When Junyi was invited by Ying Yin to be her bridesmaid, her reaction was an absolute, monumental refusal mixed with sheer panic.
It was obvious – Ying Yin and Shang Shao’s wedding was going to be the wedding of the century. All the big shots would be there: the richest of the rich, the most powerful of the powerful – tycoons and dignitaries, every last one of them a big man. And here she was, little Junyi, a small-town girl from a nowhere backwater who scraped her way out through exams, with a dim brain, zero emotional intelligence, and an English vocabulary that began and ended with “fihank yu and yu.” She stammered when nervous, her hand shook when toasting. Having her as a bridesmaid, accompanying the ceremony and toasting the guests the whole way through? That would be a disaster of epic proportions – the bigger the stage, the bigger the humiliation.
“No, no, no – I can’t do this…” Cheng Junyi turned to bolt, but Ying Yin grabbed her and refused to let go.
“Why can’t you?” Ying Yin was caught between laughter and tears. “You absolutely have to.”
“I have a scar on my shoulder…”
“Wear a dress with a collar – no strapless.”
“I can’t talk to people…”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“I-I-I-I can’t drink!”
“You don’t have to drink!”
“I’m ugly!”
“You’re not ugly!”
Junyi yanked at her hand desperately, on the verge of tears. “I’ve never been around high society – I’ll embarrass you!”
“How could you?” Ying Yin reminded her. “You’ve met so many big celebrities and big bosses. You’ve rolled your eyes at Song Shizhang, you’ve called Mr. Shang a pervert to his face – what are you afraid of!”
“Song Shizhang is just a small fry compared to them, and Mr. Shang was being magnanimous. What if my hand slips and I splash champagne all over the First Lady’s face?”
Ying Yin: “…”
Since when did she start rhyming?
Junyi finally managed to pull her hand free and rubbed her wrist. “See? I’ve scared you speechless.”
Ying Yin stared blankly for a moment. “Then… don’t hold any wine.”
Junyi still wanted to flee, but Ying Yin grabbed the hem of her clothes. “Cheng Junyi! I don’t have that many friends!”
Ying Yin really didn’t have many friends. While she was pulling all-nighters on the set of Floating Flowers, her schoolmates and friends were stressing over monthly exams, final exams, and the college entrance exams. Childhood friendships can’t withstand the wear of time – drifting apart was inevitable. In the entertainment industry, she did have a few close friends here and there, but over the past thirteen years, some had turned against her over resource competition, some had faded away after leaving the industry, and some had proven to be two-faced with honeyed words and hidden daggers – making friends in this circle was no easier than panning for gold in rough seas. After all the twists and turns, the only one who had stayed by her side through it all was Junyi.
Junyi was stunned by her words. She stopped in her tracks, turned around, and looked at her with a face full of grievance.
“Junyi, when other people get married, they have a whole big squad of bridesmaids. I don’t. But friends are about quality, not quantity.” Ying Yin pressed her lips together and smiled at her. “Don’t you think?”
“I’m just your little assistant. Having your assistant walk you down the aisle – that’s embarrassing for you.”
“I see.” Ying Yin looked thoughtful. “In that case, how about I fire you starting today?”
Junyi: “…”
Ying Yin wrapped her arms around her and gave her a hug. “I only want you and Tiwen to be my bridesmaids. I’ll leave the rest to Tanya. When the groom’s party comes to pick me up, you guard the door and make Shang Shao give you a big red envelope – a hundred thousand, at least.”
Junyi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her words.
“Come pick out the dresses with me. Tanya says the bridesmaids get couture too -aren’t you excited?”
No girl could resist a beautiful dress, but still… Junyi couldn’t help asking, “Who’s Tanya again?”
Ying Yin was at the end of her rope. “…It’s Wen Youyi!”
…
The wedding preparations moved at a frantic pace. There were professional PR and media companies, event planning and execution firms, and an entire team responsible for contacting people, confirming schedules, and delivering invitations – nearly three hundred people spent four months revolving around this single event, with Wen Youyi serving as the supreme coordinator.
This was a completely different scale from organizing a charity gala. Wen Youyi was meticulous about every detail, so for the full four months, she operated like a general commanding a military campaign.
