The shy, flustered Gu Yan was clearly not his usual state—the moment he stepped into the law school classroom, he was back to his familiar composed, steady self.

Gu Xuehan’s timing was impeccable. Her talk on legal career paths and planning was well-structured, addressing both personal development and market demand, covering both litigation and non-litigation fields, giving a thorough, insightful account of her understanding of the legal profession.

Sharp, beautiful, and radiating professional maturity, Gu Xuehan quickly became the object of admiration for all the underclassmen present. Her talk wrapped up right at the half-hour mark, leaving everyone wanting more. After apologizing to the students for her scheduling conflict, she gracefully took her leave.

Next came Gu Yan and Qi Xi’s portion.

This session gathered the entire senior class of the law school, filling the lecture hall completely. Qi Xi had spent plenty of time in this very hall attending classes—this was her first time standing at the podium looking out at it, a sea of faces below.

While Gu Xuehan had been speaking, the atmosphere had been quite solemn, but the moment she left and Gu Yan took the stage, a faint stir rippled through the room.

Several girls nudged each other, giggling, some whispering to each other while staring at Gu Yan, and a few surreptitiously raised their phones, thinking themselves subtle as they snapped photos.

Qi Xi glanced over at Gu Yan, who was earnestly introducing their firm, sunlight from the window falling across one side of his face, casting flickering patterns of light and shadow.

Gu Yan was tall, dressed less formally than he would for court but not overly casual either—striking just the right balance, carrying both an elite sense of distance and an approachability that made people want to try and uncover the warmth he might be hiding underneath, even if no one could be entirely sure it was there. A face like his was persuasive enough on its own to make people want to take risks for him, to go all in.

Right now, his expression was mild. Even though this was a presentation he hadn’t prepared much for, Gu Yan spoke with remarkable fluency, carrying a manner that inspired trust without anyone quite noticing why.

Gu Yan’s voice was pleasant—pleasant enough that Qi Xi felt she could just keep listening to it forever.

Looking at all those young, admiring faces in the lecture hall gazing up at Gu Yan, Qi Xi felt she completely understood the appeal. But understanding it didn’t mean she was happy about it, or enjoyed watching the scene unfold.

Something inside her felt a little heavy.

By now they’d moved into the Q&A portion. Gu Yan’s expression stayed mild, carrying a quiet warmth.

Several underclassmen girls asked about details to watch for when transitioning from student to working professional, and Gu Yan patiently answered each one.

“In law school, you can focus more purely on mastering theoretical knowledge, but once you’re at a firm, beyond the gap between practical legal work and theory, you also need to pay attention to interpersonal skills—how to communicate with clients.”

“The same message, delivered differently, produces different results. Every client has a different temperament and personality—learning to observe and understand clients, sensing what they actually need, and explaining what you can do for them in a way that meets them where their own knowledge is, is an extremely important skill.”

…

No matter who was asking or how trivial or minor the question seemed, Gu Yan never showed the slightest impatience, answering everything calmly.

Since the Q&A session was popular, with many hands raised, Gu Yan and Qi Xi took turns answering, allowing each other breaks. So while Gu Yan answered, Qi Xi waited off to the side.

She knew she shouldn’t let her mind wander at a time like this, but she couldn’t quite help herself—the lecture hall was fairly large, the noise a bit chaotic, and her thoughts grew tangled.

Gu Yan seemed to treat her as someone special—and yet also seemed not to.

Because he was showing the exact same warm patience to all these random, even unfamiliar underclassmen right now.

So what was Gu Yan’s attitude toward her, really?

Did he still hold onto that girl he’d liked for so long, somewhere in his heart?

Just as Qi Xi was lost in these scattered thoughts, a young man stood up. The question should have gone to Gu Yan to answer, but the student, holding the microphone, specifically pointed at Qi Xi—

“Senior Qi Xi, could you answer this one for me?”

Qi Xi blinked, then smiled and nodded. “Sure, go ahead.”

