In the executive suite of that five-star hotel in Jiang City, Wen Ting’an stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
Outside the glass was the misty, drizzle-shrouded weather unique to the south. Steam rose from the river’s surface, and the lights on the opposite bank glowed softly through a haze, looking as though viewed through frosted glass.
Truth be told, he didn’t care much for the south. It was humid, stuffy, and the air always carried a lingering moisture that made a shirt cling limply to his skin after just half a day. But the hotel’s air conditioning was cranked up high enough to keep the indoor air dry and cool, which made staying another night bearable.
When Wen Henian pushed open the door, Wen Ting’an was still staring blankly at the river view.
“What are you looking at?” Wen Henian took off his coat and draped it over the back of the sofa.
“The river in Jiang City.” Wen Ting’an turned around, tucked the unlit cigarette behind his ear, and leaned his back against the glass.
“Why are you back? Didn’t we just see each other?”
“I came to check on you.” Wen Henian sat down, poured himself a cup of tea, and pointed to the opposite sofa. “Sit.”
Wen Ting’an obliged, crossing his long legs and slouching lazily back into the cushions. He watched his father pick up the tea cup, blow away the floating foam, and set it back down with a hesitation that clearly telegraphed he had more to say. He suddenly found it somewhat amusing.
“If there’s something you want to say, spit it out.”
Wen Henian coughed. “Now that we met yesterday… what do you think of the young lady?”
Wen Ting’an raised an eyebrow. “What is there to think? If you think she’s fine, she’s fine.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Asking me?” Wen Ting’an let out a short laugh, his index finger tapping rhythmically against the armrest. “You’ve already locked down the marriage, and now you’re asking for my opinion?”
Wen Henian was momentarily choked up. He glared at his son. “If I didn’t lock it down, when would you ever settle anything yourself? You’re thirty-three! Your stream of girlfriends changes faster than your phone wallpaper—am I supposed to count on you?”
“So you went and found yourself a kid.”
“She’s twenty-one, a college graduate with clean skin and an innocent family background. How is she a kid?”
Wen Ting’an thought of the girl in the goose-yellow dress from yesterday’s dinner. Round face, blindingly fair skin, her eyelashes drooping like twin folding fans as she kept her head down to eat. When he put food in her bowl, the tips of her ears had turned red enough to drip blood, and her voice was so soft it was practically a mosquito’s hum—the word “thanks” sounding like a tiny buzz.
She certainly looked young; nobody would bat an eye if someone claimed she was a high schooler.
Pulling his thoughts back, he smiled again. “Fine. If you think it works, it works. It’s all the same to me anyway.”
Wen Henian stared at him for a few seconds. “Are you serious about this?”
“What else?” Wen Ting’an spread his hands. “Do I have the right to say no?”
Wen Henian let out a breath, though it wasn’t an entirely relaxed one. He knew his son too well: the kid would agree to everything on the surface while pulling all sorts of rebellious stunts behind his back. Years ago, when asked to take over the company, Wen Ting’an had cheerfully said “sure,” only to immediately run off to Europe for half a month and loaf around, forcing Wen Henian to fly out himself and drag him back.
“Ting’an,” Wen Henian said, his expression turning serious. “Don’t play games with me. Since you don’t have any objections, it’s settled. But I have one thing to make clear.”
His voice dropped a register. “I gave the Ban family my word. You’re going to clean up your act after marriage.”
Wen Ting’an was in the middle of picking up his glass of whiskey. At that, his hand paused. He looked up at his old man. “You gave your word?”
“I did.”
“Chairman Wen,” Wen Ting’an said, taking a sip of his drink. “You really worry yourself to death. I’m the one getting married, and you’re the one making promises. Anyone who didn’t know better would think you were the groom.”
With that, he picked up an orange and began peeling it.
Wen Henian slammed a palm against the sofa armrest. “You think I worry for nothing? Have some conscience! I’ve lost all my face because of you! Look at yourself—which daughter from a decent family would ever be willing to marry you? Except for those…”
He caught himself mid-sentence, forced out a heavy sigh, and grabbed his teacup to take a large gulp. “Forget it, I’m not saying any more. I just hope the daughter-in-law of the Wen family is a match in social standing so we don’t become a laughingstock.”
Wen Ting’an handed the peeled orange to his father, tossed the peel into the trash, and wiped his hands with a napkin. “Alright, Dad, I know what you’re getting at.”
