As the plane pierced through the clouds, Ban Ban felt the cabin pressure shift, her ears popping with a sudden ringing.
She rubbed her earlobe and peered out the window. The cloud layer split open to reveal a vast expanse of grayish-green below, with neat rows of farmland laid out like a grid carved into the earth.
It looked completely different from South City, where she had spent the past twenty-one years.
“Wen Ting’an,” she said, her voice still raspy from crying earlier. “Your East City looks so flat.”
“Plains,” Wen Ting’an replied without looking up from the tablet in his hands.
Ban Ban glanced out a few more times, feeling the damp, stuffy weight in her nasal passages gradually fade away.
When the plane finally touched down and the cabin door opened, a dry, crisp breeze rushed inside, carrying the distinct, clean chill of the North. Standing on the airstair, Ban Ban took a deep breath, feeling as though her lungs had been thoroughly scoured clean.
“Wen Ting’an,” she called out, turning to look back at him. Her eyes were still a bit swollen, but the corners of her mouth were turned up. “East City feels really nice.”
Wen Ting’an walked down behind her, carrying her carry-on bag, and shot her a glance.
She stood midway down the stairs, her white blouse billowing slightly in the wind. Her hair was a bit disheveled, but the expression on her face was the most relaxed it had been in days.
“Let’s go,” he said.
The airport arrivals hall was bustling with people. Ban Ban hurried along closely behind Wen Ting’an, terrified of getting lost. Because of his long stride, she practically had to half-jog to keep up, her shoes clicking sharply against the marble floor.
Accustomed to his usual pace, he walked a short distance before seeming to realize it. He slowed down by half a step, letting her catch up and walk beside him.
Parked right by the exit was a large black Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon. The vehicle was towering and its paintwork gleamed, reflecting the setting sun.
A man in a black suit stood by the car door. Seeing Wen Ting’an emerge, he offered a slight bow.
“Young Master.”
Wen Ting’an handed him the luggage. “I’ll drive.”
“Understood.” The man took the bags, cast a quick, respectful glance at Ban Ban standing behind Wen Ting’an, and added formally, “Hello, Madam.”
Everyone knew the purpose of the Young Master’s southern trip; the Old Master had made it crystal clear that the Wen family was gaining a young mistress, and they had even been shown photos of her beforehand so they’d know to mind their manners.
Startled for a second, Ban Ban nodded. “Hello.”
The man placed the luggage in the trunk, handed the car keys to Wen Ting’an, and walked off toward a second vehicle.
Ban Ban looked up at the towering SUV and stood on her tiptoes just to reach the door handle.
Climbing inside took some effort; the seat was so high she practically had to scramble up to get in.
Wen Ting’an climbed in from the other side, glanced sideways at her, twitched the corner of his mouth, and said nothing.
The car started up. The streets of East City were much wider than those in South City, lined with towering sycamore trees whose leaves rustled loudly in the wind. The sky was high and a brilliant blue, scattered with thin, wispy clouds—completely unlike the heavy, low-hanging rain clouds of the South.
Ban Ban pulled out her phone and snapped several photos, sending them separately to her father and sister.
“Dad, things look really nice here, and the air is great. Once you guys finish up your work, you have to come up to East City and experience it.”
She typed with a smile on her face. Ban Ru replied instantly: “You there? Are you adjusting okay?”
“Adjusting great! The air is so dry, my hair doesn’t stick to my neck anymore.”
Ban Ru sent back a simple “Good,” followed by a head-pat emoji.
Ban Ban snapped one more picture of the sycamore trees outside the window, tucked her phone away, and turned her gaze to Wen Ting’an beside her.
He held the steering wheel with one hand, his other arm resting casually along the door frame as he looked straight ahead, his chin tilted slightly upward with an indifferent expression.
Sunlight poured in through the car window, casting an alternating pattern of light and shadow across his face. His profile looked too sharp and handsome to be real.
Ban Ban stared for a few seconds before pulling her gaze back.
The car turned into a quiet, tree-lined avenue flanked by detached villas spaced far apart, each with a different garden out front.
The vehicle came to a stop before a pair of black wrought-iron gates that automatically swung open. Inside sat a three-story villa with light gray stone facades—clean and minimalist—and a towering ginkgo tree in the yard boasting a lush canopy of deep green leaves.
Wen Ting’an cut the engine and stepped out with her luggage. Standing by the front entrance was a woman around fifty years old wearing a deep blue apron, her hair neatly pinned back, who broke into a smile the moment she saw Ban Ban.
“The young mistress is here.” She took the bags from Wen Ting’an’s hands. “The rooms are all set up.”
Ban Ban hurried to greet her. “Hello, Auntie.”
“Just call me Sister Jiang,” Sister Jiang said, looking Ban Ban up and down as the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes bunched into a warm smile. “You’re even prettier than your pictures, Madam. So fair and clean.”
Ban Ban blushed with shyness. “Thank you, Sister Jiang.”
Stepping into the entryway to change shoes, Ban Ban realized the house was much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside.
