The Grand Festive Banquet

The air conditioning in the reception hall was blasting, yet the sweat on Wu Feng’s back had completely soaked through his custom-made navy-blue suit. He glanced at his Rolex: 11:40 AM. There were twenty minutes left before the ceremonies on both floors officially began. "Wu Feng! Where the hell are you? The photographer is waiting to shoot the groom receiving the bouquet!" An anxious voice—one of the groomsmen—barked through the walkie-talkie from the ground floor. "Be right there. Upset stomach—I'm in the restroom!" Wu Feng hissed back, tearing off his bright red tie and stuffing it into his inner suit pocket. He was standing in a secluded stairwell connecting the second floor to the first; the heavy fire door muffled most of the commotion outside, making the dead silence of the stairwell feel all the more oppressive. Wu Feng’s breathing was ragged and uneven, his chest heaving violently. He slumped against the cold wall, gasping for air, but the chill against his skin did nothing to quell the surging anxiety within him. His hands were trembling so badly that it took him three tries just to unzip his leather satchel. "Damn it... damn it..." He cursed under his breath, his cold fingertips rummaging frantically inside the bag until they locked onto a gold brooch—a "Qilin Delivering a Son" design. The sharp metal edge pricked his skin, yet the sting brought a moment of clarity to his frayed nerves. Upstairs was his son’s hundred-day banquet, with relatives watching; he had to wear this trinket that symbolized a doting father. But downstairs was Xiao Wu’s wedding; if he went down wearing it, it would be like lighting a stick of dynamite under his own feet. Wu Feng swallowed hard; his throat felt as dry and gritty as if he had swallowed sand. He strained to listen for footsteps in the stairwell outside—terrified someone might suddenly burst through the door—while fumbling to pin the brooch onto his left lapel. His fingers were trembling uncontrollably, and the sharp pin accidentally jabbed deep into the web between his fingers, sending a jolt of excruciating pain through his hand. He gasped at the sting; there was no time to wipe away the bead of blood that welled up—he merely gave his hand a hasty, careless rub against his dress trousers. The ceremonies at both venues were starting simultaneously. Twenty minutes—he had only twenty minutes. He had lived thirty-six years and prided himself on his adroitness in the cutthroat business world, yet in this moment, he felt like a prisoner dancing on a tightrope over an unfathomable abyss. He had to smile; he had to hold it together. If he could just get through today—if he could just make it through today... Wu Feng squeezed his eyes shut, forcibly burying all his terror and panic deep within. When he opened them again, he tugged at the corners of his stiff mouth, flashing a perfect, hollow smile at the cold, motion-activated light in the stairwell. Down in the first-floor lobby, a banner read: "Best Wishes for the Wedding of Mr. Wu Feng and Ms. Kong." That was "Number Five"—a twenty-four-year-old recent college graduate who was convinced she had married the city's most devoted young tycoon. Up in the second-floor banquet hall, a balloon arch proclaimed: "A Resounding Success for the Hundred-Day Celebration of Wu Feng’s Eldest Son." That was "Number Four," cradling their month-old son. Beside her lay a copy of the marriage certificate they had obtained just three days prior, and she was busy showing off the school-district apartment Wu Feng had bought outright for her family in Qingshui Bay. Wu Feng rubbed his stiff face, took a deep breath, and pushed open the main doors to the second-floor hall. Instantly, his face broke into the beaming smile of a doting father: "Come, come—my apologies, everyone! I had an urgent call from the office. Let me hold my eldest son!" He believed himself to be the city's ultimate master of time management. What he didn't know, however, was that two other women were sitting in a black sedan directly across from the restaurant at that very moment. The wife and the mistress sat side by side, staring coldly at the restaurant's main entrance. The black sedan’s engine was off; it sat motionless in the shade of the trees directly opposite the building. The windows were tightly sealed, muffling the deafening electronic celebratory firecrackers from the restaurant into a dull, heavy thudding—like the beat of a heart. The car’s air freshener had long since evaporated; the cabin held only the cool scent of leather in the air-conditioned chill and a deathly silence. Through the windshield, the restaurant’s massive LED screen displayed a slideshow of wedding photos featuring Wu Feng and Xiao Wu. Saturated red and gold light filtered through the tree branches, casting a flickering, dappled glow across the faces of the two women inside. The wife’s hands rested on the steering wheel. Her nails were neatly trimmed—unlike the bride’s elaborate French manicure—but her knuckles were white from the force of her grip. Gazing at Wu Feng’s beaming face on the screen, she felt none of the anger she had anticipated; instead, she felt a calm as still as stagnant water. Over a decade of youth and the toil of raising children—in this man’s eyes, it hadn't even been worth the cost of a cheap marriage certificate. She had once thought she would fight him to the bitter end, but now, she felt as though she were watching a farcical circus act, with the clown on stage stepping closer and closer to a trap they had dug with their own hands. "It’s twelve o'clock, Sister. The ceremony upstairs should be starting soon." The mistress’s voice from the passenger seat was soft, yet it shattered the silence of the car. She was leisurely filing her nails, the tool making a faint, rasping sound. She turned her head slightly, gazing through the window at the stream of wealthy, high-status guests arriving at the restaurant entrance. Over a year ago, when she discovered that this man had played her for a fool with his lie about being single—even leading her to buy a home at Qingshui Bay while bearing the stigma of being "the other woman"—she had wanted nothing more than to drag Wu Feng down to hell with her. But now, looking at the "original wife" beside her, she felt only a cold, steely resolve. Wu Feng thought he could toy with women using money and lies, believing they would only squabble jealously over him; today, however, they would show him through their actions just how clear-headed and lethal women can be when they unite after being wronged by him. "No rush; let him enjoy himself a little longer." The original wife slowly loosened her grip on the steering wheel, a faint, subtle curve touching the corners of her mouth. "The higher one climbs, the more shattered one becomes upon the fall." She reached out and gently pushed open the car door. A scorching wave of heat and the clamor of celebratory music instantly flooded the vehicle. The original wife and the "other woman" stepped out side by side; their high heels clicked steadily against the ground with every measured step. Silhouetted against the light and facing the glaring red celebratory banners, they walked unhurriedly toward the banquet hall entrance. Wu Feng had just finished posing for photos with a massive bouquet of nine hundred roses on the first floor. Using the excuse of "welcoming an important client at the entrance," he slipped away up the back staircase to the second floor to toast the relatives of his "number four" mistress. He had calculated every second with precision, even going so far as to dictate the order in which dishes were served on both floors. Down at the first-floor wedding reception, the bridesmaid for his "number five" mistress went to urge the head chef to serve the final dessert—a dish symbolizing a harmonious, lifelong union. Because the kitchen was in a frenzy, a waiter mistakenly handed the bridesmaid a red envelope intended for the "baby's hundred-day celebration" banquet upstairs. She opened it to find not only a cash gift but also a card bearing a striking message: "Congratulations to Wu Feng and Lin [Mistress #4] on the birth of a son; may the firstborn grow up healthy and strong." The bridesmaid was dumbfounded. She walked back to the ground-floor lobby clutching the red envelope just as the wedding march began to play; Xiao Wu, dressed in a pristine white gown, was walking toward the stage with her arm linked in her father’s. A bridesmaid tugged at Xiao Wu, trembling: "Sis... don't go up there yet—look at this. Wu Feng... it looks like he's having a son up on the second floor." Xiao Wu’s face turned deathly pale in an instant, and she violently tore off her veil. At that very moment, at the top of the second-floor staircase, the legal wife and the mistress—arms linked and clicking along in high heels—finally strolled unhurriedly into the banquet hall...