Wen Wan Ning knew that Shen Jia Yan was not just fighting for the ownership of a song, but seeking justice for those true feelings that had been misunderstood, belittled, and dismissed as “emotional marketing.”
She slowly closed the file, her voice calm yet sharp. “So, we will not accept the settlement.”
She stood up and positioned herself shoulder to shoulder with Shen Jia Yan, like two parallel lines of defense.
“They want to quell the public outcry with a simple ‘sorry.’ We will use a full legal process to let everyone see what the dignity of creation truly means.”
She turned to Lin Che and Yang Han. “We will proceed with litigation, demanding a formal public apology from them and compensation for emotional distress.”
Lin Che fell silent for a moment before finally nodding. “You’re right. Settling easily would be tantamount to admitting that ’emotions can be copied and pain can be commodified.'”
He looked at Shen Jia Yan, his voice low. “This isn’t just your song, Jia Yan. It’s the Tide Line in every sincere creator’s heart that has gone unheard.”
Yang Han also put away her smile and said solemnly, “I’ll contact the media to document the entire legal process. We need to show the public that original creators aren’t ‘playing the victim’—they’re protecting their own lives.”
Shen Jia Yan listened, a faint light gradually welling up in her eyes.
She was not fighting alone.
Her pain, her song, her persistence—they were transforming into a voice, a sound that confronted oblivion and contempt.
She spoke, her voice soft but carrying an unprecedented strength. “Good.”
※
Jiuhe Band had not expected them to reject the settlement.
When the agent announced in the conference room, “The other party has refused the settlement and will file a lawsuit,” the lead singer Chen Yu’s coffee cup shattered on the floor with a “crack,” brown liquid splattering across the carpet like an irreparable stain.
“What?!” The keyboardist shot to his feet, his voice laced with disbelief. “They’re crazy? Going to court? It’s time-consuming and exhausting—what if we lose and public opinion turns against us?”
The agent frowned at his phone. “Shen Jia Yan’s lawyer, Wen Wan Ning, has already submitted a pre-litigation evidence preservation application to the court. She also issued a statement: ‘The plagiarism accusation has infringed upon the personal dignity of the creator. We refuse to cover up the truth with a settlement.'”
The room fell into dead silence.
Chen Yu’s expression shifted repeatedly. Of course, he knew how the similarities between Island and Tide Line had come about. After a drinking session, he vaguely remembered a friend mentioning an unreleased demo. He jotted down a few notes on the spot, which later became the intro to Island. He had thought that as long as the hype was high enough, he could brush it off as “inspirational coincidence,” and it would blow over.
But he hadn’t expected Shen Jia Yan to be so “stubborn” about it.
Even less had he expected that Wen Wan Ning, one of the top lawyers in the domestic legal circle, would step up for her.
“Wen Wan Ning.” Chen Yu murmured, his fingers unconsciously tapping the desk. “Isn’t she the epitome of rationality? For something like this, wouldn’t a settlement be best for everyone?”
“But she’s not talking rationality right now,” the agent said with a bitter smile. “She’s talking ‘dignity.'”
“Dignity?” Chen Yu scoffed. “There’s no such thing as dignity in the entertainment industry. Hype is king! Fans want hits, platforms want traffic—who cares about the meaning behind a song?”
The agent fell silent for a moment, then pulled a printed sheet from his bag and slid it across to him.
It was a scan of the original handwritten manuscript for Tide Line, with a clear date.
Below it was an excerpt from Shen Jia Yan’s creation diary: “Grandma passed away. Her last words were ‘eat well, sleep well.’ I wrote a melody like raindrops on the windowsill. I want to call it Tide Line—the tide took away the shore, but I’m still waiting for it to return.”
Chen Yu’s gaze swept over those words, and the tapping of his fingers gradually stopped.
“Do you know what Wen Wan Ning said in her email?” The agent stared straight into Chen Yu’s eyes, his voice low. “She said that if this industry tramples even a song written with one’s life, then it deserves to be judged.”
※
At six in the evening, everyone from Chuze Band had gathered in the conference room at Jiayu Law Firm.
The lights were soft, neatly organized files lay in the center of the long table, and the air still held the faint aroma of coffee. Outside the window, the city’s lights were just coming on, traffic weaving through the streets.
Han Yuchu temporarily set aside his case and came to the conference room.
Lin Che hurried over to him, excited. “Yu Chu, thank you so much! Without you and Lawyer Wen, we couldn’t have pushed this case forward so quickly. Now public opinion has completely reversed—even music critics are calling Tide Line ‘the most sincere work of the year!'”
Han Yuchu smiled, his gaze sweeping the room before finally landing on Shen Jia Yan. “This is what you deserve. Only when a work is respected can the creator keep creating.”
Yang Han chimed in, her tone thrilled. “And this afternoon, the brand reached out to me, willing to re-sign with even better terms! Plus, three music festivals sent invitations, all specifying Tide Line as the finale.”
Zhong Ruyi clapped the table with a laugh. “Now Tide Line‘s play count has shot into the top three on the platform’s original music chart. The comments are all ‘made me cry,’ ‘this is what music should be’…”
The conference room buzzed with joy as everyone chattered about future performance plans and promotion rhythms, as if the dark clouds had never existed.
