Chapter 3: I'm the One Getting Married, and You're Making Promises?

In an executive suite at a five-star hotel in Jiang City, Wen Ting’an stood at the floor-to-ceiling window with an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

Outside, the river was veiled in the soft mist and rain characteristic of the south. Lights on the opposite bank glowed dimly, as though seen through frosted glass.

He didn’t much like the south. It was damp and muggy, with a persistent moisture in the air that left a shirt limp and clinging to his body after half a day.

The hotel’s air-conditioning was strong enough to keep the room cool and dry, though, so he’d grudgingly agreed to stay another night.

Wen Henian pushed the door open to find his son staring at the river.

“What are you looking at?” He took off his coat and draped it over the back of the sofa.

“The river in Jiang City.” Wen Ting’an turned, tucked the unlit cigarette behind his ear and leaned against the window. “Why are you here again? Didn’t we just see each other?”

“I came to see you.” Wen Henian sat down, poured himself tea and pointed to the sofa opposite. “Sit.”

Wen Ting’an obliged, crossing his long legs and lounging back. He watched his father lift the cup, blow at the leaves floating on the surface, then set it down again, plainly struggling to speak. Ting’an found it rather amusing.

“Just say whatever’s on your mind.”

Wen Henian cleared his throat. “You met the girl yesterday. What did you think of her?”

Ting’an raised an eyebrow. “What is there to think? If you’re happy with her, that’s enough.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Me?” Ting’an smiled and tapped the armrest with his forefinger. “You’d already settled on her. Now you want my opinion?”

Wen Henian was briefly at a loss. He glared at his son. “If I hadn’t settled it, when would you have done it yourself? You’re thirty-three! You change women more often than your phone wallpaper. Could I count on you?”

“So you found me a daughter.”

“She’s twenty-one, a university graduate, fair and pretty, from a respectable family. How is she a daughter?”

Wen Ting’an thought of the girl in the pale yellow dress at the table yesterday. Her face was round and strikingly fair, and when she lowered her head to eat, her lashes fell like two little fans.

When he’d served her food, her ears had turned a deep red. Her “thank you” had been so soft he could barely hear it, no louder than a mosquito.

She did look young. People would believe it if someone said she was in high school.

He put the thought aside and smiled again. “Fine. If you think she’s suitable, that’s enough. I don’t mind either way.”

Wen Henian studied him for several seconds. “Are you serious?”

“What else?” Ting’an spread his hands. “Do I have the right to say no?”

Wen Henian felt somewhat relieved, but not entirely. He knew his son too well. Ting’an had often agreed to things to his face only to do as he pleased behind his back.

When asked to take over the company, he’d said yes, then promptly gone off to Europe to enjoy himself for six months, forcing Wen Henian to fly over and drag him home.

“Ting’an.” Wen Henian straightened, his expression serious. “Don’t try to brush me off. Since you have no objections, it’s settled. There’s something I need to tell you.”

His voice dropped. “I promised the Bans you’d settle down after the wedding.”

Wen Ting’an had been lifting the whiskey in front of him. His hand stopped, and he looked up at his father. “You promised?”

“I did.”

“Chairman Wen.” Ting’an took a sip. “You’ve really gone to a lot of trouble. I’m the one getting married, and you’re the one making promises. Anyone who didn’t know better would think you were the one taking a wife.”

He picked up an orange and began to peel it.

Wen Henian slapped the sofa arm. “A lot of trouble? Have a conscience! I’ve lost all face because of you. Look around: what daughter of a respectable family would agree to marry you? Apart from those—”

He broke off abruptly, sighed and took a large gulp of tea. “Forget it. All I want is a daughter-in-law from a family suited to ours, so we don’t become a laughingstock.”

Ting’an handed the peeled orange to his father, threw the peel into the bin and wiped his hands with a tissue. “All right, Dad. I know what you mean.”

“Good.” Wen Henian looked at him. “End things with all those women as soon as possible. Don’t humiliate the girl.”

Ting’an said nothing, merely smiled. The careless curve of his lips made it impossible to tell whether he was agreeing or simply humoring him.

He took the cigarette from behind his ear and picked up a lighter.

Wen Henian couldn’t be bothered to argue further. He changed the subject. “Tomorrow at noon, our family is hosting a meal. Both families will get together again, a small wedding banquet of sorts. The Bans don’t want a big affair; they asked to keep it simple.”

“Mm.”

“After the meal, you’ll register the marriage.”

Ting’an’s hand stopped before he could light the cigarette. “Register tomorrow?”

“Why not?” Wen Henian said with complete assurance. “What else do you want to wait for?”

“Dad.” Ting’an put the lighter down and leaned back to look at him. “Are you afraid she’ll run away?”

Wen Henian’s expression shifted. He got up irritably, picked up his coat and headed for the door. “What’s it to you what I’m afraid of? Noon tomorrow. Don’t be late! If you’re late again, I’ll break your legs!”

The door slammed shut.

Wen Ting’an sat alone for a while, finished his cigarette and poured himself another drink. Beyond the window, the rain had started again, fine and close-set like stitches.

