Xiaowen sat at the dining table, scrolling idly through her phone.
Across from her, Zhao Zheng Yan set his teacup down with a soft but deliberate click.
“You’ve been going out again,” he said. Not a question.
Xiaowen didn’t look up. “I have friends.”
Zhao frowned. “Those people are not friends. They’re distractions. You spend your nights wandering around with them, drinking, wasting time. You’re not a child anymore.”
She sighed, finally lifting her head. “I’m twenty-eight.”
“And about to be married,” Zhao replied sharply. “Which makes this behavior even more inappropriate.”
Xiaowen leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “So now being married means I stop being a person?”
“It means you start acting like one,” Zhao said. “A responsible one.”
Silence stretched between them.
"Yan Qing is my best friend’s grandson,” Zhao said. “I promised him I would look after the boy. I invested in him the way I would have invested in my own, had I had one. Do you know how many people would envy you? "
Xiaowen understood, then, what she had always understood: approval was something her father reserved for people who could become what she never would.
“That’s exactly the problem,” Xiaowen said flatly.
Zhao’s brows knit together. “What problem?”
She hesitated—only for a second—then spoke.
“I don’t want to marry him.”
The words landed softly.
But Zhao’s reaction was immediate.
“What nonsense are you talking about?” he snapped.
“I’m serious,” Xiaowen said. Her voice didn’t waver. “I never wanted this marriage.”
Zhao stared at her as if she had spoken in another language. “Yan Qing is everything a husband should be. Intelligent. Responsible. He has a future. He’s not like those useless men you surround yourself with.”
“That’s your opinion,” Xiaowen said. “To me, he’s boring.”
Zhao’s hand struck the table.
“Watch your mouth.”
She flinched—but didn’t retreat.
“I’m only doing this because you pushed me into it,” Xiaowen said quietly. “You kept saying it was time. That it was appropriate. That it would be good for you. For the family.”
She looked him straight in the eye.
“If I could stop the wedding, I would.”
For a moment, Zhao said nothing.
Then he laughed—short, sharp, humorless.
“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” he demanded. “The invitations are sent. Everyone knows. Do you think I can just call it off because my daughter suddenly decided she’s unhappy?”
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“I don’t suddenly—”
“Enough,” Zhao cut in. His voice hardened. “I am not raising you to embarrass me.”
Xiaowen’s hands curled into fists in her lap.
“I am a man of standing,” Zhao continued. “My word matters. This marriage matters. You don’t get to decide whether it happens or not.”
“So my life is just a transaction?” she asked.
Zhao’s eyes were cold. “Your life is part of this family. And this family does not lose face.”
She swallowed.
“You will marry Yan Qing,” he said. “Whether you want to or not.”
The room fell silent.
Xiaowen looked away first.
“…You never asked what I wanted,” she said.
Zhao stood, straightening his jacket. “Because it doesn’t matter.”
He walked out without another word.
Xiaowen remained seated, staring at the untouched tea, her reflection faintly visible on its dark surface.
Later
Somewhere in NYC
The bar was loud enough that no one would overhear them.
That, Xiaowen suspected, was the real reason they always came here.
Colored lights washed over the small table as glasses clinked and ice shifted. Her friends leaned in close—not out of concern, but habit. This was how they gathered when something interesting happened.
“I swear, I can’t do this anymore,” Xiaowen said, staring into her drink. “My father treats the wedding like a business deal. Like I’m a clause he already signed.”
“That’s just how parents are,” Lin Yue said lightly, waving for another round. “Especially old-fashioned ones.”
“Yeah,” May added. “You knew he’d be like this.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” Xiaowen snapped.
They fell silent for a moment.
Then Lin Yue tilted her head. “So… why don’t you just delay it?”
“I can’t,” Xiaowen said bitterly. “Everything’s already announced. My father would lose face.”
May frowned thoughtfully—then corrected herself with a small shrug. “What about his face?”
Xiaowen looked up. “What do you mean?”
May leaned closer, lowering her voice even though the music was loud. “Your fiancé. Yan Qing. He’s… not exactly normal, right?”
Xiaowen stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lin Yue shrugged. “Come on. You told us before. He’s had treatment. Therapy. That whole thing.”
“That was years ago,” Xiaowen said. “And it’s private.”
“But it’s documented,” May said calmly. “That’s what matters.”
Xiaowen felt a slow chill crawl up her spine.
“He had PTSD,” May continued, as if discussing a bad restaurant review. “Didn’t you say it was from witnessing his father kill his mother?”
Lin Yue winced. “God. That’s awful.”
“Exactly,” May said. “Awful, but… useful.”
Xiaowen stared at her.
“Think about it,” May went on. “You wouldn’t even have to lie. Just emphasize things. Say he’s unstable. That the stress of the wedding triggered something. Say he needs time. Treatment.”
Lin Yue’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. You could say you’re being responsible. Supportive. No one can blame you for that.”
Xiaowen’s fingers tightened around her glass.
“And if it’s serious enough,” May added, “they might even recommend hospitalization. Just for a while.”
The words landed softly.
Like a suggestion.Like a solution.
“If he’s in a facility,” Lin Yue said, nodding, “the wedding has to be postponed. And if it drags on long enough, people will forget. Or you can quietly call it off.”
“And you look like the victim,” May finished. “The devoted fiancée who tried her best.”
Xiaowen’s mouth felt dry.
“You’d get out clean,” Lin Yue said. “No damage to your image. Your father can’t argue with doctors.”
Silence stretched across the table.
Somewhere nearby, someone laughed.
“He’s boring anyway,” May said casually. “It’s not like you’re ruining a great love story.”
Xiaowen looked down at her drink.
"Is that too far? " Xiaowen asked again.
Yan Qing’s face surfaced in her mind—not angry, not dramatic. Just… distant. Polite. Predictable.
Safe.
“They wouldn’t keep him forever,” May added, almost kindly. “Just long enough.”
Xiaowen swallowed.
“If it’s only for a while, ” she said quietly.
The thought settled strangely easily, like choosing the lesser of two inconveniences.
Her friends smiled.
“There you go,” Lin Yue said, raising her glass. “See? We’ve got your back.”
They clinked glasses.
Xiaowen didn’t join them right away.
