The Unsigned Paper and the Seven Rules

What happened yesterday still feels like a heavy weight in my chest. Thinking about it now is like having swallowed a piece of undercooked niangao (sticky rice cake)—it’s stuck there, and I can’t gulp it down or spit it out.

My boyfriend, Ajie, and I have been together for over three years. Our relationship has always been solid. He’s a down-to-earth guy—not one for sweet talk, but he treats me wonderfully. We agreed to go register our marriage yesterday. I specifically took a day off work, woke up at 6:00 AM to wash my hair and do my makeup, and spent ages picking out an outfit before finally settling on the pale pink dress he likes best.

When we arrived at the Civil Affairs Bureau, good heavens, the line was so long I thought people were lining up for Chunyun (Spring Festival) train tickets. The queue snaked around the corner, packed with people. We joined the end of the line, feeling optimistic at first. We figured it was just a wait, and we’d hang in there.

But after nearly two hours, we’d barely budged. Suddenly, a staff member came out with a megaphone, announcing that all the appointment numbers for the day had been handed out. Everyone else could go home and come back another day.

I was stunned. I looked at Ajie, who was also a bit dazed. We stood there face-to-face, a wave of inexplicable disappointment washing over us. Ajie put his arm around my shoulder and said, "It’s okay, a few more days won't make a difference. Let’s just come back early next Monday." I nodded. Though I felt a bit stifled, I knew he was right—you can’t rush these things.

We went back to his place. As we walked in, my "to-be" mother-in-law was sitting on the sofa watching TV. The moment she saw us, her eyes lit up like searchlights. I’ll never forget that look—intense and expectant.

"Is it done? Quick, let me see the certificates!" she said, standing up with a face full of anticipation.

Before I could say a word, Ajie blurted out carelessly, "We didn't get them. There were too many people; we couldn't get a spot."

I thought that would be the end of it. It’s not a big deal, right? We’d just go back in a few days. But the smile on her face froze instantly. The change was so drastic it was like a phone battery dying—the screen just went black.

She didn’t snap at Ajie, though. Instead, she shot me a look. It was a complex gaze, hard to describe, but it made me feel deeply uncomfortable. Then she turned around, went into her room, and shut the door.

I assumed she was just disappointed—a natural reaction—and didn't think much more of it. Ajie even teased me, saying, "Mom’s probably more anxious to hold a grandson than we are to get married." I gave him a playful shove and laughed.

But by evening, the vibe shifted completely.

While Ajie and I were in the living room eating fruit and watching TV, his mother emerged from her room holding a small notebook. Yes, you read that right—a notebook, like she had specifically drafted a list.

She sat down across from me, cleared her throat, and said something that I still haven't quite recovered from:

"Since you two registered today, you are now a proper husband and wife. As a mother, there are some things I need to say upfront. This is for your own good."

Ajie and I looked at each other. I was just about to say, "Auntie, we didn't actually get the certificates," and Ajie opened his mouth to explain too, but she didn’t give us a chance. She flipped open her notebook and began reading, point by point.

I was floored. My head was literally spinning.

Rule One was about the Caili (Bride Price). "You know the customs around here. We provided 88,000 yuan as the bride price. This money is for you both, but I have to be clear about how it's used. It can't be spent recklessly; it must be saved for your future life together. Xiaofei [my name], for your Peijia (Dowry), it should technically be appliances or a car. Your family can decide, but it should at least match the value of the bride price, otherwise, it won't look good to the neighbors."

As I heard this, I squeezed the apple in my hand so hard the juice started to run. We hadn't even registered yet, and here she was dictating the allocation of the bride price and dowry. These things had never been discussed with me before; suddenly, they were "requirements."

Then she flipped the page to Rule Two.

"Regarding daily living expenses: from now on, you will each contribute 2,000 yuan a month to me. I will manage the household funds. Young people don't know how to live frugally; you’re too loose with money and can’t save. I’ll save it for you to use on major life events later."

Two thousand each? How much do we even make? Ajie is a designer at a renovation company and brings home a bit over 6,000, while I work as a receptionist at an education center for about 4,000. Our rent and utilities already cost nearly 3,000. If we hand over another 4,000, are we supposed to live on air?

