When the video call ended, Ruan Yu closed her laptop feeling as drained as if she’d just run eight hundred meters.

At the close of the call, Xu Huaisong had asked her to take the angles she’d just laid out, combine them with the existing reverse color palette analysis, and compile a preliminary comparative document on both works — then asked how long she’d need.

She estimated three days.

That estimate was an optimistic one — it would require working at full intensity the entire time with her already-stiff neck locked in place. Ruan Yu had braced herself accordingly, but Xu Huaisong appeared to be genuinely busy, and said he wouldn’t have time to follow up on her case for another week.

So she loosened her self-imposed deadline, and even, on the seventh day after completing the work, accepted Shen Mingying’s invitation to go out.

Shen Mingying had dragged her out for shopping and some fresh air, deliberately steering clear of all unpleasant topics throughout — though she did ask, at one point, whether Ruan Yu had accidentally given herself away in front of Xu Huaisong.

Ruan Yu’s expression conveyed a thorough disillusionment with the world. “No — but tomorrow there’s another video call……”

Shen Mingying dissolved into laughter.

The two of them shopped all day, arms loaded with bags of every size, and as evening approached and they were finally preparing to head home, they ended up at one last stop — a fragrance counter for a niche perfume brand.

Shen Mingying still had energy to spare. She breezed in, pointed at two bottles for Ruan Yu to try almost at random, and then went off to browse her own options.

A sales associate came forward, reciting the product introduction while spritzing one of the fragrances onto a testing strip, giving it a couple of waves before holding it toward Ruan Yu’s nose.

A floral-fruity composition — the top notes of citrus and green lime were clean and refreshing, like the smell of a blazing summer from some half-remembered past, clear and vivid, with just a faint undercurrent of bitterness that felt like something that had always been coming.

The first impression was pleasant enough, but the moment Ruan Yu lowered her head, she paused.

Not because of the fragrance itself — but because a chill ran down her spine, as though someone behind her was watching.

The associate, seeing her hesitate, assumed she didn’t like the scent, and picked up the second bottle.

Ruan Yu casually turned to glance behind her. Nothing seemed off. She looked toward Shen Mingying a little way off — she was enthusiastically testing fragrances with great absorption.

Ruan Yu pushed the unease aside. She tried a few more bottles in succession, but the unsettling sensation only grew stronger.

She waved the associate off, signaling she was fine for now, and was about to make her way over to Shen Mingying when a startled female voice came from behind her: “Senior Ruan, it really is you!”

Ruan Yu turned. A slight, pale, delicate-looking girl was waving at her, a Louis Vuitton “bento bag” hanging from her arm.

Vaguely familiar — but not someone she could place immediately. She hesitated. “I’m sorry — you are…?”

The girl seemed briefly deflated, but quickly rallied and stepped forward. “It’s me, Cen Sisi! You don’t remember me, Senior?”

Cen Sisi? Ruan Yu’s mind turned at speed. She stood there blankly for a moment before the scattered fragments of memory assembled themselves into something coherent.

Right — a junior who had been three years below her in the same department. They’d originally met through the student union, when Ruan Yu, as a final-year “veteran,” had attended the incoming students’ orientation and chatted a bit with someone from her own major. After that, it had never gone beyond the occasional nod when they crossed paths on campus.

Cen Sisi was beaming, a pair of canine teeth visible in her smile. “It’s been such a long time — I’d been sneaking looks at you for ages, terrified I had the wrong person!” She paused, then added, “I didn’t expect you’d end up staying in Hang Shi after graduation either.”

At that point, Shen Mingying appeared, having finished selecting her perfume. She and Ruan Yu had gone to university in the same city but at different schools, so she didn’t know Cen Sisi. Ruan Yu made quick introductions.

The three of them had inadvertently blocked a stretch of the aisle, and passersby were squeezing past sideways. Ruan Yu hurried to step aside.

Cen Sisi, too, seemed to realize this wasn’t the place for a conversation. “Senior Ruan, since we’ve run into each other — shall we go sit somewhere upstairs?”

Ruan Yu glanced at Shen Mingying. The two of them had planned to head home once they’d finished at the perfume counter, and Shen Mingying had already messaged her boyfriend to come pick her up — he was probably nearly there by now.

“You two catch up — I’ll head off?” She made up her mind on the spot. “I’ll drop all your bags at your apartment on the way. It’s practically on my route anyway.”

Her boyfriend was driving over, so Ruan Yu didn’t stand on ceremony. She turned and headed upstairs with Cen Sisi to a dessert café on the top floor.

