Chapter 59 Attorney Wen disappeared for an entire month, only to conclude, "You missed me, didn't you?"

With those words, Song Mi reached her hand out to him directly.

“Wait.”

Wen Yanli’s hand remained in his pocket, unmoving.

His thin lips were pressed together, but his eyes hinted at a silent plea for mercy.

Song Mi was relentless, keeping her hand extended, making it clear she would not back down—she had to see for herself.

So, in that moment, this was the tableau: Ye Zhao stood behind Song Mi, uncertain whether to stay or leave, but afraid to act either way. Feng Jue, at Wen Yanli’s right, had words poised at the tip of his tongue on several occasions, but every time he was silenced, never managing to ask a thing.

Both men had unconsciously relegated themselves to the status of bystanders—illuminating presences, perhaps—but the other two paid them no mind. Song Mi and Wen Yanli were locked in their own silent standoff, completely oblivious to the rest.

Feng Jue couldn’t help but wonder how these two, so equally unyielding, had ever taken a liking to each other. Then he overturned his own doubt—of course, it was precisely this fierce confrontation, this dogged staring, that had brought them together. No mistake there.

A dry cough finally broke the cursed tension. Feng Jue cleared his throat, “A’Li, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Song Mi’s heart skipped—was this man his cousin?

Just as she withdrew her hand, Wen Yanli moved faster, seizing her hand in his, “Song Mi,” he said.

Then, turning slightly, he addressed Feng Jue, “Feng Jue, my cousin.”

His eyes, however, spelled out the unspoken: You can go now.

Feng Jue’s eyes widened—what was this, come when called and dismissed at will? How heartless, just because there’s a woman present!

But as Song Mi’s gaze fell upon him, his anger melted away. After all, if he ever wanted the little monkey to call him uncle, he’d have to rely on this young lady to give his cousin a child first!

“Song Mi, is it? Hurry up and take him away!” Feng Jue pointed at Wen Yanli. “How old are you, fighting and ending up at the police station! Unbelievable, really, it’s as if you’ve regressed!”

He even rolled his eyes at him, then strode out. A few steps later, he turned back. “Oh, by the way, call your mother. She phoned me on my way here, wondering why you hadn’t answered all night.”

He shot a glare at Ye Zhao, as if to say: I’m leaving, so why are you still here?

Ye Zhao had no wish to linger as an awkward third wheel, but he dared not leave either. Not only could he not leave, he had to keep his eyes wide open, alert at all times.

Feng Jue was used to being domineering, but Ye Zhao’s aura was just as strong—he wouldn’t back down.

Tonight had already been rough enough for Ye Zhao, and now, to be glared at for no reason, his temper flared.

So, for a moment, the two “third wheels” squared off.

Oblivious to the silent battle behind her, Song Mi felt the man’s grip—not too tight, but firm, practiced, as if he’d held her hand like this many times before, natural and unforced.

Yet, this was their first time holding hands.

What’s more, he was using his left hand.

All the words Song Mi wanted to say hovered in her eyes. Seeing his stubbornness, she simply curled her lips. “Since Lawyer Wen is fine, Ye Zhao, let’s go home.”

But as she tried to withdraw her hand, she found herself unable to.

He wouldn’t let go.

On the contrary, his grip tightened.

As her gaze moved from their joined hands back to his face, she saw him lower his eyes, his voice soft, “I’ll go back with you.”

“I’ll show you when we get there.”

...

Across from the police station, in a plain black sedan parked by the roadside, a pair of eyes watched the four indistinct figures from afar.

The more she watched them emerge, the more hatred surged and roiled in those eyes.

Lu Zhizhi.

But she was not alone.

Lu Zhiyuan sat beside her.

He’d received word about what had happened inside almost instantly.

There had been no shortage of surprises tonight.

Curling his lips in a silent sneer, Lu Zhiyuan instructed the driver, “Xiao Li, let’s go.”

“No!” Lu Zhizhi suddenly cried, “We can’t just let it go, we can’t let that woman off so easily! Unless we get her bodyguard locked up, how—”

“Zhizhi!” Lu Zhiyuan couldn’t help but snap, “Do you really think there’s still a chance now?”

“Then what do you want me to do? Let Song Mi go?!” Tears spilled from Lu Zhizhi’s eyes, shattering as they fell. “Never! Unless I’m dead!”

Her face contorted with fury and despair.

Lu Zhiyuan looked at this face—once so familiar, now so twisted and unrecognizable—and was filled with an almost unbearable frustration.

More than half a month had passed! She’d overdosed on sleeping pills, lay low for a few days, then slashed her wrists.

Two failed suicide attempts.

If it were any other woman, no matter how close, and she pulled this kind of “cry, fuss, hang herself” act, he wouldn’t spare her another glance.