“As long as you know.” Wen Henian watched him. “Cut ties with those women of yours as soon as possible. Don’t make the young lady uncomfortable.”
Wen Ting’an didn’t reply. He just offered a faint smile—a smile with an edge of casual indifference that made it impossible to tell whether he was actually agreeing or just brushing him off. He took the cigarette down from behind his ear and picked up his lighter.
Bypassing further argument, Wen Henian changed the subject. “Tomorrow at noon, the Wen family is hosting a banquet. Both families will gather again—consider it a small wedding reception. The Ban family didn’t want anything grand, saying a simple meal is better.”
“Mm.”
“After we eat, we’re going to get the marriage license.”
Wen Ting’an’s motion with the lighter came to a complete halt. “We’re registering tomorrow?”
Wen Henian looked entirely justified. “What else? What are you waiting for?”
“Dad,” Wen Ting’an put down what was in his hands and leaned back to look at him. “Are you afraid she’s going to run off?”
Wen Henian’s expression flickered subtly before he irritably stood up and grabbed his coat. “Never mind what I’m afraid of! Tomorrow at twelve sharp, don’t be late! If you’re late this time, see if I don’t break your legs!”
The door slammed shut.
Wen Ting’an sat alone on the sofa for a while, finished his cigarette, and poured himself another drink.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rain started again—fine, dense, and piercing like sewing needles. He picked up his phone, thumbed through his contacts, hovered over a certain name for two seconds, and then swiped past it.
Whatever.
That evening, Wen Henian had a suit delivered to the hotel.
It was a deep black three-piece, tailored from an imported Italian wool blend that caught the light with a very subtle sheen. Wen Ting’an unwrapped it for a quick look, casually hung it on the coat rack, and returned to answering work calls.
Over at the Ban household, Ban Ru was helping Ban Ban try on three different dresses.
The first was white—too plain. The second was champagne—a bit too mature. When the third came out, Ban Ru’s eyes lit up.
Wine-red, sleeveless, with a French-style cinched waist, it was a Hepburn-esque little red dress that hit right at mid-calf. After slipping it on, Ban Ban spun around in front of the mirror. The waistline hugged her curves perfectly, and her collarbones stood out, milk-white and delicate.
“This one,” Ban Ru declared.
Ban Ban touched her collarbone with a hint of unease. “Isn’t it a bit… too exposed?”
“Exposed my foot,” Ban Ru rolled her eyes. “It’s just straps, not a plunging neckline. Your skin is fair; red looks incredible on you.”
Ban Ban took a few more glances in the mirror. It did look good.
Still, a knot of worry remained in her chest. Wen Ting’an’s previous partners were rumored to be models and internet influencers, every single one of them stunning. Would she look clumsy and unsophisticated dressed like this?
As if reading her mind, Ban Ru patted her shoulder. “Remember, tomorrow you’re the star. You don’t need to compare yourself to anyone.”
Ban Ban nodded and carefully folded the dress into a dust bag.
The next morning, Ban Ban woke up at six.
Ban Ru had hired a professional makeup artist to come to the house. She gave Ban Ban a polished, clean base makeup look, swept a touch of reddish-brown shadow across the outer corners of her eyes, and finished with a true-red matte lip tint.
Instead of an updo, her hair was styled into soft, voluminous waves that cascaded over her shoulders.
Standing by and watching, Ban Ru murmured, “Ban Ban, you’ve grown up.”
Ban Ban offered a small smile to her sister in the mirror.
Ban Shengwei was waiting in the living room. When he saw his daughter walk out, his eyes reddened once again. He walked over to straighten a stray lock of hair, his lips moving as if to speak, before finally settling on just one sentence: “Let’s go. Don’t keep the Wen family waiting.”
The restaurant had been booked at Jiang City’s oldest five-star hotel. The banquet hall wasn’t large, set up with just three tables. Few people were invited—only close relatives and trusted friends from both sides.
Wen Henian had deliberately kept the scale controlled. He remembered Ban Shengwei saying he didn’t want a massive spectacle, and with Wen Ting’an constantly in the public eye and Ban Ban so young, they wanted to keep her from becoming fodder for gossip.
When the Ban family’s car pulled up to the hotel entrance, Ban Ban looked out the window.
Wen Ting’an was standing on the steps beside the revolving doors, his back against a stone pillar, a cigarette pinched between his fingers.
