Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
I t is Shang who spots me first. He’s standing at the bar, holding a glass of Wutai Gold punch and frowning at it thoughtfully as he sips, when he glances up and sees me. He does a double take, his mouth slowly opening as his eyes widen, taking me in. His gaze is surprised and admiring and intense all at the same time, and he places his glass down at the bar without even looking at it before walking toward me.
“Was this your doing?” Shang says.
I nod, searching his face for clues as to how he feels about all of this. Is he angry? Disappointed? Betrayed? “We’d mentioned it when we were brainstorming for ideas on how to reach a new audience.” There is a slight tremor in my voice.
“We did,” he says softly.
“I ran it by your mom, and she loved the idea.”
Shang tilts his head back for a second and makes an ooh sound. He looks down at me again. “So that’s how you got enough whiskey for the banquet.” He looks over his shoulder to where his family is sitting. Auntie Jiayi lifts her cocktail glass and winks at him. Shang snorts. “She’s not even trying to hide the fact that she’s watching us.”
“Um, yeah. Did you know that your mom is a badass?”
“Yeah,” he says simply. His gaze rakes over me once more, slower this time. “Zh—Mulan. Damn it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I never meant to deceive you like that. Well, I guess technically I did, but I never meant to take things as far as we did. I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with you, it was only supposed to be about business.”
Shang gives me a strange look, so I continue talking. “I suppose maybe that makes it even worse, actually. Look, I wasn’t thinking straight, okay? Bad decisions were made. By me, yes. I guess I just thought—”
“Mulan,” Shang says, “wait.”
My mouth snaps shut.
“Back up a little. You fell in love? With me?”
I shrug, feeling my face reddening. “Sure, yeah, it’s not a big deal. I fall in love with a lot of things. Sunsets. Puppies. A really good pumpkin spice latte.”
Shang merely watches me with a slightly amused expression on his face.
I sigh. “Yes, Shang. I fell in love with you, okay? And I know what I did was highly irresponsible and ethically catastrophic and you never want to see me again, so maybe we can move on from the whole falling-in-love part? I need to tell you something about—”
“Why do you think I never want to see you again?” Shang says with genuine confusion.
I gesture. “Uh, because of the whole ‘I pretended to be Zhou’ thing?”
“Were you pretending when we cooked together? Or when we snuggled up on the couch and binge-watched Love Is Blind ? Or when we kissed?”
“No! Of course not. None of that was a lie. It was only the whole thing about my name, but everything else was real.”
Shang takes one step toward me. “Exactly. I know that. I was there with you the whole time, remember? I know that that was the real you.” Another step, and he’s suddenly so achingly close to me.
I want so badly to reach out and take his hand, but if he pulls away I don’t know how I would bear it. Please take my hand. He doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and caresses my cheek.
“All I said was that I needed time,” Shang says gently. “When that whole thing happened, my mind was a mess. I couldn’t think straight. Hell, I went home and I went into the kitchen to cook and I just—I forgot what I was doing and I stood there for ages with my knife in one hand and an unpeeled parsnip in the other. I was not exactly functional. So yeah, I asked for some time, but Mulan, I never once thought that you and I were over. I’m sorry that I didn’t make that clear. I’m sorry I let you think that we were done.”
This can’t be real. After everything I’ve done, all the lies I’ve said to him, he can’t be this kind, this loving. I lift my hand and pinch my cheek (the one he isn’t currently cupping). It hurts. “This is real,” I say in wonderment.
“Yes.”
“You’re not breaking up with me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m in love with you, Hua Mulan.”
This moment is perfect, and I never want to forget it. The way my entire body sings, the words Shang has just said, the exact intonation of his voice. I want to sear every aspect of this moment into my brain, sew it into the fabric of my memory so I can take it out in the quiet of the night and replay it over and over again.
I stand on tiptoes as Shang dips his head and our mouths meet in a painfully sweet crush. I lose myself in the kiss, leaning completely into Shang, feeling his hands holding the small of my back, pushing me even deeper into his embrace. My hands are lost in his hair, and I can’t get enough of him, of his mouth on mine and his body against mine.
“Whew, girl, you are going to get lucky tonight,” a guest says.
We break apart, grinning guiltily, and I clear my throat and straighten my dress.
“You look ravishing in that,” Shang whispers in my ear.
His breath makes my skin tingle, and just like that, I’m biting down hard on my lower lip. I shake myself. Even though I want nothing more than to rush home with Shang and tumble into bed with him, my work here isn’t over.
