The next morning, the moment Cheng Yao got up, Qian Heng came shuffling out of the bedroom in his pajamas.

He didn’t look refreshed at all—quite the opposite, he looked haggard and wretched. He stared at Cheng Yao for a moment. “I don’t feel well. I think I’m sick.”

Cheng Yao gave an “Oh,” assuming he was putting on another act, and didn’t take it seriously. “Drink more hot water.”

Qian Heng sneezed twice, gave a listless grunt, and went back to his room.

After that, it was quiet.

At ten o’clock sharp, Gu Beiqing arrived as promised. “Come on down, my car’s parked on the street out front.”

Cheng Yao packed up her things and grabbed her case file before heading out. Although they’d arranged brunch, in truth she and Gu Beiqing had agreed to meet mainly to discuss the case—the meal was just incidental.

Qian Heng, for once, wasn’t causing a scene; his door stayed shut.

He seemed to have finally settled down. Yet for some reason, Cheng Yao felt an inexplicable unease. She’d meant to just walk right out the door and have a nice meal with Gu Beiqing, but at the last moment, she turned back toward the room anyway.

She’d finally endured withdrawal and was about to walk out of rehab clean, and now here came Qian Heng—her personal poison—shamelessly dangling himself in front of her again, and this time it was some new compound drug, laced with an extra dose of sheer nerve.

Cheng Yao was so annoyed her teeth practically itched, and yet her hand still knocked on that door anyway.

Damn drugs, ruining her youth! she thought furiously. Why couldn’t she just let go! No wonder so many people relapsed on this garbage!

“Qian Heng?”

She knocked for a while, but there was no sound at all from inside. Growing anxious, she opened the door directly—only to discover Qian Heng wasn’t faking after all. He was genuinely ill, his face flushed an unnatural red, lying nearly lifeless under the covers, his handsome brows furrowed, eyes closed.

Cheng Yao grabbed the ear thermometer in alarm. It read 39.5 degrees Celsius.

She panicked. “What did you do to yourself? I’m calling Bao Rui right now to take you to the hospital.”

“No.” Before she could even get her phone out, Qian Heng reached out and grabbed her hand. He blinked with difficulty. “Not Bao Rui.”

Even looking utterly miserable, he still gazed at her intently.

Cheng Yao didn’t know how to respond, and instinctively avoided his eyes. “Forget it, my senior happens to be downstairs, I’ll have him take you to the hospital instead. You were fine yesterday—how did you end up with a fever like this overnight?”

“Not Gu Beiqing either.”

“Hm?”

“I want you.”

Cheng Yao pressed her lips together. “You’re running a high fever. Stop talking nonsense.”

“Not nonsense.” Qian Heng’s tone was calm, though the fever had made his eyes glassy, lending him a pitiful air. He said, aggrieved, “I’m sick. I just want to be with you.”

“No. You need to go to the hospital.”

“If you send me to the hospital, are you just going to go have that meal with Gu Beiqing?”

Was he really using his illness as leverage now?

Cheng Yao gave a cold laugh. “Of course. I’m still eating.”

“Cheng Yao, I deliberately didn’t turn on the floor heating last night. I didn’t cover myself with a blanket.”

Cheng Yao froze.

Qian Heng’s flushed face seemed to hide his embarrassment. He closed his eyes and spoke as if resigning himself to it. “I got sick on purpose.”

Cheng Yao’s brow furrowed.

“I didn’t want you going to eat with Gu Beiqing.” Qian Heng sniffled. “But I couldn’t think of any other way to stop you, because right now I’m nothing—I have no right to interfere in your life. This was the only thing I could think of.” He looked up at her. “I thought, if I got sick, maybe you’d stay.”

“I’ll call your parents.”

“They heard I broke up with you, and my relationship with them fell apart again—we had a fight over the whole matchmaking-corner flyer thing. They won’t care whether I live or die now.”

