Chapter 25 (23): Newlyweds

Three days before the wedding, Tan Yang suddenly called Bi Qingtang, saying she had a dowry and asking him to arrange for someone to move it.
“There’s no need. I’ve got everything here already—all that’s missing is a bride.”
“Big Brother, just send someone over!”
“What exactly is it?”
“Furniture. The rosewood furniture my uncle had made for me years ago.”
“We already have all the furniture we need. There’s no room.”
“No, this is my uncle’s dowry for me. I have to take it with me when I marry!”
“Wasn’t it meant for when he was preparing to marry you off to someone else?”
...
It wasn’t such a big deal to begin with, but as they spoke, the conversation turned to an argument. Bi Qingtang insisted the furniture wasn’t needed, especially since it was meant for when Tan Yang was to marry someone else—he didn’t want it in their home. Yet Tan Yang was determined to bring her uncle’s rosewood furniture into her new life. In this matter, Tan Yang lost her usual gentle compliance, and Bi Qingtang his customary broad-minded tolerance; neither would yield. After trying both gentle persuasion and stern words to no avail, Bi Qingtang, exasperated, accused Tan Yang of being unreasonable and hung up on her.

After their quarrel, Bi Qingtang ate a few bites distractedly, smoked a cigarette, calmed himself, and called Tan Yang again. When she answered, he smiled and greeted her affectionately, “Is this Mrs. Bi?”
She didn’t respond. Bi Qingtang switched the receiver to the other ear and coaxed patiently, “Little sister, you’re so petty—just a few words and you won’t talk to me. How am I supposed to manage in the future?” After a pause, he went on, “How about this? There’s so much to do before the wedding. Let’s wait until after we’re married—when we have time, I’ll send someone to fetch your furniture, all right?”

He heard the sound of muffled sobbing on the other end. Tan Yang’s voice, hoarse from crying, made Bi Qingtang’s heart clench. “Big Brother, I’m getting married, but my mother and father have both passed away, and even my uncle left me last year. Please, let me put that furniture in our new home. At least when I see it, I’ll feel as if there are still loved ones who care for me, even if they’re already gone from this world.”

Bi Qingtang opened his mouth and then closed it again, silently hanging up the phone. Half an hour later, a truck pulled up at the mouth of Tan Yang’s alley.

That night, Bi Qingtang brought Tan Yang to his home. The second floor was their new bedroom, while the guest room and small sitting room on the first floor had been cleared to make space for Tan Yang’s rosewood furniture. The pieces made for her by Uncle Feng Kang were indeed fine things—worth every penny. Even in the lavish and luxurious house of Bi Qingtang, they were not one bit out of place.

Seeing Tan Yang’s satisfied smile, Bi Qingtang lit a cigarette and asked lightly, “Happy now?” Tan Yang nodded, then jokingly complained, “Why didn’t you put it upstairs?” Bi Qingtang flicked her forehead with a snap. “Getting too greedy, aren’t you?”

On September 8th, 1928, Shanghai’s autumn was like a painting on rice paper steeped in tung oil—no matter how heavy the colors, they could be stilled and harmonized, even the most striking contrasts of scenery blended together. People’s movements softened, the sunlight was gentle, the wind caressed instead of stinging—a season born of compromise between warmth and modernity. Such a season, such a moment, was destined to linger in memory, and all the more so because it was the wedding of an eighteen-year-old girl.

Owing to Bi Qingtang’s unique standing and influence in Shanghai, his wedding stirred the elite and powerful from both Beijing and Shanghai. For both love of Tan Yang and the chance to forge new alliances, Bi Qingtang made the wedding a grand affair. There were two ceremonies: in the morning, a Western-style service at Holy Trinity Church, with a minister presiding. The crowd was a sea of black; nearly a hundred cars lined the streets for blocks, their noise and clamor fading into the soaring chords of the organ, all as background to the festive air. In the afternoon, a traditional Chinese banquet was held at the Grand China Hotel on Gordon Road, upstairs and down, every table draped in crimson brocade and laden with delicacies.

All in all, Bi Qingtang gave her a wedding both lavishly worldly and tinged with romance. The profusion of flowers and festivity dazzled even Tan Yang herself, the star of the day, but her most vivid memories of her wedding were bound to two details concerning her bridal attire.

Her wedding gown was custom-tailored in England and shipped over—a milky white dress crowned with layered, sheer lace, the jeweled silk headband securing a veil trailing over ten meters. The dress arrived just a day before the wedding, leaving no time for rehearsal. Such a long, flowing train was bound to cause trouble if one wasn’t careful. Throughout, Bi Qingtang watched over her, lifting the train whenever she moved, especially at the turns, fearing she might trip. When they arrived at the church, he instructed two of the older flower children to carry her veil, promising, “Do it well, and Uncle Bi will treat you to cheese cake next week.”

At the banquet, she wore a cheongsam made from “xiangyun silk,” a fabric so precious it was said to be worth its weight in gold. The material was so delicate it would crease at the slightest touch—she hardly dared sit down. The precarious high heels made Tan Yang suffer all the more. During lulls between toasts, Bi Qingtang would pull her aside to the lounge, urging her to take off the cheongsam and shoes, rest on the sofa, while he returned outside to do battle with the guests over drinks.

