At dawn, the small town still lay shrouded in the mist left behind by the night’s rain. Puddles on the stone path reflected the pale morning light, and the roar of a motorcycle broke through the silence. Mike gripped the backseat, his gaze fixed on the rolling silhouettes of emerald mountains ahead. Lea wore a simple white shirt, her long hair streaming in the breeze, her figure sharp against the drifting haze.

Tea gardens unfurled in terraces along the slopes, like green carpets laid layer upon layer. Dew clung to the leaves, releasing a faint fragrance that drifted toward them. Mike hadn’t expected her to bring him to some scenic site for tourists—she had brought him into a quiet world of her own.

“This is where I grew up,” Lea said, turning to smile at him, pride glinting in her eyes. She crouched down, brushing her fingertips across a tea leaf. “When I was little, I’d lie here watching the clouds, believing nothing could ever scare me.”

For a moment, Mike felt a rare stillness settle over him. Lea’s smile was like spring water—clear, untainted, without a hint of pretense. Unlike Fonda’s charm or Lotus’s elusive glow, this girl’s presence seemed to wash away all his defenses.

In a small pavilion halfway up the mountain, Lea lit a fire and boiled water, her movements practiced and unhurried. The bubbling of the kettle rose and mingled with birdsong and the rustle of wind through the leaves. Watching her, Mike felt a strange illusion—as though she were not merely brewing tea, but performing some ancient ritual.

“I don’t want to live according to someone else’s design,” she said softly while pouring the tea. “Here, many girls marry right after middle school. But I’d rather be like a bird without feet—always flying, always seeing. Even if it means being alone, I choose freedom.”

She blew gently across her cup, her gaze turning distant. “People say Fonda is reckless, but really she’s just blunt. She always says women have two mouths—feed the one below, and the one above will be easier to please. Sometimes, love is nothing more than a game of the senses.”

Mike nearly choked on his tea, then laughed. “She certainly doesn’t hold back.”

“But that’s only the first kind,” Lea continued, setting down her cup, her voice quieter. “Some women see marriage as nothing more than security. Stability over passion, reality over romance. Without money, life collapses—and with money, everything else can be bought.”

Mike’s chest tightened. Amanda’s face rose in his mind—those nights he dragged himself home after endless work, only to face interrogation instead of comfort; every expense scrutinized like a trial; the home he tried to preserve reduced, in her eyes, to nothing but an insatiable ledger.

Lea’s eyes drifted toward the misty ridges in the distance. “Others think money and desire together are enough to complete a marriage. But for me, something is still missing.”

“What’s missing?” Mike asked, his voice hushed.

“Spiritual resonance,” she answered, her gaze steady. “If two people can’t meet in thought, they’re just two dreamers in the same bed. Money runs out, passion fades—but a shared language of the heart can last a lifetime.”

She looked at Mike and added, softer now: “The rib that truly belongs to you will never reject you. When you ache, it aches; when you laugh, it laughs. Most of all, you both look toward the same horizon. Even in silence, you feel the connection of your hearts.”

The fragrance of tea swirled between them as her words sank into him. Amanda’s ceaseless criticism and pressure rose before his eyes, and suddenly he understood—it wasn’t marriage he was trapped in, but erosion.

That night, back at the hotel, the room felt hollow. Randy and Fonda were gone. Just as Mike set down his coat, his phone lit up—

Come to the chat room tonight. Something exciting’s happening.

He opened his laptop. A familiar name appeared: Lotus. Her newest post carried a bold title—I Long to Be a Bride.

The lines were filled with images of veils, vows, and stolen pieces of cake—innocent, fervent, achingly tender. Mike stared at the screen, his chest struck by an invisible force. Beneath the words, he saw a yearning for belonging and love, a loneliness that mirrored his own midnight thoughts with startling clarity.

When he entered the chat room, he stumbled upon a virtual wedding. Autumn and Alex were “tying the knot.” Virtual candies rained from the top of the screen as the audience scrambled to collect them, laughing as though it were real.

And at the host’s desk, Lotus’s avatar gleamed. She presided over the ceremony with unfeigned cheer, her playful words spinning the illusion of a joyous chapel.