Although the Shang family had always kept a low profile, low-key didn’t mean unsociable. As the wedding of the eldest son and heir, the guest list numbered over a thousand. There were only a handful of hotels in Hong Kong capable of hosting an event of this caliber. Wen Youyi had inspected the banquet halls, chapels, and outdoor lawns exhaustively, until Mingxian offered up Qili and commissioned a full-floor renovation and remodel – cost was clearly no object.
Wen Youyi had committed to memory every business connection and family tie among the thousand-plus guests – who had past grievances, who got along, who spoke the same language, whose religions were compatible. In a spacious hall at Deep Water Bay, the floor plan of the banquet tables was posted on the wall, with small round magnetic name tags arranged like pieces in a mysterious game of Go. She spent hours here each day, pondering and rearranging, just to seat every single guest in the optimal position.
Beyond that, every dish on the banquet menu was personally tasted and selected by Wen Youyi. She spared no effort: the balance of flavors – too rich, too light, too sweet, too sour – the mouthfeel, the texture upon entry, the order of service, the sourcing seasons and origins – everything had its considerations. No single wine could accompany an entire meal from start to finish, so there had to be separate wines for the cold dishes, the hot courses, and dessert; the main courses were divided into meat, seafood, and others. This meant six different wines for a single banquet, and to avoid any missteps, each table required dedicated staff for decanting and pouring. The order of pouring could imply favoritism, and making a guest wait more than thirty seconds would be a breach of etiquette – so each table of six needed three servers.
Though she oversaw every minute detail herself, Wen Youyi actually enjoyed it. But the part that brought her the most delight was just one thing – choosing Ying Yin’s wardrobe.
The robe for the night before, the morning robe for getting ready on the wedding day, the dragon-and-phoenix kwa for the tea ceremony when the groom came to pick up the bride, the dress for leaving the house and for group photos, the main wedding gown, the dresses for subsequent segments, the toasting dress… and the gowns for the bridal photos! Wen Youyi was absolutely over the moon!
Every couture house sent her lookbooks, along with hand-drawn illustrations of Ying Yin wearing their designs. Wen Youyi wasn’t satisfied with that – she wanted “Magic Ying Yin’s World Tour.”
The first stop of Magic Ying Yin’s world tour was Hong Kong, because Shang Shao didn’t have the time. Wen Youyi had no choice but to have several houses air-freight their gowns to Deep Water Bay.
This was also the first time Ying Yin had set foot in Wen Youyi’s villa where she kept her couture collection – or rather… a walk-in closet spanning over 1,500 square meters across four floors.
Every glass display case here was spotless. Only the most precious vintage pieces, or those that had recently won Wen Youyi’s favor, were granted a private vitrine, illuminated by pristine lighting that showed off every exquisite detail in gleaming clarity. The rest were merely crowded together on clothing racks – how else could you fit over two thousand layers of intricate, elaborate couture pieces?
The jewelry collection was displayed in freestanding pillar-style cases, with black velvet cushioning beneath and radiant lighting shimmering above.
It was less a walk-in closet and more a private museum.
Tiwen and Junyi had come along with her. The two of them made their way up the spiral staircase, progressing from shock to speechlessness, from wide-eyed wonder to glazed-over stares – completely numb by the time they reached the top.
“Auntie, can you actually remember where every single piece is?” Tiwen asked weakly.
“No need to remember. It’s like a library – there’s an indexing system organized by brand initials and year.” Wen Youyi replied. “Plus, there are printed lookbooks.”
Summoning her courage, Junyi also raised her hand and asked, “Then… do they ever get moth-eaten?”
She felt like she’d asked a stupid question as soon as the words left her mouth. But to her surprise, Wen Youyi turned her eyes toward her and smiled. “Of course, of course they do. No matter how well you care for them, sometimes things slip through the cracks. You have no idea how much it pains me when I find a moth hole in a gown.”
On the fourth floor, a spacious room was carpeted in thick, plush long-pile rugs, with mirrored walls on all four sides. Against the wall sat a mint-green French-style little sofa embroidered with gold-thread pink-and-yellow tulips; directly opposite was a white circular stepped platform leading into the fitting room beyond.
