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Today is my wedding day, and the ceremony is taking place by the sea.

To the east of Japan's Okinawa Island, nestled within a triangle formed by the cities of Sydney, Vladivostok, and New York, an obscure little island resides at the center.

I've always had an affinity for the sea. Though I didn't grow up by the shore, my love for the water runs deep, more profound than mere fondness.

Now, here I stand upon the pristine white sands, mesmerized by the transparent shades of aquamarine dancing before my eyes. The sea breeze caresses my face, while seagulls gracefully glide overhead, and the gentle waves tenderly nudge the rocks. Within drifting glass bottles lie wishes inscribed by unknown hands.

Adorned in opulence, my Parisian couture bridal gown blends seamlessly with the beach hues. Behind me, freshly picked flowers flown in from Florence adorn the scene—a scarlet rose carpet stretches a hundred meters, extending all the way to the shore.

This unnamed island has gathered the most distinguished guests: Forbes-listed tycoons, living legends like Chopin reincarnate, whose fingers dance upon a white Yamaha at the water's edge, weaving intoxicating melodies. Among them, friends from every corner of the globe, diverse in hues of black, white, and red.

As I glance back at them, men, women, young, and old, tears shimmer in every eye—a blend of reluctance, pain, and excitement.

Their genuine blessings pour forth for my marriage, perhaps the most sincere moment in their lives.

With a wave to them, I take step by barefoot step onto the warm grains of sand, advancing towards the coastline, closer to the waves.

This is an unprecedented, epoch-making grand wedding, luxurious, sincere, tears of joy welling.

"Bless you, Vivian."

The slightly portly man in the front row sobs, his Rolex-clad hand retrieving a handkerchief from his chest. Everyone echoes his sentiments.

"Bless you, Vivian. May you find happiness, may you find love."

The chorus of blessings swells, broadcasted live on television channels worldwide, streamed across the internet.

This is the wedding of the century, blessed by three billion people, and the object of my marital vows is none other than the vast ocean before me.

With measured steps, I approach the water's edge. The sand beneath the water is refreshingly cool, soft. I gaze down at the sea, its transparent green mingling with grains of sand and hard stones, mildly pricking my soles. Black stones reflect light underwater. I bend down to pick up a rounded object, assuming it's a stone, only to find it's a shell.

Yet, this shell is darker than ink, swallowing all light in its depths.

It's the first time I've seen such a crystalline, eerie black. I hold it in one hand and continue deeper into the water, without a backward glance.

Only when the waves begin to engulf my neck does a question emerge in my mind, one I realize I'll never have the chance to answer.

"What color is the pearl inside the black shell?"

To unravel this question, my thoughts drift back to a day three months before the wedding.