The moment Liang Yiran left, Qian Heng called Cheng Yao into his office.

What caught Qian Heng a little off guard was that, when it came to transferring to Liang Yiran’s team, Cheng Yao agreed almost without a second thought. “Working under Liang Par sounds good—I’m grateful she spoke up for me.”

“Given the situation now, transferring teams to avoid any conflict of interest really is the only option. I’ll have HR send out the relevant email shortly. As a partner, I’ll also need to address this matter formally.”

Cheng Yao nodded, then, after a moment’s thought, spoke up in defense of Bao Rui and Tan Ying. “This isn’t their fault—Tan Ying and Bao Rui, I mean. I have no idea how it suddenly got out today either.”

“Probably because I like you too much.”

Cheng Yao looked up. Qian Heng was casually flipping through the documents in front of him that needed his signature, his tone so natural it took a moment to register that he’d been the one to say that.

“When you like someone too much, you can’t help yourself, and eventually people find out.”Qian Heng looked out the window, his tone a bit awkward. “Especially someone as smart and outstanding as me—someone who, even with a perfect score of ten, insists on aiming for a hundred—it’s really no surprise that liking you this much would eventually give me away.” He cleared his throat, then continued in a perfectly serious tone, “What I’m about to say isn’t coming from me as your boyfriend, but purely as your superior.” He tried hard to keep his expression neutral. “Losing a boss like me might slow down your progress a bit. Since I bear some responsibility for this mid-course team transfer, if there’s ever anything you need help with, I won’t just stand by and do nothing.”

With Qian Heng working this hard to make excuses, Cheng Yao felt it would be inhumane to call him out on it.

She understood his roundabout way of saying things perfectly well.

And just hearing Qian Heng’s voice in that moment made her nose sting with emotion. Whatever awkward, difficult scenes she’d endured earlier, she’d managed to hold herself together—but now, facing her own man, she felt a wave of grievance she could no longer contain, wanting only to throw herself into his arms and hide there.

“Qian Heng, I miss you a little.”

Qian Heng froze. Cheng Yao’s bright eyes were fixed on him, open and unguarded.

“You were only away for half a day, but I still missed you.”

Something in Qian Heng’s heart softened. “How long has this gossip been going around? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? If Liang Yiran hadn’t overheard it, were you just planning to deal with it alone?”

“I’m not a kid anymore. I can’t just run for a hug every time I cry, hide away every time I get hurt.” Cheng Yao bit her lip. “I want to become someone like Liang Par—as outstanding and strong as she is.”

“You can become Cheng Par all you want, but even then, you’ll still be my girlfriend.” Qian Heng pressed his lips together, staring at her. “And if you’re my girlfriend, you have every natural right to cry in your boyfriend’s arms.” He reached out and finally ruffled her hair. “Tonight, let’s go get that clay-pot rice you like.”

For some reason, that simple gesture alone made Cheng Yao feel like the grievance inside her had eased somewhat.

—

Qian Heng moved swiftly and decisively. Before long, Cheng Yao had switched teams, and Qian Heng openly acknowledged his relationship with her. To avoid any conflict of interest, Cheng Yao even went so far as to give up the 2.3-billion-yuan case, handing it over to Bao Rui. This kind of open, straightforward handling of the matter actually made it easier for everyone at the firm to accept the situation naturally; quite a few colleagues went back to their usual joking, easy rapport with Cheng Yao, with some even teasing her, asking her to share her “secrets” for landing the boss.

And so Cheng Yao officially began working under Liang Yiran.

Liang Yiran was very kind to Cheng Yao—one might even say excessively attentive. But after a few days, Cheng Yao began to feel that this “kindness” had gone a bit too far.

Having brought her own team over from Jinzhuan when she switched firms, Liang Yiran already had two associates working under her; with Cheng Yao added, that made three, which wasn’t too many. But Cheng Yao gradually noticed that Liang Yiran hardly let her do any substantive work at all. She felt more like an administrative assistant, handling tasks even an intern could do—printing documents, binding case files, booking conference rooms, delivering materials to clients, coordinating hearing schedules with judges…

This was a completely different kind of work from what she’d done on Qian Heng’s team. Cheng Yao held out for a week before she finally couldn’t take it anymore and went to speak with Liang Yiran directly.

