Having decided to take on Wu Jianqiang’s case, neither Qi Xi nor Gu Yan wasted any time. After the two of them reported to Gu Xuehan and got her approval, they started the next day gathering whatever evidence might still be missing.

It wasn’t looking good, though.

More than half a year had passed since the workplace injury occurred, and most of the evidence had long since been destroyed. On top of that, the workshop Wu Jianqiang had worked for was a small, informal operation with no proper personnel system or attendance records, and no payroll slips or approval forms of any kind. To avoid the cost of paying into the five social insurances and housing fund, the workshop paid wages entirely in cash, without so much as a transfer record. As for employee emails or handbooks, there was nothing to speak of.

Gu Yan tried reaching out to Wu Jianqiang’s former coworkers, hoping some of them would come forward as witnesses, but that too ended in failure. For one thing, turnover at these small workshops was extremely high — after half a year, most of the faces had changed, and many of the current workers didn’t even know who Wu Jianqiang was. For another, even the few old coworkers who remained and knew about the accident were unwilling to testify.

Qi Xi could understand it, of course. “These old workers have been at this workshop for years now — it’s their livelihood, feeding their families. The economy’s bad right now, and at least they’re used to the work here. People get attached to routine and don’t want to move on. They’re also afraid that if they testify, they’ll lose their jobs.”

Gu Yan understood too, but that left them at a dead end when it came to gathering evidence.

That afternoon, both Qi Xi and Gu Yan were assigned other cases by Gu Xuehan, so they had no time to dwell on this one. And after work, Qi Xi had something more pressing to deal with.

The new apartment Zhao Yiran had found was ready to move into, and she’d already moved in ahead of time. Qi Xi planned to move in that evening as well.

Even Gu Xuehan herself didn’t seem to know why, but lately, even though she was at the firm during the day, she’d been away on business trips or pulling all-nighters every single night. In all the time Qi Xi had been staying at her place, she’d never once seen her come home. Such a big, nice apartment, and Qi Xi had practically been squatting in it alone.

The place was good in every way — especially since it was so close to Gu Yan’s. Aside from work during the day, the two of them often saw each other in the evenings too, sometimes with Gu Yan showing up shamelessly to mooch a meal, other times bringing takeout back to share, chatting about cases as they ate.

Qi Xi never grew tired of seeing so much of Gu Yan in a single day — if anything, the more time she spent with him, the less she wanted him to leave.

But lately, it seemed Gu Yan and his moonlight-in-his-heart had finally gotten together. Whenever he came over to mooch dinner, he’d often get a call from his girlfriend, and when Qi Xi stayed up late reading case files, she’d often notice Gu Yan heading downstairs in the middle of the night. Most of the time she could see the two of them from her window — Gu Yan going to meet his girlfriend at the complex gate late at night, then walking her all the way home.

Every time this happened, Qi Xi’s mood would sour.

She’d find herself watching the clock, calculating roughly how long Gu Yan stayed at the other woman’s place, then drawing an entirely unfounded conclusion from the average — that Gu Yan apparently wasn’t all that… capable.

By Qi Xi’s estimate, almost every time he walked the woman home, he’d be back at his own place again before long.

Given that he’d already taken his moonlight to a hotel before, Qi Xi figured he probably wasn’t the conservative type. As Zhao Yiran had once said, once a man crossed that line, there was no way he’d keep playing the gentleman with his girlfriend after that. And as far as Qi Xi knew, the female neighbor lived alone too. Gu Yan had pined for her for so long, and now they were freshly, blushingly in the throes of new love, so…

So logically, every time he walked her home, he ought to be going up to her place afterward and doing… that.

Given the timing, though, Qi Xi couldn’t help but think Gu Yan was a bit… um… too fast… that didn’t seem like a good sign at all.

Definitely not boyfriend material, she told herself. No need to feel any regret over it — this was absolutely not a case of sour grapes!

Fortunately, despite all these ridiculous thoughts running through her head, the move itself got done with Gu Yan and Zhao Yiran’s help. Gu Yan, apparently in a rush to get back for a date with his girlfriend, turned down Zhao Yiran’s invitation to stay for dinner, claiming he had something to attend to. So in the end, it was just Zhao Yiran and Qi Xi left in the apartment.

While Qi Xi sat there lost in her nonsensical thoughts, Zhao Yiran had opened Kuaishou again and started scrolling through videos. Whatever she was watching, she suddenly burst out laughing.

Curious, Qi Xi leaned over and saw Zhao Yiran was engrossed in a video of an old farmer making earthen-pot chicken.

Seeing Qi Xi’s interest, Zhao Yiran launched into an enthusiastic recommendation. “You should follow this guy — he’s a chef, super entertaining. Conditions out in the countryside are rough, but he’s really funny, totally in tune with the trends, and what he says is interesting too. He also introduces a lot of local specialty dishes — just watching makes you hungry.”

