Chapter Four: A Paper Alliance
The heavy revolving door swung slowly shut behind them, locking into place with a solid thud. Inside the cavernous, warehouse-like hall, the lighting was pale and cold—desolate as solitary clouds adrift in a midnight sky. A banner with white characters on a red background hung on the wall, proclaiming "Serve the People." Rows of metal waiting-room chairs were divided into sections by steel railings, and clumps of dust had settled in the seams between the floor tiles. The air smelled of ink and aged wood, a mix that sent an involuntary chill up the spine.
Lin Mian halted in her tracks, her chest suddenly tight. She could hear her heart thudding in her ears, each beat as clear as a drum. Her breathing turned rough and rapid, and fine beads of sweat gathered on her forehead. She tugged at her sleeves, but her palms were already clammy. In the silence, the ticking of a clock on the opposite wall stretched unnaturally loud, and even the hum of an old printer nearby droned like thunder. She dropped her gaze, letting her lashes draw a thin veil over her eyes; at once the harsh world around her softened into a hazy blur.
Qin Zhao'an stood beside her, his tall form blending seamlessly into the cold, sterile surroundings. In the dim yellow glow, the austere lines of his profile stood out sharply, every detail of his dark purple uniform clearly visible. His features were composed and remote—like a hermit watching distant clouds in a landscape painting—betraying not a hint of emotion. In the split second that Lin Mian met his gaze, a chill prickled down her spine. She realized his eyes were not large, yet they were jet-black and unfathomable, his lashes so long they looked as if dipped in ink. That deep, unblinking stare seemed to pierce straight through her. She quickly lowered her head, shrinking back; even her breath was quivering beyond her control.
As if from a great distance, Lin Mian heard a female official's calm voice: "According to the Provisional Resettlement Agreement for Border Personnel, Lin Mian must enter into a lawful marriage with a citizen of this country in order to complete formal registration and obtain state care and legal status. There is no other legal avenue." Each word landed with iron finality, brooking no argument.
Lin Mian's mind buzzed. Marriage… marriage… The word echoed as if ice water had been poured over her. The blood that had just surged in her chest now abruptly contracted with shock. In an instant she understood the state's plan: she was to become another pawn, trading nothing more than a marriage certificate for legal status.
The official saw both of them lingering in silence and continued, "The agreement also stipulates that only by marrying a citizen can she enjoy equal rights in education, healthcare, and other systems. All of this has been arranged by the state to provide her a lawful path forward, in light of diplomatic and internal policy considerations."
Lin Mian listened to that cold explanation and felt her knees go weak. She swallowed hard and clenched her fingers, the sweat from her palms seeping into her sleeves. Beside her, Qin Zhao'an nonchalantly straightened the documents in his folder, still the picture of composure. But she could have sworn she saw a tiny furrow in his brow, a flicker of some deeply buried emotion in his eyes. It vanished in a blink, too fleeting to be sure it had been there at all.
Lin Mian raised her eyes and for a split second her gaze collided with Qin Zhao'an's before she quickly looked away. Without further comment, Qin Zhao'an turned to the director and said quietly, "We are ready. Please proceed with the next step." The director nodded and motioned for them to sit at the desk.
As she settled into her seat, Lin Mian's thoughts churned. Why, of all people, had they chosen him? Was there some arrangement behind the scenes that led to Qin Zhao'an being appointed as her partner in this charade? She cast a sideways glance at his profile. He appeared as calm as ever—only a faint trace of somberness between his brows hinted at any emotion at all, and even that was barely perceptible.
Spread open on the desk lay two thick, red-bound ledgers and several forms. One bore the title "Marriage Registration Book," and the other was headed "Foreign Personnel Identity Conversion Agreement." The director indicated the first ledger. "This is the marriage register—please sign under Lin Mian's name," she said, then gestured to the second document. "And this agreement outlines the terms of your marital arrangement, so please sign it as well." As she finished speaking, her eyes flicked toward Lin Mian. Every word she uttered seemed to press the very air around them down a little tighter.
Lin Mian felt as if a boulder were crushing her chest, her breaths growing labored despite her efforts to stay calm. She drew in a long breath and, with a trembling hand, picked up the black pen. The nib touched the paper with a faint scratch, a sound that ripped through the hush of the hall. Her thumb and forefinger were numb. Fighting that numbness, she steadied herself and signed her name on the line labeled "Wife." Each stroke of black ink was clear, though a subtle tremor warped the letters. As she wrote, her heart clenched—on this legal document, she had officially become his "wife." Her pulse thundered, as if proclaiming the sudden finality of that reality.
Qin Zhao'an lowered his head and signed his own name beneath hers, each pen stroke firm and crisp, as if cast in iron. Lin Mian set the pen down. A delicate tremor rolled from her palm up through her shoulders, and a chill of sweat crept down her spine. Overhead, the fluorescent lamp hummed softly. The air felt frozen in that moment; only the deep red of an official seal stood out against the page. Finally, the director picked up an ink stamp and pressed it onto the marriage register. "Marriage registration complete," she announced, her voice gentle and devoid of inflection.
Qin Zhao'an rose quietly to his feet and collected the signed documents. He cast a glance at Lin Mian, a nearly imperceptible hint of relief flickering in his eyes. Lin Mian managed to lift the corners of her mouth in a faint, unfamiliar smile. The scent of fresh ink mingled with the tang of her sweat. Only now did she realize that every deep breath she'd taken earlier had been an instinctive act of resistance—and that now, at long last, she found herself craving a moment of calm.
A faint sound—perhaps the soft thud of a closing window or footsteps echoing in the corridor—pulled her back to reality. Qin Zhao'an had turned to hand a stack of documents to an officer behind him, murmuring a few low words. Lin Mian sat up straighter and accepted the copy of the contract that a staff member passed to her. The cover was emblazoned with the words Foreign Personnel Identity Conversion Agreement. She adjusted her glasses, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the thick pages. Under the bright light, she flipped to the last few pages and her face fell: page after page of dense fine print that bound their nominal marriage tightly together.
In that stark light, one line of text caught her eye and made her heart sink. The agreement classified her as "foreign personnel" — even though Qin Zhao'an was a citizen of this country. She pored over the tiny clauses until one sentence locked around her like a cold shackle: "Without approval from the National Defense Committee, Lin Mian shall not leave the place of registration." The harsh words made her breath catch; each word felt as if it branded itself into her skin, resounding in her ears.
At that moment, Lin Mian felt as if she were plunging into deep water. A cold, crushing pressure gripped her chest, and her blood nearly stopped in her veins. She tore her eyes away and stared out the window. Summer sunlight filtered through iron bars, casting mottled shadows across the ground. The floor looked as cold as ice—the pattern of light and dark like an invisible chain locking her in place. When she glanced back, Qin Zhao'an was calmly gathering up the last of the paperwork. His face was impassive, not the slightest ripple of emotion to be seen. Only the subtle downward press of his fingertips on the documents suggested he was tamping down a swell of feeling.
Lin Mian sagged against the chair, a trickle of cold sweat rolling down her forehead. She closed her eyes for a few seconds. All the sounds of the hall had fallen away; only the roar of blood in her ears remained. She clutched the red-bound contract in her hands, her fingertips pressed against its chilly terms—line after line of silent text trapped between her fingers. Something as commonplace as marriage had, in this moment, become unfamiliar and cold. She knew that this contract was nothing more than a title on paper, yet it weighed heavily on her heart, laden with endless questions and a faint sense of resistance. The game had only just begun.