Chapter 89: She Needs You to Liaise with Her

Shen Jia Yan quickened her pace in the shower, tidied up afterward, and came to the living room to wait for Chu Nian.

Her footsteps paced back and forth between the sofa and the entryway. She sat down for a moment, then stood up again. She picked up her phone, then set it down, poured herself a glass of water, took a sip, and placed it back where it had been…

Why hadn’t Chu Nian arrived yet?

She picked up her phone again, her fingertip just brushing Chu Nian’s number as she prepared to dial.

The door lock beeped with a series of beep-beep-beeps.

Chu Nian pushed the door open, holding a bag of xiaolongbao.

Her right foot had barely stepped into the entryway when Shen Jia Yan’s face appeared right in front of her, so close their noses nearly touched.

“Jia Yan-jie?!” Chu Nian jumped in fright, nearly dropping the breakfast bag.

But Shen Jia Yan didn’t step back. Her gaze fixed straight on Chu Nian, as if confirming something.

“Was it really you who brought me home last night?” she asked, her voice low and heavy, without a trace of amusement.

Chu Nian instinctively took half a step back and forced a smile. “Ah, y-yes, you were drunk, so I brought you back.”

“I’m asking you one last time. Was it just you?” Shen Jia Yan pressed forward step by step, her eyes sharp enough to pierce through lies.

Chu Nian’s heart tightened. She knew she couldn’t hide it anymore.

She bit her lip, finally lowered her head, and her voice grew smaller. “I’m sorry, Jia Yan-jie. I didn’t tell the truth. Last night… Wan Ning-jie and I brought you back together.”

Wan Ning-jie.

Since when had things between her and Wen Wan Ning become so… familiar?

Shen Jia Yan pulled Chu Nian to sit on the sofa and said seriously, “Tell me everything that happened after I passed out on your shoulder last night. Every detail, without missing a thing.”

Chu Nian shrank back, as if nailed to the sofa by Shen Jia Yan’s gaze. Her fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of her clothes.

“After you passed out, I was struggling to support you when Wan Ning-jie saw and took over from me right away. She said she’d help me bring you home.”

Shen Jia Yan couldn’t hold back and asked her, “Hold on. You call her ‘Wan Ning-jie’? Are you two that close now?”

Chu Nian froze, then realized she’d used too intimate a term. She waved her hands frantically. “Ah! No, no! Jia Yan-jie, listen to me explain.”

Shen Jia Yan frowned at her, waiting for a proper explanation.

“After I brought you home, Wan Ning-jie—” Chu Nian caught herself using the term again and quickly corrected, “Lawyer Wen, told me that calling her ‘Wan Ning-jie’ from now on would feel more friendly, so I changed how I addressed her.”

Then, with a touch of her own ulterior motive, she added, “I think maybe it’s because I’m your assistant, so she felt there was no need to be so formal with her.”

Shen Jia Yan didn’t speak, just quietly watched Chu Nian. Her gaze shifted from initial scrutiny to something deeper. She could hear the hint of “ulterior motive” in Chu Nian’s words.

“More friendly?” she repeated softly, her fingertip unconsciously rubbing the earring in her pocket. The cool touch felt like it was burning her palm.

The Wen Wan Ning who habitually kept three steps’ distance even from clients, the Lawyer Wen who calculated every inch of her smiles in court—would she tell her assistant to be “more friendly”?

Shen Jia Yan thought for a moment but didn’t dwell on it. She pressed on, “What happened after she said she’d help you bring me home?”

Chu Nian put away her little scheme and recalled, “Then she helped you into her car. I got in too, and she had the driver take us to Changhu International.”

Shen Jia Yan suddenly thought of something and asked Chu Nian directly, “Did she see you enter the door code?”

“Um…” Chu Nian pondered for a moment before saying, “No, I think I blocked it when I entered it.”

As a CP fan, she couldn’t do anything that might even slightly risk breaking up the couple. If she admitted she’d told Wan Ning-jie the code and Jia Yan-jie changed it afterward, that would be disastrous.

She couldn’t say it.

Shen Jia Yan didn’t suspect too much. “And then?”

“Then she and I helped you into the bedroom and onto the bed. I left first.”

Shen Jia Yan’s eyes widened instantly. “You… left first?”

“Leaving her alone in my home?” Her voice suddenly rose sharply, like a taut string.

“Um, yeah, that…” Chu Nian quickly made up an excuse. “Yang Han-jie called me right then to pick up the others. You were already lying down and seemed fine, so I told Wan—Lawyer Wen I had to go first.”

Since she had something to do, Shen Jia Yan couldn’t say much more. But what happened afterward? No one knew.

Maybe the earring had fallen off accidentally when Wen Wan Ning helped her onto the bed.

Chu Nian waved her hand in front of Shen Jia Yan’s eyes. “Jia Yan-jie, what are you thinking about?”

Shen Jia Yan snapped back. “N-nothing.” Maybe next time I see Wan Ning, I can ask her tactfully…

Chu Nian stood up, placed the xiaolongbao on the dining table, then went into the kitchen to ladle out a bowl of millet porridge. “Jia Yan-jie, come eat something. We have to record the song soon.”

