The moment she drew close to the ward door, Liu Mao’s voice drifted out: “How was I supposed to know you hadn’t eaten lunch yet? You never said a word.”

“I did. On WeChat.” Xu Huaisong answered with complete certainty.

Ruan Yu came to a halt about a meter from the door, looked down at the thermal container in her hands, and was rendered utterly speechless.

Xu Huaisong had lost his mind from being sick. He had sent a message on WeChat, alright — but he had sent it to her.

That explained it. After the voice call ended, she had received a message that read with startling familiarity and total self-assurance: Bring me a bowl of congee at noon. Followed by a location pin and a ward number.

So he had meant to send it to Liu Mao and accidentally sent it to her instead?

But faced with that commanding tone, and thinking of how Xu Huaisong had spent last night on a drip in a hospital ward while handling her case — even from a purely humanitarian standpoint, refusing was impossible.

So what now? Go in, or not?

Ruan Yu hovered uncertainly in the corridor, when Liu Mao’s voice boomed out again: “Alright, I’ll go get it.” The sound of large, purposeful strides followed immediately — heading straight for the door.

She had no time to step aside. He walked directly into her. She could only manage an awkward smile: “Attorney Liu—” and lifted the thermal container in her hands. “Getting congee?”

Liu Mao brought her inside.

Xu Huaisong was leaning against the pillow, typing on his laptop, looking as though he was in the middle of work. When he saw her come in, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.

Ruan Yu gave a small “um”: “The door wasn’t closed, I heard you two talking…” She held up her phone. “Attorney Xu — you sent the message to me. Your congee.”

Xu Huaisong seemed to pause for a moment, then looked down at his phone and scrolled through it. “Ah.” A beat later he added, “Sorry for the trouble.”

Ruan Yu set down the thermal container and the documents she’d been carrying and said, “I’ll head off then. These documents are the final draft of the counter palette — I brought them along while I was here. Read them whenever you’re feeling better, no rush.”

Liu Mao let out a “hey” to stop her. “In this heat, you made the trip over here on my behalf — let me at least buy you an ice cream.”

Ruan Yu waved him off with a “that’s not necessary,” which was why when he took a step back and offered, “Then sit for a bit and have some fruit before you go,” she found it hard to refuse again.

Liu Mao ushered her into the visitor’s chair and then placed the thermal container on the tray table in front of Xu Huaisong, twisting open the lid for him.

A warm fragrance of osmanthus drifted out. The container had two compartments — one holding plain congee, the other holding sweet red bean paste.

What an unusual combination.

Xu Huaisong, however, seemed perfectly familiar with it. He wiped his hands clean with a wet tissue, then slowly poured the red bean paste over the plain congee.

A distinctly surplus feeling of solitude welled up in Liu Mao’s chest. He asked with curiosity: “Is this a specialty from your hometown?”

He had said “your hometown” — using the phrasing that implied theirs both. And Xu Huaisong very naturally gave a single “mm.”

Ruan Yu was genuinely startled. “How does Attorney Xu know I’m also from Su Shi?”

“I looked it up.” He scooped up a spoonful of congee, returning her own words to her from before — and looked up to find her face had gone almost white. He pressed his lips together slightly and added: “Your WeChat profile.”

Right — under the region field in her profile, she had written “Su Shi.”

That was fine. Finding out they were from the same hometown was no problem. As long as he didn’t know they were also schoolmates.

Ruan Yu exhaled with relief, let out a small laugh, and deflected the subject with an air of casual cover: “Glutinous rice isn’t easy on the stomach. I didn’t do a great job with it — the texture might be a bit off, but it’ll do.”

“Mm.”

Liu Mao was feeling even more superfluous than before and was preparing to make himself scarce, when he looked up and saw Chen Hui — whom he had just sent away — returning. The moment Chen Hui spotted Ruan Yu, his face lit up: “Ms. Ruan, you came to see Song-ge too?”

