Qian Wei stared at the girl in front of her, somewhat stunned, and only after being reminded did she finally spot traces of an old, familiar face beneath the new one.

“I lost weight, and I took your advice—I put all my energy into real acting. Now the effort’s finally paying off.” Li Mengyan gracefully swept back her long hair. “I’ve always wanted to thank you in person.”

“I encouraged you?” Qian Wei racked her brain, but came up blank. Ever since waking from her coma, because of Lu Xun’s whole misdirected love-letter mix-up, she’d cross-checked the details of that time with Qian Chuan, and it was only through Qian Chuan’s recollections that she’d formed a faint impression of Li Linlin—remembering that she really had met Li Linlin once before, a chubby girl who, for some reason, had fallen for Qian Chuan and chased him relentlessly, with rather exaggerated behavior. Some of it even resembled things that had played out in her illusion.

But Qian Wei didn’t remember ever having so much history with Li Linlin in reality—let alone encouraging her. Wasn’t that just something from the illusion? How could it be real?

“Actually, it wasn’t really you encouraging me to my face.” Li Mengyan laughed. “You barely ever saw me, so it’s completely normal you don’t remember me. It’s already impressive you even recall the name Li Linlin.” She blinked. “Back then, under a lot of pressure, I developed a personality disorder without even realizing it—I couldn’t control the urge to act out for attention. Chasing after Qian Chuan caused him a lot of trouble too. One day, I went to wait outside the library to corner him again, and I happened to overhear you two talking. He was complaining to you, practically in tears, about me harassing him.”

“That actually happened??”

Li Mengyan nodded. “I was hiding in the trees. I thought you’d curse me out like everyone else did, call me crazy, tell me I didn’t know what was good for me. But you didn’t. You didn’t even comfort Qian Chuan—you laughed at him instead, and then you said, almost offhandedly, ‘She’s so into performing, if she went into acting she might actually be a rare talent, and if she lost some weight, her features are actually quite good.’ I still remember that line to this day.” As Li Mengyan said this, a flicker of emotion, of tears, passed through her eyes. “Because I was heavy back then, and my behavior was exaggerated and strange, no one had ever been kind to me. Everyone shut me out, talked about me behind my back. That was the first time I’d ever heard a stranger say something kind about me. It’s completely normal that you don’t remember any of this—to you, I was just someone passing through your life, an unimportant footnote. But you probably don’t know this: that careless, offhand sentence of yours changed the entire course of my life. Because of that unexpected kindness and warmth, I wanted to fight against my own unhealthy obsession with performing. I gritted my teeth and lost the weight, joined the school drama club, and after graduation went into film and television. I changed my stage name to what it is now, and worked my way up step by step, starting from the most obscure bit parts, honing my craft, until today—all that effort has finally paid off. I swore to myself back then that if I ever made it, I’d thank you properly, face to face.”

Qian Wei felt deeply shaken inside. She never would have imagined that one careless remark of hers could have had such a profound effect on someone else. Maybe there was truth to the saying: you never know what kind of encouragement the kindness you spread without even noticing might give to someone in despair. Wherever you go in life, treat people kindly, build good connections—life will eventually surprise you with something wonderful in return.

She looked at the beautiful, confident woman standing before her, genuinely happy for her. How wonderful—the ugly duckling of years past had, through hard-won effort, finally transformed into the radiant swan standing here now.

Qian Wei said sincerely, “The one you should thank isn’t me—it’s yourself. If your resolve hadn’t been strong enough to grit your teeth and stick with the diet, if you hadn’t refused to give up on yourself even doing background roles, refused to give up on your dream—then even if I’d encouraged you a hundred times a day, you wouldn’t have the success you have now. The life you have today is entirely your own achievement.”

Because of that old episode of chasing after Qian Chuan, the two of them chatted and grew comfortable with each other. Li Mengyan shared plenty of entertainment industry gossip, and Qian Wei vented about plenty of frustrating things in the legal field. Both women had straightforward personalities, and talking now, they found they clicked immediately, like old friends.

Unfortunately, as a newly risen star, Li Mengyan’s schedule was packed, and before long her manager called to hurry her along. Reluctant as she was, she had no choice but to say goodbye to Qian Wei.

“Oh, right—could you give me Qian Chuan’s number?” As she was leaving, Li Mengyan suddenly remembered something. “I was young and thoughtless back then, and I caused him a lot of trouble. If it’s convenient, I’d like to take him to dinner and apologize in person.”

Qian Wei nodded and handed over Qian Chuan’s number without hesitation. She thought that if Qian Chuan ever found out that the Li Linlin who’d once chased after him was now the popular leading actress Li Mengyan, he’d probably be stunned speechless. She wasn’t sure why, but just imagining that scene, Qian Wei found herself looking forward to it.

It was as if everything had been arranged just so—no sooner had she said goodbye to Li Linlin than Qian Wei got a call from Lu Xun.

She hit the answer button instantly, and immediately regretted it a little afterward. Picking up that fast made her look, from a girlfriend’s perspective, like she’d been sitting around waiting for his call; from a subordinate’s perspective, like she had nothing better to do… Either way, not great. Not great at all.

“Qian Wei.”

But the moment that low, magnetic voice came through, all her second-guessing flew straight out of her head. She reassured herself—that’s what love was like, less scheming, more sincerity…

She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Wait till I find a conference room to hide in before you talk to me.”

“Why do you need to hide?”

Qian Wei felt a little embarrassed. “No one else knows we’re dating, remember? Being all lovey-dovey out in the open in broad daylight—that’s embarrassing for me too, okay.” She ducked into a conference room. “Okay, you can talk now.”

Lu Xun let out a low chuckle. “Qian Wei, I was actually calling about work.”

