That night, Cheng Yao, heart pounding with dread, took Megatron home, while Qian Heng, wearing an expression of pure suffocation, stumbled toward the bathroom.

He then spent nearly half the night in there without a word. For that entire half-night, Cheng Yao heard the bathroom faucet running nonstop—the sound of the water gushing like an endless stream of tears from Qian Heng’s heart…

He scrubbed his hands for an entire night.

The next day, Cheng Yao made a point of getting up early and, out of the kindness of her heart, slipped her own L’Occitane hand cream into Qian Heng’s document folder as an offering. She felt, somehow, that Qian Heng needed it even more than she did…

Not only did his hands, scrubbed for half the night, need care and nourishing, but she hoped the verbena-scented lotion might dispel the shadow of that indirect fecal contamination hanging over him, and at the very least leave his hands smelling like a decent kind of poop…

Because of Megatron’s behavior, Cheng Yao was tactful enough not to let him bounce around the living room that morning. She prepared a hearty breakfast for Qian Heng, hoping he might let bygones be bygones about the previous night.

The breakfast was clearly to Qian Heng’s taste—though his expression stayed tight, he finished every last bite.

Wiping his mouth, he finally glanced at Cheng Yao. “That suit jacket from last night—where is it?”

“Thrown out, thrown out!” Cheng Yao said, piling on the smiles, her face a picture of shameless flattery. “Boss said to throw it out, so I threw it out for sure. Something contaminated by that—that thing—how could it possibly appear before you and pollute your eyesight? Absolutely not!”

“Then go dig it back out.”

Cheng Yao: ???

Qian Heng wiped his hands elegantly. “I’ve come to think there’s some merit to what you said.”

“Huh?”

“The economy isn’t great right now, resources are scarce. As someone at the top 5% income bracket, I should set an example and not waste things.”

Cheng Yao’s face was a giant question mark. “So?”

“So, take my jacket to the dry cleaner, salvage it. I think it’s probably still usable. Just because it came into contact with something dirty doesn’t mean it becomes dirty itself.” Qian Heng cleared his throat and continued, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “Like some survivors of sexual assault—they were violated, but it wasn’t their fault, and being violated doesn’t make them unclean. Don’t you agree?”

What did any of this have to do with anything? It was just about washing a jacket—how had it gotten tangled up with sexual assault?

“By that same logic, my hand, even though it touched something it shouldn’t have, isn’t actually dirty. Once it’s washed, it can go right back to being used.”

…

If anything, Qian Heng seemed to be saying all this less for Cheng Yao’s benefit than for his own.

From his expression and tone, it was obvious just how much inner struggle and torment he’d gone through—clearly he’d spent all of last night seriously wrestling with the question of whether his hand was still usable, and having finally talked himself into it…

Cheng Yao couldn’t resist teasing him. “So, boss, why did you eat breakfast with your left hand just now? You’re not left-handed, are you? I noticed your hand was shaking when you picked up the egg with your left, and you dropped it a couple of times…”

Qian Heng shot her a cold look. “I couldn’t decide what to eat tonight. Now I have.”

“What are you thinking of eating?”

“Dog hot pot sounds pretty good to me.”

“…”

Fine, fine, Cheng Yao thought, I’ll shut up. “This whole thing is partly my fault too,” she said, blinking earnestly. “So to make it up to you, boss, let me treat you to dinner tonight—I just got paid!”

Qian Heng, showing not the slightest sympathy for her good intentions, shot back, “Is your salary really enough to cover feeding me?”

Cheng Yao rubbed her hands together, looking at him hopefully. “Might not quite be enough. I’m just a poor rookie in the legal profession…”

“Should I give you a bigger bonus, then?”

That was exactly the line she’d been waiting for! Cheng Yao nodded eagerly.

But before she could even get the word “great” out of her mouth, Qian Heng crushed her hopes utterly.

He curled his lip into a smile. “Nice dream.”

“…”

“Check your bank balance more often. That should sober you right up.”

No matter how much Qian Heng looked down on her salary, Cheng Yao, wanting to properly express her gratitude, gritted her teeth and booked a table at an upscale Michelin restaurant, the estimated cost roughly equal to a month of her base salary. But given everything with the Bai Xingmeng case, she’d genuinely been looking for a chance to thank Qian Heng.

Though Qian Heng’s tone made it clear he wasn’t impressed by Cheng Yao’s offer to treat him to dinner, he tacitly agreed to tonight’s plan.

Because she’d gotten up early, Cheng Yao was even granted the honor of riding in Qian Heng’s Bentley to the firm—only Qian Heng pulled over well before they actually reached Junheng.

“Get out.”

“Huh? We’re not there yet…”

Qian Heng’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if this were obvious. “Would you rather I drive you all the way down to the underground parking garage?”

“Are you going somewhere else, boss? Aren’t you headed straight to the firm?”

“Of course I’m going to the firm, but you riding in my car isn’t really appropriate.” Qian Heng said seriously, “If a colleague from the firm happened to see you getting out of my car, and rumors started flying about some scandalous affair, it would ruin my reputation and my taste.”

“…”

Qian Heng lifted his chin and pointed at the car door. “So get out. Be a good sport about it.”

“…”

In the end, Cheng Yao had no choice but to get out of the car, watching the Bentley’s rear end speed off before her eyes, leaving only a trail of exhaust behind.

“Cheng Yao!”

Just as Cheng Yao was silently grumbling about Qian Heng inside her head, she heard Bao Rui’s voice behind her. She turned to see Bao Rui limping determinedly toward her, disability be damned.

Cheng Yao’s heart lurched with alarm—please, whatever happened, don’t let Bao Rui see her getting off Qian Heng’s car. If he got the wrong idea, wouldn’t Qian Heng make her life hell for it?

