The Marriage Harbor CH33
Jiang Bin didn't wake up until nearly nine o'clock the next morning.
The space beside her was empty, but she didn't mind. She reached for her phone to find a deluge of WeChat messages—flattery and congratulations from all sides. After politely replying to a few, she focused on the draft report from the PR department regarding last night’s gala. After smoothing out some of the more hyperbolic phrasing, she gave it her approval.
Tang Zhisong appeared at the bedroom door. Seeing she was awake, he asked softly, "Should I make you some noodles?"
Ever since she had asked where the noodles were kept, he had been intent on cooking for her. Having just returned from abroad, he was expected at the office, but he remained behind specifically for this.
Jiang Bin smiled. "Alright."
A moment later, she emerged from her morning routine to find him busy in the kitchen. In his apricot casual shirt and dark gray trousers, he looked exceptionally tall and composed. There was a softness in his focus that complemented the kitchen’s aesthetic. Finding the silhouette striking, she couldn't resist taking a quick photo.
She wondered if he had any photos of her on his phone. They had never checked each other’s devices—the kind of "monitoring" she found beneath her.
The noodles were ready quickly. Tang Zhisong, having already eaten, sat and watched her.
"Thank you."
Both phones sat on the dining table, buzzing incessantly with new notifications. One focused on blowing the steam off the bowl and the other watched her eat. Neither reached for their device.
"What’s your schedule for today?" Jiang Bin asked, purely to break the silence.
Tang Zhisong, remembering the disaster of their previous date, assumed she was asking because she wanted to go out. Having stepped on a "landmine" last time, he was hesitant to make a move. He decided to play it safe. "How about you?"
"Resting at home." The exhaustion of the gala and the late night had caught up to her. Moreover, her cycle was due, she had a feeling it might arrive early.
"I have to go into the office," Tang Zhisong said. Jiang Bin understood, his desk was undoubtedly piled with documents after his trip. "I'll have the private chef come and make lunch for you?"
"Okay."
"By the way... how is it?" Tang Zhisong asked, genuinely curious if his skills had improved. He hadn't told her that he had spent his time abroad practicing his cooking.
In truth, compared to the Michelin-starred meals they usually frequented, the noodles were somewhat bland, lacking the complexity of professional seasoning. But Jiang Bin found she preferred the simplicity.
Tang Zhisong chuckled. He knew his limitations, but her approval clearly pleased him.
After he left, Jiang Bin finally saw Second Young Master Shen’s "divorce" post. Her headache intensified. The story was gaining traction globally. Tang Zhisong’s reputation was immense; a man who had avoided scandals for years was now being publicly challenged.
She saw Shen’s ignored messages from the previous night. She had long since muted him, and she wasn't about to dignify his tantrum with a response. She deleted the chat history with a cold flick of her thumb.
As for Tang Zhisong... she called him. The first time, he was on another line.
On his way to work, Tang Zhisong had received a call from his PR Director. The director tentatively reported the "unseemly rumors" and offered several response strategies. Tang Zhisong hung up to review them, but a screenshot from his friend Cheng Yanjun popped up first.
[Bingbing, just get a divorce and marry me.]
His eyes narrowed at the name "Bingbing"—confirming it was her childhood nickname. His mood soured instantly. While he was too dignified to engage in a digital mud-slinging contest, he wasn't above a tactical strike. He dialed his VP of Sales.
"Yes, President Shen placed a massive order for our latest chips last night."
Tang Zhisong instructed, "Cancel the collaboration."
The VP paused. "Understood."
When Jiang Bin’s second call came through, he answered immediately. "What's wrong?""The rumors online. Have you seen them?"
"I just saw it."
"How do you plan to handle it?" She asked.
Jiang Bin scanned through them. "Choose the second one."
She hung up and, after a moment's hesitation, sent him the photo she had taken of him in the kitchen.
Tang Zhisong stared at the image on his screen for a minute. It was intimate, raw, and undeniably domestic. He forwarded it to his PR Director with a single-word instruction: Post.
Soon, Ningsheng Tech’s official account—usually reserved for chip releases and earnings reports—posted a single image: [A beautiful day starts with a delicious breakfast.] The photo showed Tang Zhisong’s silhouette as he cooked, with the unmistakable, slender arm of Jiang Bin in the corner of the frame, her hand resting on the counter.The message was clear: "The President and his wife are very much in love. Onlookers can disperse now."
The post was updated simultaneously on both domestic and international platforms. Meanwhile, a certain international social media platform suddenly crashed due to "unknown reasons."
Seeing the app fail to load, netizens realized it had likely been hacked. The culprit wasn't hard to guess—any engineer plucked from Ningsheng was a tech genius; taking down a platform was child's play for them.