Cheng Yao pressed her lips together. “Then I’ll call your brother.”

“My brother’s on a blind date today. My parents told him if he dared leave, they’d kill him.”

“Then Bao Rui—”

“Bao Rui’s been swamped with work lately, and he just had a fight with his wife. This is a rare weekend he can spend with her without work. If you call him for this, his relationship status might end up divorced.”

“I’ll ask my senior to look after you.”

“If Gu Beiqing looks after me, seeing him will make me so angry my fever will probably shoot straight to 40 and fry my brain. Don’t send me to the hospital—send me to the fire department to put me out.”

“What about Wu Jun!”

Qian Heng kept making things up without missing a beat. “Wu Jun’s in City B for a relative’s wedding.”

Cheng Yao was livid. “Is there really no one else who can take care of you?”

Cheng Yao knew perfectly well that the person Qian Heng wanted by his side was her, yet she instinctively kept avoiding it—not because she wasn’t worried about him, but because she was more afraid of her own weakness. She was afraid that if she looked at this man for even a moment longer, she’d agree to get back together.

Qian Heng said he was willing to marry and no longer insisted on being child-free—naturally that touched and pleased her, but she was still hesitant and afraid. Could someone who’d held so firmly to his no-marriage, no-kids principle really change wholeheartedly? After their disagreement over marriage and children surfaced, she’d researched many cases. There really were men who’d once claimed to be against marriage and then said they were willing to marry after all—but not even half a year later, many of them regretted it, and it still ended in divorce.

Was Qian Heng’s change of heart something he’d truly thought through? Did he really love her that much? Could he really let go of that sense of superiority inside him and give her an equal, lasting relationship?

If she went back to him again this time, she was afraid she really wouldn’t have the strength to leave again.

“No one.” Facing Cheng Yao’s question, Qian Heng looked innocent and resigned. “I’m just like my cat—no one to depend on.” He lowered his eyes. “Forget it. I shouldn’t force you into anything. Go on, just let me and my cat fend for ourselves.”

This whole gambit of Qian Heng’s was, in truth, a bit of a gamble on his part. It was the first time he’d so openly admitted to the little tricks he’d pulled to keep Cheng Yao around—embarrassing as it was to admit, once he said it out loud, he actually felt strangely at ease. Now, though, as he waited anxiously, all he heard was the sound of Cheng Yao pushing the door open and walking out.

Qian Heng opened his eyes. Though his head was pounding and he felt terrible, he couldn’t help himself—he threw off the blanket and sat up, his heart flooded with a crushing sense of loss and bitterness.

Even after all this, Cheng Yao had still left.

He glanced instinctively at the cat curled up asleep in the corner, and just as exhaustion was overtaking him, his bedroom door opened again.

Cheng Yao stood in the doorway holding a cup of hot water, her face somewhat flushed, her eyes lowered, sounding put out. “You really are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

In that instant, Qian Heng felt as though an arrow had struck straight through his heart. He looked at Cheng Yao holding the cup out to him and thought that even if he died of this fever right now, he’d have no regrets.

Cheng Yao had Qian Heng drink the water, then went to the kitchen to make him congee. Gone was his usual arrogant, self-satisfied air—now he looked pitiful, like an abandoned dog. Cheng Yao simply couldn’t bring herself to go have that carefree meal with Gu Beiqing anymore, and had to call and apologize, canceling their get-together.

Cheng Yao put down her phone, picked up the bowl of congee, and glanced at the highly toxic patient lying in bed.

“Drink your congee.”

Qian Heng didn’t take the bowl. He glanced at her, looking innocent, helpless, and utterly shameless. “I don’t have the strength to hold the bowl.”

Cheng Yao glared at him.

Qian Heng, though, didn’t even blush. He looked at her again. “Can you feed me?” He paused. “I want you to feed me.”

