Only once that long kiss ended did Cheng Yao belatedly grow embarrassed—kissing so passionately inside a courthouse seemed a bit much, didn’t it?

Although the plaintiffs and defendants passing back and forth here didn’t know her, several of the judges and clerks in the family court division did know Qian Heng. If Cheng Yao remembered correctly, a female judge in robes had just walked by moments ago, clearly pausing in surprise at the sight of them before continuing on…

Blushing, she tugged at Qian Heng’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

Qian Heng’s ears were still red, but his face maintained an almost unnerving composure, as though the sky could fall and he wouldn’t blink. “Mm, I’ll take you for hotpot to make you feel better.”

“Huh?”

Qian Heng cleared his throat, sounding a bit awkward. “You once posted on Weibo that you wanted to try Dawang Hotpot, but eating hotpot alone is too lonely—you needed a handsome man to accompany you for it to be perfect.”

“…”

Qian Heng gave an unruffled smile. “This should not only fulfill your fantasy now, but exceed your expectations too.”

“…” Cheng Yao blinked, then remembered to push back. “Wait, why does this count as ‘making me feel better’?”

“Didn’t you lose the first-instance ruling?” Qian Heng glanced at her, then reached out and patted her head gently. “But it’s fine. Losing a lawsuit now and then is normal in life. As long as you gave it everything and can face your client with a clear conscience, that’s enough.”

Only then did Cheng Yao realize that Qian Heng must only know the first-instance verdict, not that she’d collected Lu Jian’s DNA after the hearing ended. She stopped walking and started laughing.

“I didn’t lose.” Her brow arched slightly, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Qian Heng, I’ve already won this case’s second trial.”

Cheng Yao’s face was radiant, and she didn’t bother hiding her pride and satisfaction—though that only made her more captivating. Even though Qian Heng wouldn’t admit it, a woman working diligently was also impossible to look away from—that independent, confident charm made Cheng Yao’s whole self seem to glow.

This uncut jewel had finally, through polishing, begun to reveal its flawless light.

—

Not until they were at the hotpot restaurant, where Cheng Yao recounted with great animation how she’d gathered Lu Jian’s DNA after the hearing, did Qian Heng finally realize that Cheng Yao hadn’t just avoided defeat—she’d pulled off an extraordinary reversal.

After finishing the story, Cheng Yao looked rather pleased with herself. “So, see, I really didn’t need you to comfort me at all. This meal should be a celebration dinner.”

Qian Heng nodded. “If the paternity test checks out, the second-trial reversal is basically secured.”

Cheng Yao grinned. “So can I get a reward, then?”

“Hm?” Qian Heng glanced up at her. “What do you want?”

Cheng Yao had actually only said it as an offhand joke, without any real idea in mind, but now that Qian Heng had asked, she tilted her head, thinking it over—and just then, she spotted the couple at the next table feeding each other affectionately…

Cheng Yao pointed discreetly at that table. “How about—we try that?” She looked a bit embarrassed. “I see it in TV dramas too. I want to see if food really does taste better when your boyfriend feeds it to you.”

“…”

Qian Heng looked at her. “Are you serious?”

Cheng Yao nodded. “Mm!”

“Too childish. We’re both adults—feeding each other back and forth like that is cringeworthy, disgusting even. I think unless someone’s sick enough that they literally can’t hold a spoon, they should just eat on their own.” Qian Heng said flatly. “Pick something else.”

“…”

Cheng Yao thought again, and remembered the couple’s necklace she’d secretly bought a few days ago. She tried, tentatively, “I see couples wearing matching rings and things, but we can’t really do that openly at the firm, and a ring would be too conspicuous—what if I bought us matching necklaces? We could tuck them under our clothes, no one would even see.”

Unfortunately, Qian Heng frowned again. “A necklace? Why would a man wear a necklace? Doesn’t that look like a dog wearing a name tag? Besides, those couple necklaces on the market, who knows what metal they’re made of—wear one against your skin and you might end up with an allergic reaction, or heavy metal poisoning.” He glanced at Cheng Yao. “Pick something else.”

“…”

Undeterred, Cheng Yao tried again. “Then how about you cook me a meal sometime? Even just some plain congee would be fine. I’ve always been the one cooking for you.”

Qian Heng said nothing. He simply looked at her for a moment, then slowly extended his hand…

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Cheng Yao’s head was starting to hurt. “Your precious hands weren’t made for cooking, I got the message!”

“Pick something else.”

“Then how about—sometime, could you sing me a love song?” Cheng Yao said eagerly. “I think that’d actually be pretty romantic.”

