Since Fu Guiyin had decided to wear a wedding dress for her marriage, they naturally had to hold a Western-style wedding.
Fortunately, Shanghai had been an important city for East-West exchange since the beginning of the century, so it was easy enough to find an old Western church. From the priest and ceremony to the flowers and romance, everything could be arranged properly.
Early Thursday morning, Li Ye was hauled out of bed by Fu Guiru and brought to the Church of Our Lady in SJ District for the wedding.
As he watched Tang Zhiyu and Fu Guiyin, this pair of "newlyweds," exchange affectionate, lingering gazes as they recited their vows and traded rings, the admiration in his heart surged like a stinking gutter after a rainstorm—rushing onward in a violent current, thick with all sorts of private flavors.
And when the priest began reciting that classic Western wedding liturgy, Fu Guiru, Li Ye, and Fu Yiruo all found it hilariously funny.
The priest said, "If anyone knows of any reason why this marriage cannot proceed, speak now, or forever hold your peace."
It had to be said that Western "freedom" was displayed to its fullest at this moment.
If you knew some dirt on the bride or groom, you could say it now. If you did not want to say it, you could remain silent. It was entirely up to you.
The priest called out twice, but no one answered.
Only Fu Zhiman glared at Tang Zhiyu with fire shooting from his eyes, yet he did not dare oppose the wedding.
Because a middle-aged man stood beside him, tightly gripping his wrist.
"Xiao Man, don't be rash. Your mom has to find a man to rely on eventually. Besides, you no longer have the ability to fight back. Your