Conversation at the table soon drifted where such gatherings always do—re‑living the old days, trading updates on the present, dreaming aloud about the future.
The adults did all the talking. Tang Yan neither could nor wished to join in; she simply enjoyed the food in silence. Thanks to regular taekwondo training, her weight had risen to a healthy range after arriving in Huadu and then held steady, no matter how many new delicacies she sampled—leaving her free to eat with an easy mind.
After lunch the women decided to go shopping. Tang Yan was no fan of malls, but on such occasions she could hardly refuse. In one boutique Tang Huiyi picked up several outfits, each costing several thousand yuan. Clearly her new husband provided a comfortable life and was generous with money. She tried to choose something for Tang Yan as well, but Tang Yan excused herself:
“Aunt Ji already bought me lots of clothes—I can’t wear them all as it is. Please don’t spend more.”
Partly she just dreaded the endless changing in a fitting room; mostly she wanted none of that man’s money. He might be her mother’s husband, but he had nothing to do with her.
Tang Huiyi’s hand froze on a hanger; she managed an awkward smile at Ji Yuqing. “So you’ve been spoiling her, Yuqing.”
“It was nothing—just a little aunt’s goodwill.” Ji Yuqing answered politely.
Nothing? Tang Yan had seen the price tags: a simple blouse ran four figures; a winter coat brushed five. She had never worn such expensive things, yet Aunt Ji treated clothes as casually as daily bread.
“Exactly, Senior‑sister,” Zhang Miya chimed in. “Yuqing’s practically a gold‑plated tycoon now—makes several million a year. Let her spend it!”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Ji Yuqing teased. “And stop claiming poverty—you know your husband’s bonus could buy a BMW any year he likes.”
Zhang Miya laughed. “That’s the upside of working in tech these days.” She turned to Tang Yan. “So you study hard, all right? One day be an IT superstar—out‑shine your Uncle He.”
Tang Yan’s smile felt strained; the prospect seemed distant and daunting. But today she also learned Aunt Ji’s real income. A million—numbers she had never dared imagine. Once she had thought ten thousand a month was remarkable; clearly she had lived in a well.
All the more reason to work harder, to catch up to Aunt Ji—to stand tall when she finally dared pursue her.
“By the way, Senior‑sister,” Zhang Miya asked, “what does your husband do?”
“Nothing impressive compared with you all—just a civil engineer for a small county real‑estate firm,” Tang Huiyi replied.
“That can still pay well. How did you meet?”
Glancing at Tang Yan for permission—Tang Yan bowed her head, pretending to scroll her phone—Tang Huiyi explained: “Three years ago I took a job in his county at a tutoring center; his nephew was in my class. We met that way.”
“He must have chased you,” Zhang Miya guessed.
A shy smile admitted as much. “I was thirty‑seven. A man who didn’t mind my past and wanted to marry me—that was enough. Now we have Xuan‑xuan; life is decent.”
Tang Yan listened. Indeed, her mother’s remittances had grown in both size and frequency these last two years—clearly bolstered by that man. Whether he truly minded or not was hardly her concern.
“Happy endings do exist,” Zhang Miya sighed. “Sometimes loving the one who loves you is the easier road. I gave up the man I fancied and married my husband—steady, promising. My family objected, but I wed him with nothing but two rings, and look, we have the villa and the cars now. My instincts were right.”
“Enough, stop flaunting,” Ji Yuqing laughed.
“Jealous? Then find one yourself!” Zhang Miya cried. Ji Yuqing only smiled and shook her head.
Through the whole mall crawl Tang Yan served as a pack mule, arms draped with shopping bags. At last, hunger prodded them to choose dinner.
School holidays always slipped by fast. Another day vanished without her noticing, and though she did nothing “useful,” time with Aunt Ji—whether strolling aimlessly or simply standing beside her—felt perfectly worthwhile. She had become a hopeless, wagging‑tail devotee.
Woof.
They happened to stop before a Japanese restaurant, and Aunt Ji offered to treat. Tang Yan had never tasted Japanese food; her limited notion was “sushi equals all of it.” She soon learned otherwise.
The private room was pure tatami: low cedar table, paper lantern glow. Servers in kimono and coiffed hair looked like geisha from a film. Apart from the two toddlers, Tang Yan was the youngest. Aunt Ji naturally handed her the menu. “See what you’d like.”
The pages were dazzling—and entirely in Japanese. With only pictures for guidance, Tang Yan uncertainly returned it. “I can’t read this.”
“Right, I forgot.” Ji Yuqing took the menu back. “I’ll order for everyone.”
Zhang Miya shot up a hand. “Sake for me! And Tang Yan, you join—”
She got no further. Ji Yuqing cut her off, voice firm. “No. Yan‑yan is not drinking tonight.”
The authority was startling—more maternal than Tang Yan’s own mother, who sat speechless.
Food arrived in a parade of delicate plates and dipping bowls, beautiful yet bewildering. Zhang Miya picked up a slice of sashimi, dabbed it in soy and wasabi, and waved it playfully. “Ever tried this?”
Tang Yan shook her head.
“You must. Sashimi is the soul of Japanese cuisine—delicious!”
After much coaxing she lifted a piece. The marbled red‑and‑white flesh looked suspect; still, she popped it in, neat and raw. The soft, slippery texture grew queasier with every chew. A wave of nausea surged—she clamped a hand over her mouth.
Before panic could bloom, Ji Yuqing whipped out tissues, cupped them under Tang Yan’s chin. “Spit here.”
Tang Yan hesitated, mortified, then obeyed. Ji Yuqing wrapped the tissues and tossed them away without a flicker of disgust. Then she scolded Zhang Miya: “You are terrible.”
“Hey, I was broadening her horizons!” Zhang Miya protested.
“It’s all right,” Ji Yuqing soothed Tang Yan. “Sashimi isn’t for everyone. Try something else.”
Relief softened Tang Yan’s face. All of this, Tang Huiyi watched in silence.
Mid‑meal, she lifted her head. “In two weeks it’s Spring Festival. Will you come home with me for the New Year?”
At once Tang Yan’s body tensed. She had only just escaped her uncle’s house; she would not go back.
Seeing her hesitation, Tang Huiyi added, “Not to your uncle’s. To my new home—with Xuan‑xuan and your uncle. He’d love to meet you.”
Tang Yan glanced quickly at Aunt Ji, set down her chopsticks, and for the first time voiced her desire clearly. “I don’t want to go back with you. I want to stay in Huadu for New Year.”
I want… to spend it with Aunt Ji.