“Liang Par, I’d like to get involved in some actual casework.”

Liang Yiran, still all gentleness, smiled at her. “There’s always an adjustment period between a new team member and their supervisor. My style is different from Qian Heng’s—I like to first identify each employee’s strongest area before assigning cases accordingly.”

Her tone was mild and reasonable, perfectly proper.

At the next team meeting, after covering business matters, Liang Yiran also brought up team-building. “Cheng Yao is the newest addition to our team—feel free to communicate with each other about anything.” At this point, she turned to look at Cheng Yao, her voice gentle and soothing. “Our team’s style might be a bit different from Qian Heng’s team—if there’s anything you’re finding hard to adjust to, feel free to bring it up anytime. Both of the other attorneys on the team are older than you and have more experience—no one here holds anything back, so just ask them if you have questions.”

She smiled. “I know that on Qian Heng’s team you got to work directly on major cases, but don’t underestimate this kind of foundational work either—printing documents, binding case files. There’s a lot to learn in every little detail, and it’s exactly this kind of gradual, step-by-step accumulation that leads to real progress.” Having said this, Liang Yiran glanced at the two other lawyers on her team. “Ask them—which one of them didn’t start out doing exactly this kind of work? Zhang Ran spent basically his first two years in practice doing nothing but this.”

On the surface, it sounded like comforting encouragement, but turning the words over in her mind, Cheng Yao couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else beneath the surface—as if it were a subtle suggestion that she was being too impatient, too eager. The other two lawyers under Liang Yiran, both older than Cheng Yao, had also grown somewhat cautious in how they treated her because of her relationship with Qian Heng, as if afraid that offending her might get them reported straight to him.

Because of how Liang Yiran had stood up for her earlier, Cheng Yao had felt genuine trust and gratitude toward her. But after several more interactions, she began to find Liang Yiran’s behavior increasingly puzzling. It seemed as though Liang Yiran were extraordinarily friendly and considerate toward her, and yet, at the same time, seemed just as extraordinarily unfriendly. For a while, Cheng Yao felt uncertain, unable to get a clear read on the situation, and didn’t want to alarm Qian Heng over it rashly, nor did she want to leave her other colleagues with the impression that she used her special status to constantly run and tattle. Especially since Qian Heng was currently occupied with a foreign-related marriage case and spending most of his time in Los Angeles.

Fortunately, after nearly a month of this kind of menial work, Liang Yiran finally started giving her actual cases to handle.

Yet even then, in the several cases that followed, though Cheng Yao was technically involved, she was never able to engage deeply with any of them. Almost every time an important client meeting came up, she found herself, quite conveniently, sent off elsewhere to run errands—say, to check records at the administrative bureau, or to go collect evidence somewhere. These were, of course, legitimate tasks that lawyers needed to handle, but over time, worn down by this endless string of supporting tasks, though she was technically “participating” in cases, all she was really doing was handling odds and ends, never getting a full picture of any case, never really getting her hands on the substantive work, leaving her with a growing sense of restless frustration at what felt like wasted time and effort.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t gone back to Liang Yiran about it—but each time, she was gently yet firmly rebuffed once again.

Qian Heng, still in Los Angeles, nonetheless picked up on the problem with Cheng Yao’s state of mind during one of their video calls.

“Is Liang Yiran working you too hard? Why do you look so worn out?”

Cheng Yao didn’t want to bother him with something like this. She answered vaguely, “I just joined a new team, still adjusting—I’m sure it’ll be fine once I settle in.”

What she said wasn’t entirely untrue, either. Liang Yiran’s style was completely different from Qian Heng’s—she required every lawyer on her team to wear designer suits, carry LV bags, and even scarves had to be from a specified brand; especially the female lawyers, who were expected to be meticulously polished from head to toe, without a single flaw, makeup done to perfection, as though ready to walk a runway at any moment.

“Our image is our face to the world. We’re dealing with high-end family law clients—we need them to know that we’re well compensated and never short on cases. It’s a kind of marketing, in a way. The more polished you present yourself, the more people will flock to you even at a premium price.”

