A song called "The You of the Past" has prompted the entire internet to beg me not to leav

In Xinghai City in December, pedestrians on the street were already wrapped in heavy down jackets, hunching their necks and hurrying along in the cold wind.

But on the private island of "Autumn Words" in the South Pacific, the temperature remains a constant 26 degrees Celsius.

Sunlight filters through the swaying coconut palms, scattering across the pristine, fine sand, as smooth as flour.

The "Glass Sea" coastline on the east side of the island has already been cleared out by the group's security team.

Here, a wedding photo shoot is taking place that is enough to drive the global fashion industry crazy.

An elderly French man with slicked-back gray hair and a measuring tape around his neck was standing in front of a ten-meter-long coat rack, rapidly directing eight white assistants in French to iron clothes.

His name is François, the chief design director of the Paris Haute Couture Federation. This tycoon once publicly stated that he would "never bow to commercial capital" and would not accept orders from anyone other than members of the royal family.

Until three days ago, Lao Zhang, the legal counsel of the company who didn't want to go to work, slammed an outrageously large betting agreement on his table.

The agreement was extremely harsh: make two wedding dresses and the reward will be the sum of your income over the past ten years; refuse, and the group's legal department will have your studio embroiled in lawsuits in Europe for the rest of your life.

François, with his noble artistic pride, readily yielded.

However, when he saw Shen Qingqiu, dressed in her wedding gown, walking out of the dressing room, the old Frenchman's resentment instantly transformed into fervent infatuation.

Shen Qingqiu wasn't wearing a typical fluffy princess dress, but a tight-fitting, floor-length mermaid wedding gown that hugged her curves.

The three thousand genuine South African diamonds embedded on it were so dazzling, reflecting the light off the sea, that they nearly blinded the assistants around them.

The icy, aloof aura of the Ice Queen created a terrifying chemical reaction with this wedding dress, which was themed around the "Queen of the Ocean."

"Perfect! My God, this is the descent of Venus, the goddess of beauty!" François clasped his hands together to his chest, jumping up and down with excitement.

"Now, please have the groom change into the handmade gold-embroidered tuxedo I rushed to make overnight! He needs to exude the elegance of French nobility to complement the Queen!"

A moment later, the curtain of the changing room was suddenly lifted.

François's blissful expression froze instantly, and the eight assistants around him seemed to have been put on pause, simultaneously stopping what they were doing.

Lin Yan walked out.

No tuxedoes, no hairspray.

He was wearing a blue Hawaiian short-sleeved shirt with yellow flowers, three buttons casually undone. His lower body was clad in a very familiar pair of khaki beach shorts.

On her feet, she was still wearing those same pair of ten-yuan flip-flops with worn-down heels, which cost 10 yuan including shipping.

What's even more outrageous is that he was holding half a chilled watermelon with an iron spoon stuck in it in his left hand, pushing up his black-rimmed sunglasses on the bridge of his nose with his right hand, and chewing on the red flesh.

"Hurry up, it's a bit sunny here." Lin Yan spat out a watermelon seed, shuffled his flip-flops on the beach, and walked straight toward Shen Qingqiu.

"NO! NO! NO!" François screamed like a cat whose tail had been stepped on and rushed forward, blocking Lin Yan's path.

"Mr. Lin, this is a crime! It's a desecration of haute couture! You cannot approach my queen dressed like this!"

Lin Yan stopped, scooped out a large spoonful of watermelon and stuffed it into her mouth. She glanced at the old man through her sunglasses and said, "Am I getting married or are you? This suit is so tight; don't you find it uncomfortable to wear that to the beach?"

"This is art! Art requires sacrificing comfort!" the old Frenchman argued, trying to defend his last shred of dignity.

"Old Zhang." Lin Yan didn't bother with any pleasantries and simply turned his head and called out.

Chief Legal Officer Zhang, who had been following not far away, immediately jogged over with his briefcase, skillfully pulled out a document, and adjusted his glasses.

"Mr. François, according to the supplementary clause of Article 3 of the contract, if you interfere with the employer's freedom of dress in any way, fifty percent of the final payment will be deducted directly."

François's mouth hung open, but the French profanity he was about to utter was abruptly cut off. He glanced at the documents in the legal counsel's hand, took a deep breath, and gestured to the photographer with a frustrated expression: "Shoot! Shoot this raw, unfiltered version!"

The world's top photographers set up their long lenses and tripods. The images captured were extremely bizarre.

Shen Qingqiu, dressed in a wedding gown, exuded an aloof and unparalleled aura, like a peerless queen who had stepped out of an oil painting; while Lin Yan stood casually and nonchalantly beside her.

Occasionally, when Lin Yan handed over the watermelon in his hand, Shen Qingqiu's icy face would instantly melt.

She leaned in and took a bite with remarkable ease, her cold beauty turning into a pool of spring water, and a drop of red watermelon juice even clung to the corner of her mouth.

Lin Yan showed no interest in looking at the camera the entire time; her gaze was fixed on the flying fish leaping on the sea surface and the watermelon in her hand.

When asked by the photographer to pose in a difficult way, Lin Yan simply gave up and collapsed onto a beach chair.

"Taking a photo is more tiring than carrying bricks. Just snap a couple of quick shots, or the ribs will be burnt," Lin Yan couldn't help but complain.

Shen Qingqiu smiled helplessly. She simply lifted the hem of her priceless diamond dress and sat directly on the armrest of the beach chair, leaning against Lin Yan's broad shoulders.

"Click."

The shutter stops.

This extremely discordant combination surprisingly produced a crazy chemical reaction in the viewfinder. Top-level luxury colliding with casual street style, and cold nobility intertwining with languid relaxation.

There's no stiffness from deliberately posed photos, only a unique tension that says, "I'm rich, but I'm just this unruly."

As soon as filming ended, Lin Yan was in a hurry to go back to check on Paigu. He threw the watermelon rind into the trash can, grabbed his wife's hand, and slipped away.

François stared intently at the film negative on the computer screen, his hands trembling uncontrollably, his eyes reddening.

"Incredible...absolutely incredible! This savage aesthetic of contrast...brings haute couture down from the rigid confines of the temple to the everyday world!"

The French old man seemed to have suddenly gained a newfound inspiration, pulling out his phone and frantically dialing the Paris headquarters' number: "Write this down! Next season's show will be all about mix-and-match! Haute couture gowns paired with beach shorts! This will absolutely be a global phenomenon!"

That evening.

Because they didn't invite any media, the official Weibo account of the "No-Go-to-Work Group" was extremely stingy and perfunctory, only releasing one wedding photo.

In the photo, Shen Qingqiu leans against the armrest of a recliner, smiling radiantly; Lin Yan, wearing a floral shirt and shorts, sunglasses, has one arm around his wife's slender waist and the other holding half a watermelon.

There was no copywriting.

Ten minutes later, the Weibo server crashed without warning.

The global fashion world was completely blown away by this outrageous photo. Just a few months ago, top celebrities in the Chinese entertainment industry had jumped on the bandwagon and worn the "military coat." Seeing Lin Yan's extremely arrogant outfit in the photo, they quietly had their assistants cancel their newly ordered 100,000 yuan handmade leather shoes.

The next day, the beaches of Sanya and the Maldives were filled with countless couples following the trend, some wearing suit jackets with shorts, others wearing skirts with male companions in flip-flops.

The definition of fashion was once again trampled underfoot by a salted fish who only wanted to go back to eating ribs, in the most perfunctory way.