“I wanted to ask—are you single? Could I add you on WeChat?”

The moment the boy finished speaking, the crowd erupted into hoots and cheers, and the guy turned out to be bolder than Qi Xi had expected, staring straight into her eyes as if he had more to say.

Just as Qi Xi was scrambling for how to handle this sudden derailment of the Q&A session, Gu Yan, his expression darkening, took the microphone from her and answered the question on her behalf—

“The topic of this session is career planning. Q&A time is limited, and we’re only taking professional, relevant questions. There are many others with their hands raised—please don’t take up shared time and resources for personal questions.”

This session had been arranged by Gu Xuehan, squeezed out of her packed schedule, and offered entirely without compensation. As her younger brother and a member of the team, Gu Yan was clearly quite displeased by this interruption and off-topic question—he looked like he genuinely disliked having his carefully planned session derailed.

Where he’d just been masking his sharper edges, appearing like an ordinary, gentle, handsome man, his demeanor suddenly turned sharp and cutting, the warmth replaced by something almost intimidating. Qi Xi watched him fix a hard look on the boy who’d asked the question, then sweep his gaze across the entire lecture hall—

“The first thing I hope everyone aspiring to a legal career will learn is to respect other people’s time, and their own. A client’s time is precious—so is yours. First, learn to know what’s appropriate for which occasion.”

…

It had to be said—Gu Yan was the type who stayed silent until provoked, but once truly provoked, made quite the impact. Someone who’d seemed entirely unthreatening turned out, once his principles were actually crossed, to be nowhere near as easygoing or pushover as he appeared.

Sure enough, once he finished speaking, all the chattering in the room died away instantly, replaced by a solemn hush, order restored.

Gu Yan didn’t look at the boy who’d asked Qi Xi for her contact info again, simply continuing with the Q&A. No one in the lecture hall dared act out of line after that—every question that followed turned serious and proper.

Eventually, the Q&A session wrapped up in an atmosphere that stayed lively but orderly.

But the students’ enthusiasm clearly hadn’t been fully spent. The moment it ended, as Gu Yan began packing up his laptop, a crowd of underclassmen surged forward, eager to keep asking questions.

A fair number gathered around Qi Xi too, and the two of them ended up separated by the crowd, each fielding questions on their own.

Qi Xi had no idea what was happening on Gu Yan’s side. On her end, she answered plenty of questions from the underclassmen, and when a few asked to add her on WeChat, she didn’t turn any of them down.

By the time she and Gu Yan finally left, they’d already run nearly half an hour over schedule.

The afternoon sun was just right at that hour—not too intense, not yet carrying the evening chill. Walking back along the phoenix tree-lined avenue, dappled sunlight filtering through the branches onto her face, Qi Xi suddenly felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as if she’d stepped back into her student days.

She glanced at Gu Yan beside her, and his presence only deepened that illusion.

So many people, after graduation, ended up on completely different paths—not just classmates, but even couples, breaking up because their trajectories diverged. And yet, by whatever strange twist of fate, Gu Yan remained solidly present in her life.

When Zhao Yiran cried over the sudden shift in pressure and responsibility upon leaving the shelter of academia, Qi Xi hadn’t felt that kind of reality herself. Gu Yan wasn’t the type to scheme desperately for credit in front of superiors, wasn’t guarded against Qi Xi outperforming him, and certainly wasn’t the type to hoard his own experience and watch coldly as Qi Xi stumbled through avoidable mistakes.

He was still just himself.

Entering the working world hadn’t changed Gu Yan in the slightest—if anything had changed, it was maybe his overall aura. Seeing him every day, Qi Xi hadn’t quite noticed it, but comparing him now to underclassmen not much younger than him, the difference was like night and day.

She hadn’t noticed it before, but now, by comparison, those college boys still seemed like kids, nothing about them inspiring any sense of wanting to, or being able to, rely on them. Gu Yan was different—he was always dependable, always steady, with a touch of coolness and a touch of warmth.