Better dead, let her reincarnate—he couldn’t stop her soul from returning.

But this was his own sister.

How could he stand by and do nothing?

But he was truly exhausted.

Song Mi was hard to deal with, yes, but time was on his side; he’d find another opportunity eventually.

What truly tormented him was seeing his sister transformed into a venomous, hateful woman. Even if he destroyed Song Mi, would the gentle, well-bred sister he once knew ever return?

Half a month, and he had no confidence this hope would ever be realized.

He looked again at Lu Zhizhi, now gaunt and almost monstrous with hatred and rage, and made an irrevocable decision. “I’ll send you to Vancouver. If necessary, I’ll hire a psychiatrist to watch you around the clock.”

Lu Zhizhi’s eyes flew wide with disbelief, “Brother, how could you—”

“What else should I do?” His face was grim, his words merciless. “You’ve been hurt, yes, but have you ever considered that everything you’re suffering now, you once plotted to inflict on Song Mi?”

“Do not do unto others what you would not have done to yourself!”

“If you had the nerve to harm someone, you should have been prepared to face their revenge. Now you know—”

“I’m not as ruthless as she is!” Lu Zhizhi’s voice rose to a shrill pitch. “Yes, I schemed against her, but what did she lose? All she did was sleep with the man she’d wanted to seduce all along!”

“But me!” The memory of that terrible night flashed through her mind—she longed to rip open the car door, pounce on Song Mi, and tear her to pieces, feed her to the dogs. “What did I suffer? What did I go through?”

After the nightmare, she’d lain in bed for three days, a broken, hollow shell, just beginning to feel human again.

Torn, burning with pain, infection—she wasn’t just sullied, she was utterly destroyed.

“Yes, I brought this on myself, I deserved it! But what about Song Mi?” She pointed out the window. “Why does she get away with everything? Why?”

“I refuse to accept it! I never will!”

Lu Zhizhi spun around, shrieking hysterically, her cries nearly splitting Lu Zhiyuan’s eardrums.

He harbored his own hatred for Song Mi, and swore one day to repay his sister’s suffering a hundredfold. But he would not change his mind.

“I’ve decided. You must go. Look at yourself—do you look anything like a normal person?”

“You’re the heiress of the Lu family. Father and I have cherished you since you were born. Look at you now—is there any difference between you and a shrew?”

“You must leave for Vancouver.”

His resolve was absolute.

Lu Zhizhi’s tears fell harder, despair swallowing her whole, hatred for Song Mi flooding her, devouring her.

Song Mi had already left, not just with Ye Zhao, but with the very man Lu Zhizhi had yearned for all these years. They were all by her side.

Tonight’s opportunity had slipped away before her eyes.

How could she accept it?

She hated—hated so much she had to bite down on her own hand, teeth sinking into flesh, just to keep from screaming.

But she heard one thing before the rage consumed her: “As for Song Mi, I promise you, I won’t let her go.”

...

Meanwhile, in the hotel room.

After Ye Zhao exited and the door closed, Song Mi leaned forward, opening the first aid kit she’d had Ye Zhao buy on the way.

She set out disinfectant, several ointments, gauze, tape, and scissors, then glanced up, her patience wearing thin. “Your hand.”

Wen Yanli saw the dissatisfaction simmering in her beautiful eyes and, true to his word, extended his hand.

All five fingers and the back of his hand were scraped, the skin broken and bleeding, one spot so severe that even the white of bone showed.

Song Mi’s face did not betray a flicker of emotion, but her heart clenched, as if pierced by a hundred needles. The pain lingered, even after the needles were gone.

She spoke calmly, “Bear with it.”

Ripping open a sterile swab, she uncapped the disinfectant, and without further glance, began cleaning every wound—efficient, almost devoid of personal feeling.

Yet her touch was feather-light on his injuries.

She applied the medicine, wrapped each finger in gauze, cut and taped everything in place.

Throughout, Wen Yanli watched her in silence, wondering—how many times had she performed such first aid, and when had she learned? Was it in South Africa, or Syria? Had she learned to shoot there, too?

He knew she was no ordinary woman—she’d lived through things most people couldn’t imagine in three lifetimes.

She was extraordinary.

For a moment, he wondered—was meeting her his fortune, or his misfortune?

He was uncertain of that answer.

But one thing he was sure of: whatever the answer, he would not let her slip away.

She finished tidying the first aid kit, never once looking his way.

As she stood, Wen Yanli couldn’t help the catch in his throat. “Mi’er.”

“That’s done,” Song Mi stood, looking down at him, her gaze as indifferent as if he were anyone else. “Lawyer Wen, please leave.”

A shadow flickered in his eyes, but she had already turned toward the door.

Did she truly want him to leave?

She reached the door, and as her fingers grasped the handle, she noticed the stains from the medicine on her skin.