“…”

Seeing him like this, Cheng Yao was momentarily at a loss. The old Qian Heng had always been too proud for his own good—there was no way he’d ever have asked to be fed so bluntly. But now… now that he was determined to cling to her, he really had gone all out with the theatrics.

Qian Heng, as if that still wasn’t enough, blinked again. “If you feed me, I’ll get better faster.”

Under his intent gaze and earnest words, Cheng Yao felt her heart race. A man like Qian Heng made his living by his mouth—when it came to spewing venom he was top-tier, and when it came to sweet talk, he didn’t hold back either.

Cheng Yao felt somewhat resentful inside, but in the end there was nothing to be done. She picked up the spoon.

Fortunately, Qian Heng didn’t cause any more trouble. He cooperated obediently with her clumsy attempts at feeding him, quietly finishing the congee. The sunlight cast a long, curled shadow from his lashes; his face was still flushed from the fever, his handsome features still showing signs of illness, and his hand still bore the bandaged wound from where the cat had scratched him and been disinfected the day before.

Seeing him like this, anyone would likely find it hard to walk away.

Cheng Yao truly hadn’t imagined that such a cunning man existed in this world!

Just to stop her from going out to eat with Gu Beiqing, he was even willing to sacrifice his own body!

She shot him a look. “Are you a pig? Playing games with your own health? First you go catch a stray cat, then you make yourself catch a fever on purpose? Qian Heng, you’re a senior lawyer—can you please act like one?”

“Either way, you stayed.” Qian Heng sniffled and said calmly, “The means don’t matter—what matters is the result. That’s consistent with how I approach my cases. As long as it’s legal, why should you care what method I use to win?”

“And if, even after all this, I still didn’t care whether you lived or died—what would you do then? Slit your wrists? Hang yourself to get my attention?”

Qian Heng gave her a pitiful look, saying weakly, “If you won’t even stay, then just let me die.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. No dying, don’t say such unlucky things.”

Soon the congee was finished, but Qian Heng still refused to let her go, insisting on keeping her talking.

“I just want to talk to you a little more.”

Cheng Yao tried to mask her embarrassment and nervousness with an irritated tone. “About what?”

Qian Heng’s eyes stayed fixed on her. “I’ve missed you every day since we broke up. I’ve missed hearing your voice.” He said pitifully, “Could you sing me something? My head’s spinning, I just want to hear you sing.”

Even knowing full well this was all a tactic, Cheng Yao still couldn’t help stepping right into the trap.

A strong man suddenly showing weakness, looking at her so pitifully and earnestly, lowering himself like some docile giant dog—it seemed impossible to refuse no matter what.

Cheng Yao hummed a gentle lullaby, and before long, when she looked down, she found Qian Heng had already fallen asleep without her noticing.

His sleeping posture was proper and composed; because of the illness, his handsome brows were slightly furrowed, but the usual cold, distant air on his face had vanished entirely, leaving only an unguarded innocence.

At that moment, Qian Heng slept peacefully, and the orange cat slept peacefully too.

Cheng Yao pressed her lips together and quietly slipped out of the room.

This time, Qian Heng slept for a long while. Cheng Yao checked on him several times, and the last time she did, the ear thermometer showed his temperature had returned to normal—the fever had broken.

Cheng Yao breathed a sigh of relief and went out to buy groceries.

When she got back, the whole apartment had transformed. Cheng Yao nearly had a fit—the floor she’d cleaned so nicely was now covered entirely in water and soap suds.

Furious, she followed the trail of water, ready to give Qian Heng a piece of her mind, but she froze at what she saw in the bathroom.

Qian Heng looked utterly bedraggled—his own clothes were soaked and covered in suds. In one hand he held a hair dryer, and in the other he cradled the orange cat.

The cat was still dripping wet, its fur slowly fluffing up in the warm air from the dryer on one side, while it squirmed restlessly in his arms, still trying to escape at any moment. Cheng Yao glanced over and, sure enough, spotted a few fresh scratch marks on Qian Heng’s hands.

