The office AC hummed like a drowsy hornet. I slumped at my cousin's abandoned secretary desk, watching Shangguan's silhouette through frosted glass. Uncle Liang's cologne announced him before his voice did.
"Playing guardian angel?" He tossed me a lychee jelly cup from the break room stash.
"More like reluctant tour guide." I caught it mid-air. "Mom's orders."
Through the glass, Shangguan's laughter carried faintly—an unfamiliar sound these past weeks. My cousin followed my gaze. "You know he turned down three interns this week? Said their perfume gave him migraines."
"Probably allergic to desperation."
Uncle Liang's grin turned conspiratorial. "Your mom's paranoid. That man's got 'one-woman' written all over his—"
"Finish that sentence and Auntie Rong hears about your Macau poker nights."
**8:47AM – Tiger Beach**
Salt-stung wind whipped my ponytail as we queued at the ticket booth. Shangguan's new jeans hung awkwardly—$300 designer denim clashing with bubble tea stalls and hawkers shouting discounted snorkel gear.
"Two adults," I told the cashier in rapid Dalian dialect.
The clerk squinted at Shangguan. "Foreigner surcharge applies."
I pressed extra yuan across the counter. "My cousin works for tourism bureau. Should I call him?"
We slipped through turnstiles as morning fog burned off the Bohai Sea.
The boardwalk became a gauntlet. Middle-aged aunties clutching grandchildren materialized like seabirds spotting prey. One thrust her toddler toward Shangguan. "Take photo! Good luck baby!"
Shanghai Disney this wasn't.
**WeChat @ 10:15**
Mom: 别去危险的地方
Me: 我们在看海豹表演
Mom: 海豹比男人可靠
By noon, we'd acquired:
- A jade bracelet ("Anti-jetlag!" swore the vendor)
- Three marriage proposals (from fishermen's widows)
- And Xiao Pang—a sticky-fingered toddler who'd claimed Shangguan as human jungle gym
"He likes you." Yu Keying, my high school deskmate, nodded at her son gumming Shangguan's Rolex. "Means you're husband material."
Shangguan froze mid-diaper-wipe. The universal language of parenting needed no translation.
**4:30PM – Breakwater Rocks**
Fishermen's cries mingled with gull shrieks. Shangguan's dress shoes skidded on kelp-slick stones as Yu's husband demonstrated proper squid jigging.
"Why'd you really bring me here?" His whisper carried over tide sounds.
I watched Xiao Pang chase hermit crabs. "To prove we're not all porcelain dolls and propaganda."
His thumb brushed squid ink from my wrist. "You've succeeded."
**8:00PM – Family Dinner**
Mom's braised abalone tasted of compromise. Dad poured Shaoxing wine with deliberate slowness.
"Saw your interview," Mom said as Shangguan choked on sea cucumber. "That Tokyo property case."
I froze. The NHK segment she referenced had aired months ago—his sleeves rolled up, hair uncharacteristically mussed, arguing corporate malfeasance like a warrior poet.
"You... watched?" Shangguan's chopsticks hovered in disbelief.
Mom served him extra bok choy. "A mother researches her daughter's..." She fumbled for the word.
"Colleague," I supplied.
"...Potential life partners."
The rice cooker's timer dinged. Somewhere beyond the steamed windows, night fishermen's lanterns bobbed like unresolved questions.