Chapter 6: So Obedient After All

As the plane passed through the clouds, the change in pressure made Ban Ban’s ears buzz. She rubbed an earlobe and looked out of the window. Through a break in the clouds lay broad stretches of gray-green fields, their neat furrows dividing the earth into a grid.

It was nothing like Nan City, where she’d spent her twenty-one years.

“Wen Ting’an,” she said, her voice still husky from crying, “Dong City looks so flat.”

“It’s a plain.” He was reading documents on his tablet and didn’t look up.

She gazed out a little longer. The damp, stuffy feeling in her nose seemed to have lifted.

When the plane landed and the cabin door opened, a dry breeze swept in, carrying the crispness of the north. Ban Ban took a deep breath on the aircraft steps and felt as though her lungs had been washed clean.

“Wen Ting’an.” She looked back at him, her eyes still swollen but her mouth lifting into a smile. “Dong City feels lovely.”

He came down behind her carrying her bag and glanced at her. Her white blouse billowed in the wind and her hair was a little untidy, but she looked more relaxed than she had in days.

“Come on,” he said.

The arrivals hall was crowded. Ban Ban followed close behind, afraid of getting lost. His strides were so long that she had to trot to keep up, her shoes tapping against the marble. After a while, he seemed to notice and slowed enough for her to walk beside him.

A black G-Class SUV waited at the exit, its tall, polished body gleaming in the evening sun. A man in a black suit stood by the door and inclined his head when he saw Ting’an.

“Young Master.”

Ting’an handed him the luggage. “I’ll drive myself.”

“Very well.” The man took the bags, glanced at Ban Ban behind him and added respectfully, “Hello, Madam.”

Everyone knew why the young master had gone south. The elder Mr. Wen had made it clear that the family was getting a young mistress, and had even shown them her photograph so they would know to be attentive.

Ban Ban paused, then nodded. “Hello.”

The man put the luggage in the trunk, handed Ting’an the keys and went to another car.

Ban Ban had to stand on tiptoe to reach the SUV’s door handle. Getting in took some effort; the seat was so high that she practically scrambled into it.

Ting’an climbed in on the other side and glanced at her. The corner of his mouth moved, but he said nothing.

Dong City’s streets were much wider than Nan City’s, lined with tall plane trees whose leaves rustled in the wind. The sky was high and blue, with a thin layer of cloud, so different from Nan City’s low-hanging rain clouds.

Ban Ban took several photographs on her phone and sent them separately to her father and sister.

“Dad, it looks lovely here, and the air is good too. Once you’re done with work, you must come and see Dong City.”

She smiled as she typed. Ban Ruo replied immediately: “You’ve arrived? Are you settling in all right?”

“Yes! The air is so dry, my hair doesn’t even stick to my neck.”

Ban Ruo sent back “Good,” with a sticker of a hand patting someone’s head.

Ban Ban took another photo of the trees and sent it, then put her phone away and looked at Ting’an beside her.

He held the wheel with one hand, the other resting on the edge of the window. He looked ahead, chin slightly raised, expression cool. Sunlight cast shifting patterns across his face; his profile was almost unreal in its beauty.

She watched for a few seconds, then looked away.

The car turned onto a quiet tree-lined road. Detached villas stood well apart on either side, different flowers growing in each front garden.

They stopped before a black wrought-iron gate. It opened automatically, revealing a three-story villa with a clean, simple facade of pale gray stone. A tall ginkgo tree stood in the courtyard, its leaves a deep green.

Ting’an switched off the engine and got out with her luggage. A woman of about fifty was waiting at the door in a dark blue apron, her hair neatly gathered at the back. She smiled when she saw Ban Ban.

“The young mistress is here.” She took the luggage from Ting’an. “Your room is ready.”

“Hello,” Ban Ban said quickly.

“Just call me Auntie Jiang.” The woman looked her over, smiling until the lines at her eyes gathered. “You’re even prettier than your photograph, Madam. Such fair skin.”

Ban Ban blushed. “Thank you, Auntie Jiang.”

