My In-Laws' Twisted Wedding Rituals

My name is Phoebe Green, and today is my wedding to Harrell Johnson. The makeup artist had just put the finishing touch on my lipstick when the lounge door was shoved open. Harrell Johnson walked in wearing a sharp suit, but his face showed none of the joy a groom should—only a touch of awkwardness. "Phoebe, there's something I need to talk to you about." He came over and lowered his voice to a whisper. My heart skipped a beat. I straightened my veil, smiled, and asked, "What's wrong? Are you nervous because there are too many guests outside?" Harrell shook his head, avoiding my eyes. "No, it's about my parents. There are some rules we have to follow." "Rules?" I frowned. "It's our custom of serving tea," Harrell Johnson's voice softened. "My parents say the bride has to show sincerity when serving tea; that way, she can properly honor them later." I picked up the glass of water from the table and took a sip, waiting for him to continue. "It means... from the banquet hall entrance, you'll have to crawl on your knees over here to serve them the tea." After Harrell finished speaking, his head dropped even lower. I almost dropped the glass in my hand, staring at him in disbelief. "What did you say? Crawl on my knees?" "It's just two meters, not far," Harrell hurried to explain. "My parents didn't raise me easily—they just want to save face. Can you please bear with it?" Tears instantly welled up in my eyes, the skirt of the wedding gown still spread out on the floor, as pure and absurd as a joke. "Harrell, this is a wedding, not a ceremony of humiliation." I gritted my teeth, my voice shaking. "Phoebe, I'm begging you," Harrell gripped my hand, "All my relatives are here today, don't make my parents lose face. I promise I'll make it up to you later." Before he could finish, Harrell's mother's voice came from outside the door: "Harrell, are you ready? The guests are all waiting!" Harrell quickly replied, then looked at me pleadingly, "Let's go, don't keep everyone waiting." I took a deep breath and wiped away my tears. I told myself that maybe Harrell hadn't explained it clearly, or maybe his parents were just momentarily confused. I followed Harrell out of the lounge, and the banquet hall immediately fell silent, all eyes fixed on me. Harrell's parents sat in the honored front row. His mother wore a red dress, her face showing a haughty expression. The master of ceremonies was about to speak into the microphone when Harrell's mother suddenly raised her hand to interrupt him. "Wait a moment," she said, looking at me with a loud, clear voice. "In our family, the bride must serve tea sincerely. Phoebe, crawl over here from the doorway." The whole room fell silent, my parents' faces instantly turning ashen. My mom grabbed my hand, ready to leave, but was stopped by Harrell Johnson's male paternal cousin. "These are our family's rules. Today is a day of great celebration—don't ruin the mood for everyone." Harrell Johnson's male paternal cousin said with a sharp tone. Harrell Johnson held my other hand, whispering in my ear, "Just two meters, it'll be over soon." The guests began whispering among themselves; some even started to egg things on: "Kneel! Kneel! It's all about filial piety!"