The door opened.
Han Yuchu walked in first, his voice steady. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Hearing the sound of the door opening, Shen Jia Yan slowly lifted her head.
Her gaze passed through the dimly lit room and landed on that familiar figure.
Time seemed to freeze in that moment.
Her eyes were first blank, then gradually focused.
She saw Han Yuchu.
Then, she saw the person behind him.
Wen Wan Ning.
Her fingers trembled slightly, leaving a faint imprint on the rim of her coffee cup. She didn’t look away immediately or say anything. She just stared at her quietly, as if confirming whether everything before her eyes was an illusion.
Five years, over 1,800 days and nights, the rain in a foreign land, countless nights spent writing songs alone—she thought she had sealed that name, that face, that relationship into the melody of Tide Line.
But at this moment, she stood there in a beige suit, her expression calm, her eyes clear and bright, like a phantom emerging from the depths of her memory.
Shen Jia Yan’s breathing hitched slightly.
She showed no anger, nor any surprise.
She was simply stunned.
Lin Che noticed the strange atmosphere and instinctively looked at Shen Jia Yan, then at Wen Wan Ning. He frowned slightly but said nothing.
Han Yuchu introduced her in an even tone. “This is Wen Wan Ning, our firm’s most outstanding lawyer and one of its founders.”
Lin Che stepped forward with a polite smile and extended his hand. “Hello, I’m Lin Che, the lead singer of the Chuze Band.”
Wen Wan Ning shook his hand, her voice calm. “Hello.”
What followed was five seconds of dead silence. The air seemed to solidify, even the sound of breathing clearly audible.
Seeing that Shen Jia Yan hadn’t moved, Lin Che lightly nudged her with his elbow and called softly, “Jia Yan.”
“Huh?” Shen Jia Yan came back to herself. Her gaze finally shifted away from Wen Wan Ning and turned to Lin Che.
Lin Che frowned at her, gesturing for her to greet Wen Wan Ning.
Shen Jia Yan blinked lightly, as if pushing the surging emotions back down into her heart.
She looked at Wen Wan Ning again. Just as she was about to raise her hand, Wen Wan Ning extended hers first, a faint smile curving her lips. “Long time no see, Jia Yan.”
Her voice was soft, yet it pierced through the calm that Shen Jia Yan had woven over five years like a fine needle.
Shen Jia Yan didn’t reach out right away.
She simply stared at that hand suspended in mid-air, like staring at a past she could no longer touch.
One second, two seconds.
Then, she finally raised her hand.
Her fingertips were slightly cool as they lightly covered Wen Wan Ning’s palm—no pressure, no lingering, just a perfunctory handshake.
Brief, restrained, like two strangers meeting for the first time.
“Hello, Lawyer Wen.”
Cool, distant—a sense of unfamiliarity like an invisible wall stood between them.
Wen Wan Ning’s lips remained curved, but the light in her eyes dimmed considerably.
Han Yuchu composed himself, his gaze lingering subtly between the two for a moment before he spoke as if nothing had happened. “You two know each other? That’s great.” He pointed to the chairs by the conference table. “Everyone, have a seat.”
He gave Wen Wan Ning a puzzled look.
Wen Wan Ning smiled knowingly. “We were high school classmates, even desk mates.”
Han Yuchu let out an “oh,” a gentle smile spreading across his features, his tone lightening. “Old classmates, huh? No wonder I felt something… special between you two the moment we walked in.”
Shen Jia Yan lowered her eyes, her fingertips still retaining that fleeting warmth, like an ember that shouldn’t exist. She took a soft breath, pressing her emotions into the depths of her gaze.
As Han Yuchu observed Shen Jia Yan’s expression, an odd feeling rose in his heart.
But he didn’t dwell on the topic. Instead, he turned to Lin Che and continued, “Lin Che, I need to apologize to you first. I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle this case personally.”
