So, he silently ordered the driver to take the awakened Julia Bluen back to the Bluen Family.
Early the next morning, he took his household registration book and identity card to the Civil Affairs Office, and called Julia to bring hers as well.
The girl was still dazed at the time, even thinking he had found her sister. When she arrived and didn’t see her sister, she thought he was getting the marriage certificate on his own and accused him of being too domineering and autocratic. It wasn’t until they were filling out the forms that she suddenly realized, but he no longer gave her the chance to refuse or escape.
One might say he tricked her into the Civil Affairs Office and whisked her away to be his wife.
It was only when he received the marriage certificate that he breathed a sigh of relief.
Yet he couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotions. Gazing at the photo of the two of them on the marriage certificate, he remarked that he never imagined he would marry Julia Bluen.
Everything had come too late, but it was still reparable.
"You didn’t say a word at the time. Who knew you’d summon me to the Civil Affairs Office the next day? I was tricked by you while I was all confused," Julia recalled the day of registration with some indignation.
Glades Horne chuckled softly.
"It was you who proposed that we pair up. I thought, since both of us had been abandoned and heartbroken, as fellow sufferers in this world, we might as well take pity on each other," he said.
Julia pursed her lips, finding herself at a loss for words.
It was all because of those two drinks.
Seeing him drinking morosely, she had just wanted to join him in his drunkenness, but she ended up drunk, not him.
"Julia," Glades Horne stood up again and walked over to the lounge chair she was on. Crouching down, his hands bracing on both sides of the chair, he trapped her in his embrace. He looked at her, and she at him. Her lips, usually held in a firm line, quivered gently. "I will make you the happiest woman in the world! I will cherish you, and only you, for all my life."
Julia blinked. That sounds like a line from a novel, she thought.
Glades Horne reached out and pulled her up. Standing together, he led her downstairs.
Julia furrowed her brows. He’s acting a bit strange, she thought.
"Young Master, the mung bean soup for the Young Madam is ready." Just as they were coming down from the rooftop, Aunt May came up the stairs with a bowl of mung bean soup.
"Did you add sugar?" Glades Horne took the bowl of mung bean soup from Aunt May for Julia, feeling its moderate temperature and knowing that Aunt May had considerately waited for it to cool before serving.
With a hum of acknowledgment, Glades Horne dismissed Aunt May downstairs.
He then took Julia and the bowl of mung bean soup back to their wedding chamber. Setting it on the coffee table, he pulled Julia down to sit in front of it and pushed the soup towards her, saying warmly, "Drink it, just in case." She had eaten so many pistachios; if they caused her any real discomfort, their honeymoon trip starting tomorrow would be affected.
"In front of you, I always seem like a child, being taken care of by you," Julia said with a hint of lament. For someone who liked to be independent, being taken care of felt sweet but also a little defeating. She wanted to be the one taking care of others.
Glades Horne just smiled indulgently; he liked treating her like a child, pampering her, loving her, and taking care of her.
After finishing the mung bean soup, Julia didn’t wait for Glades Horne to summon a servant to come upstairs to clear it away; she took the bowl to wash it herself.
Seeing her rush to wash the bowl, Glades Horne chuckled.
Some people, born into poverty, crave lives of plenty with everything provided at their beck and call. But there are those like Julia, born to wealth, who prefer to be self-reliant.
After Julia’s stomach had rested for a while, she mumbled, "If I can’t get up to board the plane tomorrow, it’s all on you."
「The next day, the Horne Family saw the couple off on their honeymoon journey.」
「Emerald Garden Building.」
Rachel Bailey pushed her bike out. Looking at the busy road, with cars flowing like water and horses like dragons, and the lines of shops on both sides, she sighed. It’s so difficult to start a business these days, she thought.
Since attending her friend’s wedding, she had been contemplating going into business. However, the businesses she considered either required high capital or faced intense competition. She had practically roamed the entire city without settling on anything.
Suddenly, an electric tricycle laden with fruit rode past Rachel Bailey. The owner was a middle-aged man. He slowed down when he saw Rachel and asked, "Want some fruit?"
T City is a large metropolis, but on some streets that are neither new nor old, one can see electric tricycles, as they are a means of livelihood for some. Not many entrepreneurs start big; many begin with "ghost" businesses. This kind of business is done secretively. Like the owner of this tricycle, they might spend some money on an electric tricycle, buy fruit, clothes, or trinkets wholesale, and then shuttle through the streets and alleys every day. If business is good, they can earn a decent sum in a day; even on bad days, they can scrape enough together for meals. However, they dare not venture to Central Street, as it’s more strictly regulated.
Even when shuttling through these less prosperous streets, they can sometimes get caught by the city managers. Therefore, while "ghost" businesses require less capital and are tax-free, the entrepreneurs must be vigilant, ready to run faster than a rabbit when the city managers arrive. Otherwise, if caught, they bear the losses themselves.
Rachel Bailey initially wanted to decline, but then an idea struck her, and she nodded. She didn’t have much capital and wanted to try the "ghost" business herself.
"Why don’t you stop by the side of the street and hawk your fruit?" Rachel Bailey parked her bike and took a red plastic bag from the fruit seller, selecting some apples. The quality of their fruit wasn’t much different from regular stalls, but it was generally cheaper for the obvious reason—they didn’t pay taxes.
"I can’t stop now, it’s broad daylight. I’ll be caught," the middle-aged man replied. "Only after nine o’clock at night can I find a spot to settle down and sell." City managers patrol even at night, but after nine in the evening, their patrols become less frequent. These "ghost" entrepreneurs knew the city managers’ schedules well.