Ban Ban woke up to the sunlight flashing in her eyes.
Morning light in the North was different from the South. In South City, the dawn was soft and gentle, draped in a film of moisture like a thin veil. East City’s sunlight was straight and unyielding, pouring unhindered through the floor-to-ceiling windows to illuminate half the bed in a bright, glaring glow.
She blinked her eyes open, rolled over, and reached out her arm—empty.
The sheets were smooth and uncreased, and the duvet was neatly folded on the opposite side with its corners folded with absolute precision.
Ban Ban sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around the room. No one was there. The bathroom door was open, and it was dead quiet inside.
Did he already go to work?
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she thought about it and decided it was entirely possible.
Wealthy and powerful people were disciplined, and with an enterprise as large as Wen Ting’an’s to run, if he slept in until noon every day, the business would never stay afloat.
Nodding in agreement with her own logic, she pushed back the covers and got out of bed.
After washing up and changing, she checked her phone—8:40 AM.
Oh no. Sleeping in this late on her very first day living here was bound to make people laugh if word got out. Thank goodness they didn’t live with her parents-in-law, or she would have truly humiliated herself to the ends of the earth.
Hurrying to open the bedroom door, Ban Ban almost bumped straight into Sister Jiang, who was walking down the hallway.
“Madam is awake?”
Sister Jiang was walking upstairs, breaking into a warm smile the moment she saw her. “Did you sleep well, Madam?”
“Well, exceptionally well.” Ban Ban guiltily rubbed her nose. “Good morning, Sister Jiang. Are you cleaning?”
Sister Jiang wiped her hands on her apron. “I came up to tidy the guest room. The Young Master came back late last night and didn’t want to disturb your rest, so he slept in the guest room.”
Ban Ban’s footsteps came to a halt on the top step of the stairs.
The guest room.
Wen Ting’an had slept in the guest room last night. When she hadn’t seen him in the master bedroom this morning, it wasn’t because he had woken up early for work—it was because he hadn’t stepped foot in there to begin with.
Sensing her hesitation, Sister Jiang hurriedly chimed in, “Madam, please don’t overthink it. The Young Master simply… he was just afraid of waking you up, so—”
“It’s fine, Sister Jiang.” Ban Ban cut her off with a curved smile, her expression too calm to reveal any turbulent ripples. “We’re, well… an arranged marriage, after all. With no emotional foundation, I understand. He can sleep wherever he likes, and I’m not upset.”
Looking into those clear eyes, Sister Jiang saw no trace of grievance—they were placid and calm, as if she were talking about something entirely unrelated to herself.
The girl was remarkably open-minded and sensible, so much so that it was heartbreaking.
Swallowing back what she had originally wanted to say, Sister Jiang pivoted to another topic. “Breakfast is ready. Would Madam like to eat now?”
“Yes.” Ban Ban followed her toward the dining room, rubbing her stomach along the way. “I’m actually starving.”
Amused by her straightforward attitude, Sister Jiang chuckled. “I made little wontons and pan-fried dumplings today, both made the northern way. Madam, give them a try.”
When breakfast was served, Ban Ban took a deep, appreciative sniff of the golden pan-fried dumplings sitting on the plate.
The wrappers were thin, stuffed with generous fillings, and their bottoms were pan-fried to a crispy golden-brown. Served alongside was a small dish of vinegar and a spoonful of chili oil.
The soup for the wontons was clear, floating with shredded nori and dried baby shrimp, finished with just a few drops of sesame oil.
Ban Ban picked up a dumpling and took a bite. The crispy crust shattered between her teeth, releasing piping hot, savory pork filling. She let out a muffled sound of bliss and quickly took a sip of wonton soup to wash it down.
“Sister Jiang,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food, asking indistinctly, “what time does Wen Ting’an usually get back? Tell me a bit about him.”
Sister Jiang paused mid-wipe on the kitchen counter, tilted her head, and thought for a moment. “The Young Master usually gets back around ten at night. Dinner… he almost never comes home for it. The company has a lot of business, and plenty of social obligations too.”
Ban Ban nodded and picked up another dumpling. “So basically, he’s always out carousing?”
Sister Jiang froze, cloth still in hand. This madam is far too direct.
Ban Ban looked up at her, still chewing a dumpling with puffed-out cheeks, looking thoroughly innocent and straightforward.
After swallowing, she offered an awkward, sheepish smile. “Before getting married, I looked him up online. The internet said he’s a playboy, fickle in romance, with tons of women and a habit of changing them fast. I figured he must be quite the partier.”
