Madam Zhao 1

Madam Zhao 1

"What's going on here?"

I looked up.

The woman beside Nathan wasn't looking at Jessica. She wasn't looking at the scene or the floor or my hand pressed to my cheek.

She was looking at me.

"Halmoni," Nathan said quietly. "Give me a moment."

"I'm not in a hurry." Her English was precise, each word unhurried. Her eyes hadn't left my face. "Are you hurt, child?"

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm so sorry, I just lost my footing—"

"Lost your footing." She repeated it pleasantly. Looked down at the floor. Then back up at me. "On a flat surface."

Silence.

"It's been a long day," I said.

"Mm." She tilted her head slightly. "Nathan, help the girl up. She's had a long day."

Her eyes hadn't left my face.

I kept mine wide. Glassy. My hand trembling just slightly against my cheek. The sting was still there — at least that part was honest.

Nathan crouched in front of me. He extended his hand without a word.

I took it.

He pulled me up and I made sure to find my feet slowly, like someone still deciding if the ground was trustworthy. His grip was firm, one hand steadying my elbow, and for exactly one second his eyes met mine.

He knew.

I saw it immediately — that small, flat stillness behind his expression. The particular look of a man who had just watched a performance and recognized it for what it was and had decided, for reasons of his own, not to say so.

I looked away first.

"I'm so sorry," I said softly. To no one specific just to the room. "I didn't mean to — I'm fine, really, I just—" I stopped. Pressed my lips together like I was holding something back.

"Jessica." Nathan straightened. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

"It wasn't—" Jessica started. "She hung up on me and I was only—"

"We'll talk later."

"Mr. Kang I was simply trying to—"

"Later, Jessica."

The silence that followed had teeth.

I kept my eyes down and my hand against my cheek and said nothing, which was doing more work than anything I could have said out loud.

Madam Zhao stepped forward.

She stopped directly in front of me and I felt it — the full weight of her attention, unhurried, thorough, the way you examine something you're not sure about yet.

"Look at me," she said.

I looked up.

She studied my face for a long moment. The cheek. The eyes. The hand I was still holding there. Then she reached out — slowly, deliberately — and took my hand away from my cheek herself.

She looked at it. Turned my hand over once in her thin, dry fingers. Then released it.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"It's nothing," I said quietly.

"I didn't ask if it was nothing." Her eyes lifted to mine. "I asked if it hurts."

A beat.

"Yes," I said.

Something shifted in her face. Not softness exactly. More like a door opening one inch and no further.

"Mm." She turned. "Come and eat. You look like you haven't eaten properly in days." A pause, already moving toward the dining room. "And whoever hit you will not be joining us at the table."

Behind me I heard Jessica's sharp intake of breath.

I followed Madam Zhao and kept my face completely neutral.

Nathan fell into step beside me. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him. He didn't look at me.

But quietly, low enough that only I could hear, he said, "Interesting stumble. For a flat floor."

I said nothing.

The corner of his mouth moved. I gave him a side eye while keeping my face neutral.

….
The dining room stopped me at the door.

Not literally. But almost.

Dark walnut panelling from floor to ceiling. Candlelight that had no business being that flattering.

Tables spaced so far apart from each other that the conversations happening at them existed in completely separate worlds.

Crystal that caught the light and threw it back in pieces. Flowers I didn't know the name of arranged in low vases like someone had spent considerable time making them look effortless.

And me.

Standing at the entrance in a blouse I'd been cooking in for the past four hours, smelling like reduced stock and burnt pan, with flour I hadn't noticed until right now on the cuff of my left sleeve.

I look like someone the kitchen expelled.

I brushed the flour off quickly with two fingers. Smiled at the maître d' like I hadn't just done that.

He pulled out a chair and I sat down and unfolded my napkin, keeping my movements simple, acting like a woman who ate in places like this regularly and found them only mildly impressive.

Madam Zhao settled across from me, Nathan beside her, and picked up her menu without ceremony.

I picked up mine.

The font was small and elegant and the prices were not listed, which meant the prices were the kind of thing you weren't supposed to ask about.

A waiter appeared at Madam Zhao's elbow. She began ordering and I watched quietly, and then — before I could stop myself — I leaned forward slightly.

"Forgive me," I said. "But if you're having the bisque, the sodium content is quite high. The steamed sea bass is better — lighter on the joints, good collagen from the skin." I paused. "For your complexion especially. Whatever you're doing is already working but that dish would—"

Madam Zhao lowered her menu slowly and looked at me over the top of it.

I stopped talking.

"She'll have the sea bass," Nathan said to the waiter. Completely unbothered. Like I hadn't just interrupted his grandmother's dinner order.

Madam Zhao set her menu down. She looked at me for a long moment.

"Flattery," she said, "will get you nowhere with me."

"It isn't flattery," I said. "Your skin is genuinely remarkable for your age. The hydration alone suggests a discipline most people half your age don't have. I just didn't want the bisque undoing it."

Silence.

Then she picked up her wine glass. "Sea bass is fine," she said to no one in particular.

Nathan ordered. The waiter looked at me.

"Just water," I said. "Thank you."

Madam Zhao's eyes moved to me briefly. Back to her wine. She said nothing.

The restaurant hummed quietly around us. Someone laughed softly two tables away. A cork came out of a bottle somewhere behind me with a clean pop.

I sat very still and tried not to think about the fact that I smelled like a professional kitchen.

The food arrived.

Madam Zhao ate with the unhurried precision of someone who had never once eaten standing up. Nathan cut into his food without looking at it, eyes moving between his grandmother and his plate with the practiced ease of a man used to having difficult dinners and finishing them.

I moved my fork around.

"You're not eating," Madam Zhao said.

"I'm not very hungry." I smiled. "It's been a full day."

She looked at my untouched plate. Then at me. "Mm."