But the Gu Yan walking beside her right now was neither cool nor warm, exactly—more like he was being a bit sarcastic.

“If you’re answering a question, just answer it. Why add so many people on WeChat?” Gu Yan didn’t slow his pace, didn’t even look at her, his tone perfectly even, not even sounding like an accusation. He cleared his throat, as though treasuring every second. “We could’ve left earlier. You adding all those contacts cost us ten minutes and nine seconds extra.”

He hadn’t said a word of complaint about taking the bus earlier, and now he was upset over ten extra minutes?

Perhaps sensing what Qi Xi was thinking, Gu Yan glanced at her. “My sister just assigned me an urgent task, kind of tight on time, so I’m running short.”

Qi Xi quickened her pace to catch up. “Do you want me to help you with it when we get back?”

Gu Yan’s lips pressed into a flat line as he declined her offer without hesitation. “No need. You just added a ton of contacts—plenty of underclassmen will probably message you soon, start asking questions, and once you’ve answered them, you’ll end up chatting about other things too. Same school, same college, plenty to talk about—before long you’ll be swapping notes on recent movies and good restaurants. Just chatting alone would take at least half an hour per person, and you added something like twenty people in that ten minutes, so you’ll probably be chatting nonstop through tonight without repeating a single conversation.”

The man added coolly, “You’re clearly busy—I won’t bother you.”

“…”

As if to prove his point, right as he finished speaking, Qi Xi’s phone started chiming with a steady stream of WeChat notifications.

A little embarrassed, she said, “But they’re all underclassmen, I can’t really turn them down…”

“What’s so hard about turning them down? People with principles just wouldn’t add them in the first place.” Gu Yan glanced at her, then looked toward a phoenix tree leaf drifting down onto the road. “I didn’t add a single one.”

“Senior! Senior Qi Xi!”

A shout interrupted Gu Yan and Qi Xi’s conversation. Turning around, Qi Xi found the boy jogging up behind them was the same one who’d asked for her contact info in front of everyone earlier during the Q&A. He’d probably felt a bit embarrassed by Gu Yan’s rebuke, since Qi Xi hadn’t seen him again after the session ended.

Now the boy stood before her, out of breath, having run too hard to speak smoothly. “Qi Xi—Senior Qi Xi, you still haven’t answered my question…”

Gu Yan’s expression turned unpleasant. He raised his wrist, tapping his watch. “Qi Xi, I’m short on time.” His voice stayed flat. “There’s an urgent email flagged red—my sister wants me to review it right away and get back to the client…”

But before Gu Yan could finish, the breathless underclassman cut him off. “Senior Qi Xi, are you single?” The boy’s eyes were earnest. “This really matters to me—please, tell me the truth!”

Qi Xi never got the chance to answer, because Gu Yan, clearly out of patience, answered for her, pulling her to his side and giving the boy a cold look. “We’re busy.”

But this time, the underclassman didn’t back down. He looked bravely at Gu Yan. “But this is personal time right now, I’m not taking up anyone else’s time. And senior, I’m asking her, not you.”

Fearlessly, the boy pressed on. “Senior Gu Yan, you’re just a coworker of Senior Qi Xi’s right now, aren’t you? Whatever I ask her shouldn’t need your approval! If you’re busy, you can go ahead—it’s easy to catch a cab outside.” He turned to Qi Xi. “Senior, if you have time, can we talk? I’ll treat you to coffee.”

“Qi Xi, I just checked—the task my sister assigned me is pretty difficult. If you don’t help, I don’t think I’ll make the deadline.”

Gu Yan’s voice was flat, but before Qi Xi could even respond, the underclassman’s voice rang out again—

“Senior, you keep getting in the way of me and Senior Qi Xi talking—doesn’t that make it seem like you’ve got some ulterior motive of your own?” These days’ young people really were fearless. The boy held his ground against Gu Yan. “I heard that at graduation, Senior Qi Xi publicly rejected you in front of everyone. Is it because your confession failed, and now you’re holding a grudge, not wanting to see Senior Qi Xi doing well?”