Three brands were scheduled to come today for dress try-ons, each allotted four hours. The first arrived promptly at nine in the morning.
A team of ten people, clad in black suits and white gloves, each carrying a large silver case handcuffed to their wrist, filed in single file through the garden path and were led upstairs by Xiao Lai. Junyi watched in astonishment as she saw that every case was locked to its handler’s wrist. Only after greeting Wen Youyi did they unlock the handcuffs with keys, and then another person rotated the combination locks on the cases.
When the cases opened and Junyi caught a glimpse of the dresses inside, she suddenly understood the elaborate security measures.
It was a stunning sleeveless slip gown, far beyond words – completely covered in diamonds, priced at fifty million, weighing forty catties, and transported by private jet, security-safe, and dedicated personnel.
Four attendants accompanied Ying Yin into the fitting room, because only with that many people could the dress be put on. The other gowns, once removed from their cases, were moved to the side and attended to by dedicated staff for steaming and pressing, awaiting their turn to be called upon.
“Is my cousin not coming?” Tiwen asked with a playful smile. She was looking forward to seeing Shang Shao’s reaction.
“He’s dealing with some things in the study,” Wen Youyi replied. “He should be on his way.”
Shang Shao had taken his leave from Shang Qingye in the study, cut through the tropical gardens and the flamingo island behind the house, and taken a shortcut to this villa. He went up to the fourth floor, and his gaze immediately sought out Ying Yin. When it didn’t find her, he turned to Wen Youyi. “Inside?”
It was fine November weather, with warm breezes. He wore a casual linen shirt and sat down on the arm of Wen Youyi’s tulip-embroidered sofa, looking more dashing than usual.
They chatted idly as they waited. After a moment, the curtain was drawn open by two attendants with a rustling sound. Everyone in the room looked up.
Shang Shao let out a light laugh first. “So shiny.”
Wen Youyi gave him a gentle smack.
Ying Yin had never worn a dress that was so literally valuable (both expensive and heavy), and she was already feeling a little self-conscious. At his teasing remark, her cheeks flushed slightly.
“Doesn’t look good?” she asked.
Shang Shao spoke plainly, “You look good in everything.”
“It’s so heavy,” Ying Yin said, lifting the hem. An attendant moved to help her, but Shang Shao was already at her side, taking both her hands in his.
He gave her a serious look and asked, “Do you like it?”
Ying Yin said, “It’s too sparkly. If I wear this out and the sun is as nice as it is today, it’ll be like an optical weapon.”
Everyone broke into laughter. The brand had sent over a PR person who spoke Chinese, and she laughed along as she introduced, “This is our brand’s most expensive dress – arguably one of the most expensive in the world. The entire gown is adorned with 2,198 diamonds, crafted with French embroidery techniques, complemented by natural mother-of-pearl, crystals, and pearls. The drape is exceptional – when you walk, it shimmers and flows like a mermaid’s tail.”
Ying Yin listened carefully, then looped her arms around Shang Shao’s shoulders and whispered in his ear. “Give me a hug.”
Shang Shao did as she asked, wrapping his arms around her.
“Is it scratchy?”
Shang Shao’s lips curved slightly upward, then he quickly suppressed the smile and gave a serious “Mm.”
“Then no,” Ying Yin said softly.
“It’s just one hour in a dress,” Shang Shao said, his gaze deep, his smile warm and low. “Can’t bear it for even an hour?”
Ying Yin held his gaze for a moment. “Fine, maybe.”
Just as she was about to speak, Shang Shao pressed a hand to the small of her back.
“I can’t bear it,” he admitted.
Wen Youyi had no idea what they were whispering about. She asked if the dress worked, and they answered in unison, “Not really.”
Wen Youyi was surprised. “Really? I thought it looked beautiful – and it has quite a commanding presence too.”
Still, this was Ying Yin’s gown after all, and since she didn’t like it, Wen Youyi invited the brand to bring out the next one.
Haute couture craftsmanship is intricate and lavish, but it’s also highly demanding of the wearer. If one’s physical attributes aren’t up to par, or if one lacks presence and charisma, even the most magnificent gown will make the wearer look timid and hunched – as if the clothes are wearing the person, rather than the other way around.
