After the wedding ceremony ended, Jiang Zhuoye desperately wanted to rinse his mouth with disinfectant.
But he couldn’t leave the venue. He had to stand there with a champagne glass alongside Bo Yun and their families, letting photographers take pictures.
His brother stood beside him, finally letting out a heartfelt sigh.
“You really didn’t have it easy, little brother. Watching you go through all these procedures today broke my heart,” Jiang Xu said sincerely—before adding a very punchable follow-up. “But honestly? You and Bo Yun kissing actually looked pretty romantic.”
Jiang Zhuoye reached behind and pinched him hard, nearly ruining Jiang Xu’s expression control.
The wedding continued into the evening. Only once the banquet began—when guests swayed lightly to the music—did Jiang Zhuoye finally get a brief moment of freedom.
Bo Yun and Jiang Xu were busy socializing, exchanging pleasantries and jokes with guests under candlelight, accepting layers of hollow congratulations.
Jiang Zhuoye, the family’s second son who didn’t yet shoulder responsibilities—the so-called playboy among the two grooms—naturally ended up seated with his friends.
After an entire day, even he was exhausted. Slumped into an armchair, he tugged at his collar.
“I’m being strangled,” he muttered.
His friends all held champagne glasses, yet none of them drank. They exchanged glances.
“Getting married really isn’t easy,” Fang Chen sighed. “Watching this gives me marriage anxiety. Why is it so complicated? So many people, so many cameras—smiling all day makes your face go numb.”
“Tell me about it,” Jiang Zhuoye sneered.
He glanced toward Bo Yun not far away. Bo Yun was chatting with a middle-aged man Jiang Zhuoye recognized—one of the most influential figures in F Country’s media industry. They looked cheerful, clearly having a pleasant conversation.
Jiang Zhuoye clicked his tongue, looked away, and took another sip of champagne.
His friends could tell he wasn’t in a good mood and didn’t know how to comfort him.
Gu Qiangyun could only pat him on the shoulder sympathetically.
“Well, look on the bright side. You only have to endure three years. And now you’ve got marriage experience—next time you’ll be more composed.”
“Get lost.”
Jiang Zhuoye laughed in anger and kicked Gu Qiangyun.
Fang Chen swirled his champagne and looked toward Bo Yun again.
For some reason, he suddenly recalled how, months ago by the pool, they’d mocked Jiang Zhuoye for skipping straight to marriage without ever dating.
They’d laughed at his innocence—only to see it all sacrificed to Bo Yun.
He asked abruptly, “Hey—so you’ve got no experience, fine. But Bo Yun must’ve dated before marrying you, right? Men? Women?”
Jiang Zhuoye was caught off guard.
Bo Yun?
He searched his memory, frowned slightly, and realized he truly had no impression.
He shook his head and scoffed. “No idea. Never heard anything. That guy’s a workaholic like my brother—probably doesn’t even have time for a private life.”
Made sense. If he hadn’t dated, why should Bo Yun have?
“No way,” Fang Chen scoffed. “You think everyone’s like you? Bo Yun’s twenty-eight. What normal man reaches twenty-eight without ever having a partner? You’re basically a rare species.”
But then he looked at Bo Yun’s aloof, otherworldly face—even standing at his own wedding, he looked composed to the point of chill.
Fang Chen hesitated. “Though… who knows. He really does look like someone immune to desire.”
Jiang Zhuoye didn’t care. “Who cares.”
Whether he dated or not had nothing to do with him.
Fang Chen suddenly laughed. Around them, the dim, romantic lighting blurred the room; guests whispered softly; the band’s exquisite music and laughter drifted into the night.
If the wedding couple weren’t Jiang Zhuoye and Bo Yun, it would’ve been a genuinely romantic evening.
He nudged Jiang Zhuoye. “I’m just saying—don’t let a fake marriage turn real.”
Jiang Zhuoye nearly choked on his drink, coughing violently.
Staring at Fang Chen in disbelief, heedless of the media presence, he kicked him outright. “Get lost. Next time you say something that horrifying, don’t do it while I’m drinking.”
Fang Chen shrugged.
“It’s not impossible,” he said with an unserious grin, yet spoke earnestly. “That’s how TV dramas go—business marriages where one side falls hopelessly in love, cue the you-chase-I-run melodrama. And you’re this good-looking—what’s wrong with seducing Bo Yun?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, wouldn’t it be satisfying? If you actually took down Mr. Fake-Righteous himself, then dumped him hard—it’d be perfect revenge.”
Everyone knew Jiang Zhuoye had been annoyed by Bo Yun countless times over the years.