“Why—” Lin Che started to ask, but Han Yuchu raised a hand to cut him off.
“But don’t worry, Wan Ning has agreed to take it on.” His gaze swept over them. “The case I’m handling right now is a bit tricky and won’t wrap up anytime soon.” He turned slightly toward Wen Wan Ning, his eyes filled with undisguised trust and pride. “Rest assured, Wan Ning’s expertise is even above mine. She’s the firm’s star, one of the top lawyers in the country. With her on it, the case will be even more secure.”
Lin Che relaxed, his tense shoulders easing as a relieved smile appeared on his face. “That’s great. With Lawyer Wen taking it, we’re in good hands.”
He looked at Wen Wan Ning sincerely. “Lawyer Wen, we’ll be counting on you from here on out.”
Wen Wan Ning nodded slightly, her voice calm and composed. “I’ll do my best.”
Han Yuchu followed up smoothly. “Then it’s settled. Next—”
Shen Jia Yan suddenly stood up.
The movement was so abrupt, like a string stretched to its limit snapping.
Wen Wan Ning froze. Han Yuchu’s pen paused on the paper. Lin Che instinctively straightened up.
All three looked at her.
She stood there, back straight, face pale, only her fingertips trembling slightly.
Over the past five years, she had buried all the pain, all the love, all the unspoken “whys.” She thought she had let it go.
But at this moment, with Wen Wan Ning standing before her, speaking in that professional, calm, distant manner—”I’ll do my best”—she realized she hadn’t let go at all.
She had only stitched up the wound, and Wen Wan Ning’s appearance tore open that thin scab with the lightest touch.
“Sorry.” Shen Jia Yan’s voice was soft, like cracking ice. “This case… we’ll need to think about it some more.”
Before Lin Che could react, she grabbed the file bag from the table and turned to leave. Lin Che stumbled after her, pulled along instinctively.
The door slammed shut with a bang. The hurried, chaotic footsteps echoed down the corridor, fading into the distance.
Dead silence filled the conference room.
Han Yuchu stared at the closed door, his brows furrowed. “She…”
Wen Wan Ning didn’t move. She stayed seated, her fingertips digging tightly into the edge of the folder, knuckles white.
She should have known.
Shen Jia Yan wouldn’t easily let someone who had once hurt her so deeply back into her world.
She thought she was prepared, but she forgot—the one who was hurt always had the right to choose not to forgive.
“Wan Ning, you two…” Han Yuchu said softly, his tone laced with concern.
Wen Wan Ning stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, saying lightly, “She’s the one I hurt, the person I liked.”
Han Yuchu was stunned, then seemed to realize something. He probed, “So, the firm’s name… it’s because of her?”
When they had started the firm together, they decided to name it by taking one character from each of their names. Han Yuchu had chosen the “Yu” from his name, and Wen Wan Ning had said directly, “Let’s call it Jia Yu.” When he asked why, she just smiled and said it sounded good.
Wen Wan Ning gave a soft “mm.”
Lin Che was dragged all the way to the nanny van by Shen Jia Yan before he finally broke free. He lowered his voice and asked urgently, “Jia Yan! What’s wrong with you? Do you know who that was? Wen Wan Ning, one of the top lawyers in the country! We need her right now!”
Shen Jia Yan leaned back in the seat, breathing rapidly, her eyes empty as if hollowed out.
“I know,” she said hoarsely. “But I don’t want her to take this case.”
“Why?” Lin Che spread his hands, his entire face scrunched up.
Shen Jia Yan didn’t look at him. She just stared down at her hand—the one that had just shaken Wen Wan Ning’s—where a trace of warm touch still lingered on her fingertips.
The car started slowly and merged into the city traffic.
“She’s the ‘her’ in Tide Line,” Shen Jia Yan finally said, her voice light as wind but heavy enough to freeze Lin Che in place.
