Chapter 9 The Table
Before the engagement banquet, Song Zhong Zheng came to my house to meet my parents.
“Ji Chuan’s mom is Lin Xia Yi’s godmother. She’s treated her like her own daughter since she was little.”
After dinner, my mom told me to take Song Zhong Zheng to visit Ji Chuan’s family too.
“Here they are!”
Ji Chuan’s mom smiled brightly and chatted with Song Zhong Zheng for a bit.
I glanced toward the yard outside. The little windmill Ji Chuan and I made as kids was still hanging on the tree branch.
When I looked back, my eyes unexpectedly met Ji Chuan’s at the doorway.
He was wearing slippers, slowly coming down from the second floor.
I thought he wasn’t home.
In recent years I barely came back to his parents’ place—maybe five times total. Why so often lately?
“This is practically a flash marriage, right?” Ji Chuan’s mom asked.
“Not really,” Song Zhong Zheng said. “We already knew each other.”
“I introduced them.”
Ji Chuan cut in, pouring himself water. “And in the end the two of them got together. I was the last to know.”
He looked at Song Zhong Zheng. “Pretty sneaky.”
Ji Chuan’s mom didn’t catch the undertone. She excitedly patted her son instead.
“It’s a good thing! You should give a bigger red envelope.”
“Actually no,” I explained. “Zhong Zheng and I knew each other since sophomore year of high school.”
“Stop it.”
Ji Chuan sat down across from me. “Back then, what did he have to do with anything?”
“Nothing really,” Song Zhong Zheng said to Ji Chuan’s mom. “At that time, Lin Xia Yi didn’t like me.”
“You sure she likes you now?”
Ji Chuan’s words were for Song Zhong Zheng, but his eyes were fixed on me.
The table went quiet for a few seconds.
Then Ji Chuan smiled.
“What are you saying?” his mom said. “They’re getting married, so of course she likes him.”
She moved past the topic and asked Song Zhong Zheng something else.
I turned to look at Song Zhong Zheng’s expression.
His face stayed calm and restrained, but I somehow sensed his unease.
His elbow rested on the table, fingers hanging loosely.
His knuckles were defined. His hand pale and long.
Under the table, unnoticed.
I tentatively reached out with my index finger and poked his fingertip.
His finger trembled slightly.
When I reached again, he caught all five of my fingers.
He held them tightly.
Feeling better now?
I couldn’t help smiling. I looked up—and met Ji Chuan’s gaze.
He had been watching the whole time.
His eyes followed downward.