The living room had a soaring high ceiling, with an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out toward the ginkgo tree in the yard, letting sunlight flood the space in dappled patches.
The furniture was sparse, but every piece featured clean, sharp lines dominated by cool grays and beige tones, giving it a distinctly modern, detached feel.
Wen Ting’an changed his shoes in the foyer, draped his suit jacket over his forearm, and glanced over at Ban Ban. “This is Sister Jiang. Tell her whatever you want to eat.”
Ban Ban nodded.
“There are only Sister Jiang and Uncle Zhou in this villa. Uncle Zhou is the driver—let him drive you if you need to go out.”
Ban Ban nodded again.
Sister Jiang was already heading toward the dining area, talking as she walked. “Must be hungry, right, Madam? Dinner is ready, do you want to eat first?”
Ban Ban was indeed hungry. She hadn’t touched much of the airline food, having spent the entire flight crying and mentally cursing Wen Ting’an, which burned a lot of calories.
She turned to Wen Ting’an. “Are you eating?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Wen Ting’an said, and headed straight up the stairs. His footsteps echoed on the steps, growing fainter and fainter.
Standing alone in the living room, Ban Ban murmured an “oh” to his retreating back.
The voice was so quiet she doubted he even heard it.
The dining room was cozy, featuring a long table pushed against the window. Spread across it were four dishes and a soup: braised pork ribs, stir-fried seasonal greens, tomatoes scrambled with eggs, a bowl of winter melon soup, and a small dish of pickled radishes.
It lacked the ostentatious extravagance of the wealthy, and the presentation wasn’t particularly fancy, but it looked piping hot, radiating homestyle steam.
Ban Ban sat down and picked up her bowl. She fished out a pork rib—the rich soy-braised glaze coated meat that was stewed so tender it practically fell off the bone. Next, she tried a bite of the tomato and eggs; sweet and tangy, the eggs cooked to a velvety softness. She shoveled down mouthful after mouthful of rice, her cheeks puffed out.
“Sister Jiang,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food. “This is so good. Your cooking is amazing.”
Standing nearby, Sister Jiang couldn’t hide her beaming smile. “As long as you like it, Madam! These were made following a southern cookbook just for today. If you fancy them, I’ll cook them for you every day.”
“Mhm!” Ban Ban nodded vigorously and reached for another rib.
Remembering something else, Sister Jiang added, “Oh, and Madam, all your clothes have been prepared. Casual wear, outdoor wear—they were delivered a few days ago, bought in your exact size.”
With food still in her mouth, Ban Ban blinked. “Really? That’s so thoughtful.”
“It was all Young Master’s instruction,” Sister Jiang said. “He gave your measurements to the brands and had entire seasonal wardrobes sent over.”
Ban Ban’s chewing slowed by a fraction. She stared down at the rib in her bowl and stayed silent.
After dinner, Ban Ban washed her hands and made her way up the stairs to the second floor.
The second-floor hallway was lined with a light gray carpet, flanked by several doors. She cautiously peeked through them one by one: some doors were closed tight with no sound inside, while others stood ajar, revealing guest rooms with neat beds that clearly hadn’t been slept in.
As she reached the door at the very end of the hall, she leaned in slightly to take a closer look, but the door suddenly swung open from the inside.
Wen Ting’an stood in the doorway, having changed into a black T-shirt and casual trousers. His hair was slightly ruffled, as if he had just washed it.
Lowering his gaze to find Ban Ban standing right outside his door looking startled, he took half a step back.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Ban Ban rubbed the tip of her nose where it had nearly bumped him. “I was looking for you… I wanted to ask, where am I sleeping?”
Wen Ting’an turned sideways and gestured with his chin toward the door behind him. “Master bedroom.”
“Then what about you?”
“Mind your own business,” he said, before tacking on an extra instruction. “Sleep by yourself. Don’t worry about me, and don’t wait up.”
Ban Ban stared at him, her mouth opening as if to say something, before she realized there was nothing to say.
She nodded. “Got it.”
Without another word, Wen Ting’an slipped past her and headed downstairs.
His footsteps paused briefly on the ground floor, followed by the sound of him changing his shoes in the foyer.
Next came the click of the front door opening and closing, the low rumble of a car engine outside, and the vehicle gradually fading into the distance.
Ban Ban stood alone in the hallway, staring at the door to the master bedroom.
Mind your own business. Don’t wait up. Sleep by yourself.
She mentally replayed those words, then looked down and smiled to herself. Fair enough. She was the one who had dragged him down anyway.
He was thirty-three, from a prominent family, devastatingly handsome, and fiercely capable. Had it not been for his family forcing an arranged marriage, he could easily have chosen someone he genuinely loved. Now, an extra wife had been dropped into his lap out of nowhere, and he was expected to take care of her—he was getting the short end of the stick.
Ban Ban pushed open the master bedroom door and stepped inside. The room was massive, dominated by a deep gray bed set right in the center with pristine white bedding, topped off by a sleek, minimalist bedside lamp.