He was dressed quite formally today: a deep black three-piece suit, a crisp white shirt, and a neatly tied necktie. His hair had been redone, sweeping back the loose strands from his forehead to reveal a sharply defined facial structure and an unmistakable aura of old money.
He looked down as he smoked, his long eyelashes casting shadows that hid his expression. Wisps of smoke rose from his fingertips, quickly scattered by the breeze.
“I’ll go in first,” Ban Ru told Ban Ban.
Ban Ban nodded, took a deep breath, and pushed open the car door.
As her high heels met the pavement, she heard her own heart hammering against her ribs like a drum. The wine-red skirt fluttered slightly in the breeze. She straightened up, and the sunlight caught her face just right.
Wen Ting’an lifted his head.
The hand holding his cigarette paused for a fraction of a second.
Ban Ban stood by the car, the sunlight washing in from behind her, casting a warm golden halo over her entire figure.
Bright eyes, white teeth, lips painted a true red and full as a freshly picked cherry, glistening with a natural, soft curve. Her eyelashes fluttered as if she were nervous, but her eyes were brilliantly bright.
Wen Ting’an pinched out his cigarette, tossed the butt into a nearby trash can, and stepped toward her.
His pace was steady and unhurried, his leather shoes clicking crisply against the marble ground.
When he reached Ban Ban, he towered over her by a full two heads, casting a shadow that swallowed her whole.
Ban Ban looked up at him, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to say something.
Wen Ting’an reached out, palm facing upward. “Let’s go.”
Ban Ban froze. Her gaze traveled down from his face to that open palm—defined knuckles, light calluses on the pads of his fingers, waiting patiently for her hand to rest in his.
“What are you daydreaming about?” Wen Ting’an leaned down slightly, his voice dropping as his warm breath brushed against her ear. “We’re getting married today, or did you plan on walking in alone? Or were you planning on making me go in alone?”
His tone held a faint, low hum of amusement that rolled right over her eardrums.
Ban Ban snapped out of it. The tips of her ears turned bright red in a flash, and she stammered, “Oh… right, right… of course together.”
Wen Ting’an straightened up, the corner of his mouth curving into an uncontained smile. Without further ado, he reached out and took her hand.
Her palm was slightly damp, likely from nervousness. It felt soft—as soft as a freshly steamed glutinous rice cake—with delicate fingers that were entirely enveloped by his large hand.
Wen Ting’an held her hand for a couple of seconds, tightening his grip slightly before guiding her forward.
Ban Ban stumbled a little in her steps trying to keep up. Realizing she was lagging, he purposely slowed his pace.
She glanced sideways at him from under her lashes—Wen Ting’an was looking straight ahead, his jaw tilted slightly upward, his profile sharply and handsomely chiseled in the light. The faint curve remained at the corner of his lips, though she couldn’t guess what he was thinking.
He was terribly good-looking.
The absolute peak of good-looking.
When Wen Ting’an led her into the banquet hall, everyone seated at the tables turned to look.
Wen Henian was the first to stand up, a grin stretching across his face. “They’re here, they’re here!”
Ban Shengwei sat at the main table. Seeing his daughter walking in hand-in-hand with Wen Ting’an, his expression flickered with complex emotions for a fraction of a second.
Ban Ru nudged his arm gently. He took a deep breath and forced a smile.
Wen Ting’an guided Ban Ban to a seat at the main table. Before letting go of her hand, his thumb brushed softly across the back of her hand, wiping away a thin film of nervous perspiration, before he finally pulled his hand back.
Ban Ban lowered her head, pretending to adjust her skirt to hide her burning cheeks.
The feast began. Wen Henian stood up to give a toast—short and sweet, but hitting every point. “Today is a day of great joy for the Wen family. My son is getting married, and I’m overjoyed. I’ve watched Ban Ban grow up, sensible and well-behaved. If anyone in the Wen family ever dares to make her feel wronged—”
He glanced at Wen Ting’an.
Wen Ting’an was in the middle of drinking water. Caught by his father’s look, he raised an eyebrow in silence.
“—I won’t stand for it,” Wen Henian finished.
Everyone at the table laughed. Ban Shengwei chuckled too, raising his glass to tap against Wen Henian’s. “Old Wen, I’m holding you to that.”
“Hold me to it, absolutely.”
