The next morning, after washing up and coming downstairs, Ban Ban tied on her apron and pulled a package of fresh shiitake mushrooms from the fridge, along with some shimeji and cordyceps militaris mushrooms.
She had spent nearly twenty minutes meticulously inspecting the mushrooms in the produce aisle, examining every single one. If a mushroom looked even slightly wilted or had the wrong color, she tossed it aside, ultimately returning home with a bag packed to the brim.
Aunt Jiang helped her prep the vegetables nearby, chuckling. “Madam is certainly devoted to Young Master.”
Slicing the shiitake mushrooms thin without lifting her head, Ban Ban replied, “It’s only right. He works so hard every day and has to go out for business banquets at night. He needs a good breakfast so he has the energy for it.”
“Besides, this is just professional etiquette. It wouldn’t look right if I couldn’t even make breakfast for my own husband.”
Smiling, Aunt Jiang went over to get the congee started.
For the mushroom soup base, Ban Ban used freshly simmered chicken broth, skimming off the fat so only the clear, flavorful stock remained.
She tossed the shiitake, shimeji, and cordyceps mushrooms into the pot one by one, sautéed them until evenly coated, and then poured in the clear stock to simmer for twenty minutes. The liquid slowly transformed from clear to a pale amber, absorbing the rich, earthy fragrance of the mushrooms.
In a separate pot, she boiled hand-rolled wide noodles she had made herself, which had a much better chew than dried store-bought pasta. Once done, she scooped the noodles into a bowl, ladled the rich mushroom broth over them, sprinkled a handful of chopped green onions and a few goji berries on top, and finished it off with a drop of sesame oil.
Just as Wen Ting’an came walking down the stairs, Ban Ban was carrying the bowl of noodles to the dining table.
Today she was wearing a pale pink knitted cardigan, her hair tied back in a low ponytail with a tiny pearl hairpin clipped just above her ear.
Hearing his footsteps on the stairs, she turned her head, looked his way, and flashed him a bright smile.
“I made mushroom noodles today.”
Wen Ting’an took his seat at the table and looked down at the bowl in front of him.
The broth was crystal clear, the mushrooms arranged neatly on top. There was no dark soy sauce—just the natural, vibrant color of the mushrooms themselves, dotted with the green of fresh scallions. Steam rose gently into the air, carrying the unique, clean aroma of mushrooms. It looked light, refreshing, and completely grease-free.
Ban Ban sat down across from him, propping her chin in her hands as she watched him. “These noodles are super nutritious. I used shiitake, shimeji, and cordyceps flowers. Aunt Jiang and I picked them out ourselves at the supermarket, and I was very careful choosing them. I made the noodles from scratch, too, not store-bought ones. Go ahead, try a bite?”
Wen Ting’an picked up his chopsticks and lifted a portion of the noodles to his mouth. The noodles were springy and slippery, perfectly coating his palate with the savory depth of the mushroom broth.
The soup base was light without being watery, leaving a clean, subtle sweetness at the back of his throat—completely different from the heavy, thick broths he usually had.
He chewed, swallowed, took another sip of the soup, and finally set his chopsticks down to look at the person sitting opposite him.
“Delicious.”
The corners of Ban Ban’s mouth immediately shot up, and her whole face seemed to light up. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the tabletop. “Really? You don’t find it too plain?”
“It’s just right.”
She straightened up and picked up a pair of serving chopsticks to give him a side dish. “Have some of these pickled radishes with it. They help cut through any richness.”
With that, she nodded with satisfaction and picked up her own chopsticks to start eating.
Sitting across from each other, the only sound in the quiet dining room was the soft clink of chopsticks against porcelain.
Outside the window, the leaves of the ginkgo tree rustled in the breeze, and sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, scattering a trail of shimmering golden spots across the tabletop.
Halfway through the meal, Wen Ting’an spoke up.
“Ban Ban.”
“Hmm?” She looked up, a piece of noodle still between her lips.
Wen Ting’an set down his chopsticks, leaned back in his chair, and fixed his gaze on her face. “A few of my friends want to meet you. Would you be open to it? They’re all close childhood friends.”
Ban Ban swallowed her noodles and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She thought for a moment before asking, “Are your friends nice?”
Seeing her serious expression, the corners of Wen Ting’an’s mouth twitched. “Scared of socializing?”
“No,” Ban Ban shook her head, folding her napkin neatly and setting it aside as she sat up straight.
“It’s just that friend of yours from the other day—the one who said I was short… He had terrible manners, and I didn’t like him. What if your other friends start saying I’m short or fat too?”
She lifted her chin slightly. “If they do, I’ll talk right back to them. I’m just worried it’ll make you look bad.”
Watching her look so solemn and righteous, the lines around Wen Ting’an’s eyes softened, and he laughed.