Truthfully, she didn’t feel there was much “catching up” to be done between them — but faced with such warmth, she could hardly refuse. She treated her to a few desserts and they talked about how things had been.

Because she considered them not particularly close, she kept her answers vague when asked about her work. “Something like freelance, I suppose.”

Cen Sisi let out an impressed “wow.” “Are you a writer?”

The connection wasn’t really a stretch — they had both studied Chinese literature.

Ruan Yu said: “Nothing so grand. Just an ordinary writer.” Not wanting to be pressed for her pen name, she immediately took control of the conversation once she’d said this, steering it elsewhere. “What about you — what have you been doing since graduation?”

Cen Sisi chewed on her straw, looking slightly sheepish. “Oh, me — I’ve been working at my family’s company.”

Ruan Yu was about to say “that sounds nice enough” when her phone rang.

Liu Mao calling.

Worried it might be something urgent, she stood and said: “I’m sorry — I need to take this.”

Cen Sisi’s gaze skimmed over the screen where it read Lawyer Liu, and she nodded. “Don’t mind me, go ahead.”

Ruan Yu stepped outside the café and answered. She heard: “Just got word from the court — the case has progressed to the stage of adding the defendant.”

Liu Mao worked efficiently — six days ago, he had already filed the statement of claim with the court and applied for an investigative order. The initial subject of the lawsuit was Weibo. Once the court accepted and registered the case, it required the platform to provide information relating to the infringing party. The platform operator had no grounds to bear liability on anyone’s behalf and would inevitably cooperate with the investigation.

By now he likely had identity information on the writer “Su Cheng.”

“Good that it’s moving along. Thank you for all your work,” Ruan Yu said.

“Don’t mention it — I’m not calling to take credit. I wanted to ask you about something. I’m not sure if it’s a coincidence, but you may actually know the defendant.”

Ruan Yu was taken aback. “Know them?”

“Yes. I heard from your father earlier — you graduated from Hang University, correct? The defendant is from the same department, three years below you. Her name is Cen Sisi. Does that ring a bell?”

Ruan Yu: “……”

That particular splash of melodrama arrived with absolutely no warning.

She instinctively turned her head toward the café’s floor-to-ceiling window. Cen Sisi was sitting there, chewing on her straw, looking in her direction — and when their eyes met, she smiled.

Bright lips, white teeth, lively almond eyes sparkling.

Ruan Yu smiled back. When Liu Mao asked “what’s wrong,” she looked away and said: “……I’m having dessert with her right now.”

This time it was Liu Mao’s turn to choke.

She composed herself and walked him through what had happened, then asked: “What you’re implying is — from the online attack to today’s chance encounter, it may not be a coincidence?”

Even before Liu Mao could answer, she already felt a chill run through her — a full-body reaction, goosebumps rising solidly across her skin.

“That possibility can’t be ruled out.”

“But I don’t remember any falling-out with her during our university years……”

“Then assuming good faith — maybe it really is just a coincidence. But even if it isn’t, don’t panic. First tell me: does she know who you’re on the phone with?”

Ruan Yu thought back. “She may have seen my label for you — it says ‘Lawyer Liu.'”

“Then speak to her openly.”

Ruan Yu’s brow furrowed. She was still trying to process all of this, and already she had to go in swinging?

“If she has no idea what your pen name is — and given that you two have this connection — I’d recommend a private settlement. Working out an arrangement that maximizes your interests privately is better than going to court. Litigation takes too long, and when it comes to protecting your reputation compared to other types of cases, sooner is always better than later.”

“But if she’s been acting in bad faith from the beginning, then the words ‘Lawyer Liu’ alone are enough for her to piece together what you’re preparing. Besides, she should have received the court notification within the past couple of days — it won’t be long before everything comes out in the open regardless. There’s no longer any concern about tipping her off……”

Liu Mao laid everything out carefully. After she hung up, Ruan Yu steeled herself and pushed the door back into what had become a very fraught situation.

Life lately was becoming increasingly surreal by the day.

She replayed in her head, on the walk back in, all the various clashes and tensions with “Su Cheng” over the past years, trying to map them onto the junior sitting at the table — but before she could make any sense of it, she saw Cen Sisi turn back to face her, gaze landing on her, asking: “What happened, Senior? You look terrible.”

Ruan Yu forced a dry laugh, sat down, closed her eyes, steeled her heart, and went straight to the point: “Junior — do you have a pen name on Jinjiang called Su Cheng?”

