When the alarm went off, Ban Ban was dreaming about eating osmanthus-scented candied lotus root.
In her dream, the lotus root was sweet to absolute perfection, packed completely full of sticky rice, and when she took a bite, it was chewy, fragrant, and mouth-watering.
She was just about to take a second bite when the alarm shrilled relentlessly, dragging her straight back to reality.
Frowning, Ban Ban opened her eyes. Her vision shifted from blurry to sharp, and the first thing that came into view was an unfamiliar ceiling.
Then she turned her head.
Wen Ting’an was lying right beside her on his side, facing her direction. When he was asleep, his brow was smoothed out, completely lacking the casual, aloof edge he wore during the day. His nose was straight and high, his lips slightly pressed together, and his breathing steady.
A sudden buzzing filled Ban Ban’s head.
She bolted upright, immediately looking down to check her clothes—her light pink cotton nightgown, the ruffles along the neckline fully intact, and the cartoon bear on the chest still grinning back at her.
She let out a breath of relief, then raised her eyes to look at Wen Ting’an again.
He seemed to have been woken up by her movement. His eyelashes fluttered, and his eyes slowly opened, shifting from unfocused to sharp in barely a second.
Seeing her sitting bolt upright on the bed, clutching the collar of her nightgown with a look of sheer panic on her face, the corners of his lips twitched upward.
“Only now thinking to check if you’ve been deflowered?” His voice was raspy with sleep. “Don’t you think that’s a bit late?”
The tips of Ban Ban’s ears turned bright red, but she stubbornly stuck out her chin and glared at him. “I wasn’t checking if I lost anything.”
“Oh?”
“I was checking to see if my sleeping posture was dignified.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how weak the excuse sounded, and her voice trailed off into a whisper.
Wen Ting’an propped himself up on one elbow, the quilt sliding down to his waist to reveal the lapels of his dark gray pajamas.
He tilted his head to look at her, a playful, assessing glint in his eyes. “You actually care about that?”
“Of course I do.” Ban Ban kicked off the duvet and scrambled out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the carpet as she turned back to glare at him with manufactured confidence. “I’m a proper young lady from a good family, of course I care.”
Wen Ting’an got out of bed too. He was much taller than her, and as he walked over, his shadow swallowed her whole.
He leaned down, closing the distance to peer into her face, his voice dropping two whole degrees. “Whether your sleeping posture was dignified or not, you should be asking me, proper young lady.”
Looking up into his face just inches away, Ban Ban missed a heartbeat.
He had just woken up, and a few strands of hair fell loosely across his forehead instead of being slicked back into place like usual, giving him an unhurried, almost unreal softness.
She took half a step back, but refused to lose the staring contest. Puttering her hands on her hips, she lifted her chin. “Well then, Mr. Playboy, was this young lady’s sleeping posture dignified or not?”
Wen Ting’an clearly hadn’t expected her to throw that back at him. He straightened up, an eyebrow arching as his gaze lingered on her face—her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes shining brightly, hands on her hips like a cat caught with its tail stepped on yet trying desperately to look fierce.
Looking away, he turned and headed toward the bathroom, tossing a single sentence over his shoulder: “Mediocre.”
Hearing that, Ban Ban made a face at his retreating back.
Once the bathroom door clicked shut, Wen Ting’an stood in front of the sink and splashed a handful of cold water on his face, suddenly finding himself amused.
He had actually just gotten into a petty argument with a young girl. The exchange sounded like something straight out of a grade school playground.
Ten minutes later, Ban Ban was crouched in front of her suitcase, debating between a white chiffon shirt with light blue jeans or a pale pink dress. Both felt too casual, or perhaps not quite formal enough. Finally, she settled on a white blouse and jeans paired with white flats.
Since they were heading to the civil affairs bureau to register their marriage today—even if it was a union built on zero foundation—she still needed to look nice.
It was her first time getting married, and even if the groom looked less than thrilled, she refused to look shabby.
When Wen Ting’an emerged from the bathroom, she was already dressed and sitting stiffly on the living room sofa, her back ramrod straight, hands resting properly on her knees, with her household register and ID card placed neatly beside her.
He glanced at her without a word and walked into the bedroom to change his clothes.
The car ride to the civil affairs bureau was entirely silent. Ban Ban sat by the window in the back, watching the street views of Jiang City slide past frame by frame.
Wen Ting’an sat on the other side, looking down at his phone with his long legs slightly bent, his knees nearly brushing the front seat.
She threw him a quick, covert glance—he was wearing a white button-down shirt too, which made him look much softer and more approachable than in a full suit. His hair was styled back into a retro-Hong Kong style, exposing a well-defined forehead.
She pulled her gaze back and went back to staring out the window.
Stepping out of the civil affairs bureau with their marriage certificates in hand, Ban Ban spotted a familiar figure from afar: Ban Ru was leaning against a stone pillar by the entrance, holding a paper bag. Seeing them approach, she straightened up.
