Chapter 80: In All These Years, Have You Ever Been in Love?

She wanted to add her back on WeChat—not for work, not for the case, but to openly re-enter her life.

But she couldn’t say that now. She could sense Shen Jia Yan’s resistance toward her.

That “why” stood like an invisible wall between them.

She couldn’t rashly throw herself at her and fill the five-year void with “I like you.”

What Shen Jia Yan needed wasn’t a confession, but answers—truth that could make her forgive that “rejection” from back then.

Wen Wan Ning wasn’t even sure if, once she revealed the real reason, Shen Jia Yan could accept it, forgive her, and take her back…

So she didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she lowered her head and wiped her hands, her fingertips turning slightly pale as if suppressing some emotion.

She needed an excuse, a reason to get close to her again.

Even if that reason was fake.

“Because…” She finally spoke, her voice calm, as if stating the most ordinary work arrangement. “There are still many tasks ahead. I need to coordinate directly with you.”

She lifted her head, her gaze landing on Shen Jia Yan’s face, trying to mask the plea in her eyes with a lawyer’s composure. “The copyright registration for Tide Line, the creative background notes on music platforms, the public apology statement from the Jiuhe Band… All these need your confirmation on the details. Going through an assistant or email is too slow and prone to errors.”

Her words sounded perfectly reasonable, every syllable upholding professionalism, but every pause silently screamed: Let me get close to you. Let me stay by your side. Let me have the chance to repay what I owe you, bit by bit.

Shen Jia Yan watched her quietly, her heart growing cold.

It was a perfectly reasonable excuse—she shouldn’t refuse. Lawyer and client coordinating on work was only natural.

But this “reasonableness” felt like a velvet-wrapped knife, gently slicing through her last shred of delusion.

So, Wen Wan Ning wanted to add her back not for any other reason, not out of regret—just because work required it.

Her fingertips felt ice-cold, but she still pulled out her phone from her pocket.

The screen lit up, the WeChat icon sitting quietly in the corner.

She tapped it open, her finger hovering over the search bar like awaiting a verdict.

“Okay.” She finally spoke, her voice utterly calm, without a ripple. “For work matters, I should cooperate.”

She typed in that number she had long since memorized by heart and sent the friend request, her movements decisive, without hesitation.

It went through smoothly, popping up straight to Wen Wan Ning’s profile.

Shen Jia Yan frowned. Could you add friends directly like this now? It seemed like some step was missing…

She didn’t dwell on it, pocketed her phone, and turned to head out.

Wen Wan Ning picked up her phone and opened the pinned chat window. The page hadn’t changed much, but she knew those red exclamation marks in the conversation wouldn’t appear anymore.

She gently traced Shen Jia Yan’s WeChat avatar, just like how she’d cradled her face the night before—full of love and cherishment.

Shen Jia Yan walked into the living room and gave it a quick scan.

No extra slippers by the entryway, no unfamiliar coats, no photos together…

No trace of a boyfriend.

It seemed they weren’t at the stage of occasional cohabitation yet.

The thought inexplicably eased her heart, followed by a self-mocking smile.

What right did she have to care? What position? Yet her gaze still uncontrollably roamed the room.

Once Wen Wan Ning emerged from the kitchen, she took a step back toward the entryway. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll head out.”

Wen Wan Ning grabbed the car keys from the coffee table and smiled faintly. “If I remember right, you still need to stop by the law firm today.”

“Hm?” Shen Jia Yan furrowed her brows slightly. “The law firm?”

“Yes.” Wen Wan Ning straightened her clothes, her tone as natural as discussing the weather. “You need to sign the copyright registration materials for Tide Line. Plus, the first draft of the Jiuhe Band’s public apology statement is ready—you have to review the content.”

She paused, her gaze gentle. “I’ll drive you there directly. You’re a public figure; coming and going would be inconvenient.”

Shen Jia Yan looked at her, suddenly feeling something off.

Did these things really have to be done in person?

Email, courier, video call—which wasn’t more efficient than her trekking all the way over?

But Wen Wan Ning spoke with such conviction, her expression so earnest, as if this were just the most routine “work coordination.”

“I can just take a cab.” Her voice was soft, carrying a faint stiffness that was hard to detect.

“Sure.” Wen Wan Ning slipped on her shoes and approached her, the distance close—close enough to catch each other’s scents. “But are you sure you want to be mobbed by fans and media at the neighborhood gate or downstairs at the firm for half an hour before signing those documents about your heartfelt creation?”

Shen Jia Yan froze.

She knew Wen Wan Ning was right. The hot searches about the Chuze Band and herself were still trending from yesterday.

Right now, her whereabouts were like “prey released from its cage” to the media.

She just wanted to handle this quietly, without her wounds being ripped open by cameras again.

She considered calling for the agency’s car, but Wen Wan Ning was heading to work now—she couldn’t very well wait at her place for it to arrive.

“Then…” She finally spoke, her voice soft, like a compromise or a test. “Sorry for the trouble.”