No matter the era, what a woman cherishes lifelong is never the form of the wedding, but the happiness it contains. He remembered her discomfort and tiredness and treated it as an important matter to resolve. Who among married couples is not ordinary? Happiness is accumulated in the smallest details.

It was past ten o’clock before the last of the guests had finally left. Bi Qingtang had already sent Tan Yang to the lounge to rest, asking Fang Ya and Zhao Ling to keep her company. Zhao Ling, eager to hurry home to her children, had left early. When Bi Qingtang finished seeing off the guests at the hotel entrance, he finally made his way to the lounge, smoothed the fatigue from his expression, and knocked on the door with a smile. “Little sister, put on your clothes, I’m coming in.”
From inside, Fang Ya laughed, “Pretending to be proper, are you? Just come in!” Bi Qingtang ignored her, but she came over, opened the door, and pulled him in, teasing, “Aren’t you the lucky one? Your timing is perfect!” Fang Ya said, swirling the half-glass of wine in her hand.

Inside, Tan Yang was asleep on the sofa, her hair tousled, her cheeks flushed an intoxicating red—she was the picture of feminine allure. Her cheongsam was draped over the armrest, and she was covered by Bi Qingtang’s large suit jacket. Curled up inside it, one sleeve slipped down, exposing her graceful arm, collarbone, and the pale pink strap of her undergarment. The innocence of a child and the allure of a woman mingled in her sleeping form—no man, not even one made of stone, could remain unmoved, let alone a man who loved her. Bi Qingtang stood wide-eyed, stunned.

Fang Ya set down her glass and, taking advantage of Bi Qingtang’s distraction, gave him a hearty shove from behind, laughing, “Well? What are you waiting for!” Caught off guard, Bi Qingtang tumbled toward the sofa. As he was about to fall on top of Tan Yang, he braced his right arm against the armrest, pushed himself upright, straightened his collar, and turned to ask sternly, “What’s going on here?” Fang Ya blinked innocently, “I had no idea my new daughter-in-law would have such a poor tolerance—she’s out cold after just a few drinks. Qingtang, how do you plan to thank me? Tsk, in a while, you can do whatever you like!”

Bi Qingtang’s face went white with anger. “Do whatever I like? Whatever I want is right and proper—it’s not as if I’m forcing anyone! Why did you get her drunk?”

Fang Ya shrugged, feigning disappointment, and turned to leave. “Fine, no gratitude for good intentions. She’s yours now!” Bi Qingtang impatiently pulled her back. “Thank you, now help her get dressed!” With that, he left and closed the door. Inside, Fang Ya was baffled for a moment, then called out in mock astonishment, “Haven’t you and Miss Tan been together for years? And you’ve never even touched her? Bi Qingtang, you’re really hopeless for once!”

At the door, Bi Qingtang banged on it furiously, “Can’t you keep it down? Always putting on airs as the elder, but you’re not half as sensible as our little sister!” Fang Ya, helping Tan Yang dress, shouted back even louder, “Qingtang, now that you’ve got a wife, you think you’re something special?”

Wrapping Tan Yang in his coat, Bi Qingtang carried her out of the hotel. The late autumn breeze was a little cool. In his arms, Tan Yang’s face was flushed from drink, illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights shining through the car window. She slept soundly, like a small creature, surrendering herself without defense to a world full of dangers. The cool air brought the effects of the wine back to Bi Qingtang; his head spun. He held Tan Yang tighter, leaned close to her ear, and breathed in her delicate scent. He felt himself grow even more intoxicated, mumbling, “Sleeping so soundly—how infuriating!”

At dawn the next day, Tan Yang opened her eyes to find daylight streaming in. The red wedding curtains bathed the room in a cloying sweetness. Her head still swimming from last night’s wine, she realized she was still wearing her xiangyun silk cheongsam, with a quilt pulled over her. Lying alone on the wide bed, she caught sight of the red wedding character on the lampshade and sat up with a start—just as Bi Qingtang, nearby, burst out laughing. She turned to see him slouched on the sofa, his white shirt unbuttoned, a blanket draped over him, head resting on the back, watching her with a squint and a smile.

“Big Brother, I—” Ashamed, Tan Yang glanced out at the bright morning sun and muttered, “How is it so late? Why didn’t you wake me?” Bi Qingtang came over and sat on the bed, reaching up to toy with her earring, lazily saying, “Wake you? Did you want me to wake you last night? And what would you have done if I had, hmm?” At his question, Tan Yang blushed, tugging the quilt up in half-hearted protest.

Bi Qingtang caught her hand and inhaled her scent. “Little sister, you really were drunk last night—you won’t remember a thing,” he said as he kicked off his shoes, “and it’s not too late now.”

Tan Yang glanced at the clock on the opposite wall—it was a quarter past six. She flung off the quilt and jumped from the bed. “It’s Monday—I have to go to class!” Bi Qingtang reached for her but missed as she dashed barefoot across the carpet, flung open the door, and shouted, “Nanny Wu, I need to go to school! Where’s my satchel?”

Fearing the servants might overhear, Bi Qingtang lowered his voice and fumed, “Get back here! Little sister, you’re not allowed to go to school today!”