He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He paused on one name for two seconds, then moved on.

Forget it.

That evening, Wen Henian had a suit delivered to the hotel: a deep black three-piece in imported Italian wool blend, with a subtle sheen under the light.

Ting’an unpacked it, glanced at it and hung it on the coat rack. Then he made another work call.

Meanwhile, Ban Ruo helped Ban Ban try on three dresses. The first, white, was too plain. The second, champagne-colored, made her look older. When she brought out the third, Ban Ruo’s eyes lit up.

It was a burgundy strappy dress, fitted at the waist in a French, Audrey Hepburn-inspired style, with a hem that fell to mid-calf. Ban Ban changed and turned before the mirror. The waist fit just right, and her fair collarbones showed above the neckline.

“That’s the one,” Ban Ruo decided.

Ban Ban touched her collarbone, uneasy. “Is it too revealing?”

“What are you talking about?” Ban Ruo rolled her eyes. “They’re just straps. It’s not like I’m asking you to wear a plunging neckline. Your skin is fair; red looks lovely on you.”

Ban Ban looked at herself in the mirror again. It did look lovely.

Still, she was nervous. She’d heard Wen Ting’an’s companions were all models and internet celebrities, each prettier than the last. Would she look awkward dressed like this?

As though seeing through her thoughts, Ban Ruo patted her shoulder. “Remember, you’re the center of attention tomorrow. You don’t have to compare yourself to anyone.”

Ban Ban nodded, folded the dress carefully and put it in a garment bag.

She woke at six the next morning. Ban Ruo had hired a makeup artist to come to the house, who gave her a formal look: a clean, translucent base, a touch of reddish-brown shadow at the corners of her eyes, and a true red matte lip color.

Instead of putting her hair up, the artist styled it in loose waves over her shoulders.

Watching nearby, Ban Ruo suddenly said, “Ban Ban, you’ve grown up.”

Ban Ban smiled at her sister in the mirror.

Ban Shengwei was waiting in the living room. His eyes reddened again when he saw his daughter come out. He went over and smoothed her hair. His lips moved, but in the end he said only, “Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep the Wens waiting.”

The banquet was at Jiang City’s oldest five-star hotel. The hall was small, with three tables, and only a few close relatives and friends from the two families had been invited.

Wen Henian had deliberately kept it small. He remembered Ban Shengwei saying he didn’t want a grand celebration: Wen Ting’an attracted too much attention, and Ban Ban was so young that her father feared she would become the subject of public gossip.

When the Bans’ car stopped outside the hotel, Ban Ban looked through the window.

Wen Ting’an stood on the steps beside the revolving door, leaning against a column with a cigarette between his fingers.

He was formally dressed today in a deep black three-piece suit, a white shirt and a neatly knotted tie. His hair had been restyled, the loose strands at his forehead swept back to reveal his sharply defined features. He had an old-money air about him.

His eyes were lowered as he smoked, his lashes hiding his expression. Smoke rose from between his fingers and scattered in the wind.

“I’ll go in first,” Ban Ruo told Ban Ban.

Ban Ban nodded, took a deep breath and pushed open the car door. As her heels touched the ground, she could hear her heart pounding like a drum. The burgundy hem of her dress swayed in the breeze. She stood straight, sunlight falling across her face.

Wen Ting’an looked up.

The hand holding his cigarette stilled for a moment.

Ban Ban stood beside the car, sunlight pouring in behind her and tracing her figure in a warm golden glow. Her eyes were bright, her teeth white, her lips painted a true red, full and moist as a freshly picked cherry, with the hint of an unconscious smile.

Her lashes fluttered. She seemed a little nervous, but her eyes were startlingly bright.

Wen Ting’an stubbed out his cigarette, dropped the butt into a nearby bin and walked toward her. His pace was unhurried, his leather shoes clicking crisply on the marble.

When he reached her, he stood a full two heads taller. His shadow fell over her, enveloping her entirely.

Ban Ban looked up, her lips parting as if to speak.

He held out his hand, palm up. “Let’s go.”

She stared, her gaze dropping from his face to his open hand. His knuckles were distinct, his fingertips lightly callused. His hand waited there, clean and open, for hers.

“What are you staring at?” Wen Ting’an bent down, lowering his voice, his breath brushing her ear. “We’re getting married today. Am I supposed to go in alone? Or were you planning to go in by yourself?”

There was a trace of laughter in his low voice.

Ban Ban came abruptly to her senses. The tips of her ears flushed, and she stammered, “Oh, um—of course we should go together.”

Wen Ting’an straightened, unable to hide the smile at the corner of his mouth. Without another word, he took her hand.

Her palm was slightly damp, probably from nerves. Her hand was very soft, like a freshly steamed rice cake, its slender fingers completely enclosed by his larger one.

After two seconds, he tightened his grip a little and led her inside. Ban Ban stumbled slightly. Feeling that she was having trouble keeping up, he deliberately slowed his pace.

