Chapter 40: Are You Free Tonight?
Feigning ignorance is hardly something Attorney Wen, known for his sparing words, would do. Song Mi narrowed her eyes and quickly sent a covert glance to the person behind her. Ye Zhao caught on immediately. “Miss Song, I’ll go get the car.”
Once Ye Zhao and another female bodyguard had departed, Song Mi’s gaze returned to the man, calm and unhurried. “Attorney Wen, is there something you need from me?”
He did indeed have something to say. Yet, words failed him! He couldn’t possibly suggest she cancel the surgery, keep the child, and let him raise it. For the first time in his life, he felt the meaning of the phrase 'tongue-tied.' “...Are you free tonight?”
Upon hearing this, Song Mi’s eyes flickered, though she suppressed the ripple before it could spread. “Seems fate nearly brought us together, Attorney Wen.”
“I’m afraid I’m not free tonight.”
Not just tonight. After the surgery, she would need to rest in bed for three days. Otherwise, if she pushed her body too far, how could she indulge in wild abandon before her time ran out?
This time, Wen Yanli’s eyes flashed with a deep shade. “Is it that Miss Song has already found a new target, or did I overestimate your interest in me?”
His words were frank, just the sort Song Mi preferred. Only, the timing was unfortunate—something beyond her control. She had no idea why he mentioned a new target, but she stepped closer and lowered her voice, “How could Attorney Wen underestimate himself?”
“A woman always has inconvenient times.” Her gaze slid downward, lingered on a certain part of him for a second, then returned, and she winked at him with deliberate ambiguity. “If you’re feeling restless, Attorney Wen, perhaps Miss Lu could satisfy you first.”
After finishing, Song Mi gradually concealed the swirling allure in her eyes and face. In no time, her expression resumed its usual unapproachable hauteur. She strode away from him.
Behind her, Wen Yanli stood dazed for several seconds, his icy demeanor fading. He quickly stepped forward and pressed the elevator button.
Inside, he took out his phone and sent a message to Feng Jue: “Call me within ten minutes.”
The phone rang in the eleventh minute. He answered instantly—before the person on the other end could react, he spoke, “Call the director of St. Noah’s Hospital. Tell him there’s an internal overhaul; cancel all scheduled surgeries in the VIP wing this afternoon.”
Feng Jue was stunned. “Cancel surgeries?”
“If there’s some urgent, life-saving operation, this could...”
“When has St. Noah’s ever admitted critically ill patients?” Wen Yanli’s tone was cold, brooking no argument, as imperious as any overbearing CEO in a melodrama. “Blame any losses on me.”
Feng Jue, being ordered about, actually laughed. “Alright, as long as you said it. You hold more shares than me anyway. If there’s a loss, you’ll bear more.”
“But you should at least tell me why you’re making such a fuss...”
“Beep beep beep”—the call was cut off.
“Hey, that kid...” Feng Jue, dining with friends, tossed his phone on the table and met the gaze of those across from him. “What can I say? He’s my only brother; we grew up sharing everything.”
“I’ll handle it!”
He picked up his phone again, scrolled through his contacts, found Director Zhang of St. Noah’s, and explained the situation in a few brief words. The director, of course, dared not ignore him and promised to notify everyone immediately.
After hanging up, Feng Jue sneered, “A pack of sniveling dogs. When my old man got into trouble seven years ago, every one of them was busy plotting their own escape, scared to death of getting involved.”
He slammed his phone onto the table once more, then, instead of picking up his chopsticks, lit a cigarette and began to smoke.
Everyone at the table had known Feng Jue for at least seven or eight years, some even longer. They all remembered the incident with the Feng family seven years ago. Upon hearing his words, their expressions shifted, until Qu He broke the tension. “So, Jue, is our big-shot lawyer doing this for business or personal reasons?”
The others chimed in, “Yeah, what could be so important that he has to clear out the whole hospital?”
As they speculated wildly, someone finally said, “Wait, Jue, are you about to become an uncle?”
Taken aback, Feng Jue choked on his smoke, coughing several times until his face turned red. Qu He, sitting nearest, hurriedly handed him water. “But Old Seven has a point. Isn’t your hospital in Jinzhou famous for its obstetrics department?”
“My father’s mistress—was it the third or fourth?—had a miscarriage there last time...”
Amid the swirling smoke, Feng Jue narrowed his phoenix eyes, upper eyelids forming a thin crease as he stared at Qu He, who nervously wiped his mouth. “Is there rice on my face?”
Unexpectedly, Feng Jue called out to Old Seven, “Wait, what did you just say I’d become?”
Qin Chang paused. “An uncle!”
“Everyone knows you treat the lawyer like your own brother. Your brother’s son would call you uncle—makes sense!”
Feng Jue was delighted. “Uncle it is!”
But then he recalled the call—Wen only said to cancel all surgeries today, not to arrange anyone’s admission.
