CHAPTER 10The Ceremony
The ceremony was held in the estate's main hall, a space that felt more like a throne room than a home. Representatives from all four families were present—Luna saw her brother Kai standing stiffly beside their mother, who didn't meet her eyes. Jett was there too, forced into a suit, his expression unreadable.
The Yèshòus stood like statues of polished violence. The Mòyǔs looked bored but calculating.
And at the front, Leo waited. He wore traditional black robes embroidered with silver, looking less like a groom and more like a king accepting a tribute.
Luna walked toward him, the heavy gown whispering against the floor. The headdress weighed on her, but she kept her chin high. Never show weakness.
They stood side by side before Fen and Tao. Ming stood to the side, her face a mask of perfect neutrality.
Fen lifted a teacup. "From two streams, one river. From two houses, one legacy. Drink."
Leo took the cup first, sipped, then handed it to Luna. Their fingers brushed. His were warm. Hers were ice.
She drank. The tea was bitter.
"By blood and byte," Tao intoned, "by silk and shadow, the union is sealed. Luna Xiānyǔ, you are now Luna Wǎngshā. Your past is preserved. Your future is written."
There was no kiss. No vow of love. Just a bow, first to the elders, then to each other.
As they turned to face the assembled families, Luna's eyes found her mother's. Lihua gave a single, slight nod. Approval. Or triumph.
Then Leo leaned close, his lips near her ear, his voice so low only she could hear.
"The crane wasn't just evidence," he whispered. "It was a promise. To remember that some things are too fragile to erase."
He straightened, his face returning to its impassive mask. But in his eyes, she saw it—the ghost of the boy from the garden. The one who'd believed in preserving moments.
The reception was a blur of faces and hollow congratulations. Jett managed to slip her a small, folded piece of paper when no one was looking. She palmed it, hiding it in her sleeve.
Hours later, alone in her new suite—their suite—she unfolded it. It was a cartoon drawing of a sad avocado hugging a paper crane. Underneath, in Jett's messy scrawl:
Even in a gilded cage, you can still fly. Just don't let them clip your wings. — J
She was folding it back when the door opened. Leo stood there, still in his ceremonial robes. He looked at the drawing in her hand.
"Your friend has an interesting perspective," he said, his voice neutral.
"He sees the world differently."
"Different can be dangerous." Leo entered, closing the door behind him. "But it can also be valuable." He studied her. "You held yourself well today."
"I had practice. My whole life has been a performance."
A flicker of something in his eyes. Understanding, perhaps. "Then consider this a new role. With a better script."
"What's my motivation in this script?"
"Survival," he said simply. "And maybe, eventually, something more."
He walked to the balcony doors, looking out at the night. "I'll sleep in the adjoining study. The suite is yours. The marriage… is paperwork. For now."
He started to leave.
"Leo," she said.
He paused.
"Why did you agree to this? Really?"
He didn't turn. "Because when I saw your name on the contract, I remembered a girl who cried when she dropped her notebook. Not because it was ruined, but because the notes inside were for a friend who was sick. You valued the memory more than the object." He finally looked back at her. "In a world that deletes everything, that's a rare thing to preserve."
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
Luna stood alone in the center of her gilded cage, holding Jett's silly drawing in one hand, and the memory of a paper crane in the other.
She was a transaction. A merger. A prisoner.
But she was also a preserver. And maybe, just maybe, that was her weapon.