“…” That was exactly the wrong nerve to hit! Qi Xi could already feel sweat breaking out on her forehead.

Gu Yan’s expression turned frightening, as expected—how could this not bother him?

Just as the whole mess with his unrequited moonlight had started to fade a little, this underclassman had gone and ripped it open again out of nowhere, like tearing open a half-healed wound.

Qi Xi found herself growing gloomy too—she wished this whole thing had never happened, wished Gu Yan’s moonlight had never existed in the first place.

But strangely, the more flustered, anxious, and wronged she felt inside, the more she wanted to appear composed and unbothered on the outside. She looked at the underclassman and said, calmly: “I’ve already clarified this before—it was a misunderstanding. Gu Yan wasn’t confessing to me. He has someone else he likes; that letter, which involved some inappropriate elements, wasn’t actually written for me—it was just a mix-up. I’ve since apologized and clarified across various channels; you might just not have seen it. Right now, Gu Yan and I are on the same team, we trust and cooperate with each other, and our shared goal is delivering good work and serving our clients well. Team members helping each other is completely normal—Gu Yan has helped me with my work plenty of times before. So there’s absolutely no ulterior motive behind what he just said. Please don’t read too much into this—he’s really not that kind of person.”

As Qi Xi spoke these words with such conviction, Gu Yan looked at her.

Not meeting his eyes, holding back a wave of nervousness and unease, Qi Xi added with great composure: “As for being single, I think it’s a good thing to be single. Right now I want to focus on building my career…”

Gu Yan glanced at her once more, then lowered his gaze.

The underclassman visibly deflated hearing this answer.

Fortunately, though he’d been fearless enough to press his luck, he ultimately knew when to back off. After Qi Xi’s gentle but firm response, though he looked regretful and reluctant to give up, he still waved goodbye—

“Senior, whenever Jingfa starts taking on interns, I’ll submit my résumé the first chance I get. Joining Jingfa is my first goal after graduation—I hope one day I can be your coworker, join your team! I’ll work hard and catch up to you!”

…

The underclassman left, but whether it had stirred up memories of that scene at graduation, of the unrequited moonlight he’d never won, Gu Yan showed no obvious emotion—yet Qi Xi sensed he was still a little upset.

For a moment, the air between them turned tense and heavy.

Feeling awkward and restless, Qi Xi urgently needed to say something to break the silence: “Gu Yan…”

But just as she opened her mouth, Gu Yan spoke too.

The man looked at her, his voice perfectly calm as he asked: “Do you think I have ulterior motives?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Qi Xi waved her hands rapidly. “Gu Yan, don’t worry, everyone can see what kind of person you are. I’m not going to let a distance grow between us just because some underclassman I don’t even know said a few things. He misunderstood what happened at graduation, looked at you through some biased lens with hostility—but from spending time with you, I know exactly who you are. I know you’d never actually get in my way or resent me doing well just because of some hidden agenda.”

Despite this declaration, Gu Yan didn’t look particularly pleased—if anything, his expression turned somewhat complicated. He glanced at her. “How are you supposed to be a lawyer like this?”

What did that have to do with being a lawyer?

Gu Yan pressed his lips together. “I’m no moral paragon. I’m probably not as good as you think.”

He glanced at her again. “As a lawyer, you shouldn’t put too much faith in truth, goodness, and beauty.”

“Of course I know a lawyer shouldn’t be too naive, shouldn’t romanticize reality or clients too much—I understand all of that perfectly well.” Qi Xi looked a little put out. “But you are you.”

For some reason, she felt utterly certain about this. She glanced at Gu Yan, then quickly looked away, kicking at a fallen phoenix tree leaf on the ground. “Gu Yan, you wouldn’t do something like that.”

She looked up and smiled at him. “Right?”

Gu Yan seemed reluctant to answer, but under Qi Xi’s steady gaze, he still felt oddly self-conscious. He seemed to think it over for a long moment before finally giving a soft “Mm.”