Chapter 5: Keep Crying and I'll Take the Money Back

When the alarm rang, Ban Ban was dreaming of sweet lotus root with osmanthus syrup.

In the dream it was just sweet enough, packed full of glutinous rice, fragrant and chewy with every bite. She was about to take a second mouthful when the insistent ringing dragged her back to reality.

She frowned and opened her eyes. As her vision cleared, an unfamiliar ceiling came into view.

Then she turned her head.

Wen Ting’an lay beside her, on his side, facing her. In sleep, his brows were relaxed, without the casual distance he wore during the day. His nose was straight, his lips lightly pressed together, his breathing even.

Her mind buzzed. She sat bolt upright and checked her clothes: the pale pink cotton nightdress, its ruffled neckline intact, the cartoon bear still grinning on the front.

She breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Ting’an again.

She seemed to have woken him. His lashes moved, and his eyes opened slowly, sharpening from sleepy to clear in a second.

He saw her sitting there, clutching her neckline with both hands, panic written all over her face. His lips curved slightly.

“Only now wondering whether you lost your virtue?” His voice was husky with sleep. “Isn’t that a little late?”

Ban Ban’s ears flushed, but she held her head high. “I wasn’t checking that.”

“Oh?”

“I was checking whether my sleeping posture was proper.” Even she thought the excuse was strained, and her voice dwindled.

Ting’an propped himself up. The covers slid to his waist, revealing the front of his dark gray pajamas. He looked at her with a hint of amusement. “You care about that?”

“Of course.” She threw back the covers and got out of bed, stepping barefoot onto the carpet. She looked back at him with complete confidence. “I’m a well-brought-up young lady, after all. Of course I care.”

Ting’an got up too. He was much taller, and when he came over, his shadow fell over her. He bent close, lowering his voice. “If you want to know whether your sleeping posture was proper, you should ask me, young lady.”

Ban Ban looked up at his face, so close to hers. A few strands of hair had fallen over his forehead in sleep instead of being swept neatly back as usual, giving him a relaxed, almost unreal gentleness.

She stepped back half a pace, then decided she couldn’t let him win. Hands on her hips, chin slightly raised, she asked, “Then tell me, you big flirt, was my sleeping posture proper?”

He clearly hadn’t expected her to answer back. He straightened, an eyebrow raised, and studied her for two seconds. Her face was still red, and with her hands on her hips she looked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, trying to pretend it was fierce.

He looked away and headed for the bathroom. Over his shoulder, he said, “So-so.”

Ban Ban made a face at his back.

Once the bathroom door closed, Ting’an stood at the sink, looking at himself in the mirror, and suddenly found it funny. He’d just been squabbling with a young woman like an elementary school child.

He turned on the tap and splashed cold water onto his face.

Ban Ban crouched by her suitcase for ten minutes. She chose a white chiffon blouse and pale blue jeans, then decided they were too casual and switched to a pale pink dress. That didn’t seem formal enough either. In the end, she chose the white blouse and jeans with white flats.

They were going to the civil affairs office to register their marriage. Even if there was no love between them yet, she ought to look nice.

It was her first time registering a marriage. Even if the man was a little reluctant, she couldn’t look ugly.

When Ting’an came out of the bathroom, she was dressed and sitting on the living-room sofa, back straight, hands properly on her knees. Her household registration booklet and identity card lay beside her.

He glanced at her without a word and went back into the bedroom to change.

The car was quiet on the way to the civil affairs office. Ban Ban sat by the rear window, watching the streets of Jiang City slide past frame by frame.

Ting’an sat on the other side, looking down at his phone. His long legs were slightly bent, his knees almost touching the back of the seat in front.

She stole a glance at him. He wore a white shirt too, which made him look gentler than he did in a suit. His hair was swept back again in that Hong Kong-film style, revealing his handsome forehead.

She looked away and returned her attention to the window.

When they emerged from the civil affairs office with their marriage certificates, Ban Ban saw a familiar figure in the distance. Ban Ruo was leaning against a stone pillar by the entrance, a paper bag in her hand. She straightened when she saw them.

Ban Ban left Ting’an and ran over. “Sis! Why are you here?”