“You’re getting that look on your face,” Shang muses.
“What look?”
“The one you get when you’re about to do something you don’t think you’ll be very good at, but damn it you’re going to give it your best shot.”
“That’s a look I get? That is very specific.”
“Yeah, you get it a lot. You had it before you rode Slugger, and before you descaled the fish, and before you sheared that sheep, and—”
“Okay, thanks for the reminder. I am now traumatized.” I take a deep breath, turning to scan the crowd for Uncle Hong and the rest of the Lis. “I need to speak with your family.”
“All right. Lead the way.” He takes my hand and squeezes it and, together, we plunge into the crowd.
James’s look of boredom turns into a sneer when he sees me, an expression that I have to fight hard not to mirror, because ditto, James .
“What’s she doing here?” He sees that we’re holding hands and groans. “Seriously, bro? You guys are still together after what she did?”
“What we are is none of your business,” Shang says. He shifts his attention to the uncles and aunties. “Uncles, aunties, Mulan has something to say to all of you.”
I release Shang’s hand and step forward. Now that the Lis’ eyes are riveted on me, I feel like a little kid about to enter the principal’s office. “Hi, everyone, thank you for coming tonight.”
“Is this her idea?” Uncle Hong says, looking around in confusion.
“Yes, it was my idea.”
“And mine,” Auntie Jiayi says.
All heads turn to face her, and she lifts her cocktail glass in a toast. “I am, as youths call it, going inside my villain era.”
The others continue staring in confusion, and Auntie Jiayi frowns at me. “Mulan, did I say it wrong?”
“No, you got it. Uh, anyway, yes, as Auntie Jiayi said, this was our idea.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Uncle Hong snaps. “First you trick us, lie to us, come to our family ranch, then you trick us again to get us to come here?”
I raise my hands. “I really am very sorry about it. But the thing is, I needed you to come tonight because I wanted you to see what Wutai Gold can become. Look around you. Most of the guests here are women of all ethnicities between the ages of thirty and fifty. They are a much younger crowd, much more diverse, and every single one of them loves your whiskey.” I take out my phone and send them a link. The Lis look down as their phones beep. “I just sent you a video. Please watch it, it’s only a minute long.”
There is silence as they swipe at their phones. The video plays.
It opens with Malika Bridges, a Black woman who owns a tech startup that develops games for women, holding up her glass and saying, “This has Wutai Gold whiskey in it? Seriously?” She takes a sip and her eyes flutter shut for a second. “Damn, it is so good. I never knew they were this good. This is liquid gold!”
It switches to Ann Kwok, a Singaporean woman with an environmentally friendly company that uses bamboo fiber to make paper. She, too, is holding up her glass. Laughing, she says, “No way, Wutai Gold whiskey is so old-school boring.” Then she takes a sip and her eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “ Whaaat? Girl, this is so f—ing good, what the f—?”
It switches to another woman, and another, and another, all of them having their drinks and loving them. It ends with a close-up of Wutai Gold whiskey, beautifully shot by the ad company I have acquired, and the words Everyone deserves good whiskey .
I wait for everyone to finish watching, then clear my throat. “I shot that video tonight. All those reactions? They’re real. None of these women had to be paid to say they loved the whiskey. They just did. Because it’s true—your whiskey is good, and when a product is this high quality, sales should not be down. The only reason why they are down is because your practices are outdated. Your target audience is aging out, it’s shrinking. Meanwhile, in one evening, I have created a viral video for your product. This video you’re watching right now has over a hundred thousand views on Instagram, and double that on TikTok. You need new blood. That’s me. I am your new blood. I will take your whiskey and I will make sure it gets into the hands of every whiskey enthusiast out there of every race and every gender. I will continue your legacy. The name Wutai Gold will be upheld, it will strengthen and grow and remain for generations.”
There is a pregnant silence. The uncles and aunties look stunned. I have no idea how they will take my words. Based on their expressions, it really could go either way. But whatever their reaction, I no longer care. I’ve said my piece and shown them what I bring to the table. The rest is up to them.
As though hearing my thoughts, James slams his palm on the table. “You can’t listen to her. She lied to us!”
“She only lied about her name, and nothing else,” Shang says.
“I also lied about growing up on a farm in China,” I pipe up. “I was born and raised here. Uh, that is all.” At the look on Shang’s face, I say, “I just want to be really honest going forward.”
“See?” James cries. “You heard her. She’s done nothing but lie ever since she came into our lives, and—”
“You’re not being entirely truthful yourself,” I say.
Eyes widen. Eyebrows are raised.