There was certainly some logic to what Liang Yiran said, but as Cheng Yao wore the designer suit she’d painstakingly saved up to buy, teetering along in her high heels, carrying an affordable premium brand bag since she genuinely couldn’t afford anything more, she couldn’t help feeling a bit lost inside. This wasn’t how Qian Heng had taught her. A lawyer’s foremost responsibility, in his view, was to actually be professional, not merely to look the part.

And yet, however different this was from Qian Heng’s philosophy, Liang Yiran’s approach was undeniably effective.

A beautiful, polished, and socially skillful female partner inspired trust no matter how you looked at it. To join Junheng as a partner required meeting a certain revenue threshold, and Liang Yiran clearly had the substance to meet it as well. After observing several cases, Cheng Yao noticed that while Liang Yiran’s actual legal ability clearly wasn’t on par with Qian Heng’s, her interpersonal and public relations skills were remarkably formidable.

Despite their differing styles, Cheng Yao made an effort to learn from Liang Yiran’s strengths. But the calmer and steadier she herself became, the more restless and hostile Liang Yiran seemed to grow toward her.

One day, after going out together to visit a client, on the drive back, Liang Yiran glanced several times at Cheng Yao’s Coach bag. She remained outwardly gentle, saying nothing after those few glances, but just as they were about to get out of the car, she smiled at Cheng Yao. “Qian Heng’s flying back from Los Angeles soon.”

Cheng Yao was a little confused. “Hm?”

“His flight’s today—don’t forget to remind him to bring you back a gift.” Liang Yiran added thoughtfully, “With the current exchange rate, buying a bag in the US is a really good deal right now.” She gave Cheng Yao’s bag another light glance. “You should have Qian Heng get you a proper bag. He’s been away on business this long, unable to be with you—might as well make him spend a little to make it up to you.”

She then, like a wise older sister sharing advice, pulled out her own crocodile-leather Hermès. “Do you like this style? You could have Qian Heng get you one like this. Once you’ve used the real luxury brands, you’ll understand—first-tier luxury really does earn its price tag.”

Though she phrased it subtly, Liang Yiran had deliberately put extra emphasis on the words “real luxury brands.”

Cheng Yao wasn’t a fool—she could hear plainly enough the mockery beneath those words, aimed at her for using an affordable premium brand like Coach.

It was in that moment that Cheng Yao confirmed it—Liang Yiran likely wasn’t genuinely friendly toward her at all. She was still hung up on Qian Heng, hadn’t let go, and likely harbored deep-seated hostility and resentment toward Cheng Yao as well. This kind of feeling had nothing to do with professionalism—before being a seasoned female partner, Liang Yiran was, first and foremost, a woman. And understanding this, Cheng Yao’s recent stint on the sidelines suddenly made sense too—even the way Liang Yiran had stood up for her earlier, specifically requesting to have her join her team, now seemed rather suspect.

In the enclosed space of the car, with just the two of them, Cheng Yao had no intention of showing any weakness. She smiled too.

“Liang Par, Coach is just fine for me.”

Just as Liang Yiran was about to say something, Cheng Yao cut her off. “You know, sometimes, once you’ve reached a certain status, carrying something like Coach doesn’t make people think you can’t afford better—it just makes them think you’re grounded, low-key, reliable. Like, some wealthy people drive Porsches and Mercedes but carry a Coach bag, and no one thinks they look poor—they just think, wow, this person’s got money but doesn’t care about brand names, doesn’t show off, and that makes them even more worth knowing. But then there are people who still squeeze onto the subway every day, and even if they’re carrying a genuine Hermès, people assume it’s fake.”

Liang Yiran looked a bit lost.

Cheng Yao smiled, baring her teeth slightly. “I’m Qian Heng’s girlfriend, after all. As Qian Heng’s girlfriend, even if I carry a Coach bag, everyone just assumes I’m being low-key about it. Besides, I don’t want my boyfriend wasting money either—sure, a bag worth over a hundred thousand yuan is just pocket change to Qian Heng, but to me it’s still a fair amount. I don’t want him being wasteful like that, and it does make me a little anxious, honestly—after all, once we’re married, that’ll all be joint marital property. And once we have kids, there’ll be even more places that money needs to go. Better to be frugal and manage the household well. So even though Qian Heng gave me a supplementary credit card, I don’t actually use it.”