Lately, with all the pressure from overtime, Zhao Yiran had gotten hooked on scrolling videos to decompress. Even though every session ate up an entire evening, she never tired of it, and she couldn’t stop praising platforms like Kuaishou and Douyin for their livestreams and video-sharing features.

“Honestly, I’ve realized a lot of working people out there are truly hardworking, brave, and clever. I’ve been following several rural-life bloggers lately, watching them share their lives. Sometimes it’s really interesting, and even when things are clearly hard for them, they still make the effort to share the little bright spots in their day — it’s genuinely inspiring, gives you this sense of strength, feels almost healing. Makes me feel like my own overtime really isn’t that bad.”

“Kuaishou and Douyin really show you every walk of life — construction workers sharing their lives, engineers stationed overseas posting their daily routines, independent designers documenting their work, even girls who go up the mountains to dig for wild mushrooms singing and dancing in their videos. Haven’t you noticed? Everyone uses these apps these days.”

Zhao Yiran set down her phone and stretched, sighing. “Every night I scroll through videos like I’m recharging myself. When I think about it, I’ve got a stable, respectable nine-to-five job at the courthouse, and I only have to work overtime occasionally — compared to the intensity of manual labor out in the countryside, what do I even have to complain about? Those people stay cheerful every day, finding little joys in life. What right do I have to whine about mine?”

She stood up and stretched her limbs. “Alright, fully recharged! Time to go dig into my case files!”

With that, Zhao Yiran went back to her room to keep studying overtime, leaving Qi Xi alone in the living room.

Zhao Yiran had said it all without thinking twice, but something suddenly clicked in Qi Xi’s mind.

That’s right — apps like Douyin and Kuaishou were incredibly popular now, and sharing short videos required no educational credentials whatsoever. Everyone, whether white-collar or blue-collar, had the same urge to share their lives and connect socially. So…

So if even one of Wu Jianqiang’s coworkers had ever registered for one of these platforms and casually posted a video of themselves at work, wasn’t it possible that Wu Jianqiang himself might appear somewhere in those videos? And couldn’t that serve as evidence that Wu Jianqiang had indeed worked at that small workshop?

No sooner thought than done — Qi Xi immediately downloaded Douyin, Kuaishou, and similar apps, and began searching using the local city tag along with keywords related to the workshop.

The search wasn’t easy, but Qi Xi didn’t give up. She stared at her phone for nearly the entire night, her eyes practically going blind from the strain. Whether it was heaven taking pity on her or sheer persistence paying off, just as Qi Xi was about to lose the battle against sleep, she finally spotted Wu Jianqiang in a Kuaishou account’s video! It was only a quick, fleeting glimpse, but it was undeniably him!

That jolted her wide awake. She had no intention of sleeping now — she started tracing that account further, and sure enough, besides that video from half a year ago, there were several other clips on the same account showing Wu Jianqiang, each carefully captioned by the poster: “Work’s done, time to eat,” “First day back on the job this week, karaoke night with the crew,” “Skewers with the guys after work”…

Qi Xi slowed the playback almost frame by frame to compare each shot, and after an entire night’s work, she’d captured and saved screenshots of every scene featuring Wu Jianqiang.

By cross-referencing the footage from several coworkers’ videos, it was almost certain they all worked at the same unregistered workshop, which also confirmed Wu Jianqiang had once been among them — the backgrounds in all the videos matched the workshop as well.

Having stayed up all night to finally find this crucial piece of evidence, Qi Xi didn’t want to risk anything going wrong — a sudden computer crash or the like — so she quickly packaged up all the material and sent it off to Gu Yan. Only then, feeling as though a weight had lifted, did she fall asleep with an easy conscience.

She hadn’t meant to sleep the whole afternoon away, but when she woke up, the heat of the westering sun was already filling the room.

Qi Xi practically leapt for her phone to check for missed calls and emails.

Fortunately, nothing urgent had come up at the firm that day. Still, even though she breathed a sigh of relief, she’d meant to use this rare bit of free time to take the evidence and go confront the unscrupulous workshop directly. She’d even mentioned as much in the email to Gu Yan when she sent over the evidence package last night, saying she’d handle it that afternoon…

No, no — she needed to hurry and discuss with Gu Yan when they’d go deal with this. Qi Xi had seen Wu Jianqiang’s family situation firsthand; they desperately needed the money. Unlike people who didn’t have to worry about finances, they couldn’t afford to be patient about when the payment would come through.

So Qi Xi rushed back to the firm in a panic, arriving out of breath, only to find Gu Yan already seated calmly at his desk, typing away.

Gasping for air, Qi Xi said, somewhat aggrieved, “Gu Yan, I didn’t show up to work all morning and you didn’t even ask where I went! I had no plans to be out today — I just overslept, and nobody woke me up…”

“Look at what time you sent me that email.” Gu Yan, for his part, sounded thoroughly unbothered. “Five in the morning, and after that you were still planning to work through the day? Qi Xi, do you want to drop dead from exhaustion?”