Once inside and out of her shoes, she saw that the house was much larger than it appeared from outside. The living room had a high ceiling and a wall of windows facing the ginkgo tree, sunlight scattering across the floor.

There wasn’t much furniture, but every piece had clean lines. Gray and beige dominated, giving the room a cool feel.

Ting’an changed his shoes in the entryway, draped his jacket over his arm and glanced at her. “This is Auntie Jiang. Tell her whatever you’d like to eat.”

Ban Ban nodded.

“Only Auntie Jiang and Uncle Zhou work here. Uncle Zhou is the driver. Ask him to take you whenever you go out.”

She nodded again.

Auntie Jiang was already heading toward the dining room. “You must be hungry, Madam. Dinner’s ready. Would you like to eat first?”

Ban Ban was hungry. She had barely touched her meal on the plane; crying the whole way and silently cursing Ting’an had taken plenty of energy.

She turned to him. “Are you eating?”

“Don’t worry about me.” He went upstairs, his footsteps receding one by one.

“Oh,” she said softly to his back, unsure whether he’d heard.

The dining room was small, with a long table by the window. On it were four dishes and a soup: braised ribs, stir-fried vegetables, tomatoes and eggs, winter melon soup, and a small plate of pickled radish.

There was none of the extravagant waste one might expect from a wealthy family, and the food wasn’t especially elaborate, but it was steaming hot and comforting.

Ban Ban sat and picked up her bowl. The ribs were richly flavored and tender enough to fall off the bone. The tomatoes and eggs were sweet and sour, the eggs soft. She ate several mouthfuls of rice in quick succession, cheeks full.

“Auntie Jiang,” she mumbled, “this is delicious. You’re a wonderful cook.”

Auntie Jiang stood nearby, unable to hide her pleasure. “I’m glad you like it, Madam. I learned these from southern recipes just for you. If you’re fond of them, I can make them every day.”

“Yes!” Ban Ban nodded vigorously and took another rib.

Auntie Jiang remembered something else. “Your clothes are ready too, everything from changes of clothes to things for going out. They were delivered a few days ago, all in your size.”

Ban Ban blinked, her mouth full. “Oh? How thoughtful.”

“The young master arranged it. He gave the brand your measurements and had an entire season’s collection delivered.”

Ban Ban’s chewing slowed. She looked at the ribs in her bowl and said nothing.

After dinner she washed her hands and climbed to the second floor. A pale gray carpet ran down the corridor, with several doors on either side. She cautiously looked at each one. Some were closed, with no sound inside; others were open guest rooms, their beds neat and clearly unused.

She reached a door at the end of the corridor and was leaning closer when it suddenly opened from inside.

Wen Ting’an stood there, now in a black T-shirt and casual suit trousers. His slightly tousled hair looked freshly washed. Seeing Ban Ban covering her nose, he stepped back half a pace.

“What are you doing?”

She rubbed the tip of her bumped nose. “I was looking for you. I wanted to ask where I’m sleeping.”

He turned and pointed behind him. “The primary bedroom.”

“What about you?”

“Look after yourself.” Then he added, “Sleep on your own. Don’t worry about me, and don’t wait up.”

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, then decided there was nothing to say. “All right.”

He passed her without another word and went downstairs. His footsteps paused on the first floor, followed by sounds from the entryway as he changed shoes. Then the front door opened and closed, and a car engine sounded outside before fading into the distance.

Ban Ban stood in the corridor, looking at the primary bedroom door.

Don’t worry about me. Don’t wait up. Sleep on your own.

She turned the words over, then lowered her head and smiled. Fair enough. She was the one who’d burdened him.

He was thirty-three, from a good family, handsome and capable. If his family hadn’t pressed him into the marriage, he could have chosen someone he truly liked. Instead, a wife had appeared out of nowhere, and he had to support her. He’d gotten the worse end of the bargain.

She opened the bedroom door. The room was large, with a dark gray bed in the center, plain white bedding and a simple lamp on the nightstand. There were no unnecessary decorations, no vase or photographs. It was cold, like a hotel suite.

