MAMA-32: What If I’m Impatient?
Jian Wanji was never stingy with her rich facial expressions. She covered her face and sighed. “How could we get married? You really must be drunk.”
Sui Yuqian sat to the side, eating and laughing, not forgetting to clap. “Excellent show.”
“You, stop instigating,” Jian Wanji said, seeing that Mi Shanxin had finished eating. “Let’s go.”
Sui Yuqian let out an “Eh?” sound. “What about me?”
Jian Wanji couldn’t be bothered with her. “Take a taxi home yourself.”
Sui Yuqian tugged on Mi Shanxin’s sleeve. “This little sister, please, have some charity, have a kind heart.”
Jian Wanji pushed her away. “Stop harassing people. Should I randomly pick someone from your contacts to take you home?”
This kind of scene seemed quite routine. After being pulled away by Jian Wanji, Mi Shanxin was still replaying the image of these two people, whose combined ages neared eighty, dramatically acting opposite each other.
Jian Wanji hadn’t changed back into the outfit she arrived in, choosing one that matched Mi Shanxin’s and was suitable for going out.
The winter break had just started, coinciding with Ning City’s peak tourist season. Driving past the city walls or circling a temple, one would see men and women in traditional garb. Their attire didn’t seem out of place here.
After putting their things in the car, Jian Wanji took Mi Shanxin to buy a new phone. As they walked together, she asked the girl who was looking down, not watching the road, and slightly swaying, “Did Sui Yuqian make you drink?”
“…Hm?” Mi Shanxin paused, then shook her head. “No.”
Jian Wanji was somewhat exasperated. “Then why did you drink? You really don’t want to sleep tonight?”
Even though the shopping mall was crowded, standing close together, one could smell the faint scent of alcohol on Mi Shanxin.
“I’m not drunk. You said yourself, this counts as a low-alcohol drink.” Mi Shanxin kept her head down. Although chronically sleep-deprived, her youth still gave her thick, lush hair.
Qingqing had used a curling iron on her hair earlier, leaving two curly strands hanging on either side. Jian Wanji played with them, her fingers brushing Mi Shanxin’s cheek, her tone skeptical. “Are you sure? Your face is very hot.”
Mi Shanxin assured her, “My mind is perfectly clear. If you don’t believe me, we can go back and I’ll still be able to teach your lesson.”
She switched between roles—fake and real mother, calligraphy teacher—not forgetting to remind Jian Wanji, “You’ve never actually had a one-on-one session.”
The girl’s voice was muffled and soft. More often than not, when Jian Wanji spoke to her, she had to lean down slightly just to hear her clearly.
“What one-on-one? You know very well. That’s my guarantee to you.” Jian Wanji didn’t hide it from her. “I learned calligraphy when I was young. Had no interest in it.”
This was the first time Mi Shanxin had heard this. She asked, “You didn’t want to learn it yourself?”
Jian Wanji shook her head. “Didn’t want to.”
“Grandmother required it. Besides calligraphy, there was also piano…”
Mi Shanxin was too much younger than Jian Wanji. Even comparing her to her parents’ generation, Mi Shanxin’s own father couldn’t have afforded such training classes in his youth. Her mother had learned many talents but hadn’t continued with any of them.
“Then what do you like?” Mi Shanxin asked.
The shopping mall during the pre-New Year period had heavy foot traffic, coinciding with peak dining hours. Restaurants they passed all had queues.
Leisure and entertainment were on the other side. Mi Shanxin was so small, Jian Wanji feared she’d get lost. She hooked an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. “Me?… Let me think…”
“You need to think about it?”
“Of course. When you reach my age, you’ll understand. Hard to find much interest in anything.” Jian Wanji once again raised the age gap between them, not exposing or reprimanding Mi Shanxin for that ambiguously-worded “What if we get married.”
In her heart, she decided this was Sui Yuqian’s instigation.
That woman had a record of this, having thrown parties before in an attempt to pull Jian Wanji down from her pedestal of not dating.
If Jian Wanji were truly an anti-love ideologue, she could stand on the moral high ground and blame her.
But Sui Yuqian was clever in that these parties, private or not, could also harbor potential clients to develop, or former clients of acquaintances. How could Jian Wanji dare lash out? She could only smile and network at these events.
As for the frank proposals for a relationship, she rejected them all just the same.
Over the years, many had spoken ill of Jian Wanji, calling her promiscuous. There were even rumors she’d long given her heart to someone already… which was no different from rumors that Sui Yuqian was the daughter of the richest man—all just rumors.
Saying Jian Wanji was promiscuous and fickle was the equivalent of praising Sui Yuqian for her purity.
Their conduct and style were to blame. On the other hand, it also proved Jian Wanji had managed her public persona well over the years. Like the rumor that the ring on her ring finger was a gift from a deceased true love, or that she’d secretly pledged herself to a married woman.