Cheng Yao immediately turned to grab a towel, then took the hair dryer from Qian Heng’s hand and the cat from his arms. “I’ll handle the cat. Go change your clothes right now.” She scolded him. “Your fever just broke—don’t catch cold again.”

She’d finished lecturing him with a rather fierce tone before she realized that lately, she and Qian Heng seemed to have swapped roles. It used to always be Qian Heng scolding her—these past few days she’d apparently been repaying every bit of scolding she’d accumulated over the years, all at once.

He was her former boss and ex-boyfriend, after all, and no matter how you looked at it, Qian Heng was the reigning heavyweight of the family law world—scolding him like this seemed a bit inappropriate…

Yet while Cheng Yao was busy second-guessing herself, Qian Heng, the one being scolded, put up not the slightest resistance. He accepted the lecture meekly, even apologizing in a quiet voice.

“I just took a nap and I feel better already. I saw the cat was filthy—there was a patch of fur on its back matted with some kind of oil stain, all tangled up, so I wanted to give it a bath. I didn’t expect it to be so uncooperative.”

With his attitude so agreeable, he had something of the immediate air of a reformed villain, and Cheng Yao found herself too embarrassed to keep scolding him. She just urged him to go change, while she quickly finished drying the cat herself.

Though the process had been anything but cooperative, the freshly bathed orange cat was clearly quite pleased with itself. The moment Cheng Yao let it go, it bounded off cheerfully.

Having had a bath, the cat looked as though it had gotten a makeover—its coat had turned smooth and glossy, its looks vastly improved. It had barely bounded off before it made a beeline straight for Qian Heng, who’d just finished changing.

Cheng Yao, standing behind him, was about to warn him “watch out, it might scratch you,” when she saw the cat—so fierce and combative just moments ago—now meowing coquettishly as it rubbed against Qian Heng’s leg, its fluffy tail sweeping affectionately across his ankle. The look on its face was fawning and shameless—it had absolutely no dignity as far as being a cat was concerned!

Qian Heng froze, his whole body looking rather tense, then he bent down and, somewhat clumsily but carefully, picked the cat up. This time, the cat didn’t struggle. It meowed docilely, letting him hold it close.

At that moment Qian Heng still had his back to her, yet Cheng Yao felt an indescribable emotion stir inside her. The sunlight streaming through the window fell on the man’s back, softening even the usually sharp, hard lines of his profile into something gentle. Cheng Yao said nothing—she just stood there quietly, watching Qian Heng reach out and gently stroke the cat’s back. His face remained strikingly handsome and cold, and yet in that moment, his expression was unusually tender.

The orange cat nestled in his arms for a while, then leapt away again nimbly, agile as ever. Qian Heng finally turned around and saw Cheng Yao standing behind him.

Neither of them said a word—their eyes met briefly, then each looked away.

Cheng Yao cleared her throat and spoke first. “So you actually do like cats.”

“No, I don’t really like cats.” Qian Heng pressed his lips together, looking at the patch of sunlight on the floor. “Because raising a cat is just as much trouble as raising a child.”

Cheng Yao paused, feeling an inexplicable disappointment welling up. “See, you still don’t like children. So why bother changing your beliefs about being child-free and compromising like this? You and I are still fundamentally different, in the end.”

“Cheng Yao, let me finish.” Qian Heng looked at her. “Raising a cat is just like raising a child—once you have a cat, you’re responsible for feeding it, caring for it, giving it regular baths, checkups, deworming; when the cat gets sick you have to take it to the vet; because it sheds, you have to spend more time cleaning every day; a cat needs company, so you have to spend time with it, and it doesn’t always listen, so you have to clean up after its messes too. Even though it’s far less work than raising a child, I used to think even this much was already too much trouble.”

“I really don’t like trouble. But I want a future with you.”