Even if half of those times were self-inflicted.
“Pass,” Jiang Zhuoye sneered. “He’s appetite-killing. I’m afraid I wouldn’t digest him.”
What a joke.
It wasn’t that he lacked confidence—but Bo Yun didn’t even feel like a carbon-based lifeform. Someone like that didn’t have normal human emotions. How could he fall in love with anyone?
Still, perhaps because the remark was so outrageous, Fang Chen’s joke echoed faintly in Jiang Zhuoye’s mind even later—when the banquet ended, guests returned to their rooms, and Jiang Zhuoye followed Bo Yun to see Bo Yun’s grandfather.
But he quickly shook his head, refocusing on the elderly man before him.
If there was anyone who truly cared about this wedding—who took it completely seriously—it was Bo Yun’s grandfather.
The old man looked at Jiang Zhuoye with sincere satisfaction, as though Jiang Zhuoye were his own beloved grandson, leaving Bo Yun himself feeling like a supporting character.
It made Jiang Zhuoye uneasy.
Bo Yun’s grandfather wasn’t in great health. Attending the wedding had been his own insistence.
Now seated in a wheelchair, wrapped in a brown blanket, the once formidable man looked like an ordinary old grandfather.
Jiang Zhuoye actually liked him, which only made him more awkward.
Bo Yun’s grandfather said, “Xiao Ye, I’m very happy that you and Bo Yun have become family in the eyes of the law.”
He patted Jiang Zhuoye’s hand.
“I have nothing to instruct you. Marriage is something the two of you must work out yourselves. Don’t let Bo Yun’s temper fool you—he may seem tough, even fierce, but he’s actually very good to people.”
He smiled gently. “Truly. He’s someone worth it.”
Bo Yun neither agreed nor refuted this, only looked at his grandfather with mild helplessness.
Jiang Zhuoye thought: grandparents really do spoil their grandchildren without reason—lying like this with complete sincerity.
Still, he restrained himself and nodded politely.
Bo Yun’s grandfather smiled and said no more. He accepted a box from his assistant.
Opening it in front of Jiang Zhuoye revealed an extremely rare, beautiful, warm-toned purple jade bead necklace, along with matching earrings and a bracelet.
“This was one of your grandmother’s dowry pieces—something she loved dearly. It was given to Bo Yun’s mother as a formal gift back then. Now that she’s gone, I can only pass it on to Bo Yun’s partner in her stead. You’re a young man, so you may not have many occasions to wear it, but this is an elder’s token of affection. I hope you won’t refuse.”
“Th-this…” Jiang Zhuoye was genuinely flustered now. Not because he couldn’t accept jewelry like this—but because he and Bo Yun weren’t truly lovers. How could he accept something with such meaning?
“Grandpa, I’m not really suitable to receive this. It’s too precious—it’s your wife’s and your daughter-in-law’s keepsake,” he said carefully. “Perhaps there’s someone more appropriate.”
Bo Yun’s grandfather understood.
Smiling, he said, “I know your marriage with Bo Yun lasts only three years. I’m not forcing you. But since you’re legally his partner right now, this belongs with you. Consider it safekeeping—fulfill an old man’s wish. If you separate after three years, you can always return it to Bo Yun.”
With things said this clearly, Jiang Zhuoye hesitated.
He glanced at Bo Yun.
Bo Yun’s expression was complicated. Turning slightly, he said, “Since Grandpa’s said so, just take it. It’s no big deal.”
As he spoke, he took the box from his grandfather’s hands and placed it directly into Jiang Zhuoye’s arms.
Jiang Zhuoye reacted as if he’d been handed a burning hot potato, suddenly flustered and not knowing what to do with himself.
Bo Yun’s grandfather, however, looked delighted. His health truly wasn’t good, though—he coughed lightly a few times, fatigue clearly setting in.
“Alright,” the old man said with a smile. “This old fellow shouldn’t be disturbing your wedding night. You two should go back and rest.”
“Okay,” Bo Yun replied. “Grandpa, you should rest too. No staying up late. I’ll have Secretary Zhang keep an eye on you.”
He bent down and gently tucked the thin blanket around his grandfather.
Jiang Zhuoye watched the scene with some surprise.
Under the lights, Bo Yun’s movements were unexpectedly gentle, and his profile actually looked… a little soft.
Completely different from the cold, unapproachable image Jiang Zhuoye had of him.
But the moment Bo Yun straightened up, that softness vanished. His expression returned to its usual impassive calm as he said to Jiang Zhuoye, “Let’s go.”