Ban Ban abandoned Wen Ting’an on the spot and sprinted over. “Sister! Why are you here?”
Ban Ru caught her, her eyes rimmed with red. She stroked her younger sister’s hair, her voice slightly hoarse. “Just wanted to see you off.”
Ban Ban hugged her arm, looking up with a bright smile. “Then you better not miss me too much, Sister! Where’s Dad?”
“Dad… had some things at the company, couldn’t get away.” Ban Ru looked away, avoiding her sister’s eyes.
Ban Ban knew her father couldn’t bear to watch her leave. The old man who had spent the entire night smoking away in his study was probably terrified he’d break down at the send-off, so he simply chose to hide.
“It’s fine,” Ban Ban patted her sister’s hand. “Once things settle down at the company, you and Dad can come visit me up North.”
Ban Ru nodded and handed her the paper bag. “I brought you some snacks for the road. Osmanthus cakes, from that place you love.”
Ban Ban took it and hugged it to her chest. The paper bag was still warm.
The car to the airport arrived. Wen Ting’an walked over from behind and gave Ban Ru a polite nod. “Hello.”
Ban Ru looked straight into his eyes, the temperature in her gaze dropping a notch. “Director Wen, I’m handing my sister over to you. Take good care of her.”
Wen Ting’an met her gaze unflinchingly. “You have my word.”
Then he reached out, took Ban Ban’s hand, and led her toward the car. Clutching her bag, Ban Ban looked back at her sister and gave a vigorous wave.
Ban Ru waved back. As the car pulled away, she turned her head, refusing to watch the direction her sister was leaving.
The airport. Check-in. Security. Boarding.
The first-class cabin was spacious. Ban Ban sat by the window with Wen Ting’an right beside her.
She remained quiet as the plane taxied down the runway, but the moment the aircraft lifted off the ground, watching the landscape of the South shrink into tiny pieces like a scattered jigsaw puzzle, a sudden tightness gripped her throat.
Tears spilled over without warning—first a single drop, then a steady stream.
She didn’t make a sound, but the crying was too heavy, her small sniffles growing louder and louder.
A passenger in the row ahead turned to look, and the person in the adjacent seat glanced over as well.
Noticing the commotion, Wen Ting’an turned his head toward her.
Ban Ban’s nose was bright red, her face streaked with tears as she tightly clutched the paper bag of osmanthus cakes to her chest like a lifeline.
He swept a glance over the surrounding gazes, muttered a quiet “Excuse me,” and turned back to Ban Ban, lowering his voice even further. “Stop crying. Everyone’s looking.”
Ban Ban ignored him and cried harder.
Wen Ting’an froze for a second. He had never liked drawing attention in public spaces, and right now, every eye in first class was fixed on them.
Exhaling a breath, he reached out, pulled her shoulder toward him, and tucked her slightly against his side.
“Sorry about that,” he nodded apologetically to the surrounding passengers, a helpless smile on his lips. “The kid is just a bit homesick.”
Understanding dawned on the passengers, who smiled, averted their eyes, and went back to what they were doing.
Wen Ting’an looked down at the person in his arms. Ban Ban was sobbing uncontrollably, her shoulders trembling against his palm, her tears soaking a small patch of his shirt.
Having no idea how to comfort people, he awkwardly patted her back a couple of times.
“Stop crying,” he said. “If it’s that bad, we’ll fly back tomorrow.”
Ban Ban lifted her head from his chest, her eyes swollen like walnuts, her nose pink. “That wouldn’t look good.”
Then she let out a pathetic little wail and resumed crying.
Wen Ting’an closed his eyes for a second, his temples throbbing. “If you don’t stop crying right now, everyone’s going to keep staring.”
Ban Ban shook her head, sniffling. “I can’t help it. I miss Dad and Sister.”
He was out of options. After trying to coax her for a while—promising “I’ll let your dad visit next month,” then “I’ll buy you good food when we land,” and finally “They have osmanthus cakes up North too”—she was still hiccuping and leaking tears.
Finally, losing his patience, he said in a stern tone: “If you make another sound, I’m calling off the marriage and taking back the money I gave the Ban family.”
Ban Ban’s crying cut off instantly.
She snapped her head up to look at him, tears still hanging from her eyelashes, her mouth tightly shut.
She stared at his face for three full seconds, confirming he was entirely serious, before her lips pushed out into a pout, her voice thick with stubborn grievance. “Y-You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
“You’re bullying me.”
Ban Ban glared at his “So what if I am?” expression.
Shoving him away, she wriggled out of his arms, retreated back to her own seat, and turned her back to him. “I’m telling Uncle Wen.”
Wen Ting’an watched the back of her round head and felt a headache coming on.
Leaning back into his seat, he turned his head to look out the window. The clouds below the wing stretched out like a vast white sea, and sunlight poured through the porthole, casting a warm glow over the huffy, turned-back figure beside him.
He unfolded a blanket and gently draped it over her shoulders.
Ban Ban didn’t turn around, but she didn’t throw the blanket off either.