Chapter 162 To the One and Only Light

The moment the command was sent, the concert livestream on Lin Ruoxuan's screen split into an intelligent multi-screen display.

On the left, the main screen continued showing Song Jiaru singing with deep emotion.

On the right, a series of real-time feedback feeds began silently sliding past—

New York, Times Square.

The gathering place of the world's most expensive advertising space—those massive LED screens that usually rotated the latest global luxury brand ads, Hollywood blockbuster trailers, and political campaign videos—suddenly went dark simultaneously under a command precise to the millisecond.

The next second, they all lit up at once.

On the screens was a high-definition video of Song Jiaru in that dazzling bridal gown, head slightly tilted upward, her clear eyes gazing toward a distant starry sky.

The image was exquisite, ethereal, brimming with narrative; beneath it was an elegant, restrained line of English:

"For the one and only light."

Tourists and pedestrians from around the world in the square instantly froze in their tracks, erupting in astonished, curious, admiring uproar!

Countless phones and cameras raised in unison toward the screens that seemed to be under unified control!

"WTF? Every screen in Times Square is showing an Asian female singer? Is she the new spokesperson for some luxury bridal brand?"

"Film this! This is insane! How much money did this cost?"

"Can someone explain what 'For the one and only light' means? This marketing stunt is way too cool and romantic!"

Edo, Shibuya Scramble Crossing.

This place—called the "world's busiest intersection" and the trendsetter of Asian pop culture—saw its massive screen walls, which usually played the latest streetwear brands, anime, and electronics ads, all switch over in unison!

On the screens was the most spectacular moment of the fireworks over Binzhou Stadium, when the drones formed the words "佳茹最美" (Jiaru Is the Most Beautiful)—the dynamic capture was flawless, the color saturation explosively high.

Paris, London, Sydney, Rio de Janeiro, Dubai...

Landmark buildings in every corner of the world, bustling commercial districts, even public screens in certain specific locations—all responded in different forms to the global visual wave triggered by that brief command from Shanghai in the East.

Information fissioned and fermented wildly across the internet!

But an even more absurd, stunning, even slightly eerie scene unfolded before the eyes of countless people gazing up at the night sky.

On that bright, full moon overhead, upon its smooth surface, there faintly appeared the outline of Song Jiaru's smiling profile—gentle, hazy, like an ancient moon goddess legend made real.

"Oh my god! The moon! Look at the moon!"

"Is this Photoshopped? Or are we all having a collective hallucination?"

"What kind of black technology is this? Did they use a spaceship or a satellite?"

"Crazy! The world has gone crazy! Or have I gone crazy?!"

People of different skin colors, different languages, different cultural backgrounds across the world—at this moment, whether shocked, bewildered, fanatical, or confused—collectively witnessed this "Moonlight Coronation" sweeping the globe in the name of love.

...

Lin Ruoxuan watched all of this, switched her phone to the private chat interface, found Xu Yunzhou's avatar, pondered for a moment, then tapped lightly and sent several messages:

"Tyrant,"

"Today is a very special day."

Her gaze landed on the screen where Song Jiaru, framed by fireworks and drone lights, looked unrealistically beautiful. Her eyes softened:

"We've... all talked privately."

"Jiaru, she has the purest heart, the deepest obsession, and loves the most unreservedly."

"She truly is the most suitable person to walk with you into the worldly institution of marriage, to accompany you through the most ordinary yet real years of this Mortal Tribulation."

She paused, her tone becoming exceptionally soft and steadfast:

"Don't worry."

"We all sincerely bless you both."

"And besides..."

She typed the final line and hit send:

"We will always, forever, be one family."

...

In truth, whether it was her, or Xu Nuo in the box at this moment, or the others—

Their feelings for Xu Yunzhou had long since surpassed the narrow, exclusive, possessive scope of ordinary romantic love between men and women.

It was a more complex, deeper, and more resilient bond.

A mixture of teacher-student gratitude, the grace of recognition, life-and-death interdependence, soul resonance, and the sense of destiny that came from having their life trajectories completely interwoven, entangled, and fused into one through long years and companionship across different dimensions.

Marriage might be one perfect form of love.

But for them, Xu Yunzhou's existence itself was the inextinguishable source of light in their world.

Whether they "had" him, or in what form... perhaps... had long since ceased to be the most important thing.

As long as that light remained.

As long as they knew he was well, and he was happy.

As long as... they remained the most special, most irreplaceable part of each other's lives.

That was enough.

...

The concert, amid Song Jinxuan's nearly exploded phone and congratulatory messages flooding her screen, was pushed toward its ultimate, most extreme emotional detonation.

This concert—unprecedented and practically impossible to ever be followed—had long since transcended mere entertainment to become a social phenomenon sweeping the entire internet.

Social media platforms went completely berserk:

"I'm in the city next to Binzhou! Standing on my balcony and I can see the sky glowing red on the horizon! Did those fireworks burn half the city's GDP? This is ridiculous!"

"Not even a fan, just a passerby, but this scene made me cry... How deep must the love be to pull off something this massive?"

"So jealous. Seriously jealous. What is this, an ultimate idol drama come to life? The female lead is a national diva, the confession is broadcast globally, it even reached the moon... Even novel authors today wouldn't dare write this, afraid readers would call it too fake!"

"Am I the only one wondering what July 9th actually looks like? He wrote all those legendary songs, made Jiaru so devoted she'll marry no one else, and now it turns out his background is so unfathomable he can command screens worldwide... What kind of god is he? Will he show up tonight?"

"Yeah, the concert's almost over. Can someone tell me—has July 9th shown up or not?! I'm dying of curiosity!"

...

On the stage.

The final note of the last song finally faded into lingering silence.

Song Jiaru stood in the light, at the focal point of tens of thousands of burning gazes, at the center of countless screens around the world.

She breathed slightly ragged, tears still wet on her face.

She raised her hand, and from the hidden inner lining of her bridal gown, slowly and solemnly withdrew the diamond ring she had posted on Weibo yesterday.

The setting refracted dazzling light under the stage lights.

She didn't look at the audience. She didn't look at any camera.

Her gaze, as if crossing mountains and rivers, fixed straight and persistently on the direction of that VIP box.

She raised the hand holding the ring, and her voice, through the microphone, spread across the silent venue—and through the livestream signal, to every corner of the world:

"You..."

She began, her voice a little hoarse from emotion and the long performance, yet crystal clear:

"Are you willing..."

She paused, gazing deeply, deeply in that direction, as if using all the strength and expectation in her life:

"To come to my side?"

The entire audience turned in unison, looking toward the VIP box that Song Jiaru was staring at!

Though they couldn't see who was inside, that collective gesture of attention made the area instantly the silent focus of the entire venue.

Before global screens, countless viewers watching the livestream held their breath and clenched their fists.

The diva had humbled herself and been this brave!

If you still don't come down, are you even a man?

Then, seemingly afraid of putting pressure on him, or remembering he might not want to fully expose himself to the public, Song Jiaru hastily added, her voice carrying careful, considerate tenderness:

"You can... wear a mask."

"Or come in any way you feel comfortable."

"I just need you... to walk over."

The entire audience finally could no longer contain their surging emotions, erupting into earth-shaking cheers and urgings:

"July 9th, come down!"

"Say yes to her!"

"If you're a man, come down!"

"Please, come down!"