No matter—it would wash off.

She opened the door resolutely, then turned to wait for him.

The room was large, the distance between them great—she couldn’t make out his expression. But he stood, and made his way to the entrance.

He passed by as she stepped aside, and without a word or a glance, he left.

Song Mi closed the door behind him.

As they brushed past each other, there was no exchange of looks.

She leaned back against the door, letting her body relax, staring at the ceiling for a long moment.

She was trying to compose herself.

Silence fell, as if the room were empty.

What was she angry about?

It was his hand.

He’d broken the law, put someone in the hospital.

If he didn’t care for himself, why should she?

And yet, she couldn’t help her ire.

She was irritated.

Her bad mood had peaked the moment she’d seen the state of his hand.

She could only use coldness to suppress it—the more she hurt, the more indifferent she became, as if not seeing meant not feeling.

He was gone.

Her heart was not truly at peace, but at least with him away, the agitation lessened.

It was a defense mechanism of a kind—self-protection.

But the man just outside the door did not react as she did.

Wen Yanli’s brows drew together, his lips pressed in a line. Why had he left so obediently just now?

If she truly didn’t want to see him, why had she run to him at the police station? She was clearly angry—with his recklessness, with his injuries.

What had she done, what had she thought, before he was released?

He hadn’t said a word to her. How could he just walk away?

Suddenly, he turned and knocked.

The sound at her back made Song Mi reach for the door without conscious thought, hand on the knob before she realized.

She peered through the peephole.

It was him.

Her earlier caution had been unnecessary.

Deep down, she’d known he wouldn’t leave.

He kept knocking, stubbornly, never ringing the bell—he knew she was just on the other side.

For a fleeting moment, the word “nemesis” flashed through her mind.

She couldn’t help but smile—what else was he, if not her nemesis?

A single door between them.

Just as Wen Yanli was about to give up knocking and reach for the bell, the lock clicked, and the door opened.

Instantly, he braced his hand on the doorframe.

But it was that very gesture that made Song Mi lose her composure.

Because it was the very hand she’d just bandaged.

She pressed down on his hand—deliberately.

He met her cold gaze, pain flitting across his features.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, pressing harder.

Her face was icy.

Wen Yanli understood at once—she was angry he’d used his bandaged hand to stop the door.

But he hadn’t thought of it. “Mi’er, I—”

“It hurts,” he admitted.

Her heart hurt more.

So she let go, but her expression only grew darker. She snapped, “So you do know pain, Lawyer Wen?”

“Why didn’t you feel it when you were fighting?”

“When you made someone cough blood, did you not feel pain?”

“And just now, when you wedged your hand in the door, did you—”

The rest of her words were swallowed by him.

It happened so quickly that Song Mi didn’t even see how.

The door slammed shut. In a swift movement, her back was against the wall, and his kisses rained down, fierce and urgent.

At first, she resisted.

She was still angry.

In truth, she seldom lost control like this anymore, needing to vent through shouting. Usually, the angrier she was, the calmer she became.

After a few struggles, she managed to push him away—or rather, he let her go.

He was breathing hard, his eyes dark and intense, yet still softening.

“Mi’er, I missed you,” he said.

Song Mi narrowed her eyes at him, slow and deliberate. “Oh?”

“So, after disappearing for a month, this is the conclusion you reach? That you missed me?” She scoffed, lips curling. “Was it fun?”

Knowing she was being difficult, Wen Yanli shook his head. “No.”

“Not at all.”

She laughed. “I think, for masters, to meet a worthy opponent is one of life’s greatest fortunes.”

He understood her immediately.

She meant their relationship had always been a game for adults, both of them playing.

She was carefree, coming and going as she pleased.

He, too, was supposed to be able to let go at will.

He’d once doubted himself, but quickly dismissed it.

At least, he wasn’t playing.

If it hadn’t been for what happened at the police station tonight, perhaps he’d have believed she was playing a game.

But the body is more honest than the mind.

When she ran to him, perhaps even she did not realize—her worry, her longing to see him had already bypassed reason and directed her every move.

Wen Yanli’s gaze traced her forehead, her brows, her eyes, the delicate bridge of her nose, and the color on her lips, half-erased by him.

When his amber eyes finally met hers, he spoke at last, his voice circling and returning, “Song Mi, let’s be together.”

Song Mi’s heart lurched, as if crushed by the weight of those words.

Of course, she knew what he meant.

And yet, what could she do? Accepting—she could not; refusing—she couldn’t bear to.

It was the first time she’d heard him say it, yet her mind responded as if it had played out a hundred times before.

She just hadn’t expected his decision to come so quickly.

Or perhaps, so slowly.

A slow, sly smile curved her lips, her eyes trailing upward, seductive as silk.

“What’s this? So soon, Lawyer Wen can’t play anymore?”