After showering and changing into pajamas, she lay on the bed and video-called her sister.

“Sis, I’ve arrived.” She held up the phone to show Ban Ruo the room. “Look, the house is huge, and Auntie Jiang’s cooking is delicious.”

Ban Ruo smiled on the screen. “The room looks nice. Better than I imagined.”

“Auntie Jiang said they’d prepared clothes in my size.”

“Wen Ting’an arranged it?”

Ban Ban was silent for a second. “Yes.”

Ban Ruo’s expression changed slightly, but she said nothing, only reminding her to sleep early, call if anything happened and not put up with being mistreated.

Before they hung up, she added, “Ban Ban, if he treats you badly, you don’t have to endure it. Tell me, and I’ll come get you.”

Ban Ban smiled. “I know.” Then she added lightly, “Sis, he’s getting a bad deal, marrying a burden like me.”

After two seconds’ silence, Ban Ruo said, “Remember, Ban Ban, the Wens asked for your hand. You don’t owe him anything.”

Ban Ban didn’t answer. She nodded, smiled and ended the call.

The screen went dark. She lay on the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling. The bedroom felt cold, much like its owner: quiet, impassive and hard to read. But the covers were soft and carried a faint scent of licorice, not unpleasant.

She turned over and buried her face in the pillow.

Her first night in Dong City was extraordinarily quiet. There was none of Nan City’s lingering rain, only the dry, clear rustle of wind through the ginkgo leaves outside.

At the same time, in a private room at a Dong City club, Wen Ting’an lounged in the center of a leather sofa, long legs crossed, a whiskey in his hand. The lights were dim, smoke and alcohol mingled in the air, and low jazz played through the speakers.

Two men sat opposite him, his longtime friends Zhou Lin and Song Chengyuan.

“Come on, tell us,” Zhou Lin said, crossing his legs with a mischievous grin. “What’s your little wife like?”

Ting’an took a sip. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do we mean?” Song Chengyuan leaned forward. “Is she pretty? Fair? Slim?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Honestly!” Zhou Lin slapped his thigh. “We’re curious. Young Master Wen suddenly gets married to a twenty-one-year-old. Who wouldn’t be?”

The door opened and a group of young women came in. They looked to be in their early twenties, carefully dressed and lightly made up, each strikingly pretty. Someone had clearly brought them in, and their eyes went straight to Ting’an.

Who in their circle didn’t know him? The thirty-three-year-old only son of the Wen family of Dong City, worth tens of billions and handsome besides. If they pleased him, a casual gesture from him could support them for half a lifetime; if something more happened, they might never have to worry again.

Two bolder women sat on either side of him. One smiled and offered him a drink; the other edged closer unobtrusively.

Ting’an didn’t look at them, continuing to drink. In the dim light he reclined on the sofa, languid as a wolf king at night, an air of careless danger around him.

Zhou Lin leaned close and lowered his voice. “These are proper students, just out of school, about the same age as your little wife. I know your tastes have changed, so I found them especially for you. Won’t you take a look?”

Ting’an turned to him, his gaze cool. “Put your curiosity away. Can they compare?”

Zhou Lin and Song Chengyuan exchanged a look, then both let out a teasing “Oh?”

“Protective already?”

“You’re done for, Wen Ting’an.”

He drained his glass and stood. The woman beside him hurried to her feet too, but he didn’t look at her. He set his glass on the coffee table with a crisp clink.

“I’m leaving,” he told his friends.

“It’s still early—”

“I’m tired.”

He picked up his jacket and left without looking back. Zhou Lin and Song Chengyuan called after him, “You beast, Wen Ting’an! She’s only twenty-one, and you’re tired already?”

The door closed.

In the corridor, Ting’an draped his jacket over his shoulder and stood for two seconds. Then he checked his phone. No unread messages, no one looking for him. The little thing he’d left at the villa was perfectly quiet, without a word.

Don’t worry about me. Don’t wait up. That was what he’d told her.

And she really hadn’t. Good. So obedient.

He put away his phone and walked toward the elevator, expressionless.