Xu Jun’s body was found by sanitation workers in the shrubbery at five in the morning—he had jumped from the top of his expensive high-rise apartment, ending his own life.

But public discussion had begun fermenting hours before his body was even discovered.

Because before his death, Xu Jun had posted a long entry on Weibo.

It was a suicide note. In the lengthy post, Xu Jun laid out his despair and pain.

A company he’d built with his own hands, on the eve of its IPO, hit with a lawsuit from his ex-wife, no path to settlement, half a lifetime of effort about to be destroyed; his own scarred marriage picked apart by strangers under the public eye, his image completely distorted. The exposé had smeared him across the entire internet with false claims, his reputation hitting rock bottom, many friends even starting to doubt his character. And the final straw that broke him—at two in the morning he’d received word from New York that someone had informed his investors of the unresolved potential lawsuit, and investors were pulling out one after another, some turning instead to his competitor, Kanxun TV, which was also applying to go public. Tuantuan Online’s listing was going nowhere, while Kanxun TV sailed smoothly ahead…

“Did you see it? I was just gossiping yesterday about how Xu Jun really was married to Bai Xingmeng, and before I could even process it, Xu Jun posted a suicide note.”

“Right, yesterday the whole internet was calling Xu Jun a scumbag together, and now he’s dead, and reading between the lines it’s practically suggesting Bai Xingmeng isn’t so innocent either—that he was the victim of a scam marriage…”

Early in the morning, while Cheng Yao waited for the subway, she overheard some girls nearby gossiping.

In his statement before his death, Xu Jun claimed he was actually the victim—that when they married, it was Bai Xingmeng who had schemed her way close to him, that it had all been an act on her part.

He said he’d been devoted to his career, had never been in a relationship before, and that Bai Xingmeng before the marriage had been gentle, virtuous, generous, and understanding. He’d fallen head over heels—but never imagined that after the wedding, she became a different person entirely: hysterical, extreme, obsessive…

From there, one wrong step led to another.

By the time Cheng Yao got to the firm, her mood was still submerged in the shock of Xu Jun’s suicide, unable to recover. Shock and unease churned together inside her.

Of course, Xu Jun’s accusations against Bai Xingmeng on Weibo were unsubstantiated—they could easily be fabrications, mudslinging to salvage his own reputation, or venting his anger at Bai Xingmeng out of despair over his failed listing, not wanting her to have peace even after his own death.

And yet, somehow, Cheng Yao couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. She thought of the helpless, vulnerable Bai Xingmeng, and then of the animated, articulate Xu Jun who had shown no sign of despair at all. What was really going on between these two people?

Either way, Xu Jun was dead, and for a case about redividing marital property after divorce, that was too devastating a price.

She thought back on what she’d said to Xu Jun the day before and felt a wave of unease. How much pressure had he already been carrying at that point? Had she made his despair worse?

The internet was in chaos now—some cheering, “karma comes around, the scumbag had it coming,” others mourning him, and more and more people, after Xu Jun’s death, starting to accuse Bai Xingmeng of being ruthless and refusing to settle, driving her ex-husband to his death.

Cheng Yao scanned through and saw Bai Xingmeng’s Weibo nearly buried under an avalanche of the crudest possible insults, an unbearable sight.

All morning, Cheng Yao felt a nagging unease. She called Bai Xingmeng, but the calls went unanswered.

“Cheng Yao, come look, quick!”

Just as Cheng Yao was lost in anxious thoughts, Tan Ying called out to her. “Bai Xingmeng put out a statement!”

“I hope she’s not too affected by all this online talk.”

“You’re such a fool—still worrying about her at a time like this!” Tan Ying’s voice was urgent. “Do you know what her statement says? She’s dumping the blame entirely on the lawyers, on us, on Junheng!”

Cheng Yao froze for a moment. “Let me see.”

The statement wasn’t especially long or complicated, but by the time Cheng Yao finished reading it, her head was spinning, her fingers trembling.

This lawyer’s statement of Bai Xingmeng’s had been issued through Dewei Law Firm—

“In this incident, Miss Bai Xingmeng’s filing to redivide marital property with Mr. Xu Jun following their divorce was an assertion of her legitimate claim to jointly held marital property. Miss Bai, believing that parting ways need not mean becoming enemies, was not opposed to reaching a settlement with Mr. Xu. Trusting in the professionalism of her legal representatives, she entrusted all communication with Mr. Xu entirely to the attorneys at Junheng Law Firm and never communicated with Mr. Xu directly. Due to the attorneys’ negligence in keeping her informed, Miss Bai was unaware that Mr. Xu had repeatedly sought a face-to-face conversation with her before his death, and she is deeply saddened that this contributed to the tragedy.”

…

“Regarding Mr. Xu’s unfounded accusations on Weibo, out of humanitarian consideration, Miss Bai will not pursue legal action. However, for the distortion, fabrication, defamation, and spreading of rumors by certain media outlets, self-media accounts, and marketing accounts, we will pursue legal responsibility to the fullest extent of the law.”

