The Dong Shan case ended there, without further ado. Though there was a stir in her heart, the person who had died was gone, and everything had settled into place.
That evening, as planned, Cheng Yao took Qian Heng to the Michelin restaurant they’d arranged earlier.
Cheng Yao had never eaten anything so extravagant before and found the whole experience quite novel—only she hadn’t anticipated that a Michelin restaurant would place such emphasis on atmosphere and unhurried appreciation of each course, meaning the food came slowly, with long gaps between dishes. During those stretches, she had no choice but to sit across from Qian Heng in the private room, staring at each other…
“Since we have some time, why don’t we go over some legal provisions—”
“Boss!! Let’s talk about life instead!!!”
Cheng Yao practically blurted this out in a flash of desperate inspiration, cutting Qian Heng off before he could propose that deadly recitation game.
Qian Heng blinked, then looked up. “Talk about what?”
“Why—why did you choose to major in law in college?” Cheng Yao racked her brain. “Was it out of some kind of faith in the law?”
“Oh, no, I picked the wrong major.”
Cheng Yao: ???
Qian Heng said it with total nonchalance. “The night before I had to submit my college application, I stayed up all night gaming. My eyes were a bit blurry the next morning, so I thought I was applying for French, and it wasn’t until orientation that I realized I’d actually applied for law.”
“…”
Qian Heng took a sip of his Japanese sencha. “Back then I liked French art-house films, so I wanted to study French. Looking back now, there was really no need to major in it at all.”
“Because job prospects for smaller languages are more limited?”
“No, I discovered French was actually so easy that after casually studying it for about a year and a half, I passed the C2 exam and could converse with native speakers without any trouble. Studying it for four years would’ve just been a waste of time.” Qian Heng smiled, his expression full of self-evident logic. “You see, when people are young, they really can lose sight of themselves sometimes. When I was applying to colleges, how was I supposed to know I was actually this smart?”
“…”
This conversation, Cheng Yao thought, I’m about to run out of things to say to…
Still, what struck Cheng Yao was that Qian Heng had apparently once stayed up all night playing video games. Judging from his current icy demeanor, she never would have guessed he could have been this passionate about gaming in his youth. As a fellow heavy gaming addict, Cheng Yao couldn’t hold back her curiosity. “Did you used to really love gaming? What games did you play?”
“I was playing Diablo back then.”
Cheng Yao practically lit up with delight. “I love that game too!!! What class did you play?”
“Sorcerer.”
“A sorcerer, huh—early game, sorcerers are absolutely on their own, no matter how good your gear is, you could get one-shot!” Talking about this nostalgic old game made Cheng Yao’s eyes sparkle too. “I liked playing Druid. Druids are basically an all-rounder class—no problem commanding elements, can also summon beasts, and can even shapeshift into a bear or a wolf.”
Qian Heng pursed his lips, an unmistakable look of disdain on his face. “‘All-rounder’ my foot, it’s just a mediocre hybrid—decent at a little of everything, master of nothing. Elements weaker than the Sorceress, summons weaker than the Necromancer, and shapeshifted melee weaker than the Barbarian. A Druid is fine for a beginner just starting out, but the real fun begins once you’re playing a proper sorcerer.”
“Besides Diablo, I also play CS!”
“CS, huh…”
…
Cheng Yao never imagined that she’d end up so wrapped up in conversation with her boss that she’d lose track of everything else. With a Michelin meal right in front of them, she and Qian Heng ended up chatting so animatedly they nearly forgot to eat.
They went from classic old-school games to modern gaming and esports, then on to French art-house films, bands, music. As much as she hated to admit it, Cheng Yao realized that she and her venomous boss actually shared a surprising number of interests. They liked the same games, the same art-house films, the same bands and singers.
Even though, in terms of sheer time spent together, Cheng Yao had had plenty of opportunities to interact with Qian Heng, up until now he had always remained, to her, a distant figure of a boss, no matter how much they interacted.
Professional, elite, sharp-tongued, insufferably self-assured—Cheng Yao had unconsciously slapped a whole set of labels on him, but beyond that, she couldn’t really say she knew Qian Heng all that well.
Only, in this moment, Cheng Yao suddenly felt Qian Heng come vividly alive in her world.
The Qian Heng in front of her was now discussing heavy metal music.
“I’m more partial to Nordic death metal—the North American death metal scene is too gory for my taste, whereas the Nordic style tends to be more melody-focused, mournfully beautiful without going overboard on the gore.” Something seemed to occur to Qian Heng, and he suddenly gave a small laugh. “Come to think of it, the things I used to like were pretty far from mainstream.”
For some reason, that smile seemed to take on physical form, striking against the bell inside Cheng Yao’s heart—both light and heavy at once.
