Chapter 45: With you like this, Attorney Wen, I can’t help but feel a little envious of your future girlfriend.

Song Mi had indeed fallen asleep, or rather, she had woken from sleep. She was already awake before her phone screen lit up. At this hour, there was no one who would call her except Qiao Weiwei. Very few people knew this number. Oh, and Ming Hao. But if it was about Xia Yuan, she was even less inclined to answer.

Taking away a comatose patient for no reason—she’d better be careful how she took care of her. If something happened and she died, it would be tantamount to a criminal charge of murder.

At this moment, the other party must be more anxious than she was. No matter how restless Ming Hao became, he was under watch around the clock—nothing serious could happen. Reportedly, her blood loss last night had already reached its limit; if things had gotten any worse or if plasma hadn’t arrived in time, she could have died on the spot.

Even if she got lucky and survived, she had suffered terribly. And the child—she had parted with it easily under anesthesia, while last night she’d nearly lost her life in a desperate, agonizing struggle. The difference was immense; those who schemed against her from the shadows would pay a heavy price for it.

She was not just a tool, and certainly not a good person.

Lu Zhizhi, Shen Ruming, Shen Ruwei, Tang Lishi—these four women had plotted against her in concert. Once she recovered, she would make sure to repay them in full.

She didn’t know how long she had been lying there with her eyes closed when she suddenly sensed something amiss. As soon as the thought formed, her mind became instantly alert. The disturbance was barely perceptible, but she was certain—someone had entered.

Song Mi had always been highly vigilant. Having spent time on the front lines amidst two warring factions in Suxi, her hearing, sense of smell, and overall instincts were sharper than most.

Not only that, but she kept a gun under her pillow. It wasn’t a real firearm, but it was enough to intimidate anyone.

As the presence drew closer, her hand silently found the weapon beneath her pillow. Her body tensed, ready to react at the slightest movement from the intruder. The moment the shadow pressed toward her, she sat up in one swift motion, drew the gun, and pulled the trigger. “Don’t move!”

It was a hair-trigger situation.

As a lawyer, Wen Yanli had dealt with all manner of people over the years, so he’d seen his fair share of dangerous moments. But this was the first time anyone had pointed a gun at him.

After a brief adjustment, he swallowed. “...It’s me.”

Song Mi immediately saw who it was and, as she lowered her weapon, felt her strength wane. She’d sat up too quickly and held herself too taut; as soon as the tension released, a sharp pain twisted through her abdomen.

Wen Yanli saw her sway as she put the gun away and quickly stepped forward to steady her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, though her voice and breath betrayed her discomfort. “What brings you here, Attorney Wen?”

“I found Ye Zhao. As for the door code, I memorized it this afternoon when you entered it.” He was telling the truth, although it wasn’t exactly honorable. When he carried her home that afternoon, he hadn’t deliberately looked away but hadn’t stared either—yet he remembered it all the same.

Song Mi was a little surprised. She settled herself against the pillow he’d propped behind her and quipped, “Seems my people trust you quite a bit, Attorney Wen.”

He flicked on the bedside lamp. “Ye Zhao only gave me one chance. If I’d entered the wrong code, he would have escorted me out himself.”

“Thirsty?” he asked, not waiting for a response before heading out of the room.

She watched his upright figure disappear through the doorway, then reappear some time later. When he handed her a cup of sweetened water, she took a sip, glanced at him, then drank twice more.

Had he come all this way so late just to bring her brown sugar water?

She’d never cared for sweets, but the taste lingered pleasantly, not cloying—quite acceptable as an occasional indulgence.

The man stood at the bedside, eyes lowered, staring at the gun thoughtfully.

He didn’t ask, so she volunteered, “It’s not a real gun. You can’t bring the real thing back into the country.”

“But it’s enough for self-defense.”

At her words, darkness flickered through Wen Yanli’s eyes. The point was, what kind of people and what kind of threats did she face, that even at home, sleeping in her own bed, she kept a gun under her pillow?

A strange heaviness pressed on his chest, but his lips remained tightly shut.

Song Mi didn’t elaborate either.

As if by tacit agreement, they both quietly processed what had just happened.

She was drained, and he was, perhaps, trying to calm himself.

The warm, swaying light from the bedside lamp cast their shadows on the wall. Outside, night hung deep, and inside, the room was so quiet you could hear their breathing.

Such an ordinary, domestic scene had never happened in her life, yet, inexplicably, it brought her a sense of peace—and longing.

