Eyes lifted. Conversations paused. A few people leaned closer to see better, pretending they weren’t staring. Someone whispered her name. Someone else laughed softly, not kindly.
Her hand tightened around his sleeve.
“Remember,” she muttered under her breath, “smile. Be polite. Don’t say anything stupid.”
He leaned in just enough for only her to hear. “Define stupid.”
She shot him a look. “Don’t test me.”
The courtyard was already full. Red banners hung crookedly. Folding tables stretched across uneven ground. Bowls clinked. Chopsticks clicked. The smell of meat and alcohol floated thick in the air.
This was her mother’s second wedding. Fifty years old. Still stubborn. Still sharp-eyed.
Still terrifying.
“There,” she whispered. “That’s her.”
Her mother stood near the entrance, hair carefully styled, face flushed with excitement and nerves. Beside her was the groom—a man with a forced smile and hands that didn’t quite know where to rest.
When her mother saw them, her expression froze.
Then sharpened.
Then—surprise.
“You came,” her mother said, eyes flicking immediately to him. Measuring. Assessing. Judging.
“Yes, Mom,” she replied. “I brought… him.”
He stepped forward smoothly, posture relaxed but respectful.
“Auntie,” he said, voice warm. “Congratulations.”
Her mother blinked.
That wasn’t what she expected.
Not from a “boyfriend” who’d arrived by tricycle.
“Well,” the woman said slowly, “you’re… tall.”
He smiled. “I try.”
A few people snorted. Someone whispered again.
He handed over a gift box. Modest on the outside. Heavy.
“Just a small token,” he said.
Her mother nodded stiffly, still uncertain. “Come in.”
The whispers grew louder as they moved inside.
“He’s good-looking.”
“But where’s the car?”
“They came by tricycle, didn’t they?”
“City people don’t do that.”
At a nearby table, a man stood abruptly.
She stiffened.
“That’s Zanlan,” she muttered. “Ignore him.”
Too late.
“Godmother!” Zanlan called loudly, stumbling forward, already flushed with drink. “Didn’t you say you’d marry her to me?”
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