Ruan Yu thought to herself that this was all one big mix-up, but she couldn’t very well admit that she hadn’t actually come to see Xu Huaisong. She nodded and said “yes.”

Chen Hui smiled at her and turned around — then noticed the different congee in front of Xu Huaisong and made a puzzled sound.

“Hand me the tissues.” Xu Huaisong cut off whatever Chen Hui was about to say.

Liu Mao, being closest to the bedside cabinet, passed the entire drawer’s worth over to him, then clapped Chen Hui on the shoulder. “Let’s go — there’s still work to do at the firm.”

Chen Hui gave an “oh” and started toward the door, then suddenly turned back: “Oh right, Song-ge — I saw that email you sent at three in the morning. I’ll get you the materials later.”

Ruan Yu went still.

At three in the morning she had definitely been dead to the world. Hadn’t Xu Huaisong said he’d fallen asleep at the same time, which was why he never ended the call?

Her gaze halted. Then she heard him question it: “Three in the morning? Were you sleepwalking?”

Liu Mao’s reflexes were nothing short of extraordinary: “Little Chen must have got the time wrong — that was an email from me.”

Ruan Yu: “…”

These lawyers couldn’t even keep track of who they were messaging — and she was the one worked up with anxiety on behalf of their clients.

“Is that right?” Chen Hui rubbed the back of his head, looking unconvinced, and stepped out. He made it to the car park before smacking his thigh. “Wait, that’s not right, Mao-ge — that email was definitely from Song-ge!”

Liu Mao pulled open the car door. “Use some common sense. Are you trying to get yourself fired?”

Chen Hui half-understood, got in the car and buckled his seatbelt, and said: “Come to think of it, Song-ge acts really strange whenever Ms. Ruan’s involved. Take the day he first arrived — he made me put on this whole act, said Sister Zhang had run into some trouble. Then later when I called him, asking when to go pick him up, he gave me this completely out-of-nowhere answer: ‘Haven’t eaten’…”

Liu Mao hadn’t known about any of this behind-the-scenes maneuvering. He thought for a moment, then sent Xu Huaisong a message: There’s a limit to how many schemes you can run. Small things are one thing, but don’t drag out the counter palette. She’s already brought you the final draft — if you still won’t settle this, there’s no excuse.

Back in the ward, Xu Huaisong had just finished the congee. He picked up his phone, read the message, and was silent for a moment before typing: You think I want to drag it out?

He and she were like a lotus root split cleanly in two — outside of the case, there was nothing else tying them together.

But Liu Mao was right. This matter needed to be brought to a close.

Ruan Yu noticed he had finished eating and began tidying up the containers on her own initiative. “Attorney Xu, please rest up — I’ll head off now.”

Xu Huaisong gave a nod and opened the documents. Then, just as she picked up the thermal container and reached the doorway, he spoke: “Wait.”

Ruan Yu turned back, question in her eyes.

He said: “There’s always been one You’re My Belated Happiness – Chapter missing from your manuscript.”

There was indeed one missing chapter. The one where the female lead had an intimate dream.

Ruan Yu’s heart lurched about three feet in the air. She forced herself to stay calm. “There isn’t, is there?”

Xu Huaisong gave her no room whatsoever to bluff her way through. “Confirm You’re My Belated Happiness – Chapter twenty-three.”

“Right now?”

Xu Huaisong gave a single, devastating nod.

She made her way reluctantly back over. “But I don’t have the manuscript with me.”

“The website backend doesn’t have it either?”

Since when did a male lawyer know the first thing about a female author’s backend system?

Ruan Yu slowly opened the backend on her phone.

There was no escaping this — but she could at least find something to hide behind. So she said: “The connection’s a bit slow. Why don’t I send it to you on the way home?”

“There’s Wi-Fi here. Password is four sixes, four eights.”

Ruan Yu drew a quiet breath, set her jaw, and three minutes later, copied and pasted the You’re My Belated Happiness – Chapter content into a document, sent it to him, then said: “Done. I’ll be going now.”

Xu Huaisong frowned at his computer screen.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Too long. My eyes hurt.”

