Chapter 5 — On the River, Laughter Was Cheap
Lin Jingran never understood what it cost to keep a woman waiting.
On the river, under painted lanterns, the air smelled of wine and perfume. Silk sleeves brushed lacquered railings. Music wound through the night in soft loops, the kind meant to make time feel weightless.
He lounged on a Persian rug with a cup loose in his hand, the jade pendant at his waist catching light when he shifted.
His friends clustered around him—men who wore confidence the way they wore new brocade: without thinking.
“Lin Young Master,” one said, grinning as if he were about to watch a trick, “your fianc”e paid her ding tax again this year. That“s four years now, isn”t it?
Another chuckled. “Stubborn. Most girls would have cried at the yamen and begged mercy.”
Lin Jingran“s mouth curved, lazy and pleased, as if her endurance were a toy that hadn”t broken yet.
“Of course she paid,” he said. “She doesn”t have a choice.
A dancer spun past, sleeves flaring like petals in a storm. Lin Jingran watched her only in passing. His real amusement wasn’t beauty. It was control.
Someone leaned closer, lowering his voice as if they were speaking of something dangerous. “Aren”t you afraid she“ll stop paying? The yamen will match her off to someone else.”
Lin Jingran took a sip. The wine didn’t touch his expression.
“She wouldn”t dare,“ he said. ”A fallen household“s daughter. She can”t even afford proper hairpins. Where would she find a better match than mine?
Laughter rose, easy and bright.
His attendant crouched near the doorway, peeling lotus seeds. Head lowered. Hands quick. A servant’s way of being invisible.
One friend waved his cup. “But you”re rich. If you simply paid her ding tax for her“what is it to you? You spend more than that in one night here.”
Lin Jingran glanced out at the river like the question amused him.
“You really don”t understand women like her, he said, his voice turning instructive. He enjoyed explaining the rules of a game he was winning.
“People like her cling to every coin. They calculate everything. They count until their hearts rot.”
His friends hummed, pleased to be taught.
“If I pay for her now,” Lin Jingran continued, “she”ll never learn what money is worth. Then when she marries me and lives well, she“ll lift her head and think she deserves it.”
He smiled, cool as jade.
“And don”t be fooled by her devotion,“ he added, tapping his pendant lightly. ”She“s investing small to win big. Endure a few years, and she thinks she gets to be the Lin house”s young mistress.
A friend laughed loudly. “So she”s scheming.
“Exactly.” Lin Jingran“s tone sharpened with disdain. ”That kind of thinking doesn“t fool me.”
Someone, half-drunk, asked, “So you”ll keep dragging it out?
Lin Jingran lifted his cup and let the answer drip out as if it were honey.
“Drag it out,” he said. “The more she wants to marry, the less I”ll marry.
His smile widened—boyish, vicious.
“She tried to climb into comfort on my name,” he added, quieter, as if it were something noble. “So I”ll teach her what waiting tastes like.
His friends roared approval.
Lin Jingran didn’t even turn his head when he spoke to his attendant.
“Next year,” he said, as casually as ordering tea, “tell the clerk to check her record. If she”s still unwed, raise the surcharge again.
The attendant’s fingers tightened around a lotus seed until it split.
“Yes, Young Master,” he said.
On the river, the music swelled.
And Lin Jingran laughed, because laughter, for him, was cheaper than kindness.