I looked at Ajie, hoping he’d say something. But he just sat there with his head down, like a schoolboy being scolded, silent as a grave. My heart sank, and a chill ran down my spine.

His mother didn't notice my expression—or perhaps she just didn't care. She continued to Rule Three: Housework.

"Xiaofei, you need to learn how to cook. Ajie hasn't stepped foot in a kitchen since he was a child; he doesn't know how to do any of that. You should come home early after work to cook. Don't always order takeout; it's dirty and a waste of money. Also, you're responsible for the laundry. You know how to wash Ajie's clothes, right? Separate the darks and lights, and his shirts must be ironed. Don't ruin them."

By this point, I didn't know what expression to make. I couldn't laugh, and crying felt like an overreaction. It was just an absurd sensation, like watching a play that had nothing to do with me, yet the character on stage was undeniably myself.

"Rule Four is the most important." Her voice rose half a pitch, her expression turning stern. "Since you’ve registered, you're a proper couple. The... baby situation needs to be prioritized. While I’m still healthy, I can help you raise the child. It’s best to conceive next year so you can give birth the year after. I’m telling you, it’s harder for a woman to give birth once she’s past twenty-eight, and recovery is slower. Xiaofei, you’re twenty-six this year; you can’t delay anymore."

Conceive next year, give birth the year after—her timeline was more precise than a project manager’s. I wondered if she’d already planned the child’s name, kindergarten, and extracurricular classes.

Rule Five was about the house. "It’s fine to rent for now, but not forever. When the time comes, both families need to pool money for a down payment. His father and I can provide 200,000 yuan, and your family needs to contribute a portion too. You’ll handle the mortgage yourselves; don't count on us. We’ll discuss whose name goes on the deed later, but since our family is contributing more to the down payment, that needs to be clear."

Rule Six: Lunar New Year. "From now on, New Year's Eve must be spent at our house. That's the rule. You can go back to your parents' house on the second day of the New Year—I have no objection to that. But New Year’s Eve and the first day must be with the husband’s family. That’s the laoli (old tradition), and it cannot be broken."

Rule Seven: The sister-in-law. "Ajie’s younger sister is still in university. As her older brother and sister-in-law, you need to look out for her. When she graduates and looks for a job or a partner, you must help out. He is her only brother; if you don't take care of her, who will?"

I couldn't listen anymore. It wasn't just anger; it was a profound sense of powerlessness. It felt as though my life, my marriage, and my next several decades had been mapped out by her in ten minutes. I was merely an executor of her plan, without even the right to an opinion.

After she finished, she snapped the notebook shut and looked at me, waiting for my reaction.

Ajie finally spoke, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear. He said, "Mom, isn't all this... a bit rushed? We just..."

"Rushed? What's rushed?" she interrupted. "You’ve registered the marriage; we’re one family now. Family shouldn't speak like outsiders. It's better to clear these things up early. Should we wait until you're already married to start bickering?"

She looked back at me, her tone softening just a fraction: "Xiaofei, don't overthink it. I’m not trying to make things hard for you. These are just the normal rules for getting married around here. Which family isn't like this? I’m doing this for your own good—I don’t want you taking the long way around."

For your own good. Those four words felt so heavy I couldn't breathe.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "Auntie, thank you for thinking so much for us. But..."

The moment I said "but," her face changed. The shift was instantaneous, like a performer in a Sichuan Bian Lian (face-changing) opera. Her pleasant demeanor vanished, replaced by a dark scowl.

"But what? Xiaofei, do you think I’m being unreasonable? I’m telling you, not a single one of these requests is over the line. Go ask around—which family doesn't marry a daughter-in-law this way? If you think it’s not okay, then let’s have a real talk about it right now."

Ajie finally couldn't sit still. He said, "Mom, don't be like this. Xiaofei didn't mean it that way."

"Then what did she mean?" She glared at me with a scrutinizing look I’d never seen before. "Xiaofei, tell me the truth. Are you even planning to build a proper life with us?"

That was a heavy accusation. My eyes welled up, but I bit my lip to keep the tears back. I said, "Auntie, I truly want to build a life with Ajie. But regarding what you said... shouldn't we discuss these things together? And there's something I need to make clear..."