That platform had intended to ride the traffic from the rumors, allowing speculation about the marriage to run rampant. Now, they were paralyzed and facing heavy losses.
The direct reply from Tang Zhisong that netizens expected never came, but seeing a billionaire CEO "washing his hands to make soup" satisfied the public's imagination of an elite couple. Some even used Tang Zhisong to scold their own husbands:
[A billionaire CEO makes breakfast for his wife—what excuse do you have to be lazy? Get in the kitchen!]
Suddenly, social media was flooded with women posting their husbands' "loving breakfasts." Someone even playfully tagged Jiang Bin: [@Sister Bingbing, how are President Tang’s cooking skills?]
Jiang Bin nearly choked on her coffee.
* * *
By afternoon, Jiang Bin’s period had arrived. To her surprise, the headache was manageable. After some herbal tea, she checked the Tang family’s private group chat. It was blowing up with photos from the gala, taken by a private administrator.These private administrators were professionally trained; not only were the angles perfect, but the lighting was captured beautifully. Every frame looked like a cinematic masterpiece.
Jiang Bin was very satisfied. She sent a simple [Thank you.] and a large digital red envelope.
The administrator messaged her privately: [Young Madam, I have sent all the HD originals to your email. The files are too large to load in the group chat.]
After thanking him, Jiang Bin saw that Madam Tang had tagged Tang Zhisong in the group. She took a sip of her coffee, thinking that since he had muted the group, he likely wouldn't even notice.
She was wrong. During his lunch break, Tang Zhisong—who usually ignored the idle chatter of social groups—opened the notification from his mother.
A mountain of photos. Even without looking closely, he knew they were shots of Jiang Bin from last night. He clicked one.
She was incomparably beautiful. Every frown and smile was captivating; it was a stark, charming contrast to her usual cool and serious demeanor.
He knew these were just standard mobile versions, not the high-definition ones. He sent a private message to his mother: [Where are last night's photos?]
Madam Tang knew exactly how to tease her son so she sent him the viral photo of him looking "indifferent" that everyone was mocking online.
Tang Zhisong frowned. [???]
Madam Tang laughed. [Didn't you ask for photos?]
Let's see if you'll say it directly this time, she thought.
[Jiang Bin's photos from last night. High-definition. Thank you.] He replied, his patience wearing thin.
Madam Tang nearly died laughing at the dining table. Last time she withheld photos, he hadn't said a word but this time, he finally opened his mouth.
Across the table, Mr. Tang saw her outbursts. "We're eating. What are you going crazy for?"
Madam Tang glared at him. "If you don't want to eat with me then go away."
Mr. Tang endured it and looked away.
This was the first time Madam Tang had seen her son "lose a battle". She tossed her chopsticks aside and replied: [Send me a red envelope to show your sincerity.]
Tang Zhisong: "..."
He seriously suspected that the biggest stumbling block in his relationship with Jiang Bin wasn't anyone else, but his own mother. Last time she wouldn't even let him see her photos and this time she wanted money.
[How much?] He replied, exasperated but patient.
[How much do you think a photo of Bingbing is worth?]
Could her photos be measured in money? Definitely a trap. Tang Zhisong wasn't going to fall for it.
[Put it on my tab. Thank you.]
Having received two "thank yous", Madam Tang knew when to stop. She forwarded all the HD photos she had saved. Being the country's leading tech developer, Tang Zhisong didn't worry about storage; he saved every single one.
Madam Tang messaged: [Remember, you owe me a massive red envelope.]
Tang Zhisong finished his meal in peace and didn't reply.
Madam Tang was fuming: "The brat is burning the bridge after crossing it!"
* * *
When Tang Zhisong returned home at 4:00 PM, he found Jiang Bin curled into a small, defensive ball on the velvet sofa, buried beneath a heavy cashmere blanket. Her usual composure was gone; her skin was porcelain-pale, and her breathing was shallow.
He moved toward her with silent, purposeful steps. He intended to carry her to the bedroom, but as he leaned down to gather her into his arms, the shift in the air woke her. Jiang Bin’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep. From her angle, he looked poised to steal a kiss, his gaze anchored to her mouth with an intensity that made her heart stutter—though she doubted he was the type for such spontaneous affection.
"I fell asleep scrolling..." she murmured, her voice thick and small. She tried to shift, but the effort brought a sharp, familiar cramp that made her breath hitch.
"Stay," he commanded softly, his palm moving to her forehead to check her body temperature. "I'll get you some warm water."
"Brown sugar ginger tea, please." she added.
Tang Zhisong paused. He had educated himself on feminine health since their last incident. "Not feeling well?""Mhm. A visit from a 'relative'." she replied.
He calculated the timing—it was about right. "Don't move, I'll make it."