“Now she’s standing in front of me, in a suit, calling my name, saying ‘long time no see.’ But she doesn’t know it took me five years to learn to let go.”
Lin Che was stunned, his breathing slowing.
Looking at Shen Jia Yan’s pale face and the bottomless pain in her eyes, he finally understood—this wasn’t just a simple legal dispute.
This was Shen Jia Yan, forced to face her deepest wound at her most vulnerable moment.
And the key to it all was Wen Wan Ning.
His voice softened, no longer accusatory but filled with heartache. “Jia Yan, but Tide Line is your work, your heart’s blood. You can’t let it be destroyed just because you’re afraid of the pain.”
Shen Jia Yan knew Lin Che was right. She couldn’t let Tide Line die under public opinion’s blade.
But she also knew that if she let Wen Wan Ning save this song, she would have to open her heart to her again.
She didn’t know if she could bear it.
“Jia Yan…” Lin Che’s voice lowered, heavy with a near-sigh. “Have you ever thought that maybe she’s here for more than just the case?”
Shen Jia Yan gave a bitter smile, her fingertips unconsciously digging into her palm, using the pain to remind herself to stay clear-headed. “She’s here because of Han Yuchu’s request, because of the firm’s reputation, because of her professional judgment.”
But Lin Che shook his head, his gaze sharp as a knife piercing straight to the deepest corner of her heart. “But she took it.” He emphasized each word, chipping away at her defenses. “She could have refused, dodged it, let another lawyer from the firm handle it—but she didn’t.”
He paused, his voice low but firm. “Do you know what that means? It means after hearing that song, she knew it was written by you. And it means she chose to face you.”
The car fell silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Shen Jia Yan said nothing.
She had always thought Wen Wan Ning’s appearance was a professional coincidence, a mockery of fate. But Lin Che’s words were like a key, gently prying open the thoughts she had sealed shut.
What if it wasn’t for the firm, not for reputation?
What if she came because she heard that song, heard the “I miss you” she had never voiced over five years?
That thought was like a faint light piercing the gloom over her heart.
But immediately, deeper fear surged up.
She wasn’t afraid of Wen Wan Ning not coming—she was afraid she would come, only to leave again.
Afraid that this closeness was just professional courtesy, afraid the light in her eyes was just her own wishful reflection, afraid she would turn and walk away again at her most vulnerable moment, leaving her in more pain than five years ago.
“I’m scared,” Shen Jia Yan finally said, her voice light as wind but trembling uncontrollably. “I’m scared of repeating the same mistake. I really can’t bear the pain of losing her again.”
“But, Jia Yan,” Lin Che said gently, “some fears need to be faced head-on. Running away isn’t the way.”
“When you wrote Tide Line, did you think finishing that song would let you let go?”
Shen Jia Yan nodded lightly.
“But haven’t you noticed?” Lin Che continued. “The more you try to bury the past with a song, the more it wakes you up on every rainy night. Because you haven’t truly faced it—you’ve only sealed it away.”
“You have to face it head-on, step over it, to truly let go.”
The car entered the tunnel, darkness swallowing everything instantly. The light outside the window vanished completely, leaving only the faint blue glow of the dashboard.
Shen Jia Yan stared at that faint point of light ahead, like the only exit at the tunnel’s end.
The sound of the tires rolling over the ground echoed in the tunnel, like a heartbeat, like a countdown.
She closed her eyes, but Wen Wan Ning’s voice overlapped in her ears—the “long time no see, Jia Yan” from the conference room, light as wind yet stirring up five years of turmoil in her heart.
The car didn’t slow, and the light ahead gradually widened.
She didn’t know what Wen Wan Ning was thinking, but suddenly she understood—she couldn’t let fear make decisions for her anymore.
At the end of the tunnel, Shen Jia Yan finally spoke. “Okay,” she said softly, her voice light yet resounding like the fall of a drumstick, sealing her decision. “Let Wen Wan Ning be our lawyer.”
