The wedding was small, but it felt vast.
Forty guests in a private garden nestled in the hills outside the city. Spring had arrived early that year, and cherry blossoms drifted like soft pink snow, catching in hair and on shoulders, as if the sky itself was celebrating.
Wanyin had fought for simple. No hundred-table banquet. No media. No spectacle.
Ye Beichen had wanted whatever made her happy.
Madam Ye, in her final years, had wanted tradition.
They met in the middle.
The tea ceremony was held at dawn in a small pavilion overlooking the valley. Wanyin wore a red qipao, gold embroidery of phoenix and dragon winding across the silk. Her hair was pinned with jade combs—Madam Ye's gift, delivered the week before with a note in shaking handwriting: For the woman who proved me wrong.
Ye Beichen wore a matching red tang suit. He bowed deeply to her parents, to Madam Ye (who watched from a wheelchair, eyes bright), to the ancestors' altar.
When he served tea to Wanyin's father—a quiet man who had flown in from a small town and still looked overwhelmed by the wealth around him—his voice was steady.
"I will protect her. Honor her. Love her all my days."
Wanyin's father nodded, eyes wet.
To her mother: "I will give her the home she deserves."
Her mother cried openly.
Madam Ye accepted her tea last.
Her hands trembled as she took the cup.
Ye Beichen knelt.
"Grandmother, thank you for teaching me strength. I will use it to make her happy."
Madam Ye looked at Wanyin.
"You have given him something I could not."
Wanyin bowed.
"I have given him what he gave me—permission to be human."
Madam Ye's eyes filled.
She reached out, touched Wanyin's cheek.
"Welcome, my daughter."
The Western ceremony followed at dusk.
Lanterns lined the garden path, glowing gold against the fading light.
Wanyin walked the aisle alone—no one to give her away, because she had given herself.
Her gown was white lace, sleeves long and delicate, neckline high. Simple. Elegant. The opposite of everything she had worn in boardrooms.
Ye Beichen waited at the altar.
When he saw her, his breath caught.
He didn't hide it.
The officiant spoke of love, choice, partnership.
Vows were their own.
Ye Beichen first.
"I waited three years to find you again. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret letting me in. I promise to see you—all of you—the brilliance, the fear, the strength, the softness. And to love every part, even when you try to hide it."
Wanyin's voice was steady, but her hands shook in his.
"I built walls higher than anyone could climb. You didn't climb them. You waited until I was ready to open the door. I promise to keep it open. To let you in when I'm strong, and when I'm breaking. To trust that you will hold me together. I promise to choose you, every day, for the rest of my life."
Rings.
Gold bands, engraved inside: Thirty days was only the beginning.
The kiss was long.
Guests applauded.
Quiet.
Intimate.
Dinner under the stars.
Round tables. Family style. Laughter.
Speeches.
Madam Ye stood last, supported by Ye Beichen.
Her voice carried, though softer now.
"I once believed love was weakness. That duty was strength."
She looked at them.
"I was wrong."
She raised her glass.
"To my grandson, who taught me courage. And to my granddaughter, who taught me grace."
Glasses clinked.
Tears fell freely.
Later, dancing.
The first dance was theirs alone.
Slow music.
Cherry blossoms falling.
He held her close.
"Mrs. Ye."
She smiled against his shoulder.
"Mr. Ye."
He pulled back.
"Happy?"
She looked at him, eyes shining.
"Terrified."
He laughed.
"Good."
She rested her head on his chest.
"But happy. So happy."
They danced until the stars came out.
Until the guests drifted away.
Until it was just them.
Under the blossoms.
Forever no longer a promise.
A reality.
Built from thirty days.
And a lifetime of choosing each other.