Before I could finish, Ajie stood up abruptly and grabbed my hand. "Mom, we didn't actually get the certificates today. The line was too long. We aren't legally married yet. Can we wait until we actually register before discussing these requirements?"

The air went silent.

His mother froze. She looked at Ajie, then at me. Her mouth opened, but no words came out for a long time.

It was incredibly awkward. She was still clutching that notebook. Her expression shifted from stern to shocked, and then to something I can’t quite describe. Maybe... humiliated fury? It was the look of someone who had just finished a grand performance only to realize they were in the wrong theater—the embarrassment of "I've said all this and only now you tell me you didn't register?"

She was quiet for a while, then muttered, "You didn't get them... why didn't you say so earlier?"

I thought to myself: You didn't exactly give us a chance. From the moment we walked in, she had been lecturing us for fifteen minutes straight without letting us get a word in edgewise.

But she didn't give us an opening to explain. She turned, went back into her room, and slammed the door. The sound was louder than before—you could hear the resentment in it.

Only Ajie and I were left in the living room. The TV was still playing a variety show; the canned laughter felt completely jarring against the heavy atmosphere.

Ajie sat back on the sofa, head in his hands, and whispered, "I'm sorry, Xiaofei. My mom... she's just like that. Don't take it to heart."

I didn't say anything. Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't know what to say.

I went back to my own place that night. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, my mind filled with the image of her face and the tone of her voice as she read those seven rules.

I kept asking myself one question: If we had actually registered that day, would those requirements have become "the law" I was forced to accept? Just because I signed that paper with her son, would I have to shoulder all the housework, give birth on a schedule, hand over my entire salary, give up visiting my parents on New Year's, and act as a surrogate mother to his sister?

By what right?

I'm not saying things can't be negotiated. I’m not saying I'm unwilling to contribute. Marriage is about two people and two families; it requires mutual compromise and understanding—I get that. But the problem was, she wasn't negotiating. She was notifying. She was unilaterally telling me how I should be and what I must do.

What hurts most isn't the requirements themselves, but her attitude—as if by marrying into their family, I am simply there to adapt to their rules, rather than us building a new family together.

Ajie’s attitude also leaves me cold. He was silent almost the entire time. His only contributions were "don't be like this" or "don't do that." There wasn't a single firm statement standing up for me. I know he's caught in the middle, but what I fear most in a marriage is this kind of "mud-mixing" (he xixi)—refusing to take a stand to keep a superficial peace.

If he just puts his head down and stays silent every time his mother makes a demand in the future, where does that leave me? Am I building a life with him, or with his mother?

I went to work today with dark circles under my eyes. A colleague asked what was wrong, and I just said I didn't sleep well. It's not the kind of thing you can easily share—as the saying goes, "Family scandals shouldn't be aired in public."

Ajie sent me several WeChat messages. First apologizing, then saying he talked to his mom and she "didn't mean it that way," telling me not to overthink it.

Didn't mean it that way? Then what way did she mean it?

I replied with one question: "What do you think about your mother's requirements?"

He took a long time to reply. Just one sentence: "We’ll just live our own lives; just listen to half of what my mom says and throw the other half away."

Listen to half and throw away the other half. Easy to say. With his mother’s level of control, will he really be able to "throw it away" when the time comes?

I’m torn right now. Three years of feelings aren't fake, and Ajie’s kindness to me is real. But the thought of those seven rules in that notebook and the "it's for your own good" look on her face makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

People say you don't just marry a person; you marry a family. I didn't believe it before, but I do now.

This isn't over. I know his mother is likely unhappy too, thinking I’m ungrateful or that I have "too much attitude" before even joining the family. Ajie is stuck in the middle, suffering.

But I have my bottom line. I can yield, I can compromise, but I cannot retreat without a limit. Marriage is between two people; it is not one person’s arrangement for another.

If there isn't even basic respect, what's the point of that marriage certificate?

Thinking back, maybe the fact that we couldn't get a spot in line was a sign from above. It gave me a chance to see things clearly and think them through before I put pen to paper.

Some things are far more important than a piece of paper.