How to put it? Xu Huaisong genuinely didn’t know where to begin, and after a long pause managed only four words: “It’s a bit complicated.”

“Is there any relationship more complicated than an ex?”

“Isn’t debtor and creditor complicated enough?”

Liu Mao’s eyes went wide. He turned it over in his mind — and realized, actually, that wasn’t far off at all.

Years of practicing law meant years of dealing with all manner of people, and his powers of observation had grown considerably sharper for it. From everything he’d witnessed today, he could say with certainty that Ruan Yu and Xu Huaisong knew each other.

He’d originally thought that only a pair of “most familiar strangers” could make a reunion that stilted — but this remark made him realize his thinking had been far too narrow.

Liu Mao had a moment of sudden clarity, and stammered: “She — she owes you money?”

No wonder Ruan Yu had been so on edge, pretending not to recognize Xu Huaisong. And Xu Huaisong, for his part, had forced himself to maintain that poker face throughout.

Seeing that he was taking it seriously, Xu Huaisong laughed. “No.”

“……” Liu Mao had a mild impulse to do something illegal.

“Let’s find somewhere to eat.” Seeing that he was about to ask more questions, Xu Huaisong cut him off promptly.

Liu Mao had no choice but to press the accelerator, turning the wheel while replaying yesterday in his mind.

Yesterday, Xu Huaisong had called and asked him to pull some strings — he needed someone in the Suzhou-Hangzhou area to look up a person’s basic information and contact details. Liu Mao had asked if it was urgent, since he’d just taken on a copyright and defamation dispute case and was rushing to preserve online evidence.

Xu Huaisong had said it was urgent — but then went quiet, as though something had occurred to him, and changed course, asking who the client for that case was.

As a partner at Zhikun, Xu Huaisong was entitled to know about cases the firm had taken on. Liu Mao explained everything clearly, and for his trouble got the call abruptly hung up on him.

The next he heard from Xu Huaisong was in the middle of the night. The man dropped the news without any preamble: he was at Pudong International Airport.

Putting it all together, Liu Mao now understood the whole picture: the person Xu Huaisong had wanted to find was Ruan Yu.

There had been nothing unexpected about this reunion at all. He had come back to the country for her.

Only to travel all that way and be met with “I don’t know you.”

Every man had some pride — Liu Mao decided not to press any further. “What do you want to eat? Western food?”

“Too slow. Keep it simple — I need to catch a flight.”

“Back to San Francisco?” He was taken aback.

Xu Huaisong nodded.

So even looking for a hotel had been a lie.

“You only just got here — why the rush to leave?”

“My client’s court hearing is in less than twenty-four hours. What do you think?”

Liu Mao stared. “Are you out of your mind?”

Spending over ten hours flying back to China, seeing someone for a few brief moments, then spending another ten-plus hours flying back to argue a case?

Xu Huaisong lowered his seat and lay back, closing his eyes with exhaustion. “Probably.” A moment passed, then he let out a laughing sigh. “Anyone else would’ve lost their mind too.”

In Shen Mingying’s apartment, Ruan Yu was curled on the sofa with her face buried in a throw pillow. “I really am losing my mind……”

Having listened to the whole story from beginning to end, Shen Mingying was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. “Who was it who swore up and down they wouldn’t be recognized?”

“How was I supposed to know it would actually come back to bite me in person?” Ruan Yu clutched her hair and sat up. “This is completely surreal — even a novel wouldn’t dare go this far. Am I dreaming?”

“Do you know which version of yourself you look like right now?”

She groaned listlessly. “Which version……”

“The first day you turned eighteen. That night Xu Huaisong held your hand.”

That night she’d been running on pure adrenaline and hadn’t slept a wink — had asked herself over and over whether she was dreaming.

But as thrilling as that had been then, it was equally maddening now.

Shen Mingying went to the kitchen to make lunch. When she came back, she found Ruan Yu clutching her phone with the expression of someone staring at their own obituary. “What do I do — the Weibo post where I said this novel was based on my personal experience was posted together with a video clarifying the timeline of when I wrote the outline…”

Which meant she couldn’t delete the post, and she couldn’t edit the content, because any such move would immediately be assigned the most uncharitable interpretation by people looking for exactly that.

