Ruan Yu found the logic rather peculiar. If Cen Sisi really did expose everything, wouldn’t she be laying bare her own dirty secrets as well?
But it wasn’t impossible. Because she recalled that phone call Xu Huaisong had taken earlier — he had seemed to mention some kind of retaliatory incident carried out by a defendant against a plaintiff.
When a defendant faces a serious risk of losing, they may reach a point where they decide to go down swinging and take everyone with them.
With that thought, driven by a kind of instinctive parallel curiosity, Ruan Yu typed “S.G” — the name Xu Huaisong had mentioned — into her browser and searched.
The most recent related coverage stopped at a court hearing from not long ago. She didn’t find much information about the defendant, but she noticed another name: Hanson.
Xu Huaisong’s English name.
Her train of thought veered off track. She switched to searching that keyword instead and landed on an interview-style article in English that laid out the history between him and S.G.
The article stated that S.G had been sued by a competitor three years ago over an intellectual property dispute. The scandal sent their stock price plummeting and left the company facing a severe financial crisis.
Attorney Xu — Xu Huaisong’s father — had been highly regarded in California legal circles at the time, and took on the case as S.G’s defense counsel. But two days before the trial was set to begin, he suffered a sudden cerebral infarction. He survived, but was diagnosed with vascular dementia.
Switching legal counsel on the eve of a trial was deeply inadvisable — if the case were lost as a result, S.G would collapse entirely. But requesting a postponement wasn’t viable either. Every day the case remained unresolved, the stock market situation would continue to deteriorate, and the company would face ruin all the same.
Two days remained. The board could no longer sit still. They sent representatives to the hospital to repeatedly ask the doctors about the possibility of Attorney Xu making a short-term recovery.
The answer, of course, was that it was impossible.
In the end, Xu Huaisong stepped forward. — The Xu Huaisong who had only just completed his LLM that year, who had only recently passed the California Bar, who was barely new to the profession.
Because he had been learning under his father’s guidance, he had been involved in the case from start to finish. S.G, with no other options left, chose him as a last resort.
No one held out much hope.
But the result was that Xu Huaisong, navigating the complexities of the case, secured an in-court verdict on the day of trial.
S.G won. They came back from the brink.
Ruan Yu slowly scrolled her mouse down to the final line of the article: That’s an incredible legend.
Perhaps it referred to Xu Huaisong. Perhaps to S.G.
But all Ruan Yu could think was — what had happened to Attorney Xu’s father afterward?

The following day, after a gap of roughly ten days, the Jinjiang Report Center issued its ruling on the plagiarism case, determining that the degree of similarity between I Really Want to Whisper in Your Ear and Her Eyes Smile was less than one-tenth of the latter’s content, and did not constitute excessive borrowing.
Ruan Yu posted the news in the group chat to inform Liu Mao and Xu Huaisong.
Liu Mao replied instantly, saying that with this ruling in hand, the odds of winning the lawsuit would be higher, and the chances of securing damages greater.
But good news rarely came without something to worry about. Ruan Yu typed: The forums and Weibo are probably going to have a field day with this.
Fifteen minutes later.
Zhikun Liu Mao: Sure enough.
Soft Jade: What are they saying?
Online abuse took a toll on a person’s energy. She cared about public sentiment, but also felt a little afraid to look.
Liu Mao sent over several screenshots.
This degree of overlap doesn’t count as excessive borrowing — what would?
Saw this result coming. Would Jinjiang really cut down their own cash cow?
Truly can’t, I heard from a friend in the entertainment industry that Huanshi has their eye on this IP. Huanshi, everyone — a major film, a major production, a single breath worth tens of millions in licensing rights! A person can be shameless, but they can’t afford to forgo money!
Ranked. Black hen or white hen, a hen that lays eggs is a good hen.
The sarcasm practically dripped off the screen, stinging the eyes to read.
That last one was probably something Liu Mao had sent by accident — realizing it was inappropriate, he quickly recalled it.
The very next moment, Xu Huaisong, who had been silent for a long time, sent a message: You have too much time on your hands?
