Chapter 6 — The Wedding That Became a Goodbye

She reapplied her lipstick with practiced precision, then took a selfie and posted it to her social media timeline along with a caption: "The wedding is canceled today, is anyone treating me to hotpot?"

Less than a minute after publishing, the heart reactions surged past the hundred mark, and the comment section erupted into a flurry of activity.

"Sister Tran, you finally realized the true colors of that scumbag!"

"I feel bad for you, but I also have to stand up and applaud you!"

"You are the coolest bride I have ever laid eyes on."

"Wait a second, does this mean you are completely single right now?"

Trailing beneath that final comment was a long queue of replies from single young men eagerly lining up to register their interest. Lam Tran smiled, tossed her phone back into her handbag, and turned the ignition. The twilight sunlight streamed through the car windows, tinting her pristine white wedding gown with a warm, golden hue. In the rearview mirror, the grand hotel receded step by step, shrinking steadily until it became a hazy dot that dissolved completely into the flow of traffic.

She pressed down on the accelerator, merging her vehicle into the main thoroughfare and hurtling forward into the encroaching darkness. Streetlamps began to flicker into life one after another, and the neon sign of a hotpot restaurant blinked in the distance. Her group chat with her best friends had already received eighteen photos, all depicting bubbling hotpots filled with crimson, spicy broth and tables overflowing with meats and greens. The final message came from Chu Miao: "Tran Tran, the hotpot is boiling! Where on earth are you?"

Lam Tran held down the voice message button, her tone bright and cheerful: "Coming, coming, save the tripe for me!"

Half an hour later, at a time-honored hotpot restaurant tucked away in the eastern district. A woman clad in a faultless white wedding gown carried a pair of pink Crocs in her left hand while her right hand held up a smartphone illuminating a mapping application, pushing open the heavy wooden doors and stepping inside. Every single patron in the restaurant raised their heads to stare at her. The proprietress peered out from behind the cash register, still clutching a bunch of grilled skewers in one hand, her jaw hanging wide open in stunned silence for a long moment.

Lam Tran swept her gaze across the room, effortlessly pinpointing her circle of friends who were eating with great gusto in a far corner, and strode directly toward them. The hem of her gown dragged a streak of red chili oil across the floor tiles, but she could not care less. She slumped down heavily next to Chu Miao, snatched up a pair of chopsticks, and immediately fished out a slice of beef tripe.

"Dip it seven times, retrieve it eight," she murmured with utmost reverence as she swirled the tripe in the tongue-numbing, spicy broth. "If you overcook beef tripe, it is an absolute crime against food."

Chu Miao stared at her, her eye sockets suddenly turning red. "Tran Tran, are you really okay?"

Lam Tran stuffed the freshly cooked tripe into her mouth, chewed twice, and gave a glowing thumbs-up. "The tripe at this place is top-tier."

"I am asking you if *you* are okay!" Chu Miao slapped her firmly on the shoulder.

"Ouch!" Lam Tran winced, rubbing her shoulder with a grimace before bursting into laughter, her eyes curving into bright crescents. The rising steam from the spicy broth blurred her features. "I really am okay. You guys have no idea what my mental state was like the moment I saw Lu Huai Chu hugging Su Wan Yi through the surveillance cameras."

Her three best friends all watched her intently.

"That feeling," Lam Tran dipped another piece of tripe, "is just like spending years watching a television series where the plot gets increasingly ridiculous and melodramatic. You had wanted to drop the show ages ago, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it, constantly telling yourself that maybe the next episode would get better. Then, in some random episode, the main characters suddenly die a pathetic, meaningless death, and the writer completely gives up. Suddenly, you feel an immense sense of relief—you can finally drop that damn show with a clear conscience."

Tran Tranh raised her beer mug. "Brilliantly said. Let us toast to the freedom of dropping a bad show."

Four mugs collided in mid-air, golden beer splashing over the rims and spilling onto the pure white wedding dress, blossoming into tiny, intricate droplets. Other patrons in the restaurant covertly raised their phones to snap pictures, but Lam Tran paid them no mind, even cheerfully flashing a peace sign at the cameras.