Chapter Text
Close to one month before the wedding, the Qiao family living room felt comfortably busy with tea steaming, fruit plate half‑empty, and the steady clack of mah-jong tiles drifting from the room down the hall.
From behind the sliding door came Qiao father’s triumphant shout.
“Qin Jia! You’re feeding me tiles again!”
Yu father groaned loudly. “Oh please, you’re just lucky today!”
Two other uncles burst out laughing. The fathers were already calling each other qin jia with such enthusiasm it felt like they couldn’t wait for the wedding to make it official.
Yu Tu glanced toward the noise, then leaned slightly toward Jing Jing.
“Perfect timing,” he murmured. “Our dads are completely absorbed. Our moms can talk about the betrothal gifts now.”
Jing Jing gave him a look. “You make it sound like a secret diplomatic meeting.”
Yu Tu didn’t blink. “It is. It concerns the future of both families.”
She smacked his arm lightly, but she was smiling.
Yu Tu’s mother, catching the cue, turned to Jing Jing’s mother with her usual gentle warmth.
“Qin Jia, how does your side usually handle the betrothal gifts?”
Jing Jing’s mother brightened. “Oh, we’re not very particular. Just something simple and festive. It’s all for the formalities — the most important thing is that everyone has fun.”
Before the mothers could continue, Yu Tu leaned back, expression perfectly serious.
“Would one pig be enough, or should we get a cow as well? And how many live chickens and ducks should we prepare?”
Jing Jing nearly dropped her teacup. “A pig and a cow? Chickens and ducks? What are they supposed to do with them — raise them in the courtyard?”
Yu Tu blinked. “Aren’t these the standard betrothal gifts?”
Jing Jing glared. “Are you living in the Song Dynasty? Am I marrying Zhan Zhao now?”
Both mothers burst into laughter.
Jing Jing’s mother quickly stepped in, still chuckling. “No, no. You don’t need livestock. Cooked ones are fine. Everyone will be eating the food during the ceremony.”
Jing Jing let out a breath of relief. “Good. Otherwise he’d show up herding them over on a horse.”
Yu Tu didn’t deny it. He just gave her that quiet, smug little half‑smile.
“You know me that well.”
She nudged him. “We’re about to get married. Of course I do.”
Both mothers exchanged a look, both amused and fond.
Yu Tu’s mother, still smiling from the livestock joke, smoothed her hands over her lap and shifted the conversation gently.
“For the money and jewelry part … what would be an appropriate amount for your family?”
Jing Jing’s mother nodded right away, her expression warm and reassuring. “Oh, nothing extravagant. We’re not selling our daughter. And the gifts will all go back to them anyway.”
Yu Tu’s mother let out a soft breath of relief. “That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear.”
Jing Jing spoke up at the same time. “Then I don’t need any jewelry. I have tons at home.”
Both mothers looked at her with amused interest.
Yu Tu frowned. “Those are yours. Mine are mine.”
Jing Jing poked at his chest. “Exactly why I’m worried. I don’t trust your taste. You’ll pick the heaviest gold chain you can find and hang it on my neck like I’m training for a load‑bearing competition.”
Yu Tu didn’t even blink.
“I can choose the gold nuggets. They’re good insurance for future denture work.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Jing Jing grabbed the nearest cushion and smacked him square in the head.
Both mothers burst into helpless laughter — the kind that made them lean into each other for support.
Yu Tu only adjusted his sweater, completely unbothered.
“It’s practical,” he said mildly. “Dental charges rise every year. If you ever need a bridge or a crown, we can just ask them to use the gold instead.”
Jing Jing stared at him. “I’m not eighty yet.”
Yu Tu didn’t blink. “You wouldn’t need a bridge or a crown at eighty. By then, we’ll probably be eating puréed food.”
Jing Jing smacked his arm with the cushion again. The mothers burst into helpless laughter. And Yu Tu — infuriatingly — looked pleased with himself.
Jing Jing glared at him, half exasperated, half amused. “Keep talking like that and I’ll feed you nothing but puréed food.”
Jing Jing’s mother dabbed her eyes, still stifling her laughter. “Alright, you two. Enough teasing. Let’s choose a date for the Guo Da Li.”
Yu Tu’s mother nodded. “Yes, something auspicious for Guo Da Li.”
When Jing Jing heard the words again … Guo Da Li …something in her mind clicked.
Guo Da Li … Go Darling …
Her eyes widened for half a second. Then the corners of her mouth curled, slow and wicked. She reached over and patted Yu Tu’s back lightly, voice syrup‑sweet. “Go, darling.”
Yu Tu turned, suspicious.
Jing Jing’s grin only deepened. She nudged him with her elbow, unable to resist the pun she’d just discovered. Then, with a wicked grin, as if she was sending him into battle, she added. “Go Darling Go.”
Yu Tu paused, just long enough for her to think she’d gotten away with it.
Then he turned, hooked an arm loosely around her neck, and pulled her in with a soft, mock‑threatening growl. His fingers finding that spot at her waist he knew would make her squirm.
He tickled her, quick and wicked, just enough to make her fold against him.
Jing Jing yelped, half laughing, half protesting. “Mom! Auntie! Make him stop …”
Both mothers froze for a heartbeat, and then burst into delighted laughter, the kind that filled the whole living room with warmth.
Jing Jing swatted at him, cheeks pink. “You’re supposed to be serious!”
Yu Tu only tightened his arm around her for a second, smug and soft. “I follow your lead,” he said.
And then — as if the play‑wrestling were background noise — the mothers simply turned back to each other.
Jing Jing’s mother straightened, already picking up her phone. “Should we have the Guo Da Li soon, or closer to the wedding?”
Yu Tu’s mother nodded, tapping open her calendar without missing a beat. “Maybe before the lunar new year.”
Within seconds, both mothers were shoulder‑to‑shoulder, scrolling and comparing, completely ignoring the two grown adults still half‑wrestling across from them.
Yu Tu’s mother squinted at her screen. “What about the week before New Year? Maybe February 5th or 6th?”
Jing Jing finally escaped Yu Tu’s hold, breathless and pink. “Those dates sound familiar, I think I have to be in Beijing!”
Yu Tu shook his head immediately. “I cannot leave the Institute before New Year’s Eve.”
Her mother tried again, still smiling. “Then during New Year? The first few days are very auspicious.”
Yu Tu glanced at his screen. “I have a meeting on the 13th. And another one on the 15th.”
Jing Jing’s head snapped toward him.
He never worked during the first week of New Year. She thought being so close to their wedding day, he would have been even freer.
“Wait,” she said slowly. “You’re working during New Year?”
Yu Tu adjusted his sleeves, expression maddeningly calm. “Yes. There’s an important upcoming launch. They require my input.”
Jing Jing stared at him, caught between disbelief and suspicion. “A launch … in the middle of New Year? And right before our wedding?”
He didn’t blink. “Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. He was hiding something. He was definitely hiding something.
But with both mothers now leaning over their calendars, comparing dates and auspicious timings, she could only file it away for later.
Yu Tu’s mother tapped her phone thoughtfully. “Then … what about the 17th or 18th?”
Yu Tu paused — the rare kind of pause that meant he was actually calculating. Then he nodded.
“Eighteenth works,” Yu Tu said after a moment. “I can get here on Friday … and I don’t have to be back at the Institute until Tuesday.”
Yu Tu turned to Jing Jing. “Does Sunday, the eighteenth work for you?”
She was already pulling up her own calendar, thumb flicking through her schedule. “Let me see … yes.”
She looked up at him with beaming eyes. “We can come back on Friday together.”
Both mothers brighten, relieved to finally land on a date.