Tiny white flowers hung over the church. Bei Yao’s white-gloved hand was put into Pei Chuan’s by Bei Licai.
Pei Chuan could not help but hold it tighter.
Fate was sometimes quite magical. The year Bei Yao was reborn, she had never thought about being with Pei Chuan. At that time, she only thought of his kindness and planned to live according to her heart. But thinking about it again, it seemed that it had been a long time ago.