Putting down her rag, Sister Jiang spoke with absolute seriousness. “Madam, some of those reports are false. It’s true the Young Master likes going to clubs and enjoys drinking, but he has never once brought a woman back here. Any social events he attends are just things he can’t push away…”
“It’s all the same.” Ban Ban finished the last drop of her wonton soup and grabbed a napkin to wipe her mouth. “No difference.”
She said it so lightly, with no trace of sadness on her face, as if she truly didn’t care at all.
Clearing away the empty bowl and chopsticks, Sister Jiang tentatively asked, “Then, Madam… what are your plans?”
Ban Ban stood up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the leaves of the ginkgo tree rustled in the wind, catching the sunlight through their gaps and shattering it into pools of dancing gold on the ground.
Watching for a moment, she turned around. “What can I plan? I’ll just take care of myself first.”
“Sister Jiang, what do you think I should do every single day?”
Hearing that, Sister Jiang couldn’t help laughing. “Madam is the mistress of this house. Every day… just being Mrs. Wen is enough.”
“Mrs. Wen.” Ban Ban tested out the title, then nodded. “Sister Jiang is right. Then I’ll start by acting like the mistress of this house.”
After thinking for a moment, she asked, “Sister Jiang, I’d like to put some flowers around the house. Is that alright?”
“Of course,” Sister Jiang replied. “As Madam, you can do whatever you’d like. What kind of flowers would you want? I can have them delivered.”
“Great,” Ban Ban said.
Spinning around, she darted back to her room, dug out a pen and paper, and sat cross-legged on the floor to write intently.
She jotted down a few items, crossed them out, rewrote them, and muttered under her breath the entire time.
When Sister Jiang came upstairs with a plate of fruit, she found her sitting cross-legged on the master bedroom carpet with an A4 sheet of paper spread across her knees, covered top to bottom in dense handwriting.
Leaning over to take a peek, Sister Jiang read: “Foyer entryway: White lisianthus paired with eucalyptus leaves.” “Dining table: Small chrysanthemums, needs bright, cheerful colors.” “Study: Green foliage plants, no flowers—Wen Ting’an probably doesn’t like flowers.” “End of the second-floor hallway: A small vase of roses, pink is best…”
Sister Jiang suddenly felt a sharp sting in the bridge of her nose.
The girl was only twenty-one years old. On her very first night as a newlywed, her husband had spent the night sleeping in the guest room, yet she was earnestly mapping out on paper how to breathe a little life into this cold, lifeless house.
“Madam,” Sister Jiang squatted down. “You’ve written so much, take a break and eat some fruit.”
Ban Ban looked up, flashed a bright smile, took the fruit plate, forked a piece of cantaloupe into her mouth, and mumbled, “Sister Jiang, what kind of flowers do you think Wen Ting’an likes?”
Thinking it over, Sister Jiang replied, “The Young Master… doesn’t seem to have ever paid attention to flowers.”
“All the more reason to put them out.” Ban Ban swallowed her cantaloupe and added a new line to her paper with a pen. “Just because he doesn’t pay attention doesn’t mean he doesn’t see them. Walking through the front door every day and seeing a nice bunch of flowers has got to put you in a better mood.”
For the entire morning, this villa, which had remained quiet for years, buzzed with cheerful activity for the very first time.
By the afternoon, the flowers had arrived. Ban Ban rolled up her sleeves, sat down at the coffee table, and began trimming the stems one by one, stripping away excess leaves and arranging them by color and length.
She worked with meticulous focus, occasionally holding a stem up to eyeball it before setting it down to make adjustments.
Standing nearby, Sister Jiang watched as she placed white roses and eucalyptus leaves into a glass vase, pruning and rearranging them over and over.
The final finished arrangement was placed right in the center of the coffee table—white and green, clean and simple.
“Look, Sister Jiang.” Ban Ban took two steps back and tilted her head to admire her work. “Pretty?”
“Pretty,” Sister Jiang said from the bottom of her heart.
Gathering up the remaining flower scraps, Ban Ban put together another vase for the entryway, and a third for the dining table.
Finally, hugging the last bunch of flowers, she headed upstairs to the empty console table at the corner of the hallway.
Sunlight streamed through the corner window, falling softly across the white petals and creating a mottled pattern of light and shadow.
Standing in the hallway and admiring her creations, Ban Ban nodded in satisfaction.
At 9:30 PM, Ban Ban was curled up on the living room sofa watching television after her shower. She had changed into a cotton loungewear dress, pinned her hair up casually with a claw clip, tucked her legs up cross-legged, and hugged a throw pillow to her chest.