But Ying Yin had no such issue. She possessed the strongest star power, cultivated by over a decade in the spotlight, and she knew full well how beautiful she was. That pretentious modesty of being “beautiful but unaware” – she had no use for it. She had only the easy, relaxed confidence of someone long accustomed to her own beauty: acutely aware of it, and utterly indifferent to it.
They kept trying on dresses until sunset.
Ying Yin tried on every single one with seriousness, never complaining, never letting her poised and sweet demeanor slip for a moment. But only the attendants knew that before every curtain was drawn open, this female star, so accustomed to being the center of attention, would always take a deep breath. Her heart would always pound fiercely as she waited for Shang Shao’s first look at her.
She loved the way Shang Shao looked at her. The room would be full of gasps and admiring glances, camera shutters flickering from every angle – but he alone remained impassive, his gaze the deepest and most intense, tracing every inch of her in silence.
That look made Ying Yin’s heart tighten and her palms grow warm. And Shang Shao stayed there the entire day. Even with work piling up, using every waiting moment for meetings or phone calls, he never left for a second. During afternoon tea, Ying Yin wore only a bathrobe, and he lifted her onto the marble counter in the restroom, holding her in his arms.
He kissed her fiercely – one hand braced against the marble counter, pressing into the kiss with barely contained urgency, while the other hand turned on the faucet.
The rush of water echoed through the space – who could say it wasn’t a thinly veiled cover-up?
“Tired?” His nose brushed against the side of her neck, his kisses trailing down to her collarbone.
“Mm.” Ying Yin closed her eyes and let out a soft, languid hum, her slightly parted lips releasing a sigh of warmth.
The white bathrobe was thick but loose, slipping from her shoulders and arms like a flower having its petals peeled back from both sides.
The clink of cups and saucers on the balcony drifted in faintly through the half-open window. Ying Yin’s delicate brows drew tightly together. After a while, no one spoke anymore – they were wholly absorbed in their embrace and kisses.
They had spent the entire day trying on dresses – which meant waiting all day, and holding back all day. By the time they wrapped up at nightfall, Ying Yin’s limbs were completely exhausted. She soaked in the bathtub, her body opened and relaxed.
…
The bridal photo gowns could be tried on in Hong Kong, but the main wedding dress absolutely had to be personally designed and custom-made by a designer. Wen Youyi wanted Ying Yin to wear the one she loved most – the only one of its kind in the entire world.
She personally took Ying Yin to Paris and Milan to meet the renowned founders and designers of haute couture houses.
The trip was scheduled to be quite long, spanning two full weeks. In the first few days, they simply dined, had afternoon tea, and toured the ateliers. Each of these couture houses had its own unique design philosophy and treasured techniques; normally, any gown that could catch Wen Youyi’s eye would require no less than three months to create. But to secure Wen Youyi’s order, they were willing to compress their design timelines and craftsmanship commitments to the absolute limit.
There was no other reason – part of it was currying favor with this major couture client, and part of it was that whoever’s gown the actress wore down the wedding aisle would become the next most sought-after name among high-society ladies across Asia.
Ying Yin had long known how the fashion and glamour worlds fawned over the successful and trampled the less fortunate. But even so, when Haywrth herself heaped lavish praise on her, Ying Yin still found it a bit absurd. After all, Song Shizhang and she had been close – and when he’d asked Haywrth to block Ying Yin, she’d done so without hesitation. For people like these, the only value of a film queen was in driving sales – and there were plenty of actresses clamoring to be the ones to do just that.
“I’ve always felt that my personal style doesn’t quite align with your designs,” Ying Yin said tactfully.
Haywrth looked surprised. “You have worn my designs before?”
Having honed her craft in acting for so long, Ying Yin could always tell whether someone was putting on a show or being genuine. She could see that Haywrth was truly taken aback.
“At last year’s autumn/winter runway show, there was a champagne-colored dress that I was the first in the world to wear,” Ying Yin reminded her.
Haywrth called over her assistant, and the two of them conferred briefly before finding the confirmation post on their official Weibo account.
Ying Yin couldn’t help but laugh to herself. Clearly, Haywrth genuinely didn’t remember.
It was a small matter, but when she called Shang Shao that evening, he still picked up on some subtle shift in her mood.