There were no unnecessary decorations, no vases, no photographs. It felt cold and clinical, just like a hotel suite.
After taking a shower and changing into her pajamas, she curled up in bed and video-called her sister.
“Sister, I’m here,” she said, holding the phone high so Ban Ru could see the room. “Look, the place is huge, and Sister Jiang’s cooking is great.”
On the other end of the screen, Ban Ru smiled. “The room looks nice, better than I expected.”
“Sister Jiang said all my clothes are ready too, bought right in my size.”
“Did Wen Ting’an arrange that?”
Ban Ban fell silent for a second. “Mhm.”
Ban Ru’s expression flickered slightly, but she didn’t comment, merely offering a few reminders: “Sleep early,” “Call me if anything comes up,” “Don’t wrong yourself.”
Right before hanging up, Ban Ru added one more line: “Ban Ban, if he treats you poorly, don’t just swallow it. Tell your sister, and I’ll come pick you up.”
Ban Ban smiled. “Got it.”
She added cheerfully, “Besides, Sister, he’s the one losing out here—he ended up stuck with deadweight like me.”
Ban Ru was silent for two seconds before replying, “Ban Ban, remember this: the Wen family is the one who came asking for your hand. You don’t owe him a thing.”
Ban Ban didn’t answer, just nodded with a smile and ended the call.
As the screen faded to black, she lay on the unfamiliar bed and stared blankly up at the ceiling.
The bedroom felt entirely too cold, much like its owner—reticent, expressionless, and utterly unreadable. But the duvet was soft and smelled faintly of licorice root, which wasn’t unpleasant.
Ban Ban rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.
Her first night in East City was dead quiet. There was none of the lingering, soft patter of rain characteristic of South City; outside the window, the only sound was the wind whispering through the ginkgo leaves—dry, crisp, and clear.
At that exact same moment, inside a private club in East City, Wen Ting’an reclined in the very center of a leather sofa, his long legs crossed as he held a glass of whiskey.
The lighting was dim, smoke and alcohol mingling in the air, while deep jazz played from the speakers.
Sitting across from him were two of his longtime friends—Zhou Lin and Song Chengyuan.
“Come on, spill,” Zhou Lin said, crossing his legs with a roguish grin. “How’s your little madam?”
Wen Ting’an took a sip of his drink. “What about her?”
“What do you mean, what about her?” Song Chengyuan leaned in closer. “Is she pretty? Fair? Skinny?”
“None of your business.”
“Hey, you—” Zhou Lin slapped his thigh. “We’re all curious! You, the great Young Master Wen, suddenly getting hitched to someone who’s only twenty-one? Who wouldn’t be curious?”
The private room door pushed open, and a group of young women filed in.
They looked to be in their early twenties, meticulously dressed and styled, wearing light makeup that failed to hide how flawlessly pretty each of them was.
They had clearly been brought in deliberately. The moment they stepped inside, their gazes locked unanimously onto Wen Ting’an.
Who in elite circles didn’t know Wen Ting’an? The only son of the East City Wen family, thirty-three years old, worth tens of billions, and exceptionally good-looking.
If they managed to please him, a casual wave of his hand would provide for them for half a lifetime; if they managed to hook up with him, they’d be set for life.
Two of the bolder women walked right over and sat on either side of him, one smilingly offering a drink while the other seamlessly drifted closer to his shoulder.
Wen Ting’an didn’t look at them, simply holding his glass and sipping his drink. Bathed in the dim light, he lounged against the sofa with an air of lazy indifference, radiating the casual, dangerous aura of a nocturnal wolf pack leader.
Zhou Lin leaned over, lowering his voice. “These are proper students, fresh out of campus, around the same age as your little madam. Knowing you changed your tastes, I specifically rounded them up for you. Aren’t you even going to look?”
Wen Ting’an turned his head to give him a flat look. “Put your curiosity away. Can they compare?”
Zhou Lin and Song Chengyuan exchanged a glance and let out a simultaneous chorus of teasing sounds.
“Already feeling protective?”
“Wen Ting’an, you’re a goner.”
Wen Ting’an downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and stood up.
The woman beside him hastily rose to follow, but he didn’t even spare her a glance as he set his glass down on the coffee table with a sharp clink.
“I’m heading out,” he told his two friends.
“What time is it—”
“Tired.”
Wen Ting’an picked up his jacket and strode out of the private room without looking back. Behind him, the voices of Zhou Lin and Song Chengyuan chased him down the hall: “Wen Ting’an, you beast, she’s only twenty-one, what are you even tired of—”
The door clicked shut.
Wen Ting’an stood in the corridor, draped his jacket over his shoulder, and stood still for two seconds. Then he pulled out his phone to check it—no unread messages, no missed notifications. That little creature he had just left behind in the villa was quiet as a mouse, not making a single peep.
“Don’t worry about me, don’t wait up.” Those were the exact words he had told her.
True to his word, she hadn’t bothered him at all. Quite the obedient listener.
Wen Ting’an tucked his phone away with an expressionless face and walked toward the elevators.