As luck would have it, though, things went badly. Bao Rui clapped her on the shoulder. “Didn’t I just see you getting out of Qian’s car?”

Cheng Yao immediately braced herself to explain and clarify. “Qian and I are absolutely not—”

“Man, that’s rough for you!” Before Cheng Yao could even finish her sentence, Bao Rui let out a deeply sympathetic sigh. “Did Qian have you show up at his place first thing this morning to drop off documents?”

“Huh?”

“How else would he end up giving you a ride?”

This time it was Cheng Yao’s turn to seek enlightenment. “So how would you explain him dropping me off before we even got there?”

Bao Rui gave her a look that said isn’t it obvious, and pointed toward a nearby fresh bakery. “He obviously made you get out to go buy him breakfast, right?”

“…”

Cheng Yao really wished Qian Heng could hear this—see exactly what kind of image he had among his coworkers. Riding in the same car as him and no one would suspect a thing—yeah, right!

Thanks to the ride, Cheng Yao wasn’t late today. She chatted idly with Bao Rui the whole way into Junheng.

But almost the moment she sat down, an internal call came through, summoning her into Qian Heng’s office.

Cheng Yao walked in nervously, mentally scrambling—she wasn’t late today, so what was this about…

“Cheng Yao, no need to keep following up on the Dong Shan case.”

“Why?!”

This was completely unexpected. She bit her lip, running through the Dong Shan case in her head. “Boss, did I do something wrong on this case?”

Even if she was being pulled off the case, she wanted to know exactly why before she went down—that way, if she’d made a mistake, she could fix it next time.

“No, you handled this case well.” Qian Heng took a sip of coffee. “It’s not about you.”

“Then why aren’t we following up anymore? Did Dong Shan withdraw the lawsuit? Did he reconcile with Jiang Wenxiu and call off the divorce? That doesn’t seem possible…”

“Dong Shan is dead.”

Cheng Yao stared at Qian Heng, utterly blank. Surely this wasn’t a joke??? This wasn’t some detective drama where a new person had to die every episode—first the opposing party died in the Bai Xingmeng case, and now the client himself died in the Dong Shan case?

Could it be that despite his affair, in the dead of night Dong Shan had thought back on his loyal wife, felt overwhelming guilt, torn between his wife and his mistress, and in the end, filled with regret, chosen to end his own life?

“You can stop letting your imagination run wild.” Qian Heng glanced at her and tossed a document her way. “Dong Shan’s death was a pure accident. A car crash—an overloaded truck flipped while turning and crushed his car. He died on the spot. It happened early this morning. He’d been rushing to catch a flight for a business trip. I just got a call from his assistant. This is the death certificate that was just faxed over.”

Cheng Yao stared at the death certificate in front of her, completely dazed. It had all happened too suddenly. Just yesterday, Dong Shan had been discussing his case with her, full of hope for a future in love free of his marriage, and today…

Sometimes, perhaps, life really was more dramatic than any screenwriter could dream up. In the face of disaster and misfortune, human beings truly were so small. You never really knew which would come first—tragedy or tomorrow.

“When one party to a divorce proceeding dies, the proceeding is terminated.” Qian Heng’s expression remained flat. “So we don’t need to follow up on this case anymore. As for Dong Shan, the goal he’d always wanted has technically been achieved, in a sense—his marriage with Jiang Wenxiu has indeed come to an end. Just through death instead.”

Even though Dong Shan had been the one at fault in the marriage, the fact that a living, breathing person had simply died like that still left Cheng Yao feeling weighed down and unsettled.

Dong Shan probably never imagined that this was how his marriage with Jiang Wenxiu would end.

It was ironic, and yet, in some quiet way, it also felt like a kind of fated punishment.

“Dong Shan’s memorial service is in about an hour. His assistant let us know the time and location. As his attorneys, let’s see him off on his final journey too.”

Cheng Yao was a bit surprised—the accident had happened early this morning, and the memorial service was already happening this morning? Usually memorial services were held three days after someone’s death. Dong Shan’s was awfully rushed.

Something else struck Cheng Yao as puzzling too. “Boss, weren’t you scheduled to meet with a potential client this morning to discuss a representation matter? The one with the inheritance dispute—the one worth a reported 2.5 billion yuan…”

“Reach out to the client for me and try to reschedule. If they’re not willing, then just apologize and cancel the appointment.” Qian Heng’s tone was utterly nonchalant—if Cheng Yao hadn’t known better, she might have thought, from his tone alone, that he was simply canceling a reservation at some hundred-yuan-a-head restaurant.

A client with a 2.5-billion-yuan dispute was a prize catch anywhere. And wealthy clients like that tended not to take kindly to being slighted—even with a perfectly reasonable excuse, a lawyer suddenly rescheduling an already-confirmed meeting would probably leave them unhappy regardless.

Qian Heng was excellent, but he wasn’t the only attorney capable of handling such a case either. Cheng Yao understood full well that a decision like this could very easily push a client worth 2.5 billion straight into another lawyer’s hands.

Did Dong Shan’s memorial service really matter more to Qian Heng than the legal fees a 2.5-billion-yuan case represented?

Just as Cheng Yao was mulling this over, Qian Heng glanced at her again. “You’re coming with me. Wipe off that lipstick. It’s too flashy—not appropriate.”

“I’m not wearing lipstick…” Cheng Yao said, feeling wronged as she stepped out of Qian Heng’s office. “This is just my natural lip color. All I put on was some colorless lip balm!”

Straight men truly could not tell the difference between a woman wearing makeup and one who wasn’t at all, could they? Did rosy cheeks and red lips automatically mean makeup???

So infuriating, Cheng Yao thought.