This man was becoming an addiction.

After a while, Song Mi handed him the cup. “Let me have your phone.”

Wen Yanli paused, then swiftly took the cup with one hand, unlocked his phone with the other, and handed it over.

“Do you always mix business with pleasure, Attorney Wen?” she teased, lips curving. “Only one phone number?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Just then the phone on the bedside table lit up.

“In the future, if you need me, call this number.” After she hung up, she returned his phone.

At that moment, her own phone lit up again. It was almost certainly Qiao Weiwei.

Wen Yanli saw it too. He looked at her, and when she nodded, he handed her the phone.

Song Mi glanced at the screen—surprisingly, it wasn’t Qiao Weiwei. The call ended quickly. She thought nothing of it and set the phone aside.

Right then, Wen Yanli’s phone began to ring as well.

He had just saved Song Mi’s private number and was about to lock his screen when Pei Qiuyang’s name popped up.

Pei Qiuyang was a notorious partygoer, but he’d already said he wasn’t coming out tonight. If he was calling, it had to be something unusual.

“I’ll take this outside,” Wen Yanli said.

“Okay,” Song Mi replied, glancing at him.

He stepped out, not expecting the reason for Pei Qiuyang’s call: Qiao Weiwei had been abducted from the club Meise. “...Brother Yan, should I get involved or not?”

“If I do, that woman always gives me grief and there’s nothing in it for me. But if I don’t, I can’t just stand by and do nothing, can I?”

The voice on the other end kept rambling.

Wen Yanli’s brow furrowed. “What time did it happen?”

Pei Qiuyang was taken aback by the question. “Ah? Must be at least ten minutes ago! That waiter—the same one who carried Qiao Weiwei to Mi’er’s place with us the other night—came to the private room looking for me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even have known. The kid even asked if I wouldn’t help, could I call Mi’er for help? I would have, but I don’t have her number...”

Wen Yanli fell silent, remembering the call Song Mi had just received. Logically, only a handful of people should know her private number—certainly not many in Jinzhou.

The timing was too much of a coincidence.

“Have your people check a number,” he said, reciting the digits he’d just seen on Song Mi’s phone. “Check all calls made from this number tonight.”

Pei Qiuyang ran a security company, and his business involved all sorts of privacy-sensitive matters. His contacts were a motley crew—tracking a call log was nothing for him.

“Brother Yan, do you know something? Wait—are you with Mi’er right now? Are you hiding something from me?”

Wen Yanli didn’t answer. “Just focus on finding her. Keep in touch.”

He hung up.

If his suspicions were correct, the caller would try again. In any case, he had no intention of hiding it from Song Mi.

But when he returned to the room, the bed was empty. His heart skipped a beat as he heard a faint noise somewhere.

He followed the sound and saw her slowly shuffling out from behind the wall.

He wasn’t familiar with the layout yet and didn’t realize there was a bathroom there.

He cleared his throat to announce himself, then strode over and effortlessly scooped her up.

He didn’t set her down until they reached the bed. Song Mi hadn’t figured out how to broach the subject, embarrassed by a predicament she’d never faced.

She’d run out of sanitary pads.

The bleeding was heavy, and the few remaining pads in her drawer were all used up.

After Assistant Lin was ambushed in the parking garage last night, she’d sent two bodyguards away with Ye Zhao. She had never trusted the security department of the Sihai Group. Ming Hao’s side was also guarded by a man and a woman, so only Ye Zhao was left downstairs.

Now, she could either text Ye Zhao to go out and buy some for her, or... just tell him directly.

What she didn’t know was that Wen Yanli was also hesitating about how to bring up the matter of Qiao Weiwei.

“Well...”

“I want to...”

They both spoke at once.

Wen Yanli stopped and let her speak first. “What is it?”

Song Mi had never dated before—she simply hadn’t had the chance. But surely he must have had girlfriends; basic female needs shouldn’t be foreign to him. With that in mind, she was less hesitant.

“Could you go downstairs and buy something for me?”

He clearly hadn’t expected this, but replied without hesitation, “What do you need?”

“Sanitary pads.” She knew it was normal, but she still averted her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

It was more embarrassing for him, really—asking a man to buy such things was putting him in a difficult spot.

Wen Yanli paused, but not out of reluctance—he simply realized he should have thought of this when she was discharged.

“All right,” he answered softly. “What brand? Any specific requirements?”