Ban Ruo caught her, eyes slightly red. She stroked her sister’s hair, her voice a little hoarse. “To see you off.”

Ban Ban held her arm and smiled up at her. “Then don’t miss me too much! Where’s Dad?”

“Something came up at the company. He couldn’t get away.” Ban Ruo turned her eyes aside, avoiding her sister’s gaze.

Ban Ban knew her father couldn’t bear to see her leave. The man who’d smoked all night in his study was probably afraid he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together at the farewell, so he’d stayed away altogether.

“It’s all right.” She patted her sister’s hand. “Once things at the company settle down, you and Dad can come visit me.”

Ban Ruo nodded and handed her the paper bag. “For the journey. Osmanthus cakes from your favorite shop.”

Ban Ban took the bag and hugged it to her chest. It was still warm.

The car to the airport arrived. Ting’an came over from behind and nodded to Ban Ruo. “Hello.”

The warmth in Ban Ruo’s gaze faded a little. “Mr. Wen, I’m entrusting my sister to you. Be good to her.”

He met her eyes without looking away. “You have my word.”

Then he took Ban Ban’s hand and led her toward the car. She looked back and waved at her sister. Ban Ruo waved too, but as the car pulled away, she turned her face aside rather than watch it leave.

Through the rear window, Ban Ban saw her sister grow smaller and smaller, until she was a speck swallowed by the corner. She gripped the paper bag so tightly that its cord handles left two red marks on her fingers.

The airport. Check-in. Security. Boarding.

The first-class seats were spacious. Ban Ban sat by the window, Ting’an beside her. She remained quiet as the plane taxied, but when it lifted off and the ground below Nan City receded into little pieces of a jigsaw, her nose suddenly stung.

Tears fell without warning, one drop at first, then a steady stream. She made no sound, but she was crying so hard that her sobs grew louder.

A passenger in front looked back, and someone across the aisle glanced over. Ting’an noticed and turned to her.

Her nose was red, her face wet with tears. Both hands still clutched the paper bag of osmanthus cakes as if it were a lifeline.

He glanced at the people watching and said quietly, “Sorry.” Then he turned to Ban Ban and lowered his voice further. “Don’t cry. Everyone’s looking.”

She ignored him and kept crying.

Ting’an froze for two seconds. He had never liked attracting attention in public, and now the whole first-class cabin was watching them. He let out a breath, put an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer.

“Sorry,” he said, nodding to the people around them with a helpless smile. “The child is homesick.”

Understanding dawned. They smiled and looked away, sympathetic.

Ting’an looked down at the person in his arms. Ban Ban’s shoulders trembled under his hand as she sobbed, her tears dampening a small patch of his shirt.

He didn’t know how to comfort her. He patted her back twice, awkwardly. “Don’t cry. We can always come back tomorrow.”

She lifted her head from his arms, eyes swollen like walnuts and nose red. “That wouldn’t be good, would it?”

Then she wailed and went on crying.

He closed his eyes, his temples throbbing. “Then stop crying for now. Everyone’s looking.”

She shook her head, sobbing. “I can’t help it. I miss Dad and Sis.”

At a loss, Ting’an spent a long time trying to soothe her. He offered to have her father visit next month, promised to buy her something delicious when they arrived, and told her they had osmanthus cakes in the north too.

Still she sniffled, her tears never stopping.

He was silent for a few seconds. Then his expression turned serious. “Make another sound and the marriage arrangement is off. I’ll take back the money we gave the Bans.”

Her sobs stopped abruptly.

She looked up at him, tears still caught on her lashes, but her mouth was closed. She stared at his face for three seconds, decided he was serious, and her lips turned down.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare,” she said, her voice thick with tears.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re bullying me.”

His expression seemed to say, So what if I am?

Ban Ban shoved him away, pulled free of his arms and retreated into her seat, turning her back on him. “I’m telling Uncle Wen.”

Looking at the round back of her head, Ting’an suddenly felt a headache coming on. He leaned back and turned to the window. Beneath the wing, clouds spread like a white sea, while sunlight streamed through the window onto the indignant figure beside him.

He unfolded a blanket and gently draped it over her shoulders.

Ban Ban didn’t turn around, but she didn’t push the blanket away either.