“You’re unhappy?” Shang Shao asked after hearing the whole story.
Ying Yin shook her head. “Just a little tired of it all.”
She never expected that because of that one word – “tired” – Shang Shao’s private jet, which had been headed to Dubai, would turn around and return to Paris after landing.
He had gone to Africa for business negotiations and site inspections. He landed, checked into the hotel, his black coat still dusted with the weariness of travel. Having gotten word of their itinerary from Xiao Lai beforehand, and knowing they would be at the theater that evening, he waited at the hotel entrance.
The golden revolving doors spun endlessly. A black Bentley pulled up smoothly at the roundabout. Ying Yin stepped out of the car, froze for a moment, and without even bothering to close the door, ran over and threw herself into his arms.
She crashed into him with too much force – like a fierce little creature, urgently seeking shelter after feeling wronged.
Shang Shao held her tightly, his palm covering her hair. He kissed her ear first, then said to Wen Youyi, who had come up behind them. “Good evening, Xiao Wen.”
Wen Youyi stood still, handbag in both hands, and let out a helpless, resigned sigh along with a smile.
Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Ying Yin pulled back slightly from his embrace and asked, “Why did you suddenly come?”
In front of her mother, Shang Shao spoke what sounded very much like a lie. “Just happened to have business here.”
Wen Youyi didn’t believe a word of it, but Ying Yin trusted him completely. Once they were inside the room, however, he didn’t seem to have any business to attend to. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her for a while, then asked, “Have you been unhappy these past few days?”
“No,” Ying Yin answered obediently. “It’s been like a little vacation – Xiao Lai arranged everything very well.”
“Getting along alright with Xiao Wen?”
“Mm.” Ying Yin nodded, biting her lip. “I just missed you a little.”
“Just a little?” Shang Shao caressed her face, the lapels of his coat picking up the scent of her body.
Ying Yin had no choice but to stand on tiptoe, wrap her arms around him, and bring her lips to his ear.
“A lot. So much I can’t eat or think straight.”
How embarrassing – her cheeks were burning even before the words left her mouth.
She missed him in every way, inside and out – and Shang Shao filled her, in every way, inside and out, without a single gap.
Outside the window, the Eiffel Tower gleamed brightly against the night.
Shang Shao was actually exhausted – his biological clock was completely turned around. If you pulled out a single cell and asked it whether it was day or night, its answer would probably be all mixed up. He had quit smoking a long time ago, but tonight he lit one up for the first time in a while.
In the dim, opulent hotel room, every detail of the décor was shrouded in shadow, save for the glowing red ember of his cigarette. One hand loosely holding the white cigarette rested beside her, his head bowed as he attended to her.
Ying Yin couldn’t even last through the length of one cigarette, drawing a low, muffled laugh from him. He put the cigarette back between his lips, exhaling a stream of smoke while still chuckling.
He smoked about half of it before he couldn’t wait any longer. As he pressed down over her, he stubbed out the cigarette in one motion, his hands and his entire being turning serious.
When Ying Yin was already dazed and delirious from his torment, she finally heard him ask, “Does what happened with Haywrth really make you feel that weary?”
She hadn’t expected him to still be dwelling on that one word. “Mm,” she murmured, “it’s nothing important.”
The arm he had pillowed beneath her tightened slightly. “You’ll see a lot of that in the future.”
Her single word of weariness was enough to put him on high alert. He feared that she might sit on a high pedestal but not be happy, that she might wear fine robes but feel constrained – that her free and carefree heart, roasted and seared over the fire of gold and silver, might one day… might one day grow tired even of their marriage, immersed as it was in this world of fame and fortune.
“I’ll get used to it.”
“But I want you to be happy.”
Ying Yin slowly came to understanding, suspended somewhere between dream and wakefulness, and her body gave a slight shudder.
He was afraid for her.
Afraid that she wouldn’t be able to enter his world, that she wouldn’t be able to shoulder everything that came with it – or that she might flee at the last moment, or that when she looked back on this life in her old age, she wouldn’t see it as something romantic and precious, but would instead say, “Better to be a swallow in an ordinary home than a guest in the halls of the mighty.”