Wen Wan Ning didn’t say “no trouble.” She just gave a soft “mm” and turned to open the entryway door. Morning light poured in, outlining her slender silhouette.

“Let’s go.” Her tone was gentle. “My car’s on B2. The elevator’s quick.”

Shen Jia Yan nodded and followed her out.

In the elevator, they stood side by side.

Shen Jia Yan stared at the jumping floor numbers, but her heartbeat was more chaotic than a drumbeat.

The elevator dinged, arriving at the underground B2 level.

The garage was quiet, only their footsteps echoing.

Wen Wan Ning stopped in front of a white Taycan and unlocked the doors.

Shen Jia Yan got in. The interior was spotless, with a faint lavender scent mixed with leather—the scent that was hers.

The car started up. Wen Wan Ning gripped the steering wheel and said warmly, “Buckle your seatbelt.”

Shen Jia Yan looked down, but her fingers wouldn’t cooperate. She tried twice and failed to click it in.

“Let me.” Wen Wan Ning said softly.

She leaned over, her fingertips gently taking the belt. Her movements were restrained yet tender. They were so close that Shen Jia Yan could smell the faint shampoo in her hair, mingled with the morning chill.

Click. It fastened.

Wen Wan Ning didn’t pull back right away. She paused for a moment before slowly sitting upright. Her fingertips still held the faint chill of the metal buckle, but the warmth from brushing Shen Jia Yan’s waist lingered like a brand.

The car was very quiet.

Just the low hum of the engine and the whisper of air from the vents.

The lavender scent drifted slowly in the confined space, like an invisible veil gently wrapping the taut string between them.

Shen Jia Yan kept her head down, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of the seatbelt.

That moment of closeness had been too near—near enough to see Wen Wan Ning’s lashes tremble, to hear the rhythm of her breath, near enough that…

She had almost kissed her.

The thought shot through her like electricity, from her heart to her fingertips, making her tremble faintly.

She shouldn’t have thoughts like that.

Wen Wan Ning’s rejection five years ago, and now her intimacy with Han Yuchu, both silently reminded her: she shouldn’t entertain “overstepping” ideas, shouldn’t harbor any unrealistic fantasies.

It had taken her five years to learn to breathe in a world without Wen Wan Ning. She’d woven her emotions into drumbeats, her longing into melodies, forcing herself forward through performance after performance. She thought the walls she’d built were impenetrable.

But from the moment she reunited with Wen Wan Ning, from collapsing drunk on her shoulder last night, from her brewing ginger tea and squeezing toothpaste for her, from the warmth of her fingertips fastening the seatbelt—cracks began to appear.

One after another, fine and silent.

She had to keep her distance. Otherwise, those cracks would widen and eventually swallow her whole.

She couldn’t fall into that pain again—the agony of being so close yet feeling worlds apart, of hearing each other’s breaths but not daring to reach out.

That failed confession five years ago had branded her heart: Wen Wan Ning didn’t need her.

“Jia Yan.” Wen Wan Ning spoke suddenly.

Shen Jia Yan turned to her. “Hm?”

At a red light, she braked, gripping the wheel, her fingertips paling slightly. “You…” She hesitated, then ventured, “In all these years, have you been in love?”

She knew Tide Line held longing for Grandma and her, but she couldn’t arrogantly assume she was the only one in her heart.

After all, five years was too long—long enough for someone to learn new names, grow accustomed to new embraces, even fall for someone else.

Shen Jia Yan froze.

She hadn’t expected Wen Wan Ning to ask that. She’d thought it would be about work, the case, the creation of Tide Line…

The question was like a drop of water falling into the silent lake between them, ripples spreading fiercely yet soundlessly.

“No.” Shen Jia Yan replied, her voice soft but strikingly clear.

The car fell utterly silent, as if a pin drop could be heard.

Wen Wan Ning’s fingers tightened slightly. “Why?”

Shen Jia Yan looked at her. Sunlight slanted across her profile, outlining her sharp contours, her lashes quivering in the light and shadow.

Because that love from high school through college was too profound, like a melody looping endlessly without fading, fused into her every breath and heartbeat.

That love—pure, fervent, with reckless courage.

That love wasn’t youthful impulse, but a mark on her soul, her entire youth turning “liking” into instinct.

But she didn’t say it.

She just watched the red light countdown, her voice calm as if recounting someone else’s story. “Maybe… I haven’t met the right one yet.”

The right one.

Such a casual phrase.

But only she knew that behind every “not right” in those five years hid a “not you.”

“Jia Yan—”

“The law firm’s just ahead, right?” Shen Jia Yan’s voice was soft, but it erected an invisible wall, blocking Wen Wan Ning’s unspoken words.

She didn’t know the meaning behind Wen Wan Ning asking that.

Was it probing? Pity? Or a sliver of lingering affection she didn’t dare hope for?

But she couldn’t gamble.

That last failure had taught her: falling for her was the last thing she should do.

Since she’d decided to exit her life, she shouldn’t get close, shouldn’t listen to her speak, shouldn’t watch her lashes lower while fastening her seatbelt, shouldn’t…

Harbor any fantasies.