Chapter 15: Trouble

Song Mi’s guess was right.

Wen Yanli was indeed in a bit of trouble.

But there was something off about the situation. By all accounts, the Shen family had orchestrated this whole “Elevator Incident” with great fanfare in order to deal with Song Mi. Yet the reporters somehow seemed to turn their attention unanimously toward him instead. All morning, people had been lying in wait outside the law firm, clearly determined not to leave until they had cornered him.

At two in the afternoon, he was scheduled to accompany his client to court. It was already close to noon.

He drew the blinds, walked back to his desk, and had just reached for the phone to call his assistant when his cell rang first.

He hadn’t even raised it to his ear when Pei Qiuyang’s anxious voice burst through. “Brother Li, is it true?”

Wen Yanli replied, “What is?”

“You and Mi’er?” Pei Qiuyang’s words sounded like they’d been wrestled out after some inner struggle.

“The photos are real.” Thinking of the salacious headlines in those gossip posts, Wen Yanli couldn’t help but frown. “The elevator got stuck. She—suffered from oxygen deprivation.”

“Really? So Mi’er’s all right?” On the other end, Pei Qiuyang’s worried heart finally settled. After all, the last thing he wanted was to have a rival of Wen Yanli’s caliber. The very thought made his head spin. “Brother Li, do you have Mi’er’s number? I want to call and check on her!”

“That happened the afternoon you saw her,” Wen Yanli said, then shifted the subject. “Ah Pei, I need a favor.”

“Huh?” Pei Qiuyang paused, then hurriedly said, “Whatever it is, just say the word, Brother Li!”

Once Wen Yanli had explained, Pei Qiuyang hung up at once, declaring that he would personally choose a few sharp people and see to it that the matter was handled flawlessly.

Wen Yanli had asked Pei Qiuyang to escort his client, concerned that there might be reporters lurking at the courthouse as well.

He did, in fact, have Song Mi’s number. Not that she’d given it to him herself, of course—but he’d seen it among the materials Old Master Shen had entrusted to him.

Like Song Mi, he had a knack for remembering numbers at a glance. Still, there was no reason to tell Pei Qiuyang that.

He put down his phone and had just picked up the office line’s receiver when a knock came from the door.

He felt a touch of annoyance at being repeatedly interrupted. “What is it?”

Turning, he saw Lu Zhizhi standing there, both hands laden with things. “It’s lunchtime!”

Wen Yanli had been leaning half-casually against the edge of his desk, a posture he reserved for moments of solitude and relaxation. Now, as Lu Zhizhi walked straight in, a sense of discomfort made him instantly straighten to his usual, crisp stance. “Is Zihao not outside?”

“He is.” Lu Zhizhi could hear the subtext in his words, but since she’d already come in—and even if he wasn’t pleased—she could only pretend not to notice. “I just didn’t want to trouble him.”

Wen Yanli glanced at the bags in her hands and stepped forward. “Let me.”

“No need,” Lu Zhizhi smiled gently, glancing toward the break room. “Go wash your hands and get ready to eat!”

It was true that, because of his busy schedule, he often ate lunch or even dinner in the office break room, but how did Lu Zhizhi know the housekeeper had taken the day off?

As he watched her back, Wen Yanli suddenly thought of the breath Song Mi had blown by his ear that night. “Was it that the wine I sent to liven things up wasn’t to your taste and affected your performance?”

He’d gone to the Junyue Hotel that night to take Lu Zhiyuan’s sister to an alumni dinner on her brother’s behalf. He’d been delayed by being trapped in the elevator, and, unexpectedly, Lu Zhizhi hadn’t gone on her own either, so the two of them ended up dining together on the top floor.

If Song Mi had seen him that night—or rather, seen him and Lu Zhizhi together—then the so-called celebratory wine she sent was meant for Lu Zhizhi’s room?

Realizing this, he finally understood the little show Song Mi had put on outside the bar that night.

That woman, honestly...

Lu Zhizhi had already laid out the food. Seeing him washing his hands for so long, she hesitated before saying, as if offhand, “These are all dishes I learned in my cooking class. When you try them, give me some feedback, won’t you?”

“Miss Lu,” he said suddenly, turning to her, his voice and expression as cool and detached as ever, but with an undercurrent of something different, “Next time, if you accept something on my behalf, please let me know.”