He rarely laughed like that; his usual smiles were mostly polite and detached, but this one came straight from the bottom of his heart.
“Don’t worry, they won’t,” he said.
“They wouldn’t dare.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Wen Ting’an picked up his chopsticks again, finished the rest of his noodles, drank a few more sips of the soup, and then stood up after pushing his bowl aside.
“If any of them dare talk nonsense, I’ll make sure they can’t walk out of that private room.”
Ban Ban looked up at him and giggled, and whatever lingering nervousness she had vanished on the spot.
She curved her lips. “Alright then. I’ll go out shopping for clothes tomorrow. I need to dress up prettily—I can’t let Dad and my sister down.”
Wen Ting’an reached into his suit jacket pocket, pulled out a card, and slid it across the tabletop toward her.
It was a black card with a matte metallic finish and a simple gold-stamped logo.
“Keep this card. There’s no spending limit. Use it for whatever you want to buy.”
Ban Ban looked at the card without immediately picking it up. She reached into her bag by the entryway, pulled out another card, and placed it on the table. It was a silver supplementary card, sleek and clean, clearly designed for a woman.
“I have money,” she said, tapping the silver card.
“My sister gave me her supplementary card before I came here. It doesn’t have a limit either.”
Wen Ting’an’s gaze lingered on the silver card for two seconds before he looked back up at her.
Seeing that he didn’t quite believe her, Ban Ban explained earnestly, “What, you don’t believe me? It really doesn’t have a cap. Our family’s financial troubles were only temporary, it’s not like we went bankrupt. My dad said I can use this card to buy whatever I want in East City, and I couldn’t possibly spend it all.”
As she spoke, she straightened her back, her tone carrying the quiet pride of the youngest daughter of the Ban family.
Wen Ting’an was silent for a few seconds. He reached out, pushed the silver supplementary card slightly closer to her, and then nudged his own black card right beside it.
“Since you married me,” his voice was deep and steady, “you are Wen Ting’an’s wife, which means you should be spending my money. If you spend your family’s money, what will people say about the Wen family?”
He paused. “I, Wen Ting’an, didn’t take a wife so she could rely on her maiden family’s funds.”
Ban Ban stared at him. He stood beside the dining table, backlit by the morning light, his shoulders and back straight, looking far too serious to be joking.
The phrase ‘Wen Ting’an’s wife’ echoed in her mind over and over, making her ears feel hot all over again.
“Alright then.” She reached out and slipped the black card into her pocket. As her fingertips brushed against the cool metal, her heart gave a little flutter.
Watching her movements, Wen Ting’an’s gaze rested on the tips of her flushed ears for a brief moment before he turned to grab his coat. “Have Aunt Jiang go shopping with you.”
“No thanks.” Ban Ban stood up as well, stashing both cards away safely.
“I can go by myself. I used to shop alone all the time in South City.”
Wen Ting’an didn’t press the matter. He buttoned his cuffs, grabbed his car keys, and headed toward the door.
Just as he reached the entrance, Aunt Jiang walked in from outside, followed by a group of five or six workers in work uniforms carrying blueprints, toolboxes, and color swatches.
Aunt Jiang hurried over to Wen Ting’an. “Young Master, Madam, these are the interior design contractors sent by the Old Master. They’re here to renovate the empty guest rooms into a children’s bedroom and an indoor playroom.”
Wen Ting’an stopped in his tracks at the doorway.
His gaze swept over the blueprints and color swatches in the workers’ hands, his brow furrowing before a look of understanding crossed his eyes. The old man’s reach was certainly long enough.
Even from miles away, he had already arranged the purpose of the guest rooms. Wen Zhengnian’s underlying message didn’t take much guessing—he must have found out that Wen Ting’an had been sleeping in the guest room, and the old fox was cleverly forcing him to move back into the master bedroom.
He remained silent for two seconds, deciding not to expose it, and simply nodded. “Alright, do as the Old Master says.”
Standing behind him, Ban Ban peeked out to look at the workers, completely baffled. “Why are we renovating the guest rooms?”
Wen Ting’an glanced sideways at her, letting his eyes linger on her face for a couple of seconds before looking away. He said to Aunt Jiang, “Help me move my clothes back into the master bedroom later.”
The smile on Aunt Jiang’s face immediately broke through, and she repeatedly nodded. “Right away, Young Master. I’ll take care of it right now.”
Before Ban Ban could process what was happening, she tugged on Wen Ting’an’s sleeve. “If the guest rooms are being renovated, where are you going to sleep?”
Wen Ting’an looked down at her. She was squinting slightly against the sunlight, looking up at him with her mouth parted in confusion. He suddenly found her reaction rather amusing.
“The master bedroom,” he said.
“The master bedroom?” Ban Ban blinked.