Cen Sisi’s eyes went wide with astonishment. “Senior, are you psychic?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m not psychic. I’m Wen Xiang.”

Cen Sisi’s chin knocked against the rim of her glass. She pulled back with a grimace, rubbing it with her hand, eyes watering from the pain, and it was a long moment before she recovered enough to say: “Senior — you’re not joking, are you?”

Ruan Yu was quiet for a moment, then unlocked her phone, opened the Jinjiang page, and showed her.

Cen Sisi stared. “The world is too small!” Then, apparently remembering the online storm that had played out, her expression shifted. “So, Senior, about what happened on Weibo — I, I need to calm down for a second……”

She said this and kept fanning herself with her palm, her face going increasingly red. It was quite a long while before she sat herself up properly. “Senior, this is a massive misunderstanding. If I’d known Wen Xiang was you, I never would have posted that long Weibo……”

Ruan Yu managed the situation per Liu Mao’s guidance, keeping the upper hand. “Why?”

“You’d never do something like plagiarism!” She looked even more indignant than Ruan Yu’s most devoted readers — though the fire quickly died down. “Senior, have you filed a lawsuit against me?”

Ruan Yu, following Liu Mao’s advice, didn’t dodge the question, and gave a nod.

Cen Sisi’s expression deflated. “Right… this was my fault from the start……”

“I never wanted things to escalate this far. If you feel it was a misunderstanding, we can consider settling.” Ruan Yu managed to produce a reasonably warm smile.

“Really, Senior?” Cen Sisi let out a long breath. “That’s such a relief — if my dad found out about this, he’d tear me apart. If you’re willing to forgive me, I’ll issue a public apology, do everything I can to undo the damage to your reputation, and I’ll never do anything this stupid again… even if you wanted me to make it up to you by slaving away for you, I’d……”

“It’s not as serious as all that,” Ruan Yu said, laughing as she cut off her grand declarations. “But I don’t know the settlement procedures — we’ll still need to go through the lawyers. Would Monday work for you? That’s tomorrow.”

Cen Sisi’s expression fell slightly. “I have back-to-back meetings all day at the company — I might not be able to slip away. The day after?”

“That’s fine.”

“And the court……”

“I can contact them to pause the proceedings in the meantime. Don’t worry.”

Cen Sisi twisted her fingers together, nodded, and kept her head lowered, unable to look at her.

Seeing the sustained awkwardness wasn’t going anywhere, Ruan Yu exchanged WeChat contacts and phone numbers with her, made a suitable excuse, and headed home.

Back at the apartment, she called Liu Mao and recounted the conversation in full.

Liu Mao had told her, in their previous call, to speak little and observe carefully. Having heard everything, he asked: “In your impression — was the defendant lying?”

Ruan Yu didn’t want to believe she was lying. Because if she had been, looking back over the past several years, the implications were genuinely chilling.

And yet: “It’s hard to say… the way she reacted gave me a sense that she was trying too hard.”

“Understood.” Liu Mao’s tone was reassuring. “That’s all right — you did well. Leave the rest to me… and Lawyer Xu.”

The moment she heard Xu Huaisong’s name, Ruan Yu remembered the video call the next morning, and asked: “Given that the situation has changed, should we keep going with what Lawyer Xu is working on?”

Liu Mao considered briefly. “I’ll bring him up to speed. Let’s keep to the original plan for now.”

“All right.”

Ruan Yu sighed, hung up, and feeling thoroughly worn out in both body and spirit, showered and went to bed early — only to find herself, right at eight the following morning, plunged back into the particular dread of being under Xu Huaisong’s authority.

With Cen Sisi’s situation weighing on her mind, she was subdued when the video connected, and greeted the camera somewhat distractedly: “Good morning, Lawyer Xu.”

Xu Huaisong was in the same study as before. He glanced mildly out the window. “It’s not that early.”

She immediately realized she’d said something foolish, and gave a stiff laugh.

Xu Huaisong looked at her briefly, then picked up the materials beside him, his tone neither warm nor cold: “I’ve read the document.”

It was the document Ruan Yu had sent him the day before, before heading out. She asked: “Did you find any issues?”

Xu Huaisong was about to answer when he caught sight of a WeChat notification. It was Xu Huaishi again — he hadn’t intended to look, but his eye caught the first half of her message: Ge, that Su Cheng actually……

Since it seemed to be relevant, he had no choice. He said “one moment” to Ruan Yu, and tapped it open.