Just then, the conference room door was gently pushed open.
Wen Wan Ning walked in.
She didn’t look at anyone else—her gaze went straight to Shen Jia Yan.
She held a file in her hand, her expression calm. “The court has accepted the case.” Her voice was soft but clear as a bell. “Trial is next Wednesday.”
Shen Jia Yan looked at her and nodded lightly. She didn’t smile, but it was as if a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Yang Han checked the time and walked over, her lips curving slightly. “Lawyer Wen, you’ve worked hard today, and it’s getting late.” She turned to Han Yuchu. “Let us treat you and Lawyer Han to dinner.”
Lin Che chimed in. “Yeah, we won this ‘battle’ so beautifully thanks to you two. It’s only right that we treat you.”
Han Yuchu knew Wen Wan Ning never liked these kinds of social dinners, and the case wasn’t fully resolved yet, so he prepared to tactfully decline on her behalf.
“It’s all part of the job, but tonight we won’t—”
“Good.” Wen Wan Ning interrupted Han Yuchu.
Han Yuchu was stunned and turned to look at her. Wen Wan Ning closed her folder, stood up, her gaze calm but carrying a rare softness.
He had known Wen Wan Ning for ten years, since her first day at the firm. She never attended any unnecessary social dinners. Her life was a precise line: work, home, reading, preparing the next case. Personal emotions stayed private; socializing was avoided if possible.
He frowned and turned, catching sight of Shen Jia Yan.
He understood instantly. It was because of her.
Shen Jia Yan felt a bit resistant to having dinner with Wen Wan Ning.
But this meal was to thank her. Her professional skills had gotten Chuze Band through this crisis—from piecing together an ironclad chain of evidence to her calm, incisive legal statements—every step precise and powerful. She had turned Tide Line from “plagiarism suspect” to “original masterpiece” and completely reversed public opinion.
By all accounts, emotional and rational, she should go.
Yang Han smiled. “Alright then, let’s go. There’s a great private cuisine spot nearby—quiet, perfect for chatting. I’ll share the location now.”
The group left the conference room, their footsteps echoing in the corridor. Han Yuchu lagged half a step behind and leaned close to Wen Wan Ning, whispering in her ear, “Today, is it because of—Shen Jia Yan?”
Wen Wan Ning glanced at him, then at Shen Jia Yan’s back ahead, and smiled faintly without responding.
Through the glass door ahead, Shen Jia Yan caught their reflection—the intimate gesture of the two behind her, and Wen Wan Ning’s gentle smile.
Her heart jolted sharply.
What was their relationship?
The thought pierced her heart like a fine needle. Her steps faltered almost imperceptibly, her fingertips clenching unconsciously.
Her mind flashed back to five years ago, when Wen Wan Ning had rejected her, saying, “I have a guy I like.”
Back then, Wen Wan Ning’s eyes had dodged, her tone firm—like a knife severing all her hopes.
She had thought it was just an excuse, but now, seeing them walk side by side, so familiar, whispering privately, she suddenly wondered: Could that person be Han Yuchu?
She forced herself to look away, pushed open the door, and stepped into the night. The cold wind hit her face, but it couldn’t suppress the surging sourness in her heart.
So that’s how it was.
No wonder she had rejected her back then, no wonder she had vanished so completely, no wonder she had stepped forward so “naturally” today to fight for her.
So, they really were just a work relationship? No—wait.
She let out a self-mocking light laugh.
Lin Che noticed her steps slowing and turned back. “Jia Yan, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, forcing herself not to think about it, her voice calm. “Let’s go.”
Soon, they arrived at the private cuisine restaurant by car.
The server led them to the reserved private room: wooden partitions, warm yellow lights, a celadon lamp on the table casting a serene glow.
Everyone sat down, ordered dishes, and the atmosphere gradually relaxed.
Lin Che recounted the band’s early mishaps at the live house, making everyone laugh. Han Yuchu had a few cups of sake and shared stories of skipping class by climbing walls with Lin Che in university.
Wen Wan Ning listened quietly, occasionally raising her glass, but her gaze drifted unconsciously toward Shen Jia Yan.
She saw her smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes; she saw her lower her head to pick at her food, but her eyes always avoided her own.
“Lawyer Wen, try this.” Yang Han picked up a piece of steamed fish and placed it in her bowl. “It’s the signature dish here.”
“Thank you.” Wen Wan Ning came back to herself and nodded lightly.
Just then, Lin Che raised his glass toward her and Han Yuchu. “We really owe you two big time today! Without you, we might’ve been crushed by public opinion. Come, a toast to our two ‘lifesavers’!”
Everyone raised their glasses.
Shen Jia Yan lifted her glass too, but never looked at Wen Wan Ning.
At that moment, Wen Wan Ning spoke softly. “This toast can’t just be to us.” She paused, her gaze finally locking straight onto Shen Jia Yan, her voice light but piercing through all the chatter. “Tide Line was seen because it deserved to be, and it exists,” she looked at her, a faint light shimmering in her eyes, “because Jia Yan wrote this song with her true heart.”