There was an edge to it. Ruan Yu didn’t dare respond.
Zhikun Liu Mao: Not really…
Xu Huaisong: Then go write the legal statement.
In the next instant, Ruan Yu’s screen filled with a cascade of Weibo account handles. Sent from Xu Huaisong’s end, it read like a list of names slated for justice.
Xu Huaisong: Flagging them.
It was official business, but she was still a little moved. She typed: You’ve worked hard, Attorney Xu!
No reply came. Ruan Yu closed the chat window, and immediately heard the doorbell.
It was Shen Mingying.
After leaving her editorial position at Jinjiang, Shen Mingying had set up an online shop with her boyfriend. Like Ruan Yu, she wasn’t bound to a strict nine-to-five schedule, so she had time to drop by for a visit.
Ruan Yu opened the door and immediately said, “No need to comfort me — I’m somehow used to it by now, my mood’s actually alright.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Shen Mingying said, walking straight to the living room sofa. “I’m here for the gossip on Cen Sisi.”
Ruan Yu had told her about the situation over the phone the day before.
After all, Cen Sisi was something of Shen Mingying’s own personal nemesis.
Back in the beginning, Ruan Yu had entered the contemporary romance scene, and after graduation, seeing that Shen Mingying hadn’t found a suitable job, she recommended her to apply for a historical romance editorial position at Jinjiang. A couple of years in, having grown tired of writing contemporary fiction, Ruan Yu switched tracks and moved into historical romance — and happened to be assigned to Shen Mingying’s editorial care.
Then, at some point during the serialization period, their real-life connection leaked out somehow and was exposed anonymously on a forum. The anonymous person whimpered and complained that the editorial rankings were biased, that the prime recommendation slots all went to the editor’s best friend.
After considerable investigation, Shen Mingying traced the account back to someone called “Su Cheng” — which was to say, Cen Sisi.
The incident caused quite a stir in their circle. Even though Shen Mingying had genuinely not abused her position, who would believe that once the accusation was out there? So she eventually left the job of her own accord.
Ruan Yu had also taken considerable heat over it, and wracked with guilt over dragging Shen Mingying into it, found her mental state affected. She rushed through the ending of that historical novel. When she opened a new story afterward, people kept dragging up the past, and she forced herself to manage her emotions and push through to completion — only to fall into a creative block afterward, making no progress for a full eleven months.
That was also part of why, when Cen Sisi stirred up trouble again this time, both of them were determined to see the lawsuit through.
Was one time of tolerating it not enough already?
Shen Mingying said, “Looking at it this way, she already knew who you were back then. What on earth did you do to her in university that made her keep coming after you all these years?”
Ruan Yu sighed. “If I knew, would I have been blindsided like this?”
“Did you steal her scholarship?”
She shook her head.
“Steal her recommendation slot?”
She shook her head again.
“Did you steal her man, then?”
Before Ruan Yu even had to shake her head, Shen Mingying dismissed it herself: “Impossible. You’ve been single since birth — you wouldn’t take a man even if one walked up and offered himself.”
She remembered that in Ruan Yu’s fourth year, a first-year junior had pursued her relentlessly, causing a storm across the whole department — and even so, nothing had come of it between them.
And it wasn’t as though that junior wasn’t good-looking enough. He’d gone on to become a celebrity, with a whole devoted following of fans who saw themselves as his girlfriends.
Shen Mingying had called Ruan Yu “blind” more than once over that.
“Speaking of which, whatever happened to that junior?”
“Haven’t kept up with him.”
Shen Mingying’s thoughts had drifted from Cen Sisi, and she pulled out her phone to search. “Li something-can, right? Oh, this is his Weibo?” She held up the phone. “SC — Li Shican.”
Ruan Yu glanced over from a distance and nodded.
But in that single glance, something flashed through her mind like a spark.
SC? Why did those two letters feel oddly familiar?
“Oh, he’s live right now.”
Shen Mingying tapped into Li Shican’s livestream. A voice with a faint, pleasant rasp came through: “Alright, I’ll admit that round — my loss, so it’s a dare. Come on then, that one who said ‘I love eating bunnies’ — you say it.”