…

“As for the attorneys at Junheng Law Firm having been derelict in fulfilling their duties, this statement hereby terminates the representation agreement and reserves the right to pursue further legal action. All future legal matters will be handled by Attorney Deng Ming of Dewei Law Firm…”

If Cheng Yao could still barely hold herself together reading all this, then the two characters “Deng Ming” at the very end of the statement felt like being pushed off a cliff.

This statement had been issued by Deng Ming himself.

When Cheng Yao entered the legal field, she’d had two goals: first, to become a conscientious, warm-hearted elite in the profession, and second, to beat Deng Ming in court one day and tear off his mask of false benevolence.

And now, the act she’d thought of as looking out for her client—shielding Bai Xingmeng from Xu Jun’s “harassment,” an act of human warmth—had instead become the very evidence used against her, the proof that she wasn’t professional enough, and in the end she’d been slapped in the face by a statement issued by Deng Ming himself.

Because of this statement, the internet exploded all over again. The firestorm spread outward from Bai Xingmeng, and with her statement pointing the finger squarely at Junheng, combined with her influence and the heat around Xu Jun’s suicide, things spiraled out of control. Bai Xingmeng’s fans, together with a portion of the internet mob who simply loved watching a scene unfold, launched into another feeding frenzy.

Junheng’s official Weibo account was practically overrun. The mentions climbed like something gone mad, filled everywhere with abuse and curses in the comments and DMs.

The comment section on Junheng’s official website was likewise flooded with attacks. Even several partners and senior attorneys who had their bios and photos posted publicly on the site got dragged into it, with people constantly speculating over who was the lead attorney for Bai Xingmeng, picking apart different lawyers’ appearances with no respect whatsoever.

Cheng Yao had no idea how she got through those hours. She was logged into the official account, and every few seconds her phone screen would light up with a new comment slamming the firm.

By the time Qian Heng’s call came in, Cheng Yao was practically in a daze.

Because he’d been out of town, Qian Heng hadn’t found out about Bai Xingmeng’s move right away, but the reckoning was coming regardless.

Cheng Yao clenched her jaw, holding back the storm of emotion inside her, bracing herself to be chewed out or even fired by Qian Heng.

But to her surprise, Qian Heng didn’t blame her at all. He simply said, in a curt, declarative tone, “I’m cutting my trip short. I’m at the airport now. Don’t do anything. Wait for me.”

Three hours later, Qian Heng arrived at Junheng, travel-worn.

“Cheng Yao, come to my office.”

Cheng Yao had been in agony for three full hours, and now, seeing Qian Heng, she felt an urge to cry.

“Tell me what happened.”

Stumbling over her words, Cheng Yao finally got the whole story out.

“I didn’t obstruct Xu Jun and Bai Xingmeng from meeting—it was all Bai Xingmeng’s own idea. I thought I was just helping the client. I thought her marriage sounded so bitter, I just wanted to do something for her.”

“I warned you to keep your distance from your clients,” Qian Heng said, his voice not carrying much emotional fluctuation. “Being a lawyer is a profession. Your client is just your client. No one told you to pour your heart out for them. Not everyone eats organ meat, you know.”

…

At a moment like this, Qian Heng was still cracking deadpan jokes with a straight face!

And yet, the crushing weight Cheng Yao had felt just moments ago—heavy enough that she’d nearly wanted to apologize with her life—actually eased, just a little, because of Qian Heng’s words.

But Cheng Yao still resolved to own up to the mistake she’d made. “I’m sorry, boss. I’ve tarnished Junheng’s name.” She bit down hard on her lip. “If you don’t want to see me anymore, I’ll resign right now.”

Qian Heng’s expression was flat. “Resign? Dream on.”

???

“You made this mess, and now you want to quit and walk away scot-free?”

Cheng Yao could barely lift her head. “I’ll compensate for the losses caused. I’m also willing to step forward and issue a statement to clear Junheng’s name and take responsibility for my own mistake.”

“Ha. Can you afford to?”

“…”

“So—so what should I do?” Cheng Yao asked, steeling herself under Qian Heng’s gaze. “Boss, please give me instructions.”

Qian Heng looked at Cheng Yao meaningfully. “What do you think?”

A silence…

Cheng Yao took a few deep breaths, ran through a hundred rounds of mental preparation, and finally worked up the courage to blurt out, “Boss, I’m willing!”

Qian Heng blinked, startled. “Willing to what?”

“I’m willing to work like an ox and a horse, to… to give myself to you in service, no title required!”

“Cheng Yao, exactly how deep is the feud between us? Or, put another way, just how badly have you misjudged my taste?”

“…”

This time it was her own fault, Cheng Yao thought—Qian Heng could mock her however he wanted. She simply kept apologizing earnestly. “It’s because I wasn’t professional enough that Bai Xingmeng found an excuse to terminate the contract with Junheng, causing us to lose the legal fees and damaging the firm’s reputation, and ultimately things spiraled to this unmanageable point.”

Qian Heng gave no clear response. His face was cold and handsome, a look that ought to have felt distant—yet at this moment, Cheng Yao instead found it reassuring.