Wait!
—Cancel? Surgeries?!
Whose surgery was being canceled? The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. Unable to sit still, Feng Jue grabbed his phone and dialed back.
On Wen Yanli’s end, seeing Feng Jue’s number, he assumed it was to confirm the job was done and hung up, sending a text: “Got it.”
But Feng Jue quickly replied, “Answer the phone.”
And sent three more messages.
Wen had to apologize, step outside, and return the call.
As soon as the line connected, Feng Jue unleashed his imagination. “Tell me, what’s really going on?”
“Is it you who doesn’t want it, or the girl? Our family can afford a child, can’t we?”
“You know how long our old man’s been hoping for a great-grandchild?”
“Let me tell you—”
Though he knew Feng Jue was wildly guessing, probably parroting nonsense from his friends, Wen Yanli frowned deeply. “If you don’t want to ask, just say so. I’m not—”
“Don’t change the subject! I’m not talking about shutting down that damned hospital for a day or two. Wen Yanli, this is a serious issue. I need answers today, or else I’ll—”
“Do as you please!” Unconsciously, his throat tightened. “I have nothing to explain!”
He hung up.
But he remained uneasy. Back in the conference room, his attention wandered, and his participation diminished.
He didn’t actually need to be there—since the case was still in the evidence-gathering phase, he had little to do. At this stage, a trainee lawyer from the firm could handle the initial contact.
Twenty-five minutes later, the meeting ended. He rose, left Sihai Tower, and drove off at speed.
At 2:49 p.m., Wen Yanli arrived at the gates of St. Noah’s Hospital.
Song Mi’s scheduled surgery was at three in the afternoon.
If Feng Jue hadn’t called the director, or if the director failed under pressure, Wen Yanli would have only eleven minutes left.
Eleven minutes—perhaps not even enough to find the operating room.
So he jumped out of the car and, running, dialed Song Mi’s phone...
...
Meanwhile, half an hour earlier.
Fifteen minutes’ drive from St. Noah’s, in a smoothly cruising black Volkswagen, Song Mi received a call from Assistant Lin. “...Apparently the new ventilation system in the building suddenly malfunctioned, requiring an emergency power shutdown for repairs.”
She frowned. “How long will it take to fix?”
“They’ll call me as soon as repairs are done.”
Song Mi’s intuition: Such coincidence?
Only someone intent on monitoring her closely would interfere here—and the most likely candidate was Shen Ruoming.
But if it really was Shen Ruoming, why sabotage her surgery?
—Afraid of losing leverage?
Shen Ruoming had trashed her office a week ago, but hadn’t mentioned her pregnancy since, clearly signaling a truce.
Now, to intervene at the hospital to prevent her surgery—didn’t she fear Song Mi would expose the video evidence?
Intuition again: she didn’t think it was Shen Ruoming.
No further instructions came. After a pause, Assistant Lin asked, “Chairwoman?”
Song Mi decided swiftly, “Forget it. Contact another hospital.”
“Understood.”
Hanging up, uncertain, she instructed Ye Zhao not to head to the hospital. Yet she wasn’t sure where to go next.
With work for the next three days already completed or arranged, barring emergencies, Assistant Lin wouldn’t disturb her.
Someone used to being busy, when suddenly idle, hardly relaxes—instead, she feels uneasy.
Song Mi needed to adjust.
She unconsciously lowered her gaze to her unchanged abdomen.
Was it fate or human intervention?
Her bond with this child would now be extended a little longer!
Thinking carefully, the little thing truly seemed pitiable—neither father nor mother cared, yet its vitality was remarkably tenacious.
In the end, it was all her fault.
If she hadn’t foolishly sought out a man for an experience, chasing after extreme intimacy, would this child even exist?
Blame her!
As she thought this, a phrase popped into her mind: Mommy, I’m sorry!
The realization startled her.
She raised her hand to her forehead, as if that might clear her thoughts faster.
She still needed to have the surgery soon.
The longer she waited, the more complications could arise; beyond external factors, her own indecision was the greatest risk.
Soon, her amber eyes regained their cold determination, and Song Mi turned to look out at the traffic-choked streets.
The car was just passing a junction—the red light had five seconds left.
As it turned, Ye Zhao asked, “Miss Song, where to?”
Before Song Mi could answer, her other phone rang. She glanced—Ming Hao.
She’d just given him this number yesterday—what could be so urgent today?
She picked up the phone; before it reached her ear, Ming Hao’s voice came, demanding, “Song Mi, where did you hide Xia Yuan?”
Song Mi frowned, annoyed. “Why would I need to hide her?”
“To control you?” She snorted. “If I recall, you begged me to help you back then.”
On the other end, Ming Hao had considered this too.
But Xia Yuan couldn’t have left the hospital on her own. The hospital produced complete discharge papers, with his name and ID copy signed as handler.