“What are you talking about?” James scoffs.
“Your meeting with Richard Foreman from Foreman and Byrde.”
James’s face pales. “Wait—”
“I happened to be at Ginger Flower. I heard what you said.”
“James, what is she talking about?” Uncle Hong says.
“Nothing, she’s making shit up like she always does.”
“James met up with Richard Foreman at a bar called Ginger Flower two days ago,” I say. “During which time they talked about Richard’s firm acquiring Wutai Gold.”
“It’s a good deal,” James hisses.
“Yes, for you,” I say. I turn to Uncle Hong. “But not for the company. You won’t be retaining any rights, no creative say, nothing. Because Richard Foreman wants to break your company down and sell it for parts. And James wants to go for it because he gets a cut on the side.”
Auntie Chuang gasps and turns to her son. “James, what is she saying? Is this true?”
“No,” James says, but there’s a telling quaver in his voice, and though he is no doubt scrambling to come up with a lie to save his ass, he’s so obviously panicked and taken aback that it quickly becomes clear to everyone that he’s been exposed.
Uncle Hong’s face falls, and he looks a lot older than his seventy years. “Er zi,” he says. Son . The heartbreak in his voice is palpable and even though I despise James, it hurts to see Uncle Hong looking so small and vulnerable. He’s looking at James like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. “A firm that wants to break up our company?”
James looks desperately around the table, searching for some help. When it becomes obvious that there is none coming, his expression of panic hardens. I actually see the change happen, as though he is a trapped animal who realizes there is no escaping and what remains is a fight to the death. His upper lip curls into a look of such contempt that Uncle Hong flinches at the sight of it.
“Yes,” he hisses. “Because I want out. I can’t wait to be rid of this joke of a company.”
“Joke?” Uncle Hong croaks. “How can you say that, James? This is legacy, this—”
“Fuck legacy!” James screeches. People at neighboring tables stop talking and turn to stare, but he keeps going. “Do you know what it’s like growing up as a Li? From as far back as I can remember, you and Ma said shit like: ‘When you join the family company, when you start working at the family company…’ Did you ever stop to think that maybe I didn’t want to join the company?”
Uncle Hong and Auntie Chuang look aghast. “Why didn’t you want to join the family company?” Auntie Chuang says. “It is what has given us our livelihood, otherwise we will be—”
“Homeless, out on the streets begging for food,” James finishes. “Yeah, you always drill that right into my head.” He taps on his temple. “Did I have a say in what to major in at college? Nope. Did you ever bother asking me what I really want to do?”
Uncle Hong utters a small, shocked laugh. “Well, of course you want to keep working in the family company, like Shang.”
“No, I don’t!” James snaps. “I never did, okay? I wanted to be a writer.” His voice breaks then. “I’m not like Shang, the fucking perfect son,” he spits, throwing a venomous glare in Shang’s direction.
“A writer?” Auntie Chuang says, as though the concept of being a writer is entirely foreign to her.
What is going on right now? Why am I—My god, am I actually feeling empathy for James, of all people?
And I am. James’s anguish is palpable. He’s still repulsive, but I understand the complicated blessing and curse that a family company brings with it. The pressure of continuing it for our parents’ sake, combined with all their expectations. The awareness of all the sacrifices that our parents had to make to build the company from scratch, and the expectation on us to ensure its longevity. I am lucky, I realize now, to have a natural affinity for finance. I can’t even imagine if I were like James and wanted to do something completely unrelated.
“Yeah, Ma,” James says. “A writer. Of books.” He actually mimes reading a book, as though he doesn’t think his mother knows what they are. “Did you guys never notice how much I loved reading as a kid?”
“Of course we noticed,” Auntie Chuang says. “We told everyone how you are a gifted child.”
“Because that’s all that matters, right?” James says. “What other people think. You never even stopped to think: Huh, my son likes reading, maybe he’s into writing as well . Of course you didn’t. It was all about Wutai Gold. We—” He gestures at the cousins, who look torn between embarrassment and sympathy. “We’re nothing but your little projects that you had so you could mold us into exactly what you desired. Nothing more than an extension of yourselves.” James leans back, looking satisfied. “So yeah, I want to see the company end. I want to see it broken into many little pieces and sold for parts. Because this fucking company has ruined my life.” He goes for a smug smile, but his lip trembles like he’s barely holding back his tears.
My breath comes out in a hiss. That was surprisingly heavy, coming from James. And judging from the looks on Uncle Hong’s and Auntie Chuang’s faces, they’ve been hit hard by his admission, too. They look like they’re this close to wailing.
