Chapter 7: Being Mrs. Wen

Sunlight woke Ban Ban.

Northern morning light was different from the south’s. In Nan City it was soft and damp, like a thin veil. In Dong City it streamed straight through the windows, bright and unimpeded, spreading over half the bed.

She squinted and rolled over, reaching out into empty space. The sheet was smooth and uncreased; the covers on the other side were folded neatly, every corner precise.

She sat up, rubbed her eyes and looked around. No one was there. The bathroom door stood open, the room silent.

Had he gone to work?

She sat cross-legged and considered it. Probably. People with money and power were disciplined. How could Wen Ting’an manage such a large business if he slept until the sun was high every day?

Satisfied with her reasoning, she got out of bed. After washing and dressing, she checked her phone. Eight forty.

Oh no. She’d slept this late on her first day as a married woman. People would laugh if word got out. Fortunately she wasn’t living with her in-laws, or she’d have been thoroughly embarrassed.

She hurried out and nearly collided with Auntie Jiang at the stairs.

“You’re awake, Madam?” Auntie Jiang smiled. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, very well.” Ban Ban guiltily touched her nose. “Good morning, Auntie Jiang. Are you cleaning?”

“I came to clean the guest room. The young master got back late last night and slept there so he wouldn’t disturb you.”

Ban Ban stopped on the last step.

The guest room. She hadn’t found him in the bedroom because he hadn’t slept there at all, not because he’d risen early for work.

Auntie Jiang noticed her pause and hastily added, “Please don’t read too much into it. He was only afraid of waking you—”

“It’s all right.” Ban Ban interrupted with a small, calm smile. “It was an arranged marriage. We don’t have feelings for each other yet, so I understand. He can sleep wherever he likes. I’m not upset.”

Auntie Jiang saw no hurt in her clear eyes. She sounded as matter-of-fact as if the subject had nothing to do with her. The girl was so straightforward and openhearted that it made Auntie Jiang ache for her.

She swallowed what she’d meant to say and changed the subject. “Breakfast is ready. Would you like to eat?”

“Yes.” Ban Ban followed her toward the dining room, rubbing her stomach. “I’m hungry.”

Auntie Jiang smiled at her frankness. “I’ve made little wontons and pan-fried dumplings, northern style. Have a taste.”

When breakfast was served, Ban Ban breathed in deeply over the golden dumplings. Their skins were thin, their fillings generous and their bottoms crisp. A dish of vinegar and a spoonful of chili oil stood ready for dipping. The clear wonton soup held seaweed, dried shrimp and a few drops of sesame oil.

She bit into a dumpling. The crisp skin broke between her teeth, and the savory filling was piping hot. She made a pleased sound, then quickly drank some soup to cool her mouth.

“Auntie Jiang,” she asked indistinctly, cheeks full, “when does Wen Ting’an usually come home? Tell me about him.”

Auntie Jiang paused while wiping the counter. “Around ten at night, generally. He hardly ever comes home for dinner. There’s a lot of company business and entertaining to do.”

Ban Ban nodded and picked up another dumpling. “So he’s mostly out fooling around?”

Auntie Jiang’s hand stopped. The new mistress was very direct.

Ban Ban looked up at her, her full cheeks and expression innocent. After swallowing, she gave an awkward smile. “I looked him up before the wedding. The internet said he’s a playboy with lots of women, changing them all the time. I figured he liked fooling around.”

Auntie Jiang put down her cloth. “Madam, some reports aren’t true. It’s true he likes nightlife and drinking, but he’s never brought a woman home. At business functions, there may be things he can’t avoid…”

“It’s all the same.” Ban Ban finished the soup and wiped her mouth. “There’s no difference.”

She spoke lightly, without looking upset, as though she really didn’t mind.

While clearing the dishes, Auntie Jiang asked cautiously, “What do you intend to do?”

Ban Ban stood by the window. Outside, the ginkgo leaves rustled, and sunlight sifted through them in patches of gold. After watching for a while, she turned. “What can I do? I should take care of myself first. Auntie Jiang, what should I do every day?”

Auntie Jiang laughed. “You’re the mistress of this house. Just be Mrs. Wen.”

“Mrs. Wen.” Ban Ban repeated the title and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll start by being the mistress of this house.”

She thought a moment. “May I put some flowers around the house?”

“Of course. You’re the mistress; you may do whatever you like. What flowers would you like? I’ll have them delivered.”

“All right.”

Ban Ban ran back to her room, found paper and a pen, and sat on the floor to write. She listed a few things, crossed them out and started again, murmuring to herself.

When Auntie Jiang came upstairs with fruit, she found Ban Ban sitting cross-legged on the bedroom carpet, an A4 sheet densely covered in writing on her knees.

She leaned over to read: “Living-room entry: white lisianthus with eucalyptus leaves”; “Dining table: daisies, bright colors”; “Study: green plants, no flowers; Wen Ting’an probably doesn’t like flowers”; “End of second-floor corridor: a small vase of roses, preferably pink.”