He shot her a cold glance. “And if I had woken you up, would you turn around and blame me for a workplace injury?” His lips were pressed into a flat line, clearly not pleased at being questioned. “Don’t stay up that late again. If something happens to you, who’s going to answer for it?”

“I’m young, I won’t get a workplace injury! Don’t worry, I won’t come after you or your sister for it! But Wu Jianqiang — I’ve got several cases to file at court tomorrow, so I probably won’t have time to deal with his matter, and my schedule after that isn’t fixed either. If I remember right, aren’t your work days packed for the next couple of days too? Then who knows when we’ll be able to squeeze in time to…”

Just thinking about Wu Jianqiang’s case left Qi Xi feeling flustered — she had no idea when she’d find a gap in her schedule to handle it.

But it was at that moment that Gu Yan spoke again.

He looked at Qi Xi, his voice calm and even. “I’ve handled it.”

Qi Xi blinked. “What?”

Gu Yan’s expression was perfectly composed, carrying the air of someone who’d quietly accomplished a great feat and slipped away without seeking credit. “I said, I’ve taken care of it.” He handed her a document. “This is the settlement agreement the factory was required to sign, along with the payment schedule they agreed to.”

Qi Xi was genuinely stunned now. Still a little dazed, she took the agreement and looked it over, only to find everything spelled out in black and white, unmistakably clear.

“There was an established employment relationship without a signed labor contract, so Wu Jianqiang is owed double wages for the entire period he worked there — he was only ever paid once, so now they owe the second payment as well. On top of that, since the factory never paid into his workplace injury insurance, the factory itself is responsible for covering the full injury compensation.”

Once he finished, Gu Yan glanced at Qi Xi. “While you were asleep, I went and negotiated with them directly. I’ve already notified Wu Jianqiang too — now we just wait three days for the payment.”

Qi Xi was still somewhat at a loss. “It’s just… resolved? Just like that?”

“Mm.”

“They didn’t try to fight back or stall?”

“Of course they did.” Gu Yan pressed his lips together. “But we got lucky — this shady factory just landed a new subcontracted project, and hiring’s been difficult these past few years, they’re in the middle of a labor shortage. They were especially worried we’d edit those videos together with the full context and post them online to spread the story.”

“But of course, the most important thing was still your evidence.” Gu Yan looked at Qi Xi. “I preserved it properly — screen recordings, and to make sure the video sources couldn’t be deleted if they tried, I recorded everything on my phone too, and used apowerREC to back it up as well. So there was no way for them to deny it. They knew that if they refused to settle and we filed for labor arbitration instead, not only would they be unable to escape the compensation, they’d just end up wasting far more time and effort.”

“You did really well this time.” What Gu Yan said should have counted as praise, but the look on his face as he said it to Qi Xi wasn’t a pleased one at all. “But don’t do this again.”

Qi Xi bristled a little. “Why not?”

Gu Yan pressed his lips together, entirely reasonable in tone. “Staying up all night might look like it buys you extra time, but the next day you’re in no shape to function, and that just means the workload the next day falls entirely on me instead, doesn’t it? So this kind of negotiation ends up being something I have to handle alone?”

Perhaps having to go negotiate by himself this time had put real pressure on him — enough that he still seemed a bit shaken by it now, because his expression still wasn’t good. He glared at her. “So don’t do this again.”

It’s not like I told you not to wake me up and go by yourself… you could’ve just called me…

Qi Xi grumbled to herself, but given that Gu Yan really had reliably handled the case entirely on his own, she couldn’t bring herself to argue further, and instead felt a wave of relief — at least Wu Jianqiang’s matter had finally been resolved.

With that, all the work currently on her plate had reached a satisfying conclusion. Qi Xi had assumed she’d feel lighter, more at ease — but instead, if anything, she felt even more restless than before.

Once the busyness of work faded and left her with idle time, it seemed there was even more room to dwell on personal matters.

Gu Yan had a girlfriend now.

Gu Yan and his moonlight-in-his-heart were together.

That realization was becoming clearer and clearer in front of Qi Xi.

The calls he occasionally received during work, the way he deliberately stepped away from Qi Xi to take them in private — every single sign pointed to the fact that Gu Yan was, and would continue to, drift further and further away from her. All his personal time would be devoted to his girlfriend now, and so would all his patience, his tenderness, his affection.

This man, in his entirety, now belonged to someone else.

As much as she wanted otherwise, Qi Xi’s sense of conscience told her it was time to step back.

Even if Gu Yan or his girlfriend wouldn’t mind or feel uncomfortable about it, Qi Xi knew that with the feelings she now harbored for him — feelings she couldn’t voice — it wasn’t appropriate for her to keep showing up so often around Gu Yan.

It was best if Gu Yan and his girlfriend never knew. As long as Qi Xi herself was clear-eyed about it, that was enough.

She needed to keep her distance.