“A big celebrity this down-to-earth, doing a livestream and playing Truth or Dare with his fans?” Shen Mingying tore open a packet of preserved plums and watched with relish, muttering to herself.
Ruan Yu didn’t respond, scrolling through Weibo on her own, immersed in the world of online vitriol. When it got too much, she copied several account names into her notebook and sent them to the group chat: Attorney Xu, can I add a few more names to the list?
Xu Huaisong: Up to you.
With his blessing, Ruan Yu’s fighting spirit surged. She returned to the task of diligently tracking people down.
From Shen Mingying’s phone, Li Shican’s voice came through again: “Dial the seventh contact in your phone and say the eight words ‘See you the day after tomorrow, same place as always’? Wow, that’s a brutal one…”
“Being a celebrity isn’t easy either!” Shen Mingying let out another of her world-weary sighs — but just as the words left her mouth, Ruan Yu’s phone rang.
A gentle piano melody, overlapping with the steady stream of dial tones coming from the livestream.
Shen Mingying froze. Before she’d had time to process it, she watched Ruan Yu answer: “Hello?”
From the livestream came the same words: “Hello?”
Shen Mingying shot to her feet.
Ruan Yu had no idea whose number it was when she looked at the screen, but the area code showed Hang Shi, so she’d picked up. Now she was hazily piecing it together, and turned stiffly toward Shen Mingying, mouthing silently: Me?
Shen Mingying’s face was a picture of shock. She nodded frantically and scrambled to plug earphones into her phone.
Ruan Yu stood stunned for a full five seconds before the voice in her ear brought her back: “Senior? It’s Shican.”
She steadied herself and said, “It’s me…”
He seemed to smile. “Don’t be nervous — I’m just at a loose end, calling to see how you’re doing.”
With over a hundred thousand people listening in on this call, how could she not be nervous?
She stared at Shen Mingying, palms already damp with sweat, and replied, “How I’m doing — I’m doing fine.”
“And you’re still living in the same place as before?”
Ruan Yu had caught a snippet of the livestream earlier and guessed that Li Shican was steering the conversation toward a specific point. To get the call over with as quickly as possible, she answered, “Yes.”
“I’d love to catch up. See you the day after tomorrow, same place as always?”
Ruan Yu paused for just a moment. Aware of how many people were listening, she decided it was best to play along with the game: “Alright…”
“See you then. Bye.”
“Bye.”
The call ended. Shen Mingying let out a shriek: “What just happened? Didn’t he block you first back then? How does he still have your number?”
Ruan Yu took a moment to collect herself. “If you’re asking me, who am I supposed to ask?”
Shen Mingying bent back over the livestream.
The comments were flooding the screen in a dense torrent.
Oh wow, her voice is so pretty!
Shican, you two are NOT allowed to meet at the same place!
Whoever came up with that dare, step forward — let’s take good care of you together!
These devoted fans of his.
Shen Mingying rubbed the goosebumps off her arm, then watched the Li Shican on screen break into a smile. “You all just love getting me into trouble. Remind me to apologize after the stream, or I’ll be standing someone up and that’s just not right.”
“Wow, he really knows what to say.”
In just a few words he had smoothly and indirectly clarified that he wouldn’t actually be going to meet anyone — and kept over a hundred thousand fans perfectly satisfied.
“How did he not manage to win you over back then?” Shen Mingying marveled to Ruan Yu — but as she turned, she found Ruan Yu with her brow deeply furrowed, gripping her phone and staring at something. “What’s wrong with you? Still reading the comments about yourself? Stop torturing yourself, will you?”
Ruan Yu shook her head, indicating it wasn’t that. “I’m looking at Li Shican’s profile page.” She said it, and her brow creased even further. “SC — those two letters feel so familiar. Where have I seen them before?”
Shen Mingying blinked blankly. “SC? Isn’t that Su Cheng?”
Ruan Yu looked up sharply.
Shican was SC. Su Cheng was also SC?