Sitting in Wen Wan Ning’s office, Han Yuchu saw the smile on her face and teased, “Making good progress with Jia Yan? You’re this happy?”
Wen Wan Ning sent Shen Jia Yan the details of a restaurant that offered both privacy and a pleasant ambiance.
She looked at Han Yuchu, her eyebrows arching upward. “I don’t know if it’s good progress or not, but I do know I can’t have dinner with you tonight.”
“Ah?” Han Yuchu looked aggrieved. “Your brother just left, and now you’re abandoning me too? You—”
Suddenly, he realized something and asked, “You’re going to dinner with Jia Yan?”
Wen Wan Ning shut down her computer and stood up. “Yeah, so…” She picked up her bag from the side. “I’m getting off work early.”
Han Yuchu smiled contentedly. The Wen Wan Ning before him was no longer the woman who had been like a work machine, locking herself in a cage of rationality. There was light in her eyes now, a smile on her lips, and even her steps were lighter.
“Alright,” he leaned back in his chair, his tone relaxed. “As long as you’re happy, you can hand all the work to me—no problem.”
Wen Wan Ning paused in her steps and turned to look at him, her lips curving up. “Really?”
Lately, she had indeed wanted to cut back on work, to give herself a better state of mind and more time to rekindle her emotions, to make up for those missed days.
In the past, she had buried herself in work, filling every moment of longing for Shen Jia Yan with one court hearing after another, one contract after another.
She had been like a precision machine—logical, sharp-tongued, never making mistakes. She numbed herself with busyness and suppressed her longing with rationality.
Now, the person she thought of day and night had reappeared in her world, and she wanted to save time for her.
Seeing the expression on Wen Wan Ning’s face that said she was about to dump all her work on him, Han Yuchu quickly backpedaled. “The first half is true.”
“And the second half?” Wen Wan Ning pressed.
“The second half…” Han Yuchu hemmed and hawed. “We’ll handle it on a case-by-case basis. Heh heh heh.”
After all, the workload on Wen Wan Ning’s plate was nearly double his own.
Wen Wan Ning pursed her lips and nodded, then turned and walked out. “We’ll analyze each situation as it comes.”
Han Yuchu let out a long breath. It felt like he’d dug a big pit for himself.
The white Taycan was parked in the underground garage of Shiguang Yipin.
Wen Wan Ning pushed open the door and got out, taking the elevator back home.
She unlocked the door with her fingerprint and opened it.
The sensor light in the entryway glowed softly, illuminating her slightly tense profile.
She didn’t turn on the main lights and headed straight to the walk-in closet.
Her fingers brushed over rows of sharply tailored suits in dark gray, navy, and ivory white—the version of her that belonged in the courtroom: calm and incisive.
Not the style for today.
Her fingertips finally stopped on a black long dress.
Velvet fabric, V-neck, with a flowing hem—it was something she had bought a few days ago, specifically for “today.”
She changed into the long dress, and the moment the fabric hugged her skin, it felt like a gentle embrace. In the mirror, she had shed the courtroom sharpness of her daytime self, gaining a quiet beauty instead. She simply pinned up her hair into a loose bun, exposing her slender neck, added pearl earrings, and applied light makeup—bean paste on her lips, eyeliner slightly winged, concealing a hint of restrained anticipation.
※
In the practice room at Chuze Studio, the final note faded away.
Lin Che shook out his hair with a laugh, his tone light and confident. “I think this song of ours can go viral too. The arrangement is explosive, the melody catchy, and that chorus? The whole crowd will be singing along.”
Zhou Ke wiped his sweat and nodded in agreement. “Solid for sure, especially that key change in the middle—gets you hooked right away.”
Zhong Ruyi plucked at her guitar strings, her lips curving slightly. “Look at you, dishing out self-praise like it’s nothing now.”
“Hahaha…”
Wu Lin said slyly, “Come on, let’s grab dinner together—celebrate early.”
The others put away their instruments upon hearing this. “Let’s go.”
Shen Jia Yan set down her drumsticks and stood up. “You guys go ahead. I’ve got something tonight.”
Lin Che teased her. “Our band’s soul isn’t joining? What’s the point of eating then?”
Shen Jia Yan rolled her eyes at him with a smile. “The lead singer’s the soul. With you there, it’s fine.” She grew a bit more serious. “I really do have something tonight. You go on ahead—next time, it’s on me.”
“Alright, alright, we won’t make it hard for you. We’ll eat light this time, and next time, we’re going big—your treat.” With that, Zhong Ruyi headed out.
Lin Che didn’t follow the group right away. He sidled up to Shen Jia Yan and raised an eyebrow. “Ever since Lawyer Wen showed up, your ‘somethings’ have been piling up.”
Shen Jia Yan didn’t look at him and muttered under her breath, “Gossipy guy.” Then she strode away.
“Hey!” Lin Che waved. “This is just concern between friends—how can you misunderstand me like that?”
In the underground parking lot, Shen Jia Yan glanced at her watch: 5:20.
She got into the car and opened the navigation to the location Wen Wan Ning had sent.
Twilight spread like ink soaked in water, slowly blotting out the city’s outlines. The north wind grew fiercer, whipping stray dry leaves against the glass curtain walls with faint pattering sounds. Streetlights flickered on one by one, their yellowish halos diffusing in the cold mist.
