To Wangchen's severely warped, possessive, and intensely devoted yandere psyche, seeing Ji'an walk blithely to his side in flowing white silk and brilliant Szechuan Red felt as though she had casually, unknowingly donned a bridal veil specifically to walk down the aisle and stand at the altar with him.
A look of such dark, unhinged, breathtakingly tender euphoria crossed his flawless, jade-like face that the ambient mountain mist inside the pavilion instantly crystallized into a hovering cloud of glittering diamond dust.
He smoothly, effortlessly shifted his broad-shouldered physical mass to walk upon her left side, the traditional position of the groom.
When Lu Jianheng, the Sword Lord, attempted to step up to Ji'an's left flank to ask her about the balance of her spatula, Wangchen unleashed an invisible barrier that nearly sheared the silver paudron off Jianheng's shoulder.
"Walk upon the right, Sword Lord," Wangchen whispered.