Qian Heng really did have a devastatingly good face. He rarely smiled in everyday life, but the moment he did, Cheng Yao understood that there really were people out there whose smile could light up a room.
When Qian Heng smiled, Cheng Yao noticed for the first time that he had a slight snaggletooth, which lent his whole face a lively, youthful quality. Combined with his eyes, free of any shadow, he simply radiated sunshine and brightness. In this moment, Qian Heng wasn’t the aloof, distant partner of Junheng anymore—he seemed, instead, like an ordinary sunny boy next door, with his own hobbies, a youth full of games and passion, moments of awkwardness, phases of adolescent self-importance, maybe even, who knew, some questionable fashion phase in his past…
Of course, the one thing that set the man in front of her apart from countless ordinary boys was his face—not exactly ordinary at all.
He was like a beautifully packaged piece of chocolate confectionery, dusted with gold leaf, utterly irresistible to any woman—even displayed behind glass, even at a distance from Cheng Yao, the sweetness radiating from Qian Heng’s smile was impossible to contain.
Before, when Qian Heng had kept a permanently stern expression, Cheng Yao had always wished he’d smile more. But right now, Cheng Yao found herself sincerely wishing her boss would smile a little less.
Some people’s smiles really were far too dangerous.
By the time the Michelin dinner wrapped up, Cheng Yao had become so distracted she’d barely noticed the meal—it was only when the bill came that the number on it snapped her back to reality.
“Card, please.”
But just as Cheng Yao was mentally steeling herself to reach for her wallet, Qian Heng reached out and handed his card to the server at the register.
“Huh?” Cheng Yao looked confused. “Didn’t we agree I’d treat?”
“I’m a man of principle. I’m not used to letting women treat me to dinner.” Qian Heng smiled coolly, aloof as ever. “Otherwise I’d be indebted to them, giving them an excuse to use it as a pretext to get closer to me, or making them think that my accepting their invitation meant I had some kind of interest in them.”
Cheng Yao couldn’t hold back her confusion. “But you let me pay for the noodles and the drinks before—why weren’t you sticking to your principles then?”
Qian Heng shot her a glare, his voice carrying a bit of a bite. “Do you actually want to pay?”
Cheng Yao waved her hands frantically. “No, no, boss, please, go ahead, treat away!”
Whether by coincidence or not, just as Qian Heng was signing the receipt after his card went through, Cheng Yao happened to glance back—and spotted a familiar figure.
Bai Xingmeng, in a low-cut white gown, was walking gracefully toward the entrance, arm in arm with a man.
Bai Xingmeng looked radiant, as stunning as ever, her smile bright as peach blossoms, showing not the slightest hint of any lingering effect from the whole Xu Jun suicide affair.
Even though, after Junheng’s official social media account had released the statement about the lawsuit against Bai Xingmeng, public opinion toward her had grown noticeably more skeptical, with a segment of reasonable netizens starting to dig deeper into the truth of the matter—Bai Xingmeng, well-versed in manipulating public opinion and the media, had gone all-in, spending heavily to hire a horde of paid commenters to rehabilitate her image.
And whether it was sheer luck or not, right around that same time, the entertainment industry saw a string of massive scandals break one after another. A beloved, married leading man was revealed to be gay and to have entered into a sham marriage; a well-known ingénue known for her supposedly all-natural, girl-next-door image turned out to have had plastic surgery; a nationwide talent competition was exposed for having predetermined its results…
Wave after wave of gossip left the public unable to keep up, and before long, everyone had forgotten all about the Bai Xingmeng affair. She quietly faded from the spotlight, and just like that, the whole Xu Jun business had been left behind with surprising ease.
Now, in this upscale Michelin restaurant, she was affectionately patting her male companion’s chest, then rising on her toes to whisper intimately in his ear. The way she nuzzled up close, murmuring softly, seemed utterly unconcerned about who might notice their relationship. After she finished speaking, she coquettishly demanded a kiss from him.
Cheng Yao could tell almost immediately that Bai Xingmeng truly loved this man.
An actress, no matter how convincing her performances, couldn’t fake what her eyes revealed—and Bai Xingmeng’s eyes were brimming with unmistakable admiration and affection for this man. She didn’t seem to mind at all letting his identity be known publicly, leaning against him without a care for who might be watching, unbothered by the possibility of paparazzi lurking somewhere.
The man, for his part, looked utterly smitten with Bai Xingmeng too, keeping a steadying hand on her as they walked. When Bai Xingmeng stumbled slightly, not noticing a step, he instinctively moved to shield her lower abdomen first.
Only then did Cheng Yao notice that Bai Xingmeng’s once-delicate figure now seemed to have lost the definition around her midsection entirely. Though she wore a long gown, the waistline of the dress wasn’t clearly defined at all.