Cheng Yao met Liang Yiran’s eyes boldly. “Besides, honestly, I’ve always felt that if you need a name-brand bag just to hold your own, that just means your own presence isn’t strong enough on its own. I believe that even if it were Qian Heng carrying a worn-out cloth sack to meet a client, the client would still flock to him.” She blinked. “Honestly, if it weren’t for Attorney Liang’s requirements, I wouldn’t have bought a Coach bag either—because even without one, I’m plenty confident in myself.”

Cheng Yao wore a pleasant smile, letting just the right hint of the sweetness of being in love show through. Please—she wasn’t some naive rookie who’d let herself get pushed around. As a lawyer, fighting back was practically instinct. Facing an attack, her first response was always to hit back, a habit she’d picked up from being around Qian Heng—never take injustice or mockery lying down, meet it head-on, never back down.

Liang Yiran clearly hadn’t anticipated this response from Cheng Yao at all. Her expression flickered, and in the end, she managed only to say, with difficulty, “Do you and Qian Heng have marriage plans?” She fought to keep the bitterness and shock out of her voice, forcing herself to stay calm. “You might not know this, but he’s firmly committed to never marrying and being childfree—he doesn’t want to get married or have kids…”

Cheng Yao wasn’t unaware of this principle Qian Heng had once held, but with the upper hand in this exchange, and a certain triumphant momentum carrying her forward, she pressed on. “Is that so?” she said, feigning surprise, spinning a fabrication with practiced ease. “But Qian Heng told me on our very first day together that he wanted to get married and have kids with me right away—it’s just that I feel I’m still young and want to focus on my career a bit longer. Luckily, he’s very respectful of my wishes and said he’d wait for me for as long as it takes.”

At these words, Liang Yiran had nothing left to say. She pressed her lips together tightly, staring silently ahead. After a long moment, she finally spoke, her voice dry. “So did he mention our law school reunion tomorrow night?” Liang Yiran forced a smile, her tone deceptively kind. “Back in college, there were quite a few girls who liked Qian Heng—now that he’s even more accomplished, I imagine he’ll draw even more attention at the reunion. You’d better keep a close eye on him.”

Cheng Yao smiled back at her. “He already asked me to come along.”

She blinked. “Thanks for the heads-up, Liang Par. I’ll definitely keep a close eye on him tomorrow night.”

“…”

At this, Liang Yiran finally found herself unable to say another word. In fact, she looked as though she might explode on the spot at any moment.

—

Ever since Cheng Yao had joined her team, Liang Yiran hadn’t had a single happy day.

She admitted to herself that she was jealous, and admitted that letting personal feelings bleed into her professional conduct like this was deeply unprofessional—but she couldn’t help herself. Every time she looked at Cheng Yao’s flawless, radiantly youthful profile, she couldn’t suppress the malice welling up from somewhere deep inside her.

She had deliberately kept Cheng Yao off any major cases, instead working to drain away her time, waiting for her to grow desperate enough to run to Qian Heng and complain, throwing herself into disarray and isolating herself from her colleagues all over again. Yet unexpectedly, Cheng Yao never once went to Qian Heng. She quietly accepted the arrangement, showing no sign of anxious desperation at all.

Assuming Liang Yiran would never hand her any case sources, Cheng Yao took the initiative to go find her own. Building a client base as a new lawyer was an extremely difficult and often discouraging process, yet Cheng Yao actually seemed to thrive at it—she attended family law forums, handed out business cards to every potential client she could find, never too proud for the small stuff, and before long, had genuinely landed a few cases of her own. The amounts involved weren’t large, but she threw herself into them with diligence and focus.

Steady, unassuming, and genuinely skilled. Qian Heng hadn’t lied—the cases he’d given her really had been earned through her own ability.

Yet this realization only made it harder for Liang Yiran to accept. She would have almost preferred it if Cheng Yao really had been some mediocre girl who’d gotten ahead through her looks alone.

This twisted, jealousy-warped emotion reached its peak the moment she saw Qian Heng bring Cheng Yao to the reunion.

Dressed in red, stunning as a blossoming flower, Cheng Yao walked in on Qian Heng’s arm, his hand at her waist as he leaned down to murmur something in her ear, a smile on his face that Liang Yiran had almost never seen from him before.

He truly, genuinely loved her.