She stole a sideways glance at him. Wen Ting’an looked straight ahead, his chin slightly raised. The light cut across the sharp, handsome lines of his profile. The hint of a smile was still there; she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

He really was handsome. Exceptionally handsome.

When he led her into the banquet hall, everyone at the tables turned to look.

Wen Henian was the first to stand, grinning from ear to ear. “Here they are!”

At the main table, Ban Shengwei’s expression briefly grew complicated when he saw his daughter come in holding Wen Ting’an’s hand. Ban Ruo lightly touched his arm. He took a deep breath and forced a smile.

Ting’an led Ban Ban to her seat at the main table. Before releasing her hand, he brushed his fingertips across its back, wiping away the thin film of perspiration.

She lowered her head and pretended to straighten her skirt, hiding her burning cheeks.

The banquet began. Wen Henian rose to make a speech. He didn’t say much, but every word struck home. “Today is a happy day for the Wen family. My son is taking a wife, and I’m delighted. I’ve watched Ban Ban grow up. She’s a good, sensible girl. From now on, if anyone in the Wen family dares make her suffer…”

He glanced at Wen Ting’an.

Ting’an was drinking water. At his father’s look, he raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“I’ll be the first to object,” Wen Henian finished.

Everyone at the table laughed. Ban Shengwei smiled too and clinked his glass against Wen Henian’s. “Old Wen, I’ll remember you said that.”

“You must. Make sure you do.”

Wen Henian added, “We’ve had to keep things modest today, Ban Ban. If you ever want a grand wedding, we’ll make it up to you whenever you like.”

“As long as Ban Ban is happy, the rest doesn’t matter,” Ban Shengwei said.

As the drinks went around, Ban Ban noticed that Wen Ting’an was restrained. When someone toasted him, he raised his glass and took a sip, never drinking much.

When someone tried to press more on him, he smiled and set his glass down. “I have a flight tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll have to pass today.”

Wen Henian promptly undermined him. “What does your flight have to do with it? You’re not the one flying the plane.”

Without changing expression, Ting’an replied, “I still have to pack tonight.”

Listening beside him, Ban Ban suddenly thought the man was rather shameless.

She lowered her head and smiled. Ting’an caught it from the corner of his eye. He turned to her and asked quietly, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” She quickly composed her face.

He watched her for two seconds without pressing her. His gaze softened for a moment.

Near the end of the banquet, Ban Ruo came over with a glass of juice, crouched beside Ban Ban and whispered something in her ear.

Ban Ban’s smile slowly faded, and her eyes reddened. She nodded.

Ban Ruo stood and offered Wen Ting’an her hand. “I’m entrusting my sister to you. Treat her well.”

He stood and shook her hand, his grip gentle but steady. “You have my word.”

There was nothing more to the promise. Ban Ruo looked into his eyes, as though confirming something, before letting go and returning to her seat.

At two in the afternoon, the banquet ended. A car arranged by Wen Henian took Ban Shengwei and Ban Ruo home. Ban Ban’s luggage had already been sent to the hotel room; she would fly north with Wen Ting’an the following afternoon.

Standing in the lobby, she watched her father and sister’s car drive away, its taillights receding into the dusk.

She clutched her purse beside the revolving door, still smiling, though her shoulders had drooped a little.

Wen Ting’an came to stand beside her. He didn’t look at her or speak. Less than an arm’s length away, he kept her company in silence until the taillights vanished around the corner.

Only then did he say, “Let’s go upstairs.”

Ban Ban sniffed and turned toward him. Under the lobby’s warm yellow lights, his suit jacket rested over one arm. One button of his shirt cuff was undone, revealing part of his forearm.

“Wen Ting’an,” she said.

“Yes?”

“We’re married now, aren’t we?”

He looked down at her. Tears brimmed in her eyes, her true red lipstick still perfectly in place, her full lips pressed lightly together.

His throat suddenly felt a little tight.

“Yes,” he said.

She nodded, as if confirming something, then straightened her shoulders again. “Let’s go upstairs.”

She turned and walked toward the elevator first, her heels tapping steadily against the marble. Wen Ting’an watched her go. Her burgundy skirt swayed as she walked, revealing the pale line of her calves. Her softly waved hair fell loose, its ends bouncing against her shoulder blades.

He lifted the jacket from his arm, gave it a shake and followed.

Before the elevator doors closed, they stood side by side with a person’s width between them. The overhead light shone down on them. Ban Ban watched the floor numbers change, then suddenly said, “You look very handsome today.”

Wen Ting’an turned his head. “Hm?”

“I said…” She turned toward him, her red lips curving. “You look very handsome today. Even better than yesterday.”

The elevator chimed. As the doors opened, Wen Ting’an reached out and lightly steadied the small of her back, a touch as soft as a feather.

“You too,” he said quietly.

Ban Ban’s ears turned red again, and she hurried out of the elevator.

Wen Ting’an followed her out and glanced down at his palm. When he’d steadied her back, he’d felt the warmth beneath the burgundy fabric.

Warm and soft.

He withdrew his hand and slipped it into his trouser pocket.