Cheng Yao quietly tugged at Qian Heng’s sleeve.
“What is it?”
Cheng Yao tilted her chin in Bai Xingmeng’s direction.
Qian Heng blinked, followed the direction Cheng Yao had indicated, and after a moment of surprise, an expression of understanding crossed his face.
Bai Xingmeng and the man didn’t seem to notice anyone around them. They approached a server, exchanged a few words, and then followed the server, disappearing down the hallway toward a private room.
“Now you can understand why Bai Xingmeng was so determined to destroy Xu Jun completely.”
“Why?”
Qian Heng smiled. “That man she’s on the arm of just now is the controlling shareholder behind Kanxun TV.”
Kanxun TV? The name rang a bell for Cheng Yao. She thought about it for a moment before it finally clicked. “That’s the company that was applying for its IPO around the same time as Xu Jun’s Tuantuan Online—the direct competitor in the same industry?!”
“Mm.” Qian Heng glanced at his watch. “It took you forty-eight seconds to remember that. I suggest you brush up on your vocabulary more as you get older, to keep your brain active and stave off dementia and memory decline.”
“…”
Setting aside dementia for the moment, Cheng Yao was too shaken by the sheer weight of this realization. It was only now that it dawned on her—the two of them had once been husband and wife, without any unforgivable, blood-deep grudge between them, and yet Bai Xingmeng, fully aware of Xu Jun’s depression, had refused any settlement amount at all, determined instead to destroy him completely and sabotage his IPO.
It wasn’t emotion driving her, exactly as Qian Heng had said—it was self-interest.
She’d gotten together with the head of Kanxun TV, and given the state of things now, it wasn’t hard for anyone to see that Bai Xingmeng was likely already pregnant. Her campaign to ruin Tuantuan Online had probably come at the instruction of this newly minted father-to-be, which was why she’d chosen this particular, crucial moment in Tuantuan Online’s IPO process to strike with such calculated, ruthless precision. This wasn’t a marriage dispute at all—it was a corporate power struggle disguised as one.
Had she known, perhaps very early on, that Xu Jun had shortchanged her in the divorce settlement, and yet waited to file suit until the exact critical moment of Tuantuan Online’s IPO—specifically to catch him off guard? To delay, even outright sabotage, his listing, all to give Kanxun TV, her new partner’s company operating in the same space, the chance to get there first?
The truth behind a marriage really was far too complicated. Perhaps some of it would never be known.
“Marriage is like a kind of alliance—a man and a woman forming a shared community of interest. When love is present in that community, when the two of them can present a united front to the outside world, it’s unbreakable, and the two become each other’s best allies. But once the love runs out, the two of them may end up colder toward each other than strangers—knowing each other’s weaknesses so intimately that they become each other’s fiercest enemy, each other’s worst nightmare.”
Qian Heng’s tone remained flat, his words as calm and composed as a closing argument, and yet Cheng Yao found herself listening with a complicated, uneasy heart.
“So a marriage without love—does it always have to end like this? Is there really no way to maintain it, to save it?”
“Of course it can be maintained. Once two people have a child—that bond of blood—even without love, the marriage can carry on for the sake of the child, or at least, the two won’t tear each other apart quite so viciously.” Qian Heng smiled. “That’s why Bai Xingmeng was in such a rush to get pregnant. This man from Kanxun TV isn’t like Xu Jun—he’s a scion of real wealth, and Kanxun TV is just one piece of his family’s broader business empire. This time, Bai Xingmeng has confirmed, with total certainty, that this man really does have money. In a sense, she’s finally gotten what she’s always wanted.”
“But is a marriage this impure really meaningful at all? A marriage built entirely on mutual exploitation and calculated balance—is there really any love in that?”
“Love is too abstract, too hard to come by.” Qian Heng pressed his lips together. “Not having very much love, but having a great deal of money, is still better than a poor couple with neither much love nor much money, isn’t it? Besides, plenty of things naturally give rise to love once money is involved.” He glanced at Cheng Yao. “If you ever plan to get married, you’d do well to think about this less.”
Cheng Yao blinked, nodding thoughtfully. “I think, honestly, spending so much time as a family lawyer might make you see marriage and relationships a little too clearly. There’s good and bad to that—the good part is being alert enough to protect your own interests, the bad part is being so rational, so clear-eyed, that it makes happiness harder to come by. So I think, every once in a while, people should learn to play dumb in life.”
“You don’t need to try.”
Cheng Yao: ???
Qian Heng said nothing further, only fixing Cheng Yao with a subtle, meaningful look, one that fell just short of writing the words because you’re already genuinely dumb across his face.
…