Chapter 45: The Uninvited Guests
The sun had barely risen when Jia Lan heard hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway. She slipped on her thick slippers and padded out into the living room, only to find her grandmother frowning at a telegram clutched tightly in her wrinkled hands.
"Grandma?"
Grandmother Jia looked up, lips pressed into a thin line. "Your Aunt Lin from Suzhou sent word. Her husband and son are arriving this afternoon. No prior notice."
Jia Lan blinked. "Aunt Lin? The one who said our northern wind gave her headaches?"
"That's the one." Her grandmother sighed. "And now apparently, she wants her son to 'experience city life.'"
Jia Lan raised an elegant brow. "Experience or take advantage?"
By noon, the household was buzzing with subtle tension. Grandma Jia issued brisk orders to prepare the guest room, while Jia Lan helped Xu Li shift some unused linens. Jia Zhe was unusually quiet, while Jia Wei paced around muttering, "I knew it! I just knew those freeloaders would come sniffing around."
"Wei," Xu Li warned softly.
He threw his hands up. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking!"
Jia Lan peeked outside when the knock came. A short, plump woman in a patterned cheongsam swept inside with a dramatic flair, dragging a tired-looking husband and a lanky teenage son who wore too much pomade and not enough charm.
Aunt Lin, also known as Lin Meihua, was her mother's maternal cousin. Once a celebrated Suzhou beauty in her youth, she had married into a middling bureaucratic household that never quite made it to city elite. While her own fortunes declined, she watched Jia Lan's mother—gentle, elegant, and competent—rise to become the wife of a prestigious Jia household, a contrast that festered in her heart for decades.
"Your house hasn't changed," Aunt Lin announced, glancing at the intricate wooden beams. "Still so showy."
"It's tradition," Grandma Jia replied evenly.
"You northerners love your traditions. In Suzhou, we prefer grace to grandeur."
Jia Lan greeted them smoothly, "Auntie. Cousin Ming."
Qian Ming grunted. "Nice furniture. Is this imported?"
"No," Jia Wei said, appearing from the corridor with a grin. "But it's real, unlike your haircut."
Ming blinked. "What's wrong with my haircut?"
Jia Lan arched a brow. "Nothing—if you're aiming for revolutionary opera villain chic."
Uncle Qian coughed lightly, sensing the tension, and Aunt Lin gave a forced chuckle. "Lanlan always had a sharp tongue. You should smile more—it suits girls better."
"I smile when I'm happy," Jia Lan replied politely. "Not necessarily when prompted."
Aunt Lin's lips twitched. "Your mother used to smile all the time. Always so obedient. I remember when she came to Suzhou after marriage—clumsy and unsure. Now look at her, sitting at the top of a city mansion. Some people are lucky."
Just then, Jia Lan's mother entered the hall, serene in a soft beige qipao. "Meihua. You're here."
Aunt Lin offered her a lopsided smile. "Of course. I wanted Ming to see how the 'big city' works. We hope to be inspired."
Jia Lan's mother greeted everyone with quiet warmth, before turning to the servants to ask for tea.
The tension was palpable.
"You've always been good at… adapting," Aunt Lin added. "Not everyone finds it so easy."
"I don't think it was ease," Jia Lan's mother answered gently, pouring tea into delicate porcelain cups. "But time teaches patience. And patience builds the life we want."
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☕ Unwanted Fragrance
Tea was served in the garden, but the atmosphere was anything but tranquil.
"So, Lanlan," Aunt Lin began, her smile tight. "Your parents are so fortunate. Two sons working in the city—both married and settled—and a daughter who's… well… doing something."
Jia Lan tilted her head. "Yes. We are indeed fortunate."
Her father, who had just returned from a brief trip, walked in, catching the tail end of the remark. He smiled faintly. "Jia Lan is the pride of the family. She handles more than you realize."
Aunt Lin tittered awkwardly, but her eyes narrowed.
She had always been bitter toward Jia Lan's mother—not because of anything cruel or arrogant, but precisely because her cousin had everything Meihua wanted and had gained it without scheming. That quiet elegance, the dignity, the love of her husband and children, all chafed Meihua like salt in an old wound.
Later, as the tea cooled and the small talk continued, Aunt Lin leaned toward Jia Lan and said in a lowered voice, "You know, Lanlan, my husband's cousin is still unmarried. Thirty-five, owns a bicycle, has a stable grain transport job. He's quiet, steady. It's time you start thinking seriously about marriage."
Jia Lan looked at her blankly. "What?"
Aunt Lin gave her a pitying smile. "You city girls think you have time, but a girl past twenty is already nearing the edge. Married daughters are like water thrown out—you'll only be more troublesome to match in a few years. I'm offering you a good chance."
Jia Lan's lips curved into a slow smile. "A good chance, you say? To marry a cousin of your husband who rides grain carts and thinks tea stains are character marks?"
Aunt Lin's expression hardened. "Don't be proud, child. Modesty is a virtue. Your parents may not say it, but they must be worried. An unmarried girl your age…"
"Must be a disappointment, right?" Jia Lan interrupted softly. "I'll be sure to ask my married sisters-in-law Xu Li and Yao Jing how worried they are for me—over warm soup and laughter at dinner."
Qian Ming, seated nearby, shifted uncomfortably.
Just then, Jia Wei passed by, catching the tail end of the exchange. "Still matchmaking, Aunt Lin?"
Aunt Lin sniffed. "Just doing what any caring elder would."
"Then perhaps care enough to ask what Jia Lan actually wants," Jia Wei said, tone clipped. "We're all happy she's here with us. She's not water to be thrown away—she's the kettle that keeps us all warm."
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📝 Silent Words, Warm Heart
She picked up the well-worn diary—a habit carried from the previous Jia Lan, who always used to pour her quiet thoughts into its pages. and wrote:
>"Today's air smelled like old tea leaves left out too long. Aunt Lin's voice is the sound equivalent of someone rubbing rusted metal together. Cousin Ming has the ambition of a pigeon and the charisma of a drying mop. Now she wants to marry me off to a grain driver with a bicycle. Does that count as attempted sabotage? At least I have plum cake hidden in my drawer. Dignity, tea, and secret snacks—my survival essentials."
She smiled to herself, shut the book, and turned out the lamp.
Outside, the breeze had shifted. The scent of chrysanthemums faded into the dry coolness of a coming winter. And in a corner of the house, freeloaders dreamed of golden spoons.
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💬 Behind Closed Doors
In the master bedroom, Jia Lan's mother sat brushing her hair slowly, her eyes distant. Her husband poured warm tea and handed her a cup, sitting beside her on the cushioned bench.
"She hasn't changed," her mother murmured. "Even as children, Meihua always found a way to mock me. If I wore red, she said it clashed with my skin. If I got praised, she'd sulk for days. And now—she dares to suggest a husband for our daughter as if she's some unwanted burden."
Father Jia placed a hand over hers. "She envies you. Always has. Not just your grace, but your peace. You never fought for the spotlight, but you became the light anyway."
A faint smile tugged at her lips. "You make me sound like a fairy."
"You are my fairy," he said with a warm chuckle. "And Meihua can croak like a frog all she wants. You're still the moon to me."
She chuckled, and then leaned against his shoulder. "Thank you. For always standing by me."
He kissed her temple. "Always. Let her chatter. We have a home full of warmth, and children who love us. That's more than her bitterness will ever build."
Outside the door, quiet laughter floated from the hall.
Peace, where it mattered.
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