“Singing a love song? A boy under twenty doing that, sure, understandable. A mature twenty-eight-year-old man doesn’t do that kind of thing. Far too sappy. I’d die before I’d do it.” Qian Heng frowned. “How about I recite a legal provision for you instead? Which area of law would you like to hear?”

“…”

Faced with Cheng Yao’s speechlessness, Qian Heng generously conceded. “Pick something else, then.”

Cheng Yao waved both hands. “No, no! I suddenly realize speaking up for my client and winning this case was simply my duty—why would I need a reward for that?”

Was she out of her mind? Asking a certified steel-hearted straight man like Qian Heng for a reward?

After that, Cheng Yao stopped talking altogether. For the rest of the meal, she channeled her frustration into her appetite, furiously scooping meatballs from the hotpot into her mouth until she was stuffed absolutely full.

—

After dinner, since Qian Heng had a legal opinion he needed to finish drafting that night, he dropped Cheng Yao off at home.

On the way home, Cheng Yao already felt her stomach uncomfortably bloated. Operating on the principle that more rest would fix it, she went to bed early after washing up—only to wake in the middle of the night in pain, and realize that the discomfort hadn’t eased at all, but had gotten significantly worse.

She endured it for a while, throwing up twice, restless and unable to sit still from the pain, before finally calling Qian Heng.

Qian Heng picked up almost instantly, his voice still perfectly clear—it seemed he was still working, not yet asleep. “Cheng Yao, what’s wrong?”

Maybe it was the night, or being sick that made a person more fragile—just hearing Qian Heng’s voice, Cheng Yao suddenly felt like crying. “My stomach hurts, it’s so uncomfortable…”

“Wait for me, fifteen minutes.” Qian Heng’s reply was terse. “Stay on the line. Don’t hang up.”

“Why?”

“You’re gasping from the pain. I’ll talk to you, take your mind off it.”

“Mm…”

So Qian Heng put in his Bluetooth earpiece, and Cheng Yao listened over the phone as he swiftly gathered his things, headed to the garage, and started up the Bentley.

“Cheng Yao, want to hear about a few of the cases I’m working on lately?” Qian Heng asked as he drove. “There’s a foreign-related divorce and property dispute, a custody dispute, and an inheritance dispute. Which one do you want to hear?”

…

Qian Heng wasn’t usually one for many words—quite the opposite, he was famously sparing with them, as if every word cost money. But tonight, unusually, he talked without pause, and within ten minutes had already run through the facts, key disputes, and applicable law of all three cases.

Although it sounded like a legal lecture, it undeniably succeeded in distracting Cheng Yao. Her stomach still hurt, but hearing these tricky cases, she found herself perking up despite the pain.

But once he’d finished going through the cases, Cheng Yao’s stomach pain flared up even worse, and she couldn’t help letting out a low groan.

Qian Heng’s voice paused. “Does it hurt a lot?”

Cheng Yao gritted her teeth. “Mm.”

At this point, even more case discussion probably wouldn’t have gotten through to her, the pain was too intense.

After a brief silence, Qian Heng’s voice sounded again.

He began singing an English love song to Cheng Yao.

It was a slow, tender ballad, with warm, loving lyrics, its nostalgic melody carrying a classic charm.

Though his voice sounded a bit stiff and awkward at first, gradually his tone steadied, as if afraid of startling Cheng Yao and worsening her stomach pain—his voice lowered slightly, and though deep, it carried an odd tenderness. In the quiet of the night, Cheng Yao felt only peace.

The man who’d sworn he’d die before singing a love song like some twenty-year-old boy sang for her, one song after another over the phone, until he pulled into the parking spot and arrived at her door, only then falling silent.

Though she’d tried to endure it, by the time Qian Heng arrived, Cheng Yao was nearly delirious with pain. Curled up against the headboard, drenched in cold sweat, she was scooped up into his arms. Then came his steady, if slightly hurried, footsteps, followed by the outdoor air—though she didn’t feel cold, since Qian Heng had wrapped a blanket around her before carrying her out, and draped his own just-removed scarf around her neck.

Qian Heng had a way of putting people at ease—as long as he was there, nothing seemed impossible to handle. Cheng Yao had once been wary of relying on him too much, often reminding herself that even as a woman, she shouldn’t lean into the privileges of femininity, that she should be more independent, tougher.

Only now did she realize that in front of someone you love, that independence and toughness could crumble so easily. Because you know, in front of this person, you don’t need to put on a brave face, don’t need to force strength, don’t need to arm yourself.