Her heart gave a little tug—he was so professional. Clearly a man with experience.

Well, he was always so considerate; it made sense he’d have bought such things for a girlfriend before.

But for some reason, she found herself oddly bothered by the thought.

Still, she gave him the details—this was a pressing need.

He listened carefully, then said, “My phone’s nearly dead. I’ll need to use it to pay. Look up the daytime, nighttime, and other products you need—find pictures of them so I can use your phone for reference.”

She looked at him. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, Wen Yanli left with her phone. He found Ye Zhao waiting outside.

Caught off guard, and in the middle of checking her call records, he was surprised but quickly composed himself. “Something you need?”

Ye Zhao responded quickly. “That doesn’t look like your phone, Attorney Wen.”

There was no hostility, but not much warmth either. As a bodyguard, it was only right to put his employer’s safety first.

Wen Yanli paused, then explained, “It’s Song Mi’s phone. I borrowed it for a reason.”

Ye Zhao frowned but didn’t ask further.

“Are you staying here, or coming downstairs with me?” Wen Yanli asked, moving ahead. “She asked me to buy something for her.”

Ye Zhao said nothing.

Wen Yanli walked on, but before he reached the elevator, footsteps sounded behind him. “Attorney Wen, is there something you want to tell me?”

A sharp one, he thought, glancing over and pressing the elevator button. “Let’s talk on the way.”

...

In the room, Song Mi reclined with her eyes closed, resting.

More than half an hour later, the door opened and shut. Soon, the man returned carrying two large, full bags.

“Where should I put these?” he asked.

The room was spacious and minimalist, all in cool white. She disliked clutter—there wasn’t even a vanity in the bedroom; it was in the adjacent walk-in closet.

She glanced at the rug by the window. “Just leave them there.”

But Wen Yanli shook his head. “No need to tidy up twice.”

He separated the items, took one bag to the bathroom, then returned for the other and carried it out. After everything was put away, he came back and told her exactly where he’d stored them in the closet.

You could tell a lot from such details.

A man like him would surely keep his home spotless—no dirty socks strewn about, no piles of laundry, no shoes scattered everywhere, no overflowing trash that hadn’t been taken out in weeks.

Whoever became the mistress of his house would surely be blessed.

But one woman would never have that fortune—Lu Zhizhi.

Because she would never allow it.

“With a man like you, Attorney Wen, I’m starting to feel jealous of your future girlfriend!” Song Mi gazed at him, lips curving, teasing, “What am I to do?”

Her voice was playful, her feigned jealousy provocative.

But it was all in jest—he could tell she was neither testing nor inviting him.

She was reminding him she would not be in his future.

Had he not lived through her pointing a gun at him with such practiced ease, his feelings now would have been very different.

But now, he wondered—did she treat love as a game because she couldn’t promise a future, or because she feared holding someone back?

He quickly suppressed the surge of emotion in his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed. “Song Mi, there’s something I need to tell you.”

...

The next morning, when Song Mi woke, the bed beside her was empty.

But the creases in the pillow and sheets remained.

She had broken her rules again.

In all her twenty-five or twenty-six years, she had never before slept side by side with a man until daylight.

Not even over a month ago, abroad, when the two of them had met, sparks flying in both directions. Afterwards, while he showered, she’d quietly dressed and slipped away.

She hadn’t hidden that it was her first time.

In fact, she’d used it as an excuse to refuse protection, which had led to her suffering so much two nights ago.

She would never let those who schemed against her off lightly.

But she would not let herself repeat her own mistakes, either.

With that thought, she instinctively placed her hand over her lower abdomen and closed her eyes, mourning the child for three minutes.

Knock—knock—knock.

The knocking was gentle, as if afraid to disturb her. But it was already broad daylight—he must have come to wake her.

“I’m coming in.”

Hearing his voice, Song Mi’s brows twitched faintly. Didn’t he have to go to the law office?

He quickly approached the bed, but only after a moment did he speak again.

“Song Mi, get up and eat something before you go back to sleep.”

She opened her eyes.

He was already dressed in fresh clothes: a beige shirt with khaki trousers, both clearly cotton, crisp and neat without a single wrinkle.

Light colors suited him, making him look not only youthful and energetic but also imbued with the pure, bright spirit of a young man.

A truly pleasing sight.

But the thought only flitted through Song Mi’s mind before she pushed it away.

She opened her mouth and asked, “Is there any news about Qiao Weiwei?”