Then Auntie Jiayi says, “Oh, grow up, James.” She glares at him. “What stopped you from being a writer? You have a nice home. You have a computer. You have health care. What is it you want to write? Books?”
James, looking shell-shocked, gives a tiny nod.
“So why don’t you write books? Are your mama and baba physically pinning you down on the floor so you can’t write?”
“No, but—”
“Most writers have a day job,” Auntie Jiayi says. “You have a day job, too, but you don’t have a spouse or little kids to look after, so why don’t you write after work? Or wake up early to write? What are you doing in your free time?”
“Wh—” James’s eyes dart to and fro frantically. “I mean, I have a lot of things going on. I go to the gym, I have to clean my place, I hang out with my buddies—”
“Exactly,” Auntie Jiayi says. “You have a lot of things going on. And not one of them is writing. Because you don’t put writing as your priority. Aiya, James. Yes, I agree with you, family company is complicated, it’s both a good thing and a bad thing. But look at what it has given you. An education. Perfect English, not like ours, broken and ugly. You can use that perfect English to write a book, but you don’t. You choose to go out with friends, drink and be merry, and then you come back and you blame your parents for having a family company.”
“I—” James starts to say, then he seems to deflate, sagging back into his seat. He lowers his head and doesn’t say anything.
Once more, I find myself feeling bad for James. No matter how unpleasant he is, it’s never an enjoyable thing to watch someone getting told off like that. But god, I am impressed with Auntie Jiayi. She’s hit the nail right on the head. I look over at her, and when our eyes meet, she winks at me.
Then Auntie Jiayi stands, moving in such a regal way that everyone’s eyes are dragged to her.
“I have seen enough,” she says. “I see a very bright and talented young person here.” She gestures at me. “I see change, and a very scary thing is change. I see something different. But I also see growth. I vote to sell Wutai Gold to Facai Capital.”
“You?” Uncle Jing says. “You’re calling for a vote?” There is so much disdain in his voice that it makes me wince, but Auntie Jiayi doesn’t seem fazed in the least bit.
“Yes, I am. I am a shareholder.”
“You are a woman,” Uncle Xiaotian hisses.
“Yes, I am aware. And it is women who will save this company,” Auntie Jiayi says smartly. “But if you’d rather stay the course and drive the company into the ground, it is okay. I am happy to watch.”
“I vote alongside my mother,” Shang says.
“I vote also,” Auntie Lulu says.
Her husband, Uncle Xiaotian, looks at her in shock, and she shrugs. “I like this girl Mulan.”
“Yes, I vote, too,” Auntie Jamie says.
She nudges Auntie Chuang, who takes a sharp breath, then says, “Yes.”
“You all are in-laws!” Uncle Xiaotian snaps. “You don’t have a vote.”
Christopher slowly raises his hands. “Um, us G-two kids have a vote, and I vote to sell to Facai Capital.”
Ryan nods. “Yeah, I do, too.”
“Same,” Thomas says.
I gape at them in disbelief, but they look at me and smile, and my heart quickens. It’s happening. It’s actually happening. Then the last person I thought would speak up does so.
“I vote yes also,” Uncle Hong says quietly.
His brothers look as though he’s just murdered their puppy, but he ignores them. Keeping his gaze on me, he says, “When I came to this country, I only had one wish: the American dream. This dream is what drives this country. It is built by immigrants, all of us who have left our countries behind. Our children cannot speak our mother tongue. All for the American dream. I thought that in order to succeed, you have to sell to Americans, and Americans to me meant big, manly Caucasian men. I forgot about my fellow immigrants.” He looks around at the ballroom, filled to the gills with women of color, now dancing on the dance floor. A wistful smile touches his face. “My fellow immigrant families,” he says again, softly this time. “You are all so strong,” he murmurs to the crowd in general. “I forgot what real strength is. This”—he gestures to the ballroom of women—“is real strength. This is what Wutai Gold stands for. So, yes, I vote to sell to Facai Capital.”
It takes a while for his words to sink in, and when they finally do, my mouth goes dry. “That makes majority,” I say softly.
“It does,” Shang says.
My voice shakes as I meet Uncle Hong’s eye. “So we have a deal?”
He nods. “We have a deal.”
I whoop. I rush over to him and engulf him in a tight hug while everyone around us claps. Amid the clapping and cheering, I hear Uncle Hong say softly into my ear, “Please take care of it.”
“I will,” I say. “I promise.” And I mean every word of it.