“Think if you want, but you can skip the commentary after that. You sound old.” Mi Shanxin didn’t give Jian Wanji any face either. “Afraid I’ll really marry you?”
No matter what explosive thing the girl said, her face remained expressionless. Jian Wanji increasingly felt she was a moldable talent.
If Mi Shanxin had interviewed at her company, she would have hired her in the first round. Pity her major didn’t match, and Mi Shanxin’s poor stamina made her unsuitable for this line of work.
Business trips back-to-back—she’d probably collapse from exhaustion on the road trying to hail a cab before dawn even broke.
Jian Wanji didn’t continue deflecting the topic. She grunted affirmatively. “Yeah, afraid.”
Her tone carried a hint of disbelief. “Your parents are divorced and you still haven’t been disillusioned about marriage?”
Mi Shanxin wasn’t so drunk as to be senseless, but alcohol made one flush, feel warm. She felt a bit hot, and moreover felt Jian Wanji was rambling, as if she absolutely must find the perfect excuse, just fearful of Mi Shanxin falling for her. “That’s their business. It doesn’t affect me.”
Her mother, not much older than Jian Wanji, liked pouring her grievances on WeChat—from in-law issues to marital problems, and also liked complaining to Mi Shanxin about Grandmother’s favoritism, treating Uncle better, etc.
Although Grandmother had never fought for custody of Mi Shanxin back then, Mi Shanxin understood her mother wanting to remarry had Grandmother’s approval.
Women all knew carrying a burden from a previous marriage wasn’t good for a second marriage. Moreover, they harbored a hidden worry, wary of potential relations between a stepfather and a stepdaughter.
Jian Wanji’s work was far too distant for Mi Shanxin. She practically never complained to her about anything.
At most, it was a single sentence: “I’m so tired today. A bit busy. Want me to bring you something to eat?”
The Big Boss, having a poor appetite herself, really liked spending money. It gave Mi Shanxin a feeling that, if not for the fact that houses were considered large assets and couldn’t be bought on impulse, Jian Wanji would also buy her an apartment just like she bought her small cakes.
Her reasoning? “Your place is too cramped. The other bedroom belongs to your grandparents, so it’s better not to randomly move things around.”
After that came a troubled tut-tut sound, those two strands of bangs swayed, and Mi Shanxin’s heart swayed along with them, dizzy with them, deeply wishing those chattering lips could land on her own.
Although very rude, she had also fantasized about being Jian Wanji’s daughter. That would surely be very blissful.
The neighbor auntie always watched those TV dramas where a young stepmother becomes the wife and inherits the estate. So a daughter becoming the mother’s wife shouldn’t be a problem either, right?
“Too cool, huh? Twenty years old and already so unaffected by your environment. That’s a good thing.”
Jian Wanji’s right hand rested on Mi Shanxin’s shoulder. Even while walking, she played a rhythm on the girl’s narrow shoulder, as if tapping piano keys to the song playing from a passing store.
Mi Shanxin noticed her gait—also very unmannerly.
How many seconds out of a day did she actually resemble a business elite? Seemed like her friends were the same.
Birds of a feather? Mi Shanxin didn’t understand. She turned her head to look at Jian Wanji, her nostrils easily invaded by the perfume Jian Wanji had changed into. Even the faint scent of soap locust, like the spicy one before, was highly invasive.
Even though Jian Wanji was obedient, switching scents when Mi Shanxin said she didn’t like them—it was Jian Wanji who compromised, but what was seized was Mi Shanxin’s heart.
It was too unfair.
“What about you?” Mi Shanxin walked very slowly, shuffling along. At Jian Wanji’s original pace, she’d be two hundred meters ahead by now.
But afraid the kid—malnourished and sleep-deprived—might faint, she fully assumed the pace she used to accompany wealthy wives. “Me? Me what?”
“Weren’t your parents’ feelings very good? If that could influence you, you would have married long ago.”
Mi Shanxin’s outfit was a self-styled combination by the store’s stylist. Previously, she had absolutely no sense of fashion, relying solely on her face, often hidden with a mask as she blended into the crowd.
Now, in a different outfit, the effect was clear. And with Jian Wanji, obviously dressed in a matching series, standing beside her, people on the escalator specifically turned their heads to look.
Mi Shanxin looked at the mirrored surface of the escalator ceiling. The clothes made her shoulders look broader, creating an illusion that Jian Wanji was enfolding her in an embrace.
If only this escalator had no end. Why did horror stories only have elevators and no escalators? It should be like a conveyor belt, delivering us straight to hell.
Heaven was too pure, unsuited for Mi Shanxin, who indulged in debauchery daily, and Jian Wanji, whose smile was utterly heinous.
“This is called extremes beget reversals,” Jian Wanji finished, even affirmed her own statement with a solemn “Mm.” “That kind of thing is too grand and fervent. I don’t like it.”