“Stop flattering yourself. An elite lawyer in America is not going to have time to scroll through your Weibo. And besides, he doesn’t remember you at all — even if he read your novel cover to cover, he might not even realize you were writing about him.” Shen Mingying ran through the calculations for her. “On top of which, it’s all in the past anyway. Just treat him as a random passerby. Worst case scenario, you lose a little face — who didn’t have their share of teenage fantasies, right?”

Ruan Yu knew this was all perfectly reasonable, but still: “It’s just — the moment I think about him possibly reading that one scene in the novel… the dream sequence… I can’t get past it……”

Shen Mingying burst out laughing. “That’s what you get for embellishing it in the name of artistic effect!” She finished laughing, then nudged the person who had melted into a limp puddle beside her. “On a serious note — you’re really dropping the lawsuit over something this trivial?”

Ruan Yu pulled herself together and shook her head.

Saying she’d drop it was of course not true — she simply intended to abandon Zhikun and find a different lawyer.

After confirming that this wouldn’t create any awkward complications for Shen Mingying’s friend, she contacted another law firm in Hang Shi that same day.

They similarly invited her in for a consultation.

This firm was called Dingzheng. The attorney surnamed Fan who took on Ruan Yu’s case was swift and decisive — by that very evening, he had already drafted a plan of action.

So the following day, when she arrived at the firm, she was handed a written proposal straight away.

She flipped through the materials while listening to the middle-aged man seated across from her: “Miss Ruan mentioned that your case involves a dispute over both copyright and defamation — but in reality, the defamation element is relatively minor. Whether your work is original does not need to be established in a courtroom.”

She was somewhat surprised. “Then how do we turn public opinion around?”

Fan Yizhong pulled his mouth into something resembling a smile. “Once the online evidence has been preserved, proving that the outline was stolen is sufficient to establish the defendant’s infringement.”

“That may be true at a legal level — but as you’ve seen, the author in question has already cooperated in issuing a clarification. Yet in terms of public opinion, the effect has been minimal.”

“Because that statement currently carries no legal weight.”

She frowned. “But wouldn’t it be more persuasive to also address the originality of the works, on top of proving the outline was stolen?”

“Once theft is established, any further discussion of the two works is entirely pointless. Surely Miss Ruan isn’t hoping to arrive at a finding that ‘both works are highly similar’?”

She shook her head. “The similarity is superficial. If you compare the two pieces carefully, you’ll find——”

“If Miss Ruan insists on this view,” Fan Yizhong interrupted, “my plan won’t meet your expectations. I’d suggest you seek counsel elsewhere. But speaking frankly — I don’t believe any lawyer would take your position.”

She was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. Thank you for your advice.”

Hang Shi had plunged headlong into summer over the past few days, and by the time Ruan Yu left Dingzheng, the sun was already merciless.

She hailed a cab under the blazing heat, intending to go back to her apartment — but as the car approached the junction, Fan Yizhong’s parting words came back to her. A quiet stubborn streak refused to let her give up, and she redirected to yet another firm instead.

After going in and out of two firms back-to-back, she was standing on the main road when Liu Mao’s call came through.

He heard the honking in the background and gave a quiet “ah”: “You’re outside? Let’s talk when it’s convenient.”

She said “hold on,” and ducked into a deserted newspaper stand by the roadside.

A row of transparent compartment boxes lined one side of the stand, each stuffed with newspapers and magazines available for self-service purchase. On a scorching day like this, no one was in any mood to buy a paper.

Ruan Yu settled into the cool, quiet shade beneath the kiosk’s awning. “Go ahead, Lawyer Liu.”

Liu Mao got straight to the point. “The notarization process is almost in order. What’s your decision?”

Ruan Yu paused briefly.

She had, of course, never truly given up on pursuing the lawsuit from start to finish. Even after hitting walls at three firms in the span of half a day, it would be impossible to say she wasn’t discouraged — but rationally speaking, the lawyers weren’t wrong.

When you could land a clean shot straight through the center, why bother with a roundabout approach? Who would willingly take on something thankless and exhausting with no guarantee of reward?

She was, after all, a person who’d been worn down and shaped by the world. She knew that learning to adapt was sometimes the rule of survival. So just now, crossing the street, Ruan Yu had been wondering whether she ought to stop fixating on a single approach.

And yet — Liu Mao’s call made her want to try one last time.