After the tea and another nap, Jiang Bin finally felt human again. The heavy, dragging feeling in her stomach had settled into a dull ache she could ignore. She swapped her silk robe for an oversized pullover and some soft leggings, pulling her hair up into a messy knot.
She wandered out into the living area, following the low, rhythmic clicking of a keyboard. She found Tang Zhisong sitting on a tall stool, working at the kitchen island. He’d pushed his laptop to one side to make room for a mug of half-finished coffee, his usual sharp sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows. She wondered if he was trying to stay close.
He glanced up as she approached, his eyes softening. He didn't say anything, but he moved his cup over to give her more space to lean against the counter.
Jiang Bin lingered for a second, then, feeling a bit bold, she looped her arms around his waist from behind. She pressed her face into the space between his shoulder blades, breathing in the scent of familiar pine and warm skin.
Tang Zhisong’s typing stopped instantly. He sat still for a heartbeat, surprised, before he leaned back, letting his back press firmly against her. He reached back, his hand finding her arm and giving it a gentle, grounding squeeze.
"Feeling better?" he murmured, his voice low and casual.
"A little," she muttered into the warmth of his back, before shifting so she could rest her chin on his shoulder. She peered at the glow of his screen, which was covered in R&D progress reports and a long queue of pending approvals.
"Tomorrow is New Year’s Day. Are we going back to your parent's estate?"
Tang Zhisong tapped through a few more delegating memos, but his focus was clearly on her now. He didn't pull away; instead, he relaxed his shoulders, letting the steady pressure of her against him anchor him to the moment.
"We don't have to go if you’re not up for it. I can just tell Mom you’re still tired from the gala. She knows how much work you put in."
"No, it's fine," she said, her voice dropping to a comfortable mumble. "Your Mom hasn't seen you in a while."
Tang Zhisong nodded before turning his head slightly, his cheek brushing against her temple. "Don't force yourself if you're uncomfortable. But if you’re sure, I’ll let her know we’re coming."
"I'm sure." she smiled.
She didn't let go. She just stood there, anchored to him, watching the cursor blink on the screen. The low hum of the refrigerator filled the silence between them, the only sound in the kitchen as she rested against him.
* * *Later that evening, Jiang Bin’s phone buzzed. It was New Year’s Eve, and Shanghai was alive with energy. Her friend Zhou Zhou messaged her: [Binbin, come to the bar tonight. Jake is performing—it’s going to be explosive. Don't miss it.]
Jake had been her mentor when she first started drumming. It had been her outlet for grief after her grandparents passed away.
[Okay.] she replied.
[Should we have President Tang make an appearance?] Zhou Zhou asked. [To crush those rumors?]
Jiang Bin looked at the man working silently at the island. They were living together, sleeping together, and yet their social circles were two parallel lines. If they were going to make this marriage work, they needed to integrate their lives. But between inconveniencing herself and inconveniencing Tang Zhisong... she chose the latter.
She got up from the velvet couch and walked over.
"Tang Zhisong, I'm going to my friend's bar tonight." She said, leaning against the marble island.
He looked up, a frown deepening his brow. "You're not well. You should be in bed."
"I'm fine now. The medicine worked."
Tang Zhisong tried to be patient. "It’s loud, chaotic, and the air is terrible. You’ll feel worse."Jiang Bin didn't argue. She simply looked at him. Without her makeup, she looked stripped of her sharp "President Jiang" persona—looking incredibly vulnerable and soft. Tang Zhisong felt his resolve wavering. Had she been in a suit, he could have argued rationally. Like this, she looked as though he were bullying her.
He stood up, closing the distance between them. "You just took medicine. How about just going tomorrow?""You're coming with me," she said, her voice a calm command.
Tang Zhisong stiffened. "I don't go to bars."
"Why?"
"They're noisy, messy, and... complicated." He meant he didn't like being targeted by women or ending up in the tabloids. But today was different; she was with him.
"Truly not going?"
"No." He was a man of principle. He wouldn't indulge her when her health was at risk.
But Jiang Bin was equally stubborn. Without warning, she rose on her tiptoes. Her lips brushed against his sharp, pulsing Adam's apple—a touch so brief it was almost a hallucination, yet it sent a jolt of heat through him.
She settled back onto her heels, her eyes locking onto his with a defiant glimmer. "Don't you want to see where I usually play the drums?"
Tang Zhisong: "..."
Chapter Notes:
- "Washing his hands to make soup" (洗手做羹汤): A Chinese idiom that represents a profound shift in a person's priorities, specifically moving from a position of power, status, or "the outside world" into the domestic, private sphere of the home.
- "Aunt's/Relative's Visit" (亲戚造访): A common Chinese euphemism for a woman's menstrual cycle.
- Brown Sugar Ginger Tea (红糖姜茶): A traditional Chinese remedy believed to warm the body and alleviate menstrual cramps.
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