Chapter 52: Need To Share
Their guide stopped before a pair of carved white doors, and two attendants opened them from the other side.
Sound reached Zhiyi first.
Conversation overlapped with music from a quartet positioned near the far wall. Glasses touched. Chairs moved across polished flooring. Somewhere to the left, several people laughed at once.
Then she saw the ballroom.
The room extended through the center of the mansion and rose two stories to a ceiling covered in pale geometric panels. Three chandeliers hung above the central floor, each composed of long crystal rods that scattered white and gold light across the room.
Round tables filled half the space. They were covered in ivory linen and arranged around a slightly raised platform near the front. Dark-blue place cards rested beside folded napkins, and low arrangements of white flowers occupied the center of each table.
The remaining half of the ballroom had been left open for conversation.
People stood in small groups with drinks in their hands while servers moved between them carrying trays. Others had already taken their seats, although dinner had not begun. Nearly every man wore a dark suit or tuxedo. The women’s gowns formed isolated sections of red, silver, black and pale color between them.
Along the rear wall, enormous glass doors overlooked the garden.
The doors had been folded open despite the air conditioning. Beyond them, stone terraces descended toward illuminated pools, clipped hedges and rows of white flowers. Small lights had been strung through the trees. More tables had been arranged outside beneath open-sided canopies.
The ballroom was full, but it was not crowded.
There was sufficient space between the tables for servers to pass without altering course. The groups standing near the garden doors were separated by at least a meter. The noise came from the number of conversations rather than physical congestion.
That distinction did not make it quiet.
Zhiyi stopped inside the doorway.
Her mind began sorting the room automatically.
Nine visible exits.
Sixteen servers.
Four private security personnel positioned against the walls.
Two hundred and thirty people, possibly more if the garden was included.
Thirty-one tables.
The arrangement near the platform restricted the most direct route to the western exit. If evacuation became necessary, the guests seated closest to the front would create a bottleneck between the tables—
Zeyu leaned close enough for his shoulder to touch hers. "There they are," he whispered into her ear, breaking her concentration. He pointed toward the garden doors.
Liang Shichen stood beside one of the open glass panels, speaking to an older couple and a man Zhiyi did not recognize. He wore a black tuxedo with a midnight-blue bow tie. The ease of his posture suggested that he had attended similar events often, but his attention was not on the conversation. He was looking across the room at them.
Wen Qinghe stood several meters away beside a silver-haired man. Both held untouched champagne glasses. Qinghe’s expression remained polite while the older man spoke, although the slight tension near his mouth indicated that he wanted the conversation to end.
Rong Jingwei was the easiest to identify.
He stood behind and slightly apart from them, dressed entirely in black and watching the room as though the Liang family had invited him to assess its security instead of attend dinner.
His gaze found Zhiyi.
The distance prevented her from seeing his expression change, but his posture became still.
Zeyu’s hand came to rest lightly at Zhiyi’s waist as he prepared to guide her toward them.
But Hanchuan removed it.
He did not look at Zeyu. He simply drew Zhiyi against his side, placed his own hand at her waist and began leading her across the room.
Zeyu fell into step beside him.
Guests noticed them as they passed.
Some greeted Hanchuan or Zeyu by name. Others merely watched, their attention lingering on Zhiyi before dropping to the sapphire-and-diamond necklace resting against her throat. Several women looked at her dress, then at Hanchuan’s hand around her waist.
Hanchuan did not release her.
Zeyu waited until they had passed between two groups before leaning closer to Hanchuan. His expression remained pleasant enough for anyone watching them, but his voice dropped beneath the surrounding conversation.
"You’re going to have to learn to share."
Hanchuan’s fingers tightened at Zhiyi’s waist as Zeyu’s smile sharpened. "Or I’ll be happy to take the prize."
Zhiyi didn’t hear either statement.
The ballroom had already filled her mind beyond its comfortable capacity. Conversations came from every direction without a single voice remaining distinct. The quartet had begun another piece. A server passed close behind her carrying glasses that shifted against one another with every step.
Someone called Hanchuan’s name.
Another person greeted Zeyu.
Shichen was approaching from across the room.
The chandeliers were reflected in the open garden doors, making it appear as though six hung from the ceiling instead of three.
Zhiyi fixed her attention on Hanchuan’s hand.
Five fingers at her waist.
Steady pressure.
A clear direction forward.
She followed it.
They had crossed half the ballroom when a woman in a silver gown stepped directly into Zeyu’s path.
She appeared to be in her early fifties, although the deliberate care taken with her appearance made a precise estimate difficult. Her features resembled Zeyu’s closely enough that identification was immediate.
His mother looked first at him, then at Zhiyi.
Her eyes paused on Zeyu’s proximity to her.
"There you are." The woman smiled, but displeasure showed in the slight narrowing of her eyes. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you."
"You found me," Zeyu replied. The smile stayed on his face, but the corner of his eyes tightened.
"I want you to meet someone," his mother pressed.
"I’ve met enough people."
"You haven’t met her."
"And that sounds like an excellent reason to preserve the current arrangement," Zeyu purred.
The response lacked his usual warmth. He did not soften the refusal with a laugh or flirt his way around it. His gaze moved past his mother toward Zhiyi as Hanchuan continued walking.
Mrs. Song followed the movement and saw where her son’s attention had gone.
Her smile thinned.
Zeyu noticed.
Whatever little patience he had brought into the ballroom disappeared. "Not tonight, Mother."
Her fingers closed around his sleeve before he could step around her. "Song Zeyu."
He stopped, but the expression he turned on her was no longer charming.
Whatever was going on between mother and son, Hanchuan didn’t bother to wait around.
He guided Zhiyi toward one of the tables nearest the open garden doors. Shichen had been delayed by another guest before he could reach them, and Jingwei had disappeared from his previous position.
Small cards at the table identified six seats.
Pei Hanchuan.
Qiao Zhiyi.
Song Zeyu.
Liang Shichen.
Wen Qinghe.
Rong Jingwei.
Her place was between Hanchuan and Zeyu.
Hanchuan pulled out her chair himself. "Sit," he offered, holding out his hand to help steady her if she needed it.
Zhiyi lowered herself onto it, arranging the skirt beneath the table so that the fabric did not catch under the legs. Hanchuan shifted her water glass within reach and moved the champagne flute away.
"You don’t have to speak to anyone," he said. "We’ll be here."
Zhiyi glanced toward Zeyu, who remained trapped in conversation with his mother. "That statement is already inaccurate."
"I’m here," he assured her.