Cheng Yao bit her lip gently.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe I’m truly ready to get married and have children—and I can’t exactly go marry someone else and have kids just to prove it to you. So when I saw this cat, I thought—I’ll raise a cat, let myself experience that sense of responsibility, and I hope you can see my sincerity in it.” Qian Heng looked at Cheng Yao gently, then glanced at the cat. “Raising a cat turned out just like I thought—it really is a lot of trouble. Bathing it alone nearly cost me half my life. But it’s not only trouble. It scratches me, but it also comes to me for affection, trusts me enough to curl up in my arms completely, and can be so well-behaved. Beyond the responsibility of it, it turns out it can also give me a lot of good feelings—feelings I’d never experienced before.”

“It’s a beautiful thing.”

“It makes me feel like even for this one moment of beauty, I’d be willing to bear all that trouble.”

“If it were any other woman, I think I’d still hold firm to not marrying, not having children. But if it’s you, I’m willing to go through all those things with you that I never imagined I would.” Qian Heng gazed deeply at Cheng Yao. “If I’m with you, getting married, having children—it would surely bring me a lot of beautiful things too.”

“Cheng Yao, I hope you’ll give me this chance—to create something beautiful together with you.”

Being stared at like this by Qian Heng, hearing him confess so sincerely and fervently, Cheng Yao felt her heart flutter with confusion; she was afraid this cunning man would press his advantage while she was still reeling. She could only toss out a “let me think about it” before fleeing as fast as she could.

Cheng Yao wandered around the neighborhood several times, her mood gradually settling into calm, while inside the apartment, Qian Heng, facing the orange cat, only grew more restless. With Cheng Yao still not back, his heart was in turmoil.

After much deliberation, he couldn’t help himself and picked up his phone.

“Wu Jun, are you home right now?”

Wu Jun’s voice was practically anguished. “No! I’m not home!”

“I have…”

“Sending me air-freighted Boston lobster won’t help either! I really am not home!”

There was noise in the background of Wu Jun’s call, sounding like an amusement park. Only then did Qian Heng believe him. “You’re on a date? You’re seeing someone?”

Wu Jun’s voice turned rather smug. “Heh heh, want to know who my girlfriend is? You’ll be shocked when I tell you!”

“No, I’m not interested,” Qian Heng said mercilessly. “I just want to ask you why, after I honestly told Cheng Yao how I really feel and sincerely asked for her forgiveness, she still hasn’t given me any response? That method you taught me before—was it not quite right?”

“Hold on, let me ask my girlfriend!”

“Why would you ask your girlfriend about this?”

Wu Jun sounded mysterious. “Once you meet her you’ll understand. There’s no one better suited to Cheng Yao’s situation than her.”

Though somewhat surprised, Qian Heng didn’t think much of it—when it came to matters of the heart between women, perhaps another woman really could see things more clearly.

Sure enough, before long Wu Jun came back with advice. “My girlfriend says that with someone like Cheng Yao, once you’ve broken up over a fundamental disagreement, there’s naturally some lingering fear about it. One heartfelt confession from you isn’t going to make her let her guard down. You need to pursue her more fiercely—show the whole world that Qian Heng will marry no one but her, put yourself in a position with no way out, force yourself into a decisive, all-or-nothing stance! Make Cheng Yao completely let go of her defenses toward you.”

Qian Heng hung up the phone and pondered for a moment, thinking there was indeed some truth to that. But how exactly could he make the whole world know he’d marry no one but Cheng Yao?

Qian Heng stared at the orange cat’s backside for a long while, and suddenly it hit him.

He called Wu Jun again. “That variety show, ‘Lawyers Debate’—can I still get on it?”

“Sure you can.”

“I’ll do it.”

Wu Jun froze for a second, then began laughing with obvious relish. He lowered his voice. “You’ll be facing off against Deng Ming. Qian Heng, I only ask one thing—destroy him. Don’t hold back.”

“Aside from Cheng Yao, when have I ever held back on anyone?”