Hadn’t he come in because of his stomach?

“Then read it once you’ve rested.”

“Read it aloud for me.”

“?”

Ruan Yu massaged her ear. “I’m sorry — what?”

Xu Huaisong closed his eyes, pulled up his blanket, and lay back halfway. “I remember the original work roughly. You read it aloud, I’ll confirm it’s all in order, and then we can be done.”

“…”

He would be done. She would have a problem.

Ruan Yu couldn’t even summon a token smile. “I’ve already confirmed it — there’s no issue with this chapter.”

“During World War Two, to improve protection for their aircraft, Britain and the United States analyzed the distribution of bullet holes across planes that had survived combat, and decided to reinforce the areas with the most concentrated damage. But a statistician pointed out that they should be paying attention to the areas with the fewest bullet holes — because when those parts took a critical hit, the planes rarely made it back. Yet that data was consistently overlooked.” Xu Huaisong recounted this story with unhurried calm, eyes still closed.

“…”

Using a World War Two analogy to explain a plagiarism counter-palette — she was the writer here and she hadn’t thought of anything like that.

Ruan Yu couldn’t find a single word to argue with. She conceded defeat and took out her phone. She had been so thoroughly outmaneuvered that she had forgotten the Jinjiang app had a text-to-speech feature entirely.

Fine. She’d let him ride into battle.

It was just a mildly spicy You’re My Belated Happiness – Chapter — weren’t they both adults?

She closed the ward door, set down the thermal container, picked up her phone, and pressed her left hand over her right wrist in a bid to keep herself steady. Then she cleared her throat and announced in a mechanically neutral voice: “You’re My Belated Happiness – Chapter twenty-three…”

The word “three” had barely landed before Xu Huaisong opened his eyes. “Forget it. Never mind.”

Ruan Yu stopped, baffled — and the very next moment, heard a knock at the door.

A female nurse spoke through it: “Mr. Xu, there’s a woman with the surname Tao outside who says she’s your mother. She’s asking at the reception desk for your ward number.”

One minute later, Ruan Yu — with no hope of making a clean escape — came face to face with the mother and younger sister of her novel’s male lead.

The door opened. All three women looked at each other for a brief, suspended moment. Tao Rong and Ruan Yu dipped their heads to each other at the same time.

Xu Huaishi stared, scanning Ruan Yu from head to toe, and then, as if recognition dawned: “Oh—!”

“Xu Huaishi.” Xu Huaisong straightened up and fixed his sister with a calm, level look. “It’s Friday. Did you skip class to come here?”

Her attention snapped back. She linked her arm through Tao Rong’s. “Of course not — I got permission! Look at you — you came back to China and didn’t even bother going back to Su Shi. We had to come all the way to you.”

Tao Rong patted her hand gently. “Your brother is busy.” She glanced over at Ruan Yu, who was still standing there. “And you are…?”

Ruan Yu realized she was still holding her phone in the poised, mid-speech grip she’d had before — she relaxed her posture and stepped forward to introduce herself: “Hello, I’m Attorney Xu’s client. I came here to discuss work with him.”

Xu Huaisong said nothing to contradict this, and invited Tao Rong and Xu Huaishi to sit down, adding: “I told you, it’s nothing serious — just a bit of trouble adjusting to being back.”

“And yet you’re in the hospital…” Tao Rong’s eyes grew faintly red. She stopped herself there — likely mindful, after all, that there was an outsider present.

Ruan Yu immediately sensed that her presence was getting in the way of this family’s reunion. She was about to excuse herself when she saw Xu Huaisong look over at her. “Could you help wash some fruit for my mother?”

“Oh — of course.” She nodded, turned to pick up the fruit basket from the bedside cabinet, and made her way out the door — only to feel, once she was in the corridor, that something was faintly off.

Wash fruit for his mother?

Why did that feel strangely… significant?

She was still standing there puzzling over it when a bright, cheerful voice rang out behind her: “I’ll come help you, jiejie!”