“This is all for the banquet?” He moved further into the house, toward his mother. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

“I thought it would be nice. Your father has been wanting to show off for a few years, anyway.”

“Ba, show off?” The thought made him incredulous. “What does he need to show off for?”

Laoma gave him another smile—one that was almost warm. She reached up and patted him on the shoulder. “He’s proud of you, A-Yu. He doesn’t show it, but he’s happy you’re back.”

Keep your mouth shut, Xingyu. “I didn’t know he was capable of being happy.”

The humor disappeared from Laoma’s eyes. For a moment, Xingyu thought she might scold him for what he said. But then: “Yes, you’re probably right. But he is pleased.”

“Did he ever consider Xiao-Xiao his heir?”

There was a stutter in the decorator’s movements next to them. Laoma noticed it at the same time that Xingyu did and they reached a silent agreement: move elsewhere. They walked together toward the family room, where the decorators had already finished with their work. “Don’t ask such questions around other people. No matter how discreet they promise to be.”

“You’re right.” Xingyu bowed his head. “That was my mistake.”

Laoma just looked at him.

“So…”

“Whatever my answer is, will you tell Xiaokai?”

Xingyu hadn’t even thought about it, but now that he did—would any answer make him happy? Telling Xiao-Xiao that Ba considered him the heir after Xingyu left would just be a slap in the face, because Ba had taken that away as soon as Xingyu returned. But on the other side, if Xiao-Xiao had never been the heir, that would probably sting even worse—that even in Xingyu’s absence, even if he’d left with no intent to return, Xiao-Xiao was still not good enough. “I won’t tell him,” he said, “no matter the answer.”

“Fine. Then you should know that your father never considered him the heir. You’re the only one.”

Xingyu let out his breath. “But Ba had no reason to believe that I would return. He would have kept refusing him the position, even if I never came back?”