided for me without asking?” His grip eased, his thumb brushing her hand, his voice softer. “Come on. Back to the room. Leave the rest to me.”

He kept hold of her hand and led her out, walking slower to match her shorter steps. She followed, looking down at their joined hands without speaking.

At the private-room door he paused and glanced at her wrist. The bruise was exposed. He didn’t cover it; he took her in as she was.

Zhou Lin noticed them first. Ting’an’s face was darker than when he’d left; Ban Ban followed with a wet patch at her hem and hair slightly disordered. Zhou Lin opened his mouth, but Song Chengyuan kicked him under the table and he closed it again.

Ting’an sat as usual, his expression returning to its customary calm. He moved Ban Ban’s drink away and replaced it with warm lemon water.

As she sat, Zhuo Wenjing leaned close. “Why were you gone so long?”

Ban Ban showed her right wrist. Wenjing saw the bruise and scrape and drew a sharp breath. “How did that happen?”

“Those three opposite.” Ban Ban indicated them with her chin, voice equally low. “They blocked me in the restroom, said a few things and pushed me into a partition.”

Wenjing’s expression changed. She glanced across the table. Meng Lin had her head lowered; the two in white looked over from time to time.

Wenjing turned back and gently examined Ban Ban’s wrist. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s all right. I just knocked it.” Ban Ban withdrew her hand to her lap and sipped lemon water. “I’m fine. I think they’re the ones who’ll be in trouble.”

Wenjing stared. “What do you mean?”

Ban Ban tilted her head toward Ting’an. He was speaking to Song Chengyuan with a glass in hand, his profile taut, jaw sharper than usual, restrained coldness coming off him.

Ban Ban looked back at Wenjing with a slight smile. “Ting’an seems unhappy.”

Wenjing followed her gaze, covered her mouth and smiled with satisfaction. “Good. Someone should have dealt with those women long ago. Always tagging along for meals and connections, throwing their weight around with a little access to the circle, badly behaved and constantly watching other people’s husbands.”

Ban Ban sipped lemon water without answering. She looked at her wrist. The edge of the bruise had begun to turn faintly yellow; it would probably darken over the next two days.

The three women didn’t come near again. Perhaps they’d sensed the change in Ting’an after he returned from the restroom. Even sitting, talking, drinking and smiling, his eyes were cold.

The dinner ended earlier than expected. Zhou Lin organized the departure and repeatedly told Ban Ban they should meet again. Song Chengyuan also came to say goodbye and asked what had happened to her hand. “I bumped it,” she said. He glanced at Ting’an and didn’t press.

Ting’an carried two large bags of gifts out of the restaurant, Ban Ban following. He put the bags in the back seat, went around and got behind the wheel. He glanced at her wrist resting on her lap, started the car and turned up the air-conditioning without speaking.

On the way she leaned back and closed her eyes, perhaps sleepy. She’d drunk a lot of juice, been pushed and held herself tense for a while. Now that she could relax, she felt weak. She didn’t sleep, but kept her eyes closed in silence as the car moved smoothly, her body leaning slightly on turns.

At home, Ting’an parked and opened her door. She opened her eyes, unfastened her own belt and got out. She went inside first, changed into slippers and started upstairs, glancing back to see him following with the bags.

By the time she’d washed and changed into pajamas, he’d put them on the bedroom carpet. She sat cross-legged and began opening them.

First was Wenjing’s white paper bag, containing a light brown designer shoulder bag in cowhide with fine metal fittings. Ban Ban turned it over, admiring its small, elegant shape and the length of the strap. “Pretty.”

Zhou Lin’s dark green velvet box held a diamond bracelet, colored stones set along a fine chain, their facets scattering light. She tried it; the length was just right, the diamonds accentuating her slender wrist. “He has good taste.”

Song Chengyuan’s dark blue box contained a pair of gold-and-jade bangles. She paused as she lifted them out. Their workmanship was exceptionally fine, the gold and jade joined in delicate lines, the edges finished like court craftsmanship. A tiny mark was on the inside; she’d never seen the design before.

“This must be expensive.” She turned to Ting’an.

In pajamas, he sat nearby, legs crossed, watching her. “Custom-made by a craftsman. Court technique.”

She tried one on. The gold set off her fair wrist, the old-fashioned craftsmanship giving it a classical air. After several looks, she carefully returned it to the box.

Four or five boxes remained from other friends: pearl studs, a designer scarf and a full set of luxury lipsticks. She arranged everything in a row on the carpet, then turned to Ting’an, eyes bright.

“Do you have more friends who want to meet me? I’d like to meet them too.”

He looked up from typing on his phone. She sat cross-legged, pajama neckline crooked, much of her pinned hair fallen loose, a row of gift boxes before her, earnest and expectant.

He smiled. “Little money-lover.”

“I’m not.” She held the diamond bracelet to the light again. “I just enjoy opening presents. Isn’t that normal?”

He put his phone on the cabinet, took an ointment from its lower shelf and sat beside her. Opening it, he squeezed some onto a fingertip, took her injured wrist and gently applied it to the bruise and scraped area, rubbing in circles.

She watched his concentrated movements. His pressure was just right, neither heavy nor touching the painful broken skin. The ointment felt cool; as he rubbed it in, the burning ache gradually eased.

“You like opening gifts that much?” he asked.

“Yes. I always have. When Sis bought me New Year gifts, I’d happily unwrap them slowly.”

“What kinds of gifts did you get?”

“Nothing as expensive as these,” she answered honestly. “Little things: phones, tablets, clothes and bags. Some jewelry too, but not costly, because I was still a student.”

He finished, closed the ointment and returned it to the cabinet. “There’ll be more.”

She looked up. “What?”

“Gifts.” He stood and went to bed. “There’ll be more. You can take your time opening them.”

She watched his back from the carpet, smiling. She put the gifts away one by one in the dressing room drawers, switched off the light and slipped under the quilt.

The room darkened, with only a line of streetlight between the curtains. After lying there a while, she spoke. “Wen Ting’an.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve never suffered growing up. If I fell, someone helped me up; if I cried, someone comforted me.”

He turned toward her. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but felt his gaze.

“If I suffer now,” she said, pulling the quilt to her chin, “it’ll definitely be because of you. You’ll have to take responsibility.”

He was silent for two seconds. Then his arm reached under the covers and took her uninjured hand, his thumb pressing gently at the base of hers. “All right.”

His voice was quiet, but carried a steady weight in the darkness. Feeling the warmth of his hand, she slowly fell asleep.

He stayed awake until her breathing grew long and even. Then he gently released her hand, took his phone and got out of bed. At the end of the corridor he entered the study, closed the door securely and made a call.

It connected quickly. Without pleasantries, he gave two names and a company name. “Starting tomorrow, withdraw every invitation involving them from all Wen Group projects and from every brand and channel that works with us, including other companies. Speak to their agency personally. State the Wen Group’s position. You know what to do with the rest.”

The person agreed, then asked why.

Standing at the window, looking at the outline of the courtyard ginkgo, Ting’an answered evenly, “They laid hands on someone who’s mine.”

He stood a moment longer, then returned to the bedroom. The figure under the covers faced him, breathing steadily. He quietly lay down, pulled up the quilt, turned toward her in the darkness and closed his eyes.

During the night, Ban Ban nestled into Ting’an’s arms. His lips curved, and he held her closer.