Ying Yin felt as if pricked by a needle. When she opened her eyes, they were clear and lucid.
“I’ve met so many designers these past few days,” she said, as if casually. “They all said I’m beautiful – the most memorable Asian star they’ve ever seen.”
Shang Shao let out a soft laugh. “That’s not flattery – it’s fact.”
“When we were shooting Angela, Mr. Ke played my grandfather in the third act and had to wear very elaborate aging makeup, so the makeup tests and finalization alone took a long time. Someone made a joke – said we should compare who would be more handsome in old age, Lulu or Ke Yu – so they dragged Lulu into it too.”
“And then?”
“And then they both got painted with very realistic aging makeup.”
As Ying Yin recalled it, she could still clearly picture the scene of Shang Lu and Ke Yu sitting face to face. Shang Lu was extremely nervous, almost wanting to flee the room, but in the end, they sat down across from each other. She had dismissed the makeup artist and assistants, and finally, she personally and gently closed the door behind them.
Before this little joke had even begun, she had asked Ke Yu a rather lowbrow question. “Will Shang Lu lose interest in you? – Even briefly?”
Ke Yu had turned the question back on her with such seriousness.
“Mr. Ke asked me, ‘Ying Yin, what is your definition of love? Fresh flesh? An eternally glamorous appearance? Never-fading beauty?'” Ying Yin tilted her face up. “In that moment, I felt like I’d been criticized by him.”
“And you? How did you answer?”
Ying Yin pursed her lips into a smile and took a deep breath. “I said, ‘You’re right – I certainly don’t count on finding a man who can still love me after I’ve lost my looks.'”
Shang Shao was taken aback. His eyes lowered, and he gazed at Ying Yin’s face for a long, deep moment.
“These past few days, the more I’ve been praised in every language and with every turn of phrase, the more I look in the mirror afterward and think of you. I’ll get old too. I’ll become ugly. Maybe my depression will come back, and I’ll sink into gloom. I’ll gain weight from hormones, my figure will go, my skin will lose its glow. Or maybe, because I’ve left the industry, heaven will no longer favor me – I won’t stay slim and delicate, I won’t measure up to those young girls, maybe not even to women my own age.”
Ying Yin took hold of Shang Shao’s arm and turned over in his embrace, lying on her back, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if seeing far into the distant future.
“Will there come a day when you walk through the door, and in that one instant, you suddenly notice a fact you’ve been overlooking all along – that the woman welcoming you home no longer looks the way she does in your memory? Her eyes aren’t bright and innocent anymore; her face looks puffy and worldly. In that moment of realization, you feel as though you’ve never really known her. A wave of revulsion surges up beyond your control, and you turn and walk away. I wouldn’t know what happened – or maybe I’d have a sense of it. But we’d both pretend that momentary rupture never occurred, sit at opposite ends of the long dinner table, and silently carry on with our days.”
“Ying Yin.” Shang Shao said her name seriously, his eyes narrowing slightly, his face completely expressionless.
“You’re angry,” Ying Yin stated flatly.
“I’m angry.”
“I’ve been afraid too.” Ying Yin turned over and sat up from beside his pillow, looking at Shang Shao, speaking each word deliberately. “I’ve been afraid too.”
A lifetime is very long – can it really withstand the wear of time?
A lifetime holds so many things – can two people truly cross the stormy seas together?
Perhaps in marriage, death isn’t the thing to fear. What’s truly frightening is the unbearably long, unbearably dull stretch of days.
Ying Yin knelt upright, her hands resting in front of her. “Shang Shao, when I look in the mirror, I’m scared to death.”
Her nose stung with emotion, but she fought hard to hold back her tears, managing a faint smile. Before she knew it, his hand pulled her wrist, and she tumbled into his arms without warning.
He held her in that position, clutching her tightly.
“I won’t,” he said, his voice held, every word clear: “No matter what you become, I won’t do what you imagine.”
Ying Yin bent at the waist, craning her neck – an awkward, tiring position – yet she yielded to it, wrapping her arms around him in return. “Are you angry, and frustrated, and sad, and aching for me all at once?”
“Yes.” Shang Shao didn’t hesitate.
“I feel the same.”
