My mother loved my father all her life.
Only on her deathbed did she let go.
“Ah Yao,” she told me, “whether a husband and wife love each other doesn’t really matter.
Treating each other with respect is the best ending you can hope for.”
Looking at her withered face, I wept and told her I would remember.
If I married, a quiet life of mutual affection and respect would be enough.
But when I had made all my preparations and traveled to Jiangnan to be married, I found things rather different from what I had imagined.
My fiancé complained, “Ah Yao!
Don’t you like what I’m wearing today?
Why won’t you look at me a little longer?”
“Ah Yao, Ah Yao!
Tell her I’m your husband!
She mustn’t throw any more handkerchiefs at me.”
This fiancé of mine seemed nothing like the man my father had described.
Just as I was wondering whether to break off our engagement… My father arrived.
The moment he came through the door, he cried anxiously, “Ah Yao, you’ve got the wrong man!”
It turned out he had misremembered the address.
The fiancé I had been exchanging letters with for three months was the wrong one.
He hurried me off to meet my actual fiancé at his home.
I had barely taken my seat when the man who had been my mistaken fiancé walked in.
“Ah Yao!”
he asked in delighted surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
And my actual fiancé asked hesitantly, “Uncle, do you know my fiancée?”