Among those he knew, only the chairwoman of Sihai Group could manage this so easily. “I don’t care, Song Mi. If I can’t find Xia Yuan, I’ll stop the training.”
He hung up.
Song Mi’s eyes hardened. After a moment’s thought, she met Ye Zhao’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Xia Yuan is missing.”
“From today, assign someone to monitor Shen Ruoming morning, noon, and night.”
“Yes!”
Moments after setting down her phone, the other rang again—Assistant Lin. “Chairwoman, Attorney Wen called five minutes ago, asking you to return his call.”
To ensure she could rest quietly after surgery, this phone was set to forward all calls to Assistant Lin.
—Five minutes ago?
Song Mi glanced at the time: five minutes ago was 2:50 p.m., the exact moment forwarding began.
Because her original surgery was scheduled for three o’clock.
Such coincidence?
Too many coincidences in one day made her instantly wary. “So Attorney Wen was important enough for Assistant Lin to wait only five minutes?”
Assistant Lin hadn’t expected such a challenge, and her face tightened. “Sorry, Chairwoman, understood.”
The car fell silent again.
After a while, Song Mi spoke, “To Meise.”
...
“...Sorry, all surgeries in the VIP wing this afternoon have been canceled. You might try contacting your friend to see if she...”
Hearing this again, Wen Yanli finally relaxed, realizing he was soaked with sweat.
Soon, his lips curled in a faint smile. “Thank you.”
He walked out and bought a pack of cigarettes at a convenience store.
He had no habit of smoking—even when cases were tough and he needed to stay up late, he rarely chose cigarettes to stay alert.
But now, he suddenly wanted one.
Back in the car, he tore open the pack and realized he had no lighter.
Without fire, a cigarette couldn’t be lit.
His slender fingers toyed with the white stick, his gaze falling on the silent phone.
After who knows how long, a mocking smile appeared on his snow-pale face. The window slid down, he extended his hand, palm up.
Soon, the car started; the wheels crushed the scattered tobacco on the ground.
...
Meise Bar.
Song Mi took a short nap.
The bar district was closed during the day, so the surroundings were quiet; she slept on the sofa in Qiao Weiwei’s lounge.
While she slept, Qiao Weiwei played games nearby.
Seeing her awake, Qiao Weiwei quickly looked up from her phone. “Awake? Stay still, I’ll text Xiao An to come massage your feet.”
Song Mi frowned, glancing at her feet. “You took off my socks?”
“Of course!” Qiao Weiwei winked. “Just relax; you’ll be feeling amazing soon!”
Song Mi, “...”
Xiao An soon knocked and entered—a girl in her early twenties, plainly dressed, a bit shy. “Boss Qiao?”
“Come, massage Mi’s feet. She sprained her right ankle before.” Qiao Weiwei turned to Song Mi. “Xiao An’s grandfather runs a traditional medicine clinic, and her own skills are excellent.”
Afraid Song Mi wouldn’t believe it, Qiao Weiwei added, “I’ve tried it myself.”
“You’re the kind of big boss who makes all of Jinzhou’s business world tremble. You can’t afford to skip the office for a day, and you won’t hobble around either! If things keep going like this, who knows when your ankle will heal?”
Xiao An knelt by her feet. “I’ll test the pressure first—tell me if it hurts.”
Song Mi looked at Xiao An and nodded.
Her gaze soon returned to Qiao Weiwei, a warmth rising within.
She’d long since investigated Qiao Weiwei’s background, but that wasn’t why she kept her at arm’s length.
Compared to giving affection, she preferred to pay generously.
Like Assistant Lin, Ye Zhao—she could afford to pay several times the market rate, and so always found reliable people.
But what about Lin Shen?
When her life was at stake, Lin Shen threw himself at her—not for her money.
Qiao Weiwei was even less in need of money, yet insisted on being her sister, her confidante, following her from abroad to Jinzhou, always wanting to live together—why?
“...Hiss...” Pain shot through her ankle, and Song Mi couldn’t help but gasp.
“Does it hurt?” Xiao An eased her grip, worried. “I’ll be gentler.”
“How’s this?”
“Better?” Xiao An focused, hands working steadily. “Too light won’t help; the blood needs to circulate to relieve pain...”
Once Song Mi adjusted and began to feel relief, Ming Hao called again. “Song Mi, you lied to me. You never paid the fifty thousand; they couldn’t find me, so took Xia Yuan from the hospital and demand a hundred thousand in cash for ransom!”
“...What do I do now?”
What sort of trouble was this?
Fifty thousand—she paid without hesitation, even knowing it wasn’t worth it.
Song Mi asked directly, “Time, place?”
“Before midnight tonight.”
“Address... They said they’ll send it later!”
Song Mi’s brows furrowed. Would a bunch of street thugs be so cautious?