Qian Heng had this kind of power about him, as though there were nothing in this world he couldn’t handle. As long as he was there, things wouldn’t fall apart.

He was like a catch-all clause in a contract of law—no matter how many circumstances the other clauses failed to cover, no matter how unpredictable or unforeseeable, as long as the catch-all clause existed, every ever-shifting situation could keep running in stable, orderly fashion within the fences of the law.

This man was handsome, and possessed a strength as sharp as his good looks.

Faced with such an unpleasant scene, Qian Heng showed not the slightest awkwardness, nor any sign of anger or misdirected temper. He had an almost frightening calm.

“You said this was all Bai Xingmeng’s doing—so summarize for me: in this case, exactly where were you unprofessional? Exactly where did you go wrong?”

“First, I didn’t heed your repeated advice to keep distance from the client; second, I shouldn’t have contacted the opposing party alone without your permission, even if it didn’t concern how the case itself was handled; third, I shouldn’t have let my emotions take over—I wasn’t rational and neutral enough at work.”

“That’s it?”

Cheng Yao thought it over. Flattery never hurts, she figured, and continued, “I shouldn’t have such a good boss and still cause this much trouble…”

“And?”

“I shouldn’t have gotten a dog.”

“Go on.”

Though she could tell Qian Heng was just needling her, Cheng Yao had no choice but to press on. “I shouldn’t be late—it’s disrespectful to the job! It’s outrageous! It’s a waste of the boss’s salary! It’s a crime!”

Qian Heng pressed his thin, well-shaped lips together. He watched her quietly for a few minutes before finally speaking.

“Cheng Yao, you said everything you did was at Bai Xingmeng’s instruction. I’m very skeptical. Are you sure it wasn’t your decision alone?”

Cheng Yao was taken aback. “You don’t believe me?”

“Right, I don’t.” Qian Heng’s tone was cold. “You know there are plenty of lawyers out there who have ulterior motives when handling cases—taking from both plaintiff and defendant, so to speak. For instance, you convinced Bai Xingmeng not to meet him, while at the same time approaching Xu Jun to see if you could get a kickback from him, promising that once you got paid, you’d arrange the meeting and the settlement. A perfectly seamless, mutually beneficial plan—except Xu Jun’s mental resilience turned out to be too weak, you miscalculated a step, and he just up and killed himself.”

“I didn’t! I never once tried to take a single cent from this.”

Cheng Yao’s face went pale. She could grit her teeth and endure the attacks from the internet, but faced with Qian Heng’s doubt and denial, she felt her tough outer shell was about to crack.

She’d never even imagined a scenario where Qian Heng wouldn’t believe her.

“I swear on my honor—I, Cheng Yao, would absolutely never, ever do such a thing!”

“Every bride and groom swear an oath at their wedding—that nothing but death will part them, not poverty, not illness. But by the time they divorce, no one remembers that oath anymore.” Qian Heng’s voice was cold and merciless. “I don’t want to hear oaths. Bring me evidence.”

“You said you dealt with Xu Jun directly, and that it was per Bai Xingmeng’s instructions not to let him see her. Do you have written evidence of this? Did she confirm it to you by email, by text?”

“No, she told me verbally.”

“Did you record it?”

Cheng Yao bit her lip and shook her head.

Only now did Cheng Yao realize she really had left no evidence of any kind. Facing Bai Xingmeng’s accusations, what could she use to refute them? Facing Qian Heng’s doubt, what could she use to clear herself?

She lowered her head, rubbing at her eyes, trying to hide the tears welling up, stinging.

Only now did all of it hit her at once—the wronged, humiliated feeling of being cursed and abused by strangers, the shame and pain over her own naive behavior, the confusion and helplessness about her career, so many emotions, crashing over her like a tsunami until she could barely breathe.

Only at this moment did Cheng Yao realize how naive she’d been to feel so pleased with herself over finding that lead about the hidden assets—she was still so very far from being a qualified lawyer.

Just as she braced herself for Qian Heng to switch into full sarcasm mode, all she saw instead were his pale, slender hands, and a tissue in them.

“Cheng Yao, the reason I told you to keep your distance from clients wasn’t because I was afraid you’d mess up the case—it was because I wanted you to know how to protect yourself. Lawyers carry professional risk too. Enthusiasm and kindness alone aren’t enough. Plenty of public-interest rights lawyers have ended up getting their licenses revoked, or ended up in prison, in the end.”

“As a lawyer, you need to learn to recognize which clients carry risk in representing them, and keep those risks within a controllable range. You have to preserve evidence throughout the representation process. You’re a lawyer—you need to know exactly where the boundaries of the law lie, and how to operate safely within them.”

Qian Heng’s voice remained as cold as ever, and yet Cheng Yao felt that, in this moment, he was gentler than she’d ever seen him.

He said, “I believe you.”

“There’s one more thing I need to correct you on—Bai Xingmeng’s legal fees, I will collect every last cent of them.” Qian Heng pressed his lips together lightly, the fine, sensual lines of his mouth curving into a smile. “In my dictionary, there’s no such thing as a case spiraling out of control beyond fixing. There will never be anything I, Qian Heng, cannot handle.”