Wen Henian added, “I know today’s arrangement is a bit understated for Ban Ban. Whenever she’s ready, we can throw a grand wedding anytime she likes.”
Ban Shengwei replied, “As long as Ban Ban is happy, none of that matters.”
As the meal progressed through multiple toasts, Ban Ban noticed that Wen Ting’an drank with great restraint. When others offered him drinks, he would just take a small sip and stop there.
When someone tried to pressure him into drinking more, he simply smiled and lowered the glass. “I have a flight tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll have to pass for today.”
Wen Henian immediately dismantled his excuse from across the table. “What flight? You aren’t even the one flying the plane.”
Wen Ting’an didn’t skip a beat. “Then I still have to pack my bags tonight.”
Listening from the side, Ban Ban secretly thought this man was remarkably thick-skinned.
She dropped her head with a small smile, which was caught out of the corner of Wen Ting’an’s eye. He turned his head toward her, lowering his voice. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” Ban Ban hastily straightened her expression.
Wen Ting’an stared at her for two seconds without pressing further, a flicker of gentleness warming his gaze.
As the banquet wound down, Ban Ru walked over holding a glass of juice. She crouched down beside Ban Ban and whispered something in her ear.
Hearing it, the smile on Ban Ban’s face slowly faded, and her eyes grew a little misty. She nodded.
Ban Ru stood up and extended a hand toward Wen Ting’an. “Wen Ting’an, I’m handing my sister over to you. Take good care of her.”
Wen Ting’an stood up and shook her hand. The grip wasn’t overly heavy, but it was rock-solid.
“You have my word,” he said.
Just four words, free of unnecessary embellishment.
Ban Ru looked into his eyes, confirmed whatever she was searching for, and then let go to return to her own seat.
By two in the afternoon, the banquet had concluded.
Wen Henian had arranged a car to take Ban Shengwei and Ban Ru home, while Ban Ban’s luggage had already been sent up to her hotel room. Tomorrow afternoon, she would be flying north with Wen Ting’an.
Standing in the hotel lobby, Ban Ban watched her father’s and sister’s car pull away, its taillights fading into the growing twilight.
She clutched her clutch purse by the revolving doors, still wearing a smile, though her shoulders slumped ever so slightly.
Wen Ting’an walked over and stood beside her. He didn’t look at her, nor did he speak. He simply stood there less than an arm’s length away, keeping her company in silence.
Only when the taillights vanished completely around the corner did he break the quiet. “Let’s go up.”
Ban Ban sniffled and turned to look at him. He stood under the warm yellow lights of the hotel lobby, his suit jacket draped over his forearm, the top cuff button of his shirt undone to reveal a section of his forearm.
“Wen Ting’an,” she called out.
“Hmm?”
“We’re really married now, aren’t we?”
Wen Ting’an looked down at her. Her eyes were rimmed with unshed tears, her true-red lipstick completely unsmudged, her full lips pressed into a faint line.
He suddenly felt a slight tightness in his throat.
“Yes,” he said.
Ban Ban nodded, as if needing that confirmation to settle something, and then squared her shoulders again. “Let’s go, upstairs.”
She turned and headed toward the elevators first. Her high heels clicked against the marble floor—tap, tap, tap—one measured step after another.
Wen Ting’an stayed where he was, watching her back. The wine-red dress swayed gently as she walked, revealing the fair line of her calves. Her soft waves drifted over her shoulders, the ends bouncing rhythmically against her shoulder blades.
He hoisted the suit jacket draped over his arm, gave it a flick, and followed after her.
Before the elevator doors closed, the two of them stood side by side, separated by the space of a single person.
As the overhead lights illuminated the top of their heads, Ban Ban watched the floor numbers tick upward one by one and suddenly spoke: “You looked very handsome today.”
Wen Ting’an tilted his head toward her. “Hmm?”
“I said,” Ban Ban turned her face slightly, her true-red lips curving, “you looked very handsome today. Even better than yesterday.”
The elevator chimed and reached its floor. As the doors slid open, Wen Ting’an reached out and lightly supported the small of her back—a feather-light touch, like a brush of a wing.
“You too,” he murmured.
The tips of Ban Ban’s ears turned red again as she hurried out of the elevator.
Following behind her, Wen Ting’an glanced down at the palm of his hand. When he had touched the small of her back just then, through the wine-red fabric, he had felt the warmth radiating from beneath the cloth.
Warm. Soft.
He pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket.