Fortunately, since she and Qian Heng typically wore black suits to work anyway, their outfits were appropriate enough for the sudden notice to attend Dong Shan’s memorial service.

By the time the two of them arrived at the funeral home where the service was being held, a great many people had already gathered.

As a prominent figure in the business world, Dong Shan had had a wide circle of connections in life. Attendees at the memorial service included not just family and friends and senior staff from Zhenwei Catering, but also his associates from the business world.

There’s an old saying: once a person is gone, the tea grows cold. Now that Dong Shan had died, this bizarre web of connections was already starting to reveal itself.

The only ones truly reduced to tears, on the verge of an emotional breakdown, were Dong Shan’s elderly father, along with Jiang Wenxiu and Dong Min. As for the rest of the so-called business associates who’d come to the memorial, they seemed to treat the occasion as just another social networking opportunity.

Everyone offered their polite condolences—”our deepest sympathies” or “rest in peace”—sent a tasteful wreath with a commemorative couplet, contributed a customary funeral gift of money, offered a few perfunctory words of comfort to the grieving family, and considered their duty as a “friend” fulfilled.

The deepest pain of a person’s death is always reserved for those closest to them, those who loved them most.

Jiang Wenxiu, who had already fallen gravely ill and been hospitalized after Dong Shan filed for divorce, was now being dealt yet another blow with news of his sudden death. She looked utterly emaciated, practically paper-thin.

Cheng Yao remembered seeing her before in a media interview clip online—a woman who’d clearly taken good care of herself, with a healthy glow. Not exactly a beauty, but with regular, well-proportioned features and an air of impeccable style; there had still been traces, faint but visible, of a youthful vivacity in her eyes.

But now, Jiang Wenxiu’s eyes were dull and lifeless, her whole presence drained of color. From crying, her makeup had smeared, revealing a haggard, ashen complexion beneath, her eyes swollen shut. She was still alive, clearly, and yet she gave off the impression of a walking corpse, having lost both her soul and her sense of purpose.

Dong Min, usually domineering and spoiled, was also crying so hard she could barely speak. Mother and daughter leaned on each other for support, persisting nonetheless in thanking every single person who had come to see Dong Shan off.

Ever since arriving at the memorial, Qian Heng had been unusually quiet, his face carrying no particular expression, appearing solemn and composed.

It was only during the moment of final farewell to the body that he finally let out a soft sigh. “He was my first client.”

Cheng Yao froze.

Qian Heng’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Back then, I was just a green young lawyer with no experience and none of the reputation I have now. But Dong Shan chose to trust me. I thought I’d get to handle his family law matters for the rest of his life.”

For a man as emotionally reserved as Qian Heng, most things went unsaid beyond a certain point. He said only these few words, then said nothing further, following the crowd instead to lay a single white chrysanthemum for Dong Shan.

Still, Cheng Yao wasn’t naive—those few words were more than enough for her to realize this was probably exactly why Qian Heng had chosen to cancel his appointment with a 2.5-billion-yuan client just to attend this memorial service.

Dong Shan had been his first client. No matter how much Qian Heng might claim not to care on the surface, deep down he would always be grateful, would always remember the trust that Dong Shan had first placed in him.

Everyone in the world said Qian Heng was cold-hearted and unfeeling, but Cheng Yao felt that beneath the icy shell, Qian Heng’s heart was, in fact, warm.

From where Cheng Yao was standing, she had a clear view of Jiang Wenxiu’s profile—her face carrying the grief-stricken strength of someone forcing herself to hold back overwhelming sorrow, a devastation so total it seemed beyond measure.

Perhaps there was truth in the old saying that it’s only after death that people learn who truly loved them. Cheng Yao thought, if only Dong Shan could see this scene—he’d realize that even though he could so easily sacrifice and cast Jiang Wenxiu aside in pursuit of so-called love, to her, he had been her entire world.

After the final farewell ceremony, Jiang Wenxiu, as the spouse, would customarily be expected to give a brief eulogy. But her spirit had been completely worn down, and she couldn’t manage it. Dong Min, in tears, spoke instead in remembrance of her father. Afterward, Dong Shan’s body was escorted by his immediate family and cremated by the funeral home staff.

Before the body was taken to the cremation room, Jiang Wenxiu, supported by Dong Min, specifically made her way over to Qian Heng. “Attorney Qian, could you please wait for me a moment? Once I’ve seen our old Dong off on his final journey, there are some things I’d like to say to you.”

The request was somewhat unexpected, but Qian Heng nodded regardless.

Qian Heng and Cheng Yao waited in the reception room. It wasn’t long before Jiang Wenxiu came in, supported by Dong Min.

She looked as though she’d just been through hell herself, the physical and mental exhaustion plain to see. Once she’d steadied herself, she waved a hand, asking Dong Min to wait outside.

“Attorney Qian, I know old Dong hired you to file for divorce. I once resented you deeply for it, and Min especially—she did a lot of extreme things that must have caused you trouble. I wanted to apologize to you in person.”

Even under these circumstances, Jiang Wenxiu’s manner of speaking remained neither servile nor arrogant, her tone gentle and warm. Cheng Yao couldn’t help but feel a growing fondness for her, on top of her sympathy.

At the mention of the word “divorce,” a shadow crossed Jiang Wenxiu’s eyes. She let out a soft, pained sigh. “Maybe it was old Dong going through his midlife crisis, on top of all the pressure from the company, that put him in such a bad mood. These past few years, because of his high blood pressure, his temper had gotten quick to flare too. And I was so focused on the kids, I never even considered his feelings, never really understood or looked after him properly. We had a few fights, and here we both are, in our fifties, still throwing tantrums and talking about divorce at this age…”

Once someone dies, no matter how badly they behaved in life, even among mere acquaintances, people at a memorial service tend to recall only the good in them—let alone a couple who’d stood by each other through decades of marriage. In this moment, Jiang Wenxiu’s heart was probably filled with nothing but regret, remorse, and memories of, longing for, Dong Shan.

“From the moment old Dong and I got together, through the marriage, through having Min, it was all one hardship after another. My family had money, and he came from nothing, and both our families opposed us being together. We got married anyway, under all that pressure, with no blessing from either set of parents. I ran away from home with no money to my name, and we built everything up from scratch together, all the way to now. And then, just when we’d finally settled down and wanted children, we suffered four miscarriages in a row. When we finally went for tests, it turned out our human leukocyte antigens were too similar, which meant our blocking antibodies were too low, making miscarriage very likely. Min was the child we managed to save after so much struggle and difficulty.”

Jiang Wenxiu wiped away her tears as she went on. “Old Dong loved children. Afterward, we tried again, but by then I’d developed habitual miscarriage and couldn’t conceive anymore. So we doted on Min, which is probably why she turned out spoiled and immature.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Cheng Yao’s mind. She had heard Dong Shan mention, in passing, that Dong Min had been difficult to conceive, and that Jiang Wenxiu couldn’t have more children due to health issues—but the way Dong Shan had phrased it back then had made it sound entirely like Jiang Wenxiu’s own issue, unrelated to him. And yet the truth, it turned out, was so different…

Fate seemed to have played a cruel joke on them—breaking through every worldly obstacle to be together, only to find their antigens so similar that carrying a pregnancy to term became nearly impossible. And yet, even so, the two of them had persevered. If Dong Shan hadn’t betrayed her, what a beautiful love story this could have been.

Unfortunately, life always seemed to have so many “buts”…

“I know old Dong pushing for the divorce hit me hard, but I also knew, deep down, that after all these years together, all these storms we’d weathered, this wasn’t a matter of principle—whatever the conflict was, we could always work it out. This marriage was never really going to end. I just never expected he’d leave this world before I got the chance.”

Earlier, when Dong Shan had first told her about his affair, Cheng Yao had felt nothing but disdain—a man secretly keeping a mistress behind his wife’s back was, no matter how you looked at it, thoroughly contemptible. And yet, in this moment, Cheng Yao found herself, oddly, grateful for Dong Shan’s deception. He had never once let Jiang Wenxiu learn of Chen Qingmei’s existence, and so now, with his life cut abruptly short, it had instead allowed their relationship, their marriage, to reach a complete and untainted conclusion in Jiang Wenxiu’s heart.

Perhaps, for Jiang Wenxiu, this was its own kind of mercy.

There was probably no way she could have borne it, otherwise—learning that the man she’d weathered every storm with, the man she’d relied on with her whole heart, had taken a lover. And worse, this wasn’t merely a physical betrayal—it was a betrayal of spirit too, one that Dong Shan himself had chosen to call love.

“As for the divorce filing—right now, apart from me, Min, and a few close people at the company, no one else knows. Now that this has happened to old Dong, Attorney Qian, I hope you can help keep it confidential, as a final measure of respect for our family.” Jiang Wenxiu lowered her head. “In the end, no matter what, if old Dong had lived, I know we would have ended up back together, growing old side by side. I don’t want any rumors circulating now that he’s gone. I can’t bear other people’s judgment anymore.”

“Also, you put in a lot of effort on the lawsuit—I’ll cover the legal fees on old Dong’s behalf. I’m sorry our family has caused you so much trouble.”

“There’s no need. The case never even made it to court—I hadn’t put in much effort at all.” Qian Heng pressed his lips together. “As for confidentiality, family law cases inherently come with a confidentiality clause that binds me and every client I represent. Even once the representation agreement is no longer in effect, the confidentiality clause remains permanently binding. You have nothing to worry about.”

Jiang Wenxiu’s complexion remained ashen, but she managed, with what strength she had left, to thank Qian Heng before leaving.

After saying goodbye to Jiang Wenxiu and Dong Min, Cheng Yao sat in Qian Heng’s Bentley, still lost in a wave of quiet sorrow and reflection.

“I really don’t understand—Jiang Wenxiu seems like such a good person. Why would Dong Shan cheat on her? They went through so much together, from getting together to marriage, starting a business, having a child—none of it went smoothly. They endured all that hardship, and now that they finally have everything, this happens? They faced so many obstacles together back then—Dong Shan must have really loved Jiang Wenxiu once…”

“Only to find that people’s hearts aren’t as still as water—calm turns to storm without warning.” Qian Heng’s tone remained flat. “Cheng Yao, love changes. As a family lawyer, you’ll get used to this soon enough. No feeling lasts forever.”

“I suppose, in a way, maybe this outcome isn’t the worst thing for Jiang Wenxiu—even though Dong Shan filing for divorce introduced this small crack, this fissure into their relationship and marriage, at least she never found out the truth.” Cheng Yao sighed, and then hesitated a bit further. “But because she never knew about the affair, she still holds such deep feelings for him—look at her at the memorial, she seemed utterly unable to let go. She’ll probably carry his memory for the rest of her life, and it’s unlikely she’ll ever be able to start a new relationship…”

“She knows.”

“Huh?”

Qian Heng kept his eyes forward, but his tone was certain. “Jiang Wenxiu knows everything already.”

Cheng Yao’s first reaction was disbelief. “How could that be?! If she knew, wouldn’t she be seething with rage at Dong Shan? What we saw at the memorial couldn’t possibly have been an act.”

“Cheng Yao, people’s hearts are complicated.” Qian Heng gave her a flat glance. “Jiang Wenxiu and Dong Shan built their business up together from nothing. What most people outside don’t realize is that the real driving force behind Zhenwei Catering’s growth into what it is today wasn’t Dong Shan—it was Jiang Wenxiu. She’s a woman with real business acumen and vision. Her one and only weakness used to be Dong Shan, but now that he’s gone, her sharp mind and rationality can operate without restraint. Her grief is genuine—after all, that’s decades of love and mutual support—but she hasn’t neglected to plan for herself either, not for a moment. She’s an impressive woman, one worth admiring.”

Cheng Yao’s sympathies naturally still leaned toward Jiang Wenxiu as the wronged wife. “There’s nothing wrong with her looking out for her own interests. And besides, you saying she already knew about the affair—that’s just your guess, isn’t it?”

“Before Dong Shan filed for divorce, she really didn’t know anything—that’s why it hit her so hard she collapsed and ended up in the hospital. But she’s not stupid. Dong Shan suddenly asking for a divorce like that had to mean something was going on. Over these past several days, she’s surely learned the whole truth by now.”

“And it’s not just the affair she knows about—she also knows Dong Shan’s mistress is already pregnant, close to giving birth.” Qian Heng turned his head to glance at Cheng Yao, a faint smirk on his lips. “That’s why she didn’t even follow the custom of keeping the body for at least three days before cremation. He died in the early hours of the morning, and by this morning, she’d already rushed through the memorial and had him cremated immediately.”

Cheng Yao had, in fact, found this strange too—the memorial had been arranged awfully quickly. If the police hadn’t already confirmed it was an accidental car crash, one might have started to suspect Jiang Wenxiu had a hand in it somehow.

What could possibly explain Jiang Wenxiu’s urgency to have Dong Shan cremated so quickly?

Qian Heng’s voice was as calm as ever as he laid out the answer without a trace of emotion. “The inheritance.”

Cheng Yao blinked, and then it clicked. “Dong Shan’s mistress, Chen Qingmei—if her child is Dong Shan’s, that would make it his posthumous child! Even though it would be born out of wedlock, as Dong Shan’s own child, once it’s born, it would be a first-priority heir! If Dong Shan didn’t leave a will, then this illegitimate child would have exactly the same inheritance rights as Dong Min!”

Qian Heng let out something like a sigh of relief. “I was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you letter by letter before it clicked. At least you’re a bit better than a hopeless case.” At that, he held up two fingers, showing a tiny gap between them. “Just a bit.”

The gap between his two fingers was nearly zero…

But Cheng Yao had no time to protest Qian Heng’s jab—she felt like a detective who’d finally found her lead. “Since it’s a child born out of wedlock, proving it has inheritance rights would require establishing paternity with Dong Shan—that would require DNA testing. But by now Dong Shan’s body has already been completely cremated, meaning all his tissue and DNA are gone entirely! Chen Qingmei has no way to pursue a paternity test anymore!”

Only then did Cheng Yao realize why Jiang Wenxiu had specifically requested this meeting with her and Qian Heng, and why she’d taken such care to ask them to keep the divorce filing confidential.

Because she wanted to erase the very foundation of Chen Qingmei’s claim from the start. Even if Chen Qingmei eventually showed up with the child in tow, Jiang Wenxiu wanted the existence of this posthumous child to be dismissed, once and for all, as nonsense or a deliberate scam—especially since, to anyone unaware of the truth, including their own daughter Dong Min, the couple had appeared, right up until the divorce filing surfaced, to be a genuinely loving, envy-inducing couple.

Cheng Yao suddenly felt that marriage was like a battlefield.

Marriage was supposed to be the most stable, most intimate of alliances, full of sweetness, love, and warmth—but at the same time, it was also full of arguments, conflict, betrayal, desire, self-interest, and suspicion.

Perhaps every marriage began with love, only to eventually devolve into a bloodless war between two people.

For a moment, Cheng Yao felt a wave of disappointment—toward love, toward marriage, toward men in general. She stared out the window at the scenery rushing past, then glanced over at Qian Heng’s profile.

From any angle, Qian Heng seemed to have no bad side at all—his looks really did deliver. Cheng Yao’s gaze traced the lines of his face, from the elegant bridge of his nose to the clean, sharp line of his jaw. Qian Heng was undeniably handsome, but there was something about that excessive handsomeness that felt cool, distant, almost impossible to fully grasp.

Without quite meaning to, Cheng Yao looked up and asked Qian Heng a question.

“Do all men, subconsciously, want to cheat? Like some kind of animal instinct?”

Even a love like Dong Shan and Jiang Wenxiu’s had crumbled in the face of Chen Qingmei.

“No.” Qian Heng’s answer was decisive and clipped. “I never would.”

Words like that weren’t necessarily meant to be taken at face value, but Cheng Yao still found herself a little moved—at least Qian Heng had the intention. “Boss, whoever you end up with in the future must be so…”

Before she could finish the word “lucky,” she heard Qian Heng continue—

“After all, there’s no one more perfect in this world than myself.”

“Huh???”

Qian Heng didn’t even bother sparing her a glance, merely lifting his eyelids slightly. “Loving yourself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”

“Loving only yourself means you’ll never cheat.” Qian Heng went on, then couldn’t resist glancing at Cheng Yao once more, smiling faintly. “Of course, that also requires being sufficiently excellent to begin with. Someone like me would never cheat, obviously. But someone like you—that’s hard to say.”

“…”

What, “loving yourself is the beginning of a lifelong romance”? Making it sound so poetic?!

Wasn’t this just plain old narcissism?