Auntie Jiang’s nose suddenly stung. The girl was only twenty-one. Her husband had spent their first night in the house in the guest room, yet here she was carefully planning how to bring life into this cold home.

She crouched beside her. “You’ve written so much, Madam. Have some fruit and take a break.”

Ban Ban smiled up at her, accepted the plate and popped a piece of melon into her mouth. “Auntie Jiang, what flowers does Wen Ting’an like?”

“I don’t think he’s ever paid attention to flowers.”

“Then we should definitely put some out.” Ban Ban ate the last piece of melon and added a line to her list. “Just because he doesn’t pay attention doesn’t mean he won’t see them. Coming home to a lovely bouquet every day might make him feel a little better.”

For the first time in years, the quiet villa was filled with cheerful chatter all morning.

The flowers arrived that afternoon. Ban Ban rolled up her sleeves and sat by the coffee table, trimming each stem, removing extra leaves and arranging them by color and length. She worked carefully, occasionally holding a stem up to compare it before making another adjustment.

Auntie Jiang watched her arrange white roses and eucalyptus in a glass vase, trimming and repositioning them until she was satisfied. The finished arrangement stood in the center of the coffee table, clean and simple in white and green.

“Look, Auntie Jiang.” Ban Ban stepped back and tilted her head. “Is it pretty?”

“It is,” Auntie Jiang said sincerely.

Ban Ban tidied the remaining stems and placed another vase in the entryway and one on the dining table. She carried the final bouquet upstairs and set it on the empty surface at the corridor’s turn. Sunlight from the window fell across the white petals in a dappled pattern.

She admired her work and nodded with satisfaction.

At nine thirty that evening, freshly bathed, Ban Ban curled up on the living-room sofa to watch television. She wore a cotton house dress, her hair loosely caught in a claw clip, and sat cross-legged with a cushion in her arms.

A food program was showing how to make Nan City’s sweet lotus root with osmanthus. She swallowed at the sight of the steaming dish.

The lock clicked. She turned as Wen Ting’an came in. He changed his shoes and paused when he saw her on the sofa, then raised an eyebrow at the white roses and eucalyptus on the coffee table.

“Still awake?”

She lowered the volume. “Auntie Jiang said you’d be home at ten. I thought there was another half hour.”

He poured water in the kitchen, then leaned against the dining-room doorway to drink it. “What are you doing?”

“Watching television.”

“What are you watching?”

“A food program.” She pointed at the screen. “They’re teaching how to make sweet lotus root with osmanthus.”

He came over with his glass and sat at the other end of the sofa, two cushions between them. He watched the chef stuff glutinous rice into the holes in the lotus root for a few seconds, then looked at the flowers.

“Did you arrange these?”

“Yes. Are they pretty?”

He didn’t answer, but looked at them again. The white roses and eucalyptus were simple and clean, unexpectedly suited to the gray-and-white room.

“There’s another vase in the entryway,” she said, “and one upstairs at the corner. If they’re in your way, I can remove them.”

“No need.” He took a sip of water. “Leave them.”

“Oh.” Ban Ban returned to the program. Ting’an stayed, watching from his end of the sofa, glass in hand. They sat quietly for a while as the chef explained how long to cook the syrup.

“Wen Ting’an,” she said suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Did you go to the office today?”

“I did.”

“Was it busy?”

“All right.”

She turned to him. “Do you usually eat dinner?”

He looked at her, sitting cross-legged in her cotton dress, hair messily clipped on top of her head, face clean of elaborate makeup. She tilted her head, her eyes full of simple curiosity, with no hidden purpose.

“Sometimes,” he said.

“If you don’t, your stomach will feel bad. Auntie Jiang cooks so well. If you haven’t eaten when you’re out, come home and eat.”

He watched her without agreeing or refusing. He merely said “Mm,” set his glass down and stood.

“Go to bed early. My hours are unpredictable when I’m busy. If it’s too late, I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

He went upstairs. His footsteps turned toward the guest room on the second floor. Ban Ban listened to its door open and close, then looked down at the flowers. The white roses were in full bloom, their petals layered one over another.

She turned off the television and returned to the primary bedroom. Before lying down, she thought again how large the bed was. Sleeping alone, she could roll over twice without reaching the edge.

She pulled the covers around herself and closed her eyes.

Late that night, Ting’an sat against the headboard in the guest room, phone in hand. Zhou Lin had messaged: “Why did you leave so early today?”

He didn’t reply. Another message arrived: “Don’t tell me you’ve really settled down. What kind of girl did your father find you?”

Ting’an watched the screen for a while, thinking of her flowers, and typed: “A well-brought-up young lady.”

Zhou Lin replied at once: “???”

Ting’an locked his phone and tossed it onto the nightstand. He switched off the light and lay down. The guest bed was a narrow single; he had to keep his arms tucked in when he turned.

He looked at the ceiling. A wall and half a corridor away, the girl named Ban Ban was asleep in his primary bedroom.

When he’d opened the living-room door tonight, he’d found her curled on the sofa, flowers newly placed on the coffee table and a faint green fragrance in the air.

He closed his eyes.