Aunt Jiang chimed in from the side, beaming. “Has Madam forgotten? Where else would the Young Master sleep if not the master bedroom? Husband and wife belong in the same room, naturally.”
The realization finally dawned on Ban Ban.
She let out a long, drawn-out “Oh,” and slowly let go of his sleeve. Her ears turned beet red, from the tips all the way down to her lobes.
“Right. I forgot,” she mumbled softly.
Wen Ting’an watched the top of her head as the flush spread across her ears. He didn’t say anything else and turned to walk out the door.
The sound of the car door shutting echoed from outside, and then the vehicle drove off down the driveway.
Ban Ban stood in the foyer, watching his car pull away, and then watched Aunt Jiang lead the interior designers upstairs to inspect the guest rooms.
She touched her burning ears. We’re sleeping in the same room tonight.
Her and Wen Ting’an.
They had been married for nearly two months. She had slept in the master bedroom the whole time while he took the guest room, using the polite excuse that he worked late and didn’t want to disturb her rest.
They treated each other like honored guests. They saw each other twice a day, and the total time spent together didn’t add up to forty minutes.
They would have polite meals together at breakfast, and if they happened to run into each other at night, they would exchange a few words before retreating to their respective quarters. Ban Ban had grown used to this safe distance, even feeling that it was rather nice.
Yet now, that distance had been completely shattered by a single decorative decree from Wen Zhengnian.
Ban Ban sat on the living room sofa, hugging a throw pillow and spacing out. Upstairs, workers busily paced back and forth measuring dimensions and sketching blueprints, while Aunt Jiang carried items in and out.
Walking past the bedroom, she caught sight of Aunt Jiang carrying Wen Ting’an’s pajamas and casual wear into the master suite, hanging them neatly in the empty slots of the wardrobe right next to her own pastel yellow, white, and pink dresses.
A pair of dark grey pajamas hung directly beside a light pink cotton nightgown. Ban Ban quickly looked away.
The entire afternoon was a bundle of nervous tension.
She paced around the house, changed the water for the roses on the coffee table, watered the garden plants, and carried the fruit Aunt Jiang had sliced from the kitchen to the living room and back again—making three pointless round trips.
Watching her anxious pacing from the kitchen island, Aunt Jiang smiled. “Madam, why don’t you sit down and take a rest?”
“I’m not tired,” Ban Ban stood in the middle of the living room, hands unsure of where to rest. “I’m just nervous… about tonight…”
She trailed off, her face turning bright red.
Aunt Jiang walked over and patted her shoulder. “Madam, you are the Young Master’s lawfully wedded wife. Sleeping in the same room is only natural. Besides, the Young Master is a sensible man. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Ban Ban thought about it. That was true. Over the past two months, aside from coming home late and smelling of alcohol, Wen Ting’an hadn’t done anything inappropriate toward her.
He was polite during breakfast, said “I’m heading out” before leaving, and when she told him to “come back early tonight,” he would answer with a curt “Mmm” before showing up past ten o’clock as usual.
He was genuinely polite, and just as genuinely distant.
Ban Ban bit her lip as she walked upstairs with heavy footsteps.
That evening, after taking a shower and changing into her nightgown, she sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the edge of the blanket and staring at the bedroom door. It was left ajar, letting a sliver of light from the hallway spill across the wooden floor in a long, thin beam.
She waited for a long time.
So long that the clock on her phone ticked past eleven, then half-past eleven, yet there were still no footsteps in the hallway.
Ban Ban curled up on her side under the covers, straining her ears to listen for any sound outside. Her eyelids grew heavy with sleep, but a tight string remained pulled taut in her mind—Wen Ting’an still wasn’t home.
He usually came back by ten. Today had already exceeded that by an hour and a half.
Ban Ban pulled the blanket higher, curling into a tight ball. Does he not want to come back? she wondered. Did he actually not want to sleep in the master bedroom either, and only agreed because it was hard to refuse in front of everyone?
After all, with the guest room under renovation, he couldn’t very well sleep on the sofa. But she was in the master bedroom, and after keeping polite distances under the same roof for two months, suddenly having to share a bed would feel awkward for anyone.
Ban Ban buried her face in the pillow, letting out a muffled sigh. Fine, I’m not waiting up anymore.
Whether he came back or what time he returned wasn’t her business. They had agreed from the start: don’t worry about him, don’t wait for him.
She rolled over and closed her eyes.
She left one light on in the master bedroom—the warm yellow glow of the bedside lamp casting a soft halo across the pillows. She curled up near the edge of the bed, wrapped tightly in the quilt with her cheek pressed deep into the pillow, her breathing gradually slowing into a steady rhythm.
The bedroom door remained ajar.
The hallway outside was completely silent.
Ban Ban fell asleep.