“Mm.” She noticed the porridge Chu Nian had ladled from the kitchen and asked, “When did you make the porridge?”

“Um, that…” Chu Nian’s gaze flickered. “I scheduled it to cook before I left last night.”

“Oh.” Shen Jia Yan sat at the dining chair. “You’re getting more thoughtful.”

After eating, the two arrived at the recording studio on time.

The moment she pushed open the door, Shen Jia Yan’s steps faltered slightly.

Yang Han sat on the sofa in the rest area, holding a tablet and smiling warmly at them. As their manager, she rarely appeared at recording sessions, let alone this early.

“Han-jie, you’re here too?” Shen Jia Yan took off her jacket, her tone carrying a hint of surprise.

“Mm, special day today.” Yang Han stood up and handed the tablet to Chu Nian. “The new song’s arrangement demo just got finalized. I want to hear the first run personally.”

Shen Jia Yan had just nodded greetings to the band when she heard Yang Han continue, “And there’s something else I need to tell you.”

She turned to look at her.

“We just reached a verbal agreement with Lawyer Wen to hire her as our studio’s legal advisor.”

The air seemed to freeze for an instant. Shen Jia Yan stood rooted to the spot.

Legal advisor?

Not temporary collaboration, not single-case representation—this was long-term, day-to-day. From now on, Wen Wan Ning’s name would appear in every contract of the Chuze Band, every meeting, every crisis.

She would come to the practice room, attend work meetings, sit not far from her, reading documents, speaking, breathing…

Shen Jia Yan had been preparing to slowly exit Wen Wan Ning’s world, yet she had reentered her daily life in this way.

“You’re… sure?” Shen Jia Yan heard her own voice, dry and unlike herself. “She agreed?”

Yang Han nodded excitedly. “Lawyer Wen is top-tier in the industry, with broad connections and solid expertise. Crucially, she fought back so many rights for us in the copyright case last time. Getting her is incredibly lucky. And she made it clear: she’ll only advise, not interfere with creation. We don’t have to worry at all.”

“But,” Yang Han said meaningfully, “she has one condition: she needs you to liaise with her.”

Yang Han could sense Wen Wan Ning’s special feelings toward Shen Jia Yan, but as manager, she had to prioritize the band’s development.

Wen Wan Ning was a top lawyer—resources, connections, and skills were impeccable. This partnership was a golden opportunity for the band.

As for whether she and Shen Jia Yan would develop further, Yang Han figured they’d see how it went.

Seeing Shen Jia Yan’s slightly dazed expression, Yang Han softened her tone. “Jia Yan, I know your past is a bit complicated. But this collaboration is vital for the band. With Lawyer Wen joining, it means we can build our own copyright system—no more exploitation or plagiarism. She can protect our music.”

Shen Jia Yan didn’t speak, just stood there quietly.

She understood everything Yang Han said.

Wen Wan Ning’s involvement was armor and shield for the band.

“Jia Yan?” Yang Han called softly when she remained silent for a long time.

Shen Jia Yan finally looked up, her eyes clear.

“I understand.” Her voice was soft but carried immense weight. “It’s our band’s honor to have Lawyer Wen.”

“Has the liaison time been set?”

“Tomorrow at 10 a.m., at her law firm.” Yang Han handed over a business card—pure white background with embossed silver lettering, just like Wen Wan Ning herself: concise, restrained, yet impossible to ignore.

Shen Jia Yan took the card, her fingertip lightly tracing the name: Wen Wan Ning.

They had met in their professional capacities before, worked together on cases. In those work settings, they were always “Shen Jia Yan” and “Lawyer Wen”—strictly business, eye contact fleeting, words as concise as contract clauses.

She had never even called her by name, only “Lawyer Wen.”

But now, this card was like a key, unlocking the door to the daily life of the woman who had once smiled for her, cried for her, and thought of her in countless unguarded moments.

After the song recording finished, Shen Jia Yan received a WeChat message from Wen Wan Ning.

[Tomorrow at 10 a.m., I’ll wait for you at the firm. (Happy kitten.jpg)]

It was clearly business, but Shen Jia Yan still found the attached emoji adorable.

The round-faced kitten tilted its head, eyes curved into crescents, ears twitching slightly—like it was acting cute. This emoji had run through their university days, always reminding her of the sweet atmosphere between them back then.

But it had vanished when she deleted Wen Wan Ning from her contacts.

She had thought cutting ties would end her feelings, so she erased all records herself, burying even that kitten that “meowed” coquettishly at her late at night into the depths of memory.

Yet now, it reappeared.

She typed a reply: [Okay.]

Her fingertip hovered over the screen for a moment as she opened her own emoji pack.

The “Happy Puppy” emoji, just like the “Happy Kitten,” still lay quietly in the corner.

Back then, she’d secretly used it as their “couple emoji.” Wen Wan Ning sent the kitten; she replied with the puppy. Gazing at that familiar, warm puppy head, her fingertip trembled slightly, lingering for a long time.

But in the end, she didn’t send it.

She took a deep breath, selected the most ordinary, most formal emoji, and hit send.

[Okay. (Handshake.jpg)]

The moment the message went out, she suddenly smiled.

Restrained, proper, strictly business—just like how they should be now.