Zhou Jianghao didn’t have much to pack since the apartment was fully stocked. In less than ten minutes, the two women were in the car heading back.
“If there’s anything you don’t like about the apartment, feel free to change it however you want. Treat it like your own home—no need to hold back.”
“If you need anything, just call this number. Someone will take care of it for you. You can call her Auntie Chen.” Tan Qingya paused there, then added, “Don’t feel bad about it. They’re paid well for their service.”
Zhou Jianghao sat straight like a model student in class, her reply soft and obedient: “Okay.”
That earnest look made Tan Qingya’s fingers twitch. She wasn’t the type to deny herself creature comforts, let alone now that Zhou Jianghao was her wife. An impulse struck, and she acted on it without delay.
Awkwardly at first, she reached out and gently patted Zhou Jianghao’s head. Smiling, she said, “The schedule’s tight. After I drop you off, I’ve got to head overseas right away. Sorry to leave you alone like this right after our wedding, but I’ll rush back as soon as I can. Don’t worry.”
The unexpected affection clearly startled Zhou Jianghao. Seeing her ears flush red once more, Tan Qingya’s delight deepened. “When I get back, I’ll bring you a present.”
The marriage had been so hasty that over the next few days, Tan Qingya was run off her feet and forgot all about it. It wasn’t until a banquet—when a business partner raised a glass to her alongside his wife—that the realization slammed into her. She had a little wife waiting at home.
She scanned the ballroom. Nearly everyone had brought a partner, leaving her own side feeling starkly empty.
Her appetite for small talk evaporated.
She headed back to her hotel early, pulled out her phone, and opened her WeChat chat with Zhou Jianghao. It was barren. The last message was still her own reminder about the documents needed for registration, met with a curt “Received.”
She frowned. This wouldn’t do.
She tapped the input box, but before she could type, Zhou Jianghao’s name lit up with “typing.”
Huh?
Tan Qingya perked up, waiting patiently.
Seconds later, the indicator vanished, leaving just the plain name.
No message followed.
What was this?
She was about to message when it flickered to “typing” again—then disappeared. This back-and-forth repeated several times before settling into dead silence, nothing but a chilly name on the screen.
Tan Qingya: “…”
She stared at her phone like an idiot for over half an hour—utterly out of character—and got nothing for her trouble.
Pathetic, if anyone found out.
Now that her little wife was back on her mind, though, Tan Qingya expedited her overseas business. She had Chen Chen snap up an exorbitantly priced necklace at auction, tucked the gift away, and flew home.
By the time she landed, it was late. Not wanting to disturb Zhou Jianghao, she detoured to another apartment nearby. Exhausted to her bones, she showered and crashed hard.
Jet lag hadn’t even kicked in before Old Madam’s call jolted her awake.
“What?”
“You’re back in the country?” Old Madam’s voice carried clear irritation.
Tan Qingya blinked in confusion, forcing her eyes open. Her voice dripped with groggy exhaustion: “Yeah.”
“You jet off abroad right after the wedding, then hole up separately when you return? Qingya, treating Little Hao like this… it breaks your mother’s heart.”
“Wedding?” Tan Qingya slurred, still half-asleep. “When’d I get married?”
Old Madam Tan: “…”
Three full minutes of silence later, Tan Qingya snapped awake. Propping herself up in bed before the explosion hit, she explained helplessly, “Wasn’t fully awake yet.”
She paused, then drawled lazily, “Got in too late. Didn’t want to wake her.”
Old Madam finally exhaled, relief evident. “Good—as long as you remember you’re married now. Little Hao has no status, no backing. If you don’t dote on her, who in the family will show her respect?”
Sleep tugged at her again. Tan Qingya nodded absently: “I dote. I’ll dote on her to death. Relax.”
Her casual tone only fueled Old Madam’s ire—her breaths grew heavier, punctuated by heavy huffs. With a cold scoff and a hint of bluff, she said, “Fine, it’s your marriage. Keeping it under wraps after tying the knot, and now you won’t even come home.”
“I’ve said my piece. Everyone knows you’re back, including Little Hao! If she starts overthinking—or anyone else does—that’s on you two.”
The line went dead.
Tan Qingya let out a wistful sigh. Keeping the marriage secret hadn’t been her call—it was Zhou Jianghao’s stipulation. And it was only temporary, anyway.
She knew it was her mother’s prodding, but it still got under her skin.
Sleep was gone for good. She opened WeChat. Sure enough, the news had spread; a stream of invites filled her notifications.
Minutes of scrolling later, she reached Zhou Jianghao’s chat.
Still spotless. Heart steady, she typed slowly:
—Back in the country.
Stiff, sure—but they weren’t some lovey-dovey pair. Barely any time together, days of radio silence, and now even the profile picture felt remote.
Zhou Jianghao wasn’t much of a talker, though. If Tan Qingya played hard to get, they’d only grow further apart.
That wasn’t the point of this.
She didn’t want a marriage in name only.
A few seconds’ hesitation, then she added an explanation:
—Landed too late last night. Rested at another apartment nearby. Heading home soon.
She seldom justified her movements to anyone; sending it left her oddly unsettled.
Zhou Jianghao replied promptly this time:
—No worries, President Tan. You don’t need to explain to me. Whatever suits you.
—The apartment’s too far from work, so I’m at my own place for now. Can I move back in a few days? Boss says I have to stick it out till month’s end to quit.
Tan Qingya’s brow furrowed. She dialed.
“President Tan.”
The background noise was chaotic, but those cool, clipped words slipped into Tan Qingya’s ear like magic, sending a shiver down her spine.
The trip-induced distance melted away. A strange glint flickered in her eyes as her planned words shifted: “We’re partners now. Just call me by name.”
“Got it,” came the quick reply.
Tan Qingya waited a beat, but no name followed. Brushing it off, she pressed on: “You haven’t used the driver I arranged.”
“Not used to it.”
Faintly, she heard someone calling Zhou Jianghao’s name. Tan Qingya cut in: “What time do you get off?”
“Twelve.”
“Alright. Send me the address—I’ll come pick you up.”
A few words, and their first call as a married couple wrapped up.