The night was bitterly cold, but Qian Heng carried Cheng Yao the whole way to a private American clinic known for its excellent service—and its exorbitant prices.

The doctor, of some unclear nationality, spoke fluent, standard American English with Qian Heng about Cheng Yao’s condition—half-conscious, Cheng Yao caught only fragments, but the two clearly knew each other well, quite familiar and at ease.

Once he’d gathered the general situation, the blond, blue-eyed doctor smiled gently at Cheng Yao. “Rate your pain from 1 to 10.”

Cheng Yao instinctively looked to Qian Heng.

Qian Heng took her hand and said softly, “On a scale from 1 to 10, low to high, how much pain would you say you’re in right now?”

…

In the end, with Qian Heng serving as her human translator, Cheng Yao managed to communicate with the foreign doctor, and learned her diagnosis from him.

Acute gastroenteritis.

“Not too serious, no need for an IV, just take some medicine and let it gradually resolve. Rest as much as possible, drink plenty of electrolyte fluids to avoid dehydration, and stick to a light diet for at least the next two weeks—preferably liquid or semi-liquid foods.”

Cheng Yao watched Qian Heng swipe his card to pay. She glanced at the bill and, forgetting even the pain for a moment, was shocked. “This is just a mild case of acute gastroenteritis?? It’s not even a complicated illness, and the medication is minimal too, but including the registration fee it comes to eight hundred yuan???” She was full of regret. “Why didn’t you take me to a public hospital? With insurance, a public hospital would probably charge a fraction of this…”

“At this hour, the public hospital only has the ER, and the ER doctors might not have the best approach for stomach pain specifically. Raymond specializes in gastric conditions—I only feel at ease with him examining you.”

“It’s just a stomachache, not some major problem. Probably just ate too much hotpot earlier. Eight hundred yuan just to feel reassured is way too much!”

By this point, Cheng Yao’s pain had eased considerably. She was now leaning against Qian Heng’s back as he carried her toward the parking lot.

But at Cheng Yao’s offhand remark, Qian Heng paused, his voice low but earnest. “Cheng Yao, to me, there’s no such thing as a small problem when it comes to you.”

Suddenly embarrassed, Cheng Yao instinctively buried her whole face into his scarf, pressed against his back, her cheeks burning.

“I’d pay eight thousand yuan for peace of mind too.” Qian Heng said matter-of-factly. “Money’s the one thing I’m not short on, anyway.”

Words like that… hearing words like that really was embarrassing… Cheng Yao buried her face even further into the scarf, and even as she blushed, listening to him still felt sweet somehow…

Qian Heng’s self-satisfaction really could be endearing sometimes.

Beneath that mouth that always said the opposite of what he meant, Cheng Yao knew—she was cared for. Deeply, deeply cared for.

Only, sitting in the car on the way back, Cheng Yao felt a bit guilty. “Honestly, it really was a small thing—you know how stomach pain can be sometimes, it hurts for a while and then it passes.” She said, a little regretful. “If only I hadn’t called you—I didn’t even realize I was already feeling much better.”

From Qian Heng’s villa to her place—she had no idea how fast he must have driven to make it in fifteen minutes. He’d still been awake when she called, no doubt still working.

“Actually, I’m quite happy.”

“Huh?”

Qian Heng, hands on the wheel, said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Because I was the first person you thought of.”

Cheng Yao blinked, then suddenly felt the car’s air conditioning was set a bit too high—her cheeks felt hot. “But this way, you had to stop working, and you’ll have to work overtime again when you get back…”

“You’re more important.”

“Hm?”

“Work, compared to you—you’re more important.”

Now it wasn’t just Cheng Yao’s cheeks burning; even her palms started to grow warm. And Qian Heng didn’t let up.

He glanced lightly at Cheng Yao in the passenger seat, his voice calm and steady, as if explaining a legal provision, yet what he said next made Cheng Yao want to cover her face entirely—

“I want to be the person you think of first when you run into trouble.”

In that instant, Cheng Yao felt as if fireworks had burst open in her chest. A man like Qian Heng could always deliver lines like that with a completely straight face—looking so composed, almost distant and cool, yet beneath that coolness burned a heat no one else could sense.

Just then, Cheng Yao felt something brush lightly against the fingers of the hand resting at her side.

It was a slightly cool finger, tentative at first, and then a whole palm followed. Qian Heng’s hand reached over and took hold of hers, his long fingers slipping between her own, interlacing.

And his voice remained as matter-of-fact as ever. “My hand’s a bit cold. Warm it up for me.”

If not for his slightly reddened ears, she might really have believed he meant it in the most literal sense.