“The same about what?” Shang Shao frowned, momentarily confused.
“You’re afraid that after staying by my side for too long, I’ll grow weary of this dazzling yet hollow world you live in, and just go through the motions.”
“I…” Shang Shao’s voice caught. He couldn’t deny it. After a moment, he let out a low, wry chuckle.
“How did we go in such a big circle?”
His heart beat heavily in his chest – tightening, then loosening.
“You taught me,” Ying Yin blinked. “When making a point, lay out the facts, give examples, speak one sentence at a time without rushing.”
In truth, she had been afraid. But because it was him who would watch her grow old, growing old became something happy – something worth looking forward to.
…
From Paris, they traveled on to Milan. At the residence of a designer who had long been renowned and had almost semi-retired behind the scenes, Wen Youyi finally heard a remark that brought a knowing smile to her face.
“Ms. Ying is already beautiful enough on her own. Those ornate and elaborate gowns are certainly grand, but they’re like placing fresh flowers on embroidered silk – they add nothing to her beauty.”
The design he later provided was very simple: ivory taffeta, with a texture and luster like pearls. In terms of craftsmanship, it forsook the heavy techniques that couture houses favor – such as sculpted flowers, soldered beadwork, and dense embroidery – and only accented the bodice with antique lace and appliqué embroidery. Its emphasis lay in hand-pleating: whether the wavy off-the-shoulder draped folds, the gathered bud pleats at the waist, the wave pleats of the double-layered skirt, or the five-meter train – all were imbued with a light, airy, cloud-like fullness.
“Do you like it?” Wen Youyi asked, her eyes smiling.
Ying Yin covered her mouth, stifling her gasp of amazement behind her lips. When she looked at Wen Youyi, she hardly dared to blink.
Wen Youyi knew at once – she absolutely adored it.
“Shh,” she pressed a finger to her lips. “We won’t tell Ah Shao. On the wedding day, we’ll capture the look on his face when he can’t take his eyes off you. You’ll have plenty of days ahead to pull it out and tease him with it whenever you like.”
The custom order for the wedding gown was indeed painstakingly long. Those intricate pleating techniques were executed personally by the designer himself.
Only later did Ying Yin learn that this white-haired, lean and tall Italian was none other than Greta’s former design director – a national treasure of Italian design. Her wedding dress was his only complete work in the twenty years of the latter half of his life.
…
In January, the Hong Kong media – having caught wind of the news – kicked off the prelude to this wedding with the following report:
[A Grand Banquet of the Wealthy: The Wedding of the Century! Since the scion of Hong Kong’s elite family, Shang Shao, began dating mainland film star Ying Yin, the pair has drawn widespread attention. Recently, sources close to the couple have revealed the joyful news that their wedding is imminent. According to insiders, the wedding banquet will be held in March. To welcome this grand ceremony, Qili – the hotel managed by eldest daughter Monica – has gone to great lengths with a full renovation and refurbishment. Additionally, a passerby reported spotting a VIP-plated vehicle at the Marriage Registry on Cotton Tree Drive in Central, leading to speculation that the couple has already quietly obtained their marriage license.
The day before yesterday, Mrs. Shang – Wen Youyi – appeared at Liao Tai’s charity gala. Dressed in couture, she radiated elegance and charm. When pressed by the press, she responded as she always does, expressing her satisfaction with her eldest daughter-in-law and promising to use every resource at her disposal to give her the most magnificent wedding.
Coincidentally, at a new film premiere, director Shang Lu was repeatedly questioned by the press about his older brother’s nuptials, with even lead actor Ke Yu wearing a helpless smile beside him. Shang Lu, who has never been one to discuss his personal life, broke from tradition this time. Despite reporters’ attempts to bait him with tricky questions, he generously offered his affirmation and blessings, calling Ying Yin a rare and worthy match for his brother – his protective stance unmistakable.
Reporters have staked out both Chung Hom Kok and Deep Water Bay for days and have made extensive inquiries through multiple channels, but it seems the Shang family has once again upheld their tradition of tight-lipped discretion – no details regarding the wedding have yet been revealed. For more exclusive updates, stay tuned to #TodayEntertainment#.]
From that day on, the entire Chinese internet was waiting with bated breath.