Rather than answering, she turned it back on him: “Lawyer Liu, in your own vision of this case — how would you handle it?”

Liu Mao seemed to pause, then said: “Proving the outline was stolen is the most direct route.”

Ruan Yu let out a resigned “mm.”

He caught the low note in her voice immediately. “What’s wrong? If you’ve run into any trouble, just say the word. Even if you’re not officially my client, you can still be my friend.”

She hesitated before saying: “I’m wondering — hypothetically, if I wanted to also address the originality of the work, would that be achievable in this case?”

The other end of the line went quiet for rather a long time. She was beginning to understand, and gave a small laugh. “It’s fine, I already know——”

“It’s possible.” Liu Mao cut her off.

“It’s possible?”

Liu Mao considered for a moment. “Yes, it can be done……”

His tone was slightly off. She paused. “If this is just a favor from a friend, you don’t have to force yourself.”

“I’m not forcing anything!”

That one raised syllable came back at her as an echo. She asked: “Lawyer Liu, do you have your desk phone on speakerphone?”

“Yes. I’m sorry — would you mind holding a moment? I have several documents that just came in and need my signature.”

“Please go ahead.”

Ruan Yu didn’t hang up. When the line on his end fell silent, she held the phone at her side and looked down at the newspapers in the transparent compartment boxes.

A folded evening paper had half a news article showing — about a former senior executive at an American company called S.G. who had defected to a competitor, violated a non-compete clause, and been sued for it.

Even companies ranked among the top computer software developers in the United States were not immune to this kind of dispute.

Ruan Yu tilted her head and read a few lines, catching the words “San Francisco,” “hearing tomorrow,” and “Chinese-American lawyer” — she was about to look more closely when Liu Mao’s voice returned on the line, saying he was done, and asking if she was still there.

She looked up. “Go ahead.”

Liu Mao’s words came much more smoothly this time: “What you’re proposing isn’t strictly necessary evidence, but as supplementary supporting material, it could still have a favorable influence on the outcome of the litigation — so yes, this is something that can be achieved.”

Ruan Yu was a little surprised. “Aren’t you worried the comparison results might not be favorable?”

Liu Mao sank into silence again, then said: “I’m sorry — I need to sign a few more documents.”

“……”

A minute later, he spoke again: “Whether or not I’m worried ultimately comes down to the probability of winning. As a lawyer, professional ethics prevent me from giving you a direct answer to that — but I believe that genuine originality deserves one attempt like this.”

Ruan Yu’s breath caught. After hitting wall after wall, these words were nothing less than a lifeline in the cold.

In her mind, Liu Mao’s stature shot up to a towering, heroic two meters eighty.

The passionate, idealistic streak that ran through every person who lived by words surged through her all at once — and in nearly the same instant, her mind was made up: Zhikun and Liu Mao were the right choice after all.

But in the very next second, the voice on the other end of the line said, hesitantly: “Mm… I learned all of that from Lawyer Xu.”

“……”

The feverish warmth in Ruan Yu’s head rapidly cooled. “Lawyer Liu — if I do choose to proceed with the lawsuit, my representing attorney would be you, correct?”

“Of course.”

“And Lawyer Xu?”

“He won’t be appearing in court. He’d only be involved in case preparation.”

Ruan Yu pressed a hand to her forehead and fibbed: “The thing is… I may not be able to afford the fees for two lawyers……”

“Don’t worry about that — Lawyer Xu is participating for his own personal research and professional interest. His portion of the fees won’t be charged to you separately.”

She tried to find another angle. “Actually, I have a few friends in the industry who’ve also dealt with copyright disputes. I could refer him to them for his research.”

“Mm… well,” Liu Mao’s tone took on a note of difficulty, “but in all my years of practice, I genuinely have not come across a case as distinctive and exceptional as yours.”

Ruan Yu wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up hanging up the phone. By the time she came back to herself, her WeChat conversation had a new entry — Zhikun Liu Mao has shared the contact: Xu Huaisong with you.

She stood motionless on the spot, cradling that thousand-kilogram phone, her vision going dark at the edges.

On the other end, Liu Mao was equally frazzled. He stared at his computer screen, picked up the phone that had been on speakerphone this entire time, and snapped furiously: “Xu Huaisong, can you type any faster? Where exactly am I supposed to be getting all these documents to sign?”