The TV was broadcasting a food program, and the host was demonstrating how to make South City’s osmanthus candied lotus root.
Watching the steaming plate of lotus root on the screen, Ban Ban swallowed hard.
The front door lock clicked.
Turning her head, Ban Ban saw Wen Ting’an push the door open and walk in.
He changed his shoes and stepped into the living room. Catching sight of Ban Ban curled up on the sofa watching TV, his steps faltered for a fraction of a second. Then, noticing the vase of white roses and eucalyptus leaves on the coffee table, his eyebrows twitched upward.
“Still not asleep?” he asked.
Ban Ban turned down the volume on the TV. “Sister Jiang said you wouldn’t be back until ten. I thought I had another half-hour.”
Wen Ting’an walked into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. When he came out, he leaned against the doorframe of the dining room, sipping his water and looking at her across half the living room. “What are you doing?”
“Watching TV.”
“What’s on?”
“A food show,” Ban Ban pointed at the screen. “They’re teaching people how to make osmanthus candied lotus root.”
Carrying his glass, Wen Ting’an walked over and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving the space of two throw pillows between them.
He watched the chef on the TV screen stuffing sticky rice into the hollows of the lotus root for a few seconds before turning his gaze to the flowers on the coffee table.
“You do that?”
“Mhm.” Ban Ban followed his line of sight. “Look good?”
Wen Ting’an didn’t answer, but his gaze lingered a bit longer. White roses paired with eucalyptus leaves—simple, clean, and surprisingly well-matched with the gray-and-white palette of his living room.
“There’s another vase in the entryway,” Ban Ban offered. “And one at the corner upstairs. If you think they’re in the way, I can take them down.”
“No need.” Wen Ting’an withdrew his gaze and took a sip of water. “Leave them.”
“Oh,” Ban Ban murmured, turning her attention back to the TV. Wen Ting’an didn’t leave; he sat at his end of the sofa, holding his water glass and watching the food program right along with her.
The two of them sat in quiet companionship for a short while as the chef on screen began explaining how to control the heat when boiling sugar syrup.
“Wen Ting’an,” Ban Ban suddenly spoke up.
“Hmm?”
“Did you go to the company today?”
“I did.”
“Was it busy?”
“It was alright.”
Ban Ban turned her head to look at him. The young girl was sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing a casual cotton dress with her hair haphazardly pinned up on top of her head. Her face was clean, devoid of any heavy, sophisticated makeup. Tilting her head, she looked at him with pure, completely unmotivated curiosity.
“Do you usually eat dinner?” she asked.
Wen Ting’an turned his head to look at her. “Sometimes.”
“Well, if you don’t eat dinner, your stomach’s going to hurt,” Ban Ban reasoned. “Sister Jiang is an amazing cook. If you don’t eat out there, you should come back and eat here.”
Wen Ting’an studied her for two seconds, offering neither an agreement nor a refusal, simply letting out a soft “mhm” before setting his water glass on the coffee table and standing up.
“Go to sleep early. When I get busy, I don’t have a set schedule—if it’s too late, I’ll sleep in the guest room,” he said.
He headed upstairs, his footsteps echoing on the steps, before rounding the corner on the second floor and heading in the direction of the guest room.
Sitting on the sofa, Ban Ban listened as the door to the guest room clicked open and shut. She glanced down at the flowers on the coffee table; the white roses were in full bloom, their petals layered one upon another.
She clicked off the TV and headed to the master bedroom to sleep.
Before lying down, she thought to herself: This bed really is huge. When you sleep alone, you could roll over twice and still not hit the edge.
Tucking herself into the quilt, she closed her eyes.
Late into the night, down the hall in the guest room, Wen Ting’an sat propped up against the headboard with his phone in hand.
On the screen was a message from Zhou Lin: “How come you bailed so early tonight?”
He didn’t reply.
Another message popped in: “Don’t tell me you’ve actually settled down? What kind of girl did your old man find for you anyway?”
Wen Ting’an stared at the screen for a moment, thinking of the flowers she had arranged, and typed out four words: “A proper young lady.”
Zhou Lin replied instantly: “????”
Locking his phone, Wen Ting’an tossed it onto the nightstand. He turned off the light and lay down. The bed in the guest room was a single—narrow, requiring him to tuck his arms in just to roll over.
Staring up at the ceiling, he knew that just on the other side of a wall and half a hallway, the young girl named Ban Ban was sleeping in his master bedroom.
Earlier that night when he pushed open the living room door, he had seen her curled up on the couch watching TV, noticed the fresh flowers on the coffee table, and caught the faint, clean scent of foliage hanging in the air.
He closed his eyes.