"Thank you so much, not only for agreeing to take our wedding photos, but also for lending us the wedding dress and tuxedo..."

Merka said with a smile to the bride in front of him.

"It's no big deal. The wedding dress and tuxedo were originally rented by us from the photography team, after all."

"It just so happens that we can share the joy with you as the soon-to-be newlyweds."

The bride waved her hand, leaning against the groom's chest with a sweet smile.

"Is it over already? I wanted to take more photos..."

Turing carried the white wedding dress somewhat reluctantly, strolling back and forth on the red carpet as if wanting to leave their footprints on it.

"Oh, the photos have already been developed."

The groom took the photos handed over by the staff, placed them in an envelope, and handed them to Merka.

"The bride looks so beautiful. You're one lucky guy."

"Make sure to cherish each other!"

The bride chimed in with a smile.

Merka nodded gently.

"Yes, I definitely will."

Carefully putting away the photos, bidding farewell to the bride and groom, Merka and Turing changed back into their original clothes, picked up their bags, and continued on their way home.

"So..."

"Should we stop by Mrs. Marianne's house next?"

"I parked a motorcycle there, so if you'd like, we can, um... ride it home."

Seeing Merka itching for a joyride, Turing grinned.

Turing's fresh smile seemed to drift like snowflakes filling the sky, her delicate and fair skin exuding a faint plum blossom fragrance.

"You, hah."

"Ever since I gave you those few beat-up cars, you've been obsessed."

"You've even been neglecting your organ playing."

"I wonder if that's a good thing for you."

Turing changed the subject, twirling her hair with her fingers as she spoke.

"But anyway."

"After all, my gift was still the best one, right?"

In fact, many others had given Merka some gifts, light or heavy, during the decoration ceremony, but those were ultimately symbolic and merely customary.

Even if all added up, their value might not match one-tenth of what Turing had given.

And in terms of emotional value, even more so.

"Of course, of course."

"A gift from my princess is, of course, the best gift."

Merka held onto Turing's waist, leaned in closer, and boldly kissed Turing's cherry lips under the twinkling starlight on the bustling street.

Feeling Merka's burning lips, Turing was pleasantly surprised and secretly delighted.

Merka was taking the lead now.

This also indicated that the grudge Merka held regarding their social status was gradually diminishing day by day.

The insurmountable chasm of self-doubt hidden deep within Merka's soul was dissipating under Turing's gentle and vigorous warmth, much like a mini sun.

The lifeless black diamonds in Merka's eyes gradually came to life.

The depths of pain no longer confined within his eyes, once a reflection of the orphanage years, Miss Joan's pale farewell, and Othello's dark pools of blood.

He no longer fears the snowy days and long nights.

The anguish that once belonged exclusively to Merka, the blind, now diminished under the constant comfort of the one by his side.

The confusion and disorientation upon waking abruptly in the morning were now catalyzed by the dense love surrounding him.

She would affectionately call out to him, caress him.

Treating him gently like an unopened baby.

"Stop it... Haha, tickles."

Turing's heart surged with affection from Merka's touch, a hint of girlish impetuosity, driving Turing to dance in the icy snow on the street.

Turing danced deftly on the icy ground, as graceful as a frost fairy, elegant and ethereal, leaving ripples with each step. Her lotus-like feet lightly touched the fragile snowflakes - those feet resembling sickles that entice the soul, lightly brush, any onlooker's spirit, shattered by this sinful ambience, pierced by fear.

The air was redolent with a scent akin to fermented grains, dancing Turing gently took Merka's hand, inviting him to the rainy night in Bashan.

“Wait, Turing.”

“Who do you see over there?”

Unbeknownst to them, Turing and Merka had been walking and singing towards the entrance of the Royal Hospital at the edge of the lake on the Isle of the Heart.

The fountain at the hospital entrance had stopped, the white snow blanketing the city, a scene of desolation.

Yet, in front of the lifeless fountain, on a verdant and colorful stone altar, sat a breathtakingly beautiful girl.

Her lowered eyes seemed self-conscious, the raised legs in a confident posture.

This girl, with a contradictory aura, tightly grasped the thick winter skirt covering her legs, as if waiting for someone.

She furrowed her brow slightly, a hint of impatience apparent.