Ruan Yu sat with nothing to do, listening to the steady stream of notification sounds on his end — until, about a quarter of an hour later, she noticed her own phone had started buzzing at the same rhythm.

She opened WeChat and found that Liu Mao had added both of them to a group.

He was sending images into the group — three in a row. In thumbnail they appeared to be Weibo private message screenshots. He’d attached a single line: Both of you — take a look at this.

Ruan Yu opened the full-sized images and felt a laugh of pure exasperation escape her.

These were screenshots of a chat log originating from the account “Xie Shiren.” The first image showed a Weibo secondary account claiming to be “Su Cheng” reaching out to Xie Shiren, suggesting that she sue “Wen Xiang” for copyright infringement — and laying out a long list of reasons why this was to her advantage.

Xie Shiren had implied she wasn’t convinced the person was actually “Su Cheng.” In order to persuade her, “Su Cheng” had been compelled to send a message from the main account as proof of identity.

Ruan Yu, in a flash of anger, completely forgot to maintain any semblance of decorum, and pointed at the screen. “She’s such a two-faced snake, isn’t she?”

Xu Huaisong’s expression visibly stalled.

She caught herself and, feeling somewhat self-conscious, smoothed down her fringe. “I’m sorry — I got a bit worked up.”

But Xu Huaisong simply blinked twice, and asked: “Two-faced snake — meaning?”

He was probably not particularly plugged into Chinese internet slang. Ruan Yu gave a small cough, and said with great solemnity: “Just the drink — green tea. My friend just sent me a shopping link for some. Ha……”

Xu Huaisong opened his mouth as though about to say something, then closed it again — and opened Baidu.

Ruan Yu went back to looking through the remaining two screenshots.

The chat logs showed the deeper exchange between “Su Cheng’s” secondary account and Xie Shiren. At the end, Xie Shiren said she would consult a lawyer and give the suggestion serious consideration.

Given that this chat log had made its way to Liu Mao, Ruan Yu figured Xie Shiren must be on her side — and that “serious consideration” had likely been a bluff.

She asked Xu Huaisong: “Was it Lawyer Liu who told her to say that?”

Xu Huaisong wanted to say it was himself, but couldn’t — so he gave a nod. “Possibly.”

It wasn’t unusual for Liu Mao, as the representing attorney, to have contact with the key figure of Xie Shiren, so Ruan Yu didn’t dwell on it. She asked: “What do we do next?”

“Ask Liu Mao.” He said this and went back to typing with his head down, without even glancing at her.

Ruan Yu didn’t think too much of it, turned, and sent a message to Liu Mao in the group.

A full two minutes passed before his reply appeared: If you’re angry, just block the defendant on WeChat.

“……” Was something that petty really going to make anyone feel better?

She was just about to diplomatically suggest that might be a little impulsive, when Xu Huaisong sent a message in the group: Are you in primary school?

Zhikun Liu Mao: ……Fine, what do you suggest then?

Xu Huaisong: Go help our client with online evidence preservation.

Zhikun Liu Mao: ……Noted. And then?

Xu Huaisong: Nothing further from you.

Ruan Yu felt, once again, that the relationship between Xu Huaisong and Liu Mao genuinely did not seem to be a good one.

In an attempt to ease the tension that had descended over the group, she typed: Thank you so much, Lawyer Liu!

Liu Mao disappeared without even a “you’re welcome.”

On his end, Xu Huaisong knocked on the table, pulling her attention back. “Do you have the defendant’s phone number?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you know how to record a conversation as evidence?”

Ruan Yu paused — and quickly understood what he was getting at.

Falling out with Cen Sisi immediately, the way Liu Mao had suggested, would be far too shortsighted. She should pretend to know nothing, draw her into conversation, and extract what she could — that way, in addition to Xie Shiren’s chat logs, she’d have one more piece of supporting evidence for the hearing.

The realization hit her, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of genuine respect for Xu Huaisong’s sharpness. He really was more reliable than Liu Mao. She straightened up and said: “Not really. Could you show me?”

“Mm.”

On his end, Liu Mao was slumped despondently in his swivel chair, staring at the private chat he and Xu Huaisong had exchanged a few minutes earlier, and let out a sigh.

Xu Huaisong: In a moment, she’ll ask what to do next. Tell her to block the defendant on WeChat to vent her feelings.

Zhikun Liu Mao: Why? Can you at least try to have some professional integrity? The right move here is to draw out a confession and gather evidence.

Xu Huaisong: I know. Just answer what I told you to answer.