“…”

Qian Wei practically puffed up like a pufferfish. She thought, Lu Xun had secretly liked her for all these years and she’d never noticed—clearly there was a reason for that. The world actually contained a man this hopeless at romance!

Just as she was seething internally, Lu Xun finally spoke again.

“Just teasing. I only wanted to tell you—you don’t need to hide from anyone when it comes to dating me.” His voice was low and pleasant, and Qian Wei, remembering the night before, couldn’t help blushing.

She cleared her throat to cover it. “Since it’s work hours, let’s talk business. How’s it going with the client? Any chance you’ll be back early tomorrow?”

“When I flew out to City B this morning, I already wanted to come back.” Lu Xun’s voice was crisp and clear. “Unfortunately I can’t. Qian Wei, I won’t be able to make it back tomorrow either—things here turned out more complicated than expected. Under normal circumstances I’d probably need to stay three more days, but I think if I work overtime, I can wrap it up in two.” He laughed. “It’s strange, really—the reason I don’t want to work right now and the reason I want to finish the work as fast as possible turn out to be the exact same thing.”

“You absolutely have to be back within two days.” Because of what Lu Xun had said, Qian Wei’s face was still running hot. She cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. “Lu Xun, I remember this time—the day after tomorrow is your birthday. This year, and every year after, I want to spend your birthday with you.”

“And if I don’t make it back in time?”

“If you can’t make it back, that’s fine too—then I’ll just fly to City B.” Qian Wei thought it over, then added, “And even if I get there and you don’t have time to go out shopping or eat with me, surely there’s time for a kiss. I’ll just deliver it long-distance. Come to think of it, you secretly liked me for nine years—I really should show some appreciation.”

“Qian Wei, just being with you is already the best birthday gift I could get this year.”

“Counselor Lu, aren’t you smooth-talking today.”

Faced with Qian Wei’s teasing, Lu Xun laughed too. “Nine years of bottled-up words—there’s a lot of them. I’ve turned them over in my head so many times, they come out easily now.”

Unfortunately, Lu Xun only had limited time to slip away and make the call, so they didn’t talk for long before he had to say goodbye.

At the last moment, as if remembering something, Lu Xun added, “Oh, right—there’s an audit confirmation letter from a client’s accounting firm on my desk, arrived by courier yesterday. Can you take care of it for me?”

“No problem.”

Lu Xun didn’t even need to ask—Qian Wei had already been planning to go into his office anyway. The case file for that legal aid case from before—back when she hadn’t known there was a confession letter tucked inside it—had been handed straight over to Lu Xun, so the file was still sitting on his desk, and she still knew nothing about the contents of that second confession letter. And since Lu Xun was tied up with his current workload, he probably wouldn’t have the time to handle the legal aid case right away either. Qian Wei didn’t have much on her plate at the moment, so she decided to see the legal aid case through to the end herself.

Qian Wei thought to herself that since she’d missed the first confession letter, she absolutely had to see this second one—see what Lu Xun had written.

Love you for ten thousand years? I’ve secretly liked you for so long? Some line of ancient poetry about a love the other person never knew? She felt a flutter of anticipation and curiosity, wondering what style twenty-eight-year-old Lu Xun would have gone with for a confession.

Carrying that feeling, she walked into Lu Xun’s office, retrieved the audit confirmation materials, and saw the legal aid file sitting on the desk. She gathered both sets of documents into her arms and walked out of the office.

Qian Wei found it hard to describe the mood she was in as she opened the legal aid case file. She flipped through it page by page, feeling a complicated mix of emotions. The client in this case was a wife seeking divorce. From the case statement and the details of the evidence, she was a gentle but timid woman. Because her father had gambled and racked up a huge debt, her parents had threatened to kill themselves and used family guilt to pressure her into paying it off, turning her into a sacrifice for an arranged marriage—married off to the creditor. Because of her parents’ interference, she’d also missed her chance with the poor boy next door who had secretly loved her for decades. After the marriage, though, she suffered severe domestic abuse—verbal abuse at best, beatings at worst. Once she had a child, she told herself to endure it for the child’s sake, but her husband only grew worse. Now she’d finally decided to divorce, but half her life had already slipped away, and the poor boy next door who’d once loved her had never married either, waiting for her all this time…

Reading the client’s statement in the file, Qian Wei found that even in just a few fragments, it was enough to stir deep feeling. Sometimes, the things missed in life can never be reclaimed. Qian Wei suddenly felt lucky—she and Lu Xun had missed each other for nine years, and yet, fortunately, it still wasn’t too late.

She kept flipping, and reached the last page of the file. But this page was a blank sheet of paper, with a few lines written in strong, forceful handwriting—Lu Xun’s handwriting.

Qian Wei read it, and no matter how hard she tried to hold back, the tears came anyway. In it, Lu Xun told her he knew that in her recent cases, despite giving her absolute best to help her clients, she’d lost due to gaps in the legal system that let the other side exploit loopholes—and that he knew this had left her in a low, heavy state ever since. He wrote that he knew she might feel the world was cold, not gentle at all, but he wanted her to know that even if the world wouldn’t be gentle with her, he would be. He wrote that the world wasn’t perfect yet, but that as lawyers, helping even one more client could still change that world a little—and that he believed she would win her client the best possible outcome in the property settlement. And he wanted her to know, too, that he didn’t want to miss her the way this case’s story had unfolded. That he loved her. That he had always, always loved her.

Qian Wei tried to hold it in, but the tears were already falling.

During that period, after losing a few cases, she’d once doubted whether the law was really just, once doubted her own worth as a lawyer, had sunk into a real slump. She’d thought she’d hidden it well. But it turned out Lu Xun had known all along—had gone on quietly, steadily loving her through all of it.

Right now, more than anything, she wanted to tell Lu Xun—she loved him too.