The black G-Class wove through traffic, its engine rumbling low as it cut through the late autumn chill.
Shen Jia Yan gripped the steering wheel with one hand, eyes fixed on the road ahead, thinking that after this “repaying a favor” dinner, they should retreat to their proper places.
Twenty minutes later, she arrived at the restaurant.
The place prioritized privacy highly. Even if they spotted a celebrity guest, the staff maintained just the right distance and silence. They never sneaked photos, fawned excessively, or leaked a word on social media. There were no noisy check-in crowds—just hanging gauze curtains, soft jazz, and meticulously designed intimacy between each table and chair.
This was why Wen Wan Ning had chosen it; she didn’t want to cause trouble for Shen Jia Yan.
The attendant led Shen Jia Yan to the reserved private room.
The room was on the second floor, tucked away in the deepest corner, connected to the main hall only by a corridor carpeted in dark hues. The door was thick solid wood with soundproofing foam inside; the moment it opened, the outside noise was completely shut out.
The interior lighting was soft, with a crystal chandelier scattering star-like points that gleamed subtly on the dark gray velvet tablecloth.
Wen Wan Ning was already seated by the window. Hearing the door, she slowly raised her head.
In that instant their eyes met, time seemed to freeze.
Shen Jia Yan stood in the doorway, her trench coat still on, her gaze stunned for a moment.
She looked at her—the black dress outlining elegant curves, hair loosely pinned up, a few stray strands lazily draping her neck, earrings shimmering faintly in the light. She didn’t look like a lawyer, not like the sharp, blade-like Wen Wan Ning from the courtroom. Instead, she resembled that figure who turned back under moonlight, smiled in the morning mist, and slipped into dreams during countless quiet nights.
But this time, she was no longer a vague outline or hazy phantom. She stood there, breathing real, gaze serene, her features carrying the poise refined by time—more mature, more captivating.
“You…” Shen Jia Yan spoke softly, her voice a little hoarse. “Been here long?”
“Just arrived.” Wen Wan Ning smiled, her fingertips lightly tracing the rim of her teacup. “I had them bring some tea. You can have a cup first to warm up.”
Shen Jia Yan approached and took the seat across from her. The attendant silently poured her a cup of tea before withdrawing, the door closing with a soft click, as if no one had ever been there.
The room held only them and the steaming tea.
Vapor rose in wisps, blurring their outlines but making their heartbeats all the clearer.
Wen Wan Ning looked up, her smile gentle. “This is our first one-on-one dinner since reuniting.”
Shen Jia Yan held her teacup, feeling the warmth on her fingertips, and nodded without speaking.
Wen Wan Ning handed her the iPad for ordering. “I’ve ordered some dishes. Take a look—if there’s anything you don’t like, cancel it. Add whatever else appeals.”
Shen Jia Yan wasn’t particular about food, but sensing the slight awkwardness between them, she picked up the iPad and browsed.
The dishes Wen Wan Ning had already selected were all ones she had liked back in school.
Indeed, her tastes hadn’t changed much.
Wen Wan Ning watched her head bowed over the menu, her heart softening.
The warm yellow light gently draped over Shen Jia Yan’s lowered profile, tracing the soft curve of her brow bone, her lashes casting a small shadow on her eyelids.
Just like back in school, she had always been the kind of girl who turned heads on campus.
And now, after five years, her features carried a sharpness honed by the stage, yet that serene aura had been polished by time into something even more refined.
Wen Wan Ning gazed at her and suddenly felt a sense of disorientation.
She had thought she had long sealed that girl’s image deep in her memories, but now, sitting across from her, fingertip tapping the menu, brow slightly furrowed in thought—it all felt as vivid as yesterday.
“I know,” she said softly, her voice unconsciously softening further. “You liked the stir-fry place near our high school. This restaurant’s flavors are very similar—you can try them later.”
Shen Jia Yan looked up, slightly startled.
“And,” Wen Wan Ning paused, then continued gently, “I ordered braised pork ribs. You once told me you loved Grandma’s version. I don’t know what they taste like, but you can give these a try. Who knows—you might like them.”
Shen Jia Yan looked at her.
Yes, she had once told her that Grandma’s braised pork ribs were delicious, and Grandma always made them when she visited.
Grandma had even said that when she brought back that important friend of hers, she’d make them for her too.
In the end, it never happened.
Thinking of Grandma and all this, a fine, dense ache began to spread in Shen Jia Yan’s chest, like an invisible thread slowly tightening.
She didn’t know what mindset prompted Wen Wan Ning to do these things—guilt, compensation, or something else.
But she didn’t like it. She didn’t like this unspoken concern and care.
“Wan Ning.” She finally spoke. “I don’t know why you’re doing all this, or why you’ve been sending me ‘good mornings’ and ‘good nights.'” She sighed and continued, “What I want to say is, if you’re doing this out of guilt because you weren’t there when I needed you back then, and you want to make up for it—really, there’s no need.”
“You have no obligation to do those things. Everyone has the right to choose. You did nothing wrong. You don’t owe me anything—really.”
“Jia Yan—”
Wen Wan Ning started to explain, but a knock sounded at the door.
“Please come in,” Shen Jia Yan responded.
“Hello, time to serve your dishes.”
The attendant brought the dishes to the table one by one.
