That day, Zhou Leqi and Pei Qiming had the most intense argument since they had known each other.

They had never argued before. Even during their high school years when competition between them was at its fiercest, they hadn’t openly clashed. After Pei Qiming realized his feelings for Zhou Leqi, he became even less likely to argue with her. In her eyes, he had always been calm, steady, and gentle.

But today, he was genuinely angry, even raising his voice at her.

“So have you thought about me?” He stood up and looked at her, his expression growing darker by the second. “Lucky, I was the one who recommended you to SWD. Everyone in the company thinks we’re on the same side. If your whistleblowing letter gets out later, how do you think it will affect me?”

He would be implicated as well.

His competitors might seize this opportunity to drag him down from his current position.

No one had it easy... He was also working hard and couldn’t ignore the potential huge risks.

“I know, which is why I’m telling you my decision in advance,” Zhou Leqi tried to explain. “If my name gets exposed later, I’ll say it was my personal action. At that point, you can directly fire me to make your position clear.”

She had already planned it all; everyone else would be safe.

Pei Qiming didn’t accept this. If anything, he became angrier. He loosened his tie slightly, stared at her silently for a long moment, and suddenly asked, “Is it related to him?”

She didn’t immediately understand: “What?”

“Your first love, the junior who left without saying a word back then,” Pei Qiming’s tone was cold, sharper than ever. “Is it related to him?”

Zhou Leqi fell silent, averting her gaze.

He seemed to sneer, not purely out of anger but perhaps with a hint of mockery. Zhou Leqi felt uncomfortable. Then she heard Pei Qiming say, “So whatever he does is acceptable? As long as he stays by your side for a few months and then disappears for seven years, it doesn’t matter? Seven years later, you’re still willing to sacrifice your career for him, disregarding my feelings completely?”

“Leqi... I’ve liked you for many years, longer than he has stayed by your side.”

“Can’t you be fair?”

He was very emotional. Zhou Leqi had never seen such an agitated Pei Qiming before. Even when she rejected his confession a few years ago, he remained elegant, showing only a faint sense of loss and restrained sorrow.

She couldn’t adapt to this version of him. She felt guilty and uneasy, and countered, “What if it were you?”

“If you knew an IPO involved illegal activities, would you choose to stay silent or report it?”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with self-preservation... But if your friend suffered the most severe harm because of it, and you had the ability to fight for their last chance, could you remain indifferent?”

This was an unsolvable contradiction. Whatever choice was made, it had its reasons, and any decision could be criticized.

Was reporting right? Of course, it was. But it hurt the colleagues who worked hard on the project and might label her as someone sacrificing her career for love. Was staying silent right? It seemed understandable, but it betrayed morality, law, and her friends and loved ones.

Zhou Leqi couldn’t make a choice. She treasured her job deeply and hoped to succeed in investment banking, aspiring to become a top-tier elite like Jason someday, living a wealthy life and owning a respectable home in Beijing. She was grateful for Pei Qiming’s help and care over the years. She didn’t want him to be implicated or criticized and wished for his success.

...Yet, she couldn’t stay silent.

She couldn’t watch him fight alone, seeing those once broad and bright eyes gradually becoming stern and gloomy. Nor could she ignore her stubborn sense of morality and hide the truth for her own benefit. Therefore, she almost immediately decided to write the whistleblower letter. When she boldly signed her name—”Zhou Leqi”—at the end, she felt a wave of relief.

Now the situation was clearer. She and Pei Qiming couldn’t reach an agreement. Even though their argument took place in his closed office, their colleagues, sharp-eyed and perceptive, noticed their discord. As Zhou Leqi exited the VP’s office, everyone was secretly watching her, their gazes filled with curiosity and schadenfreude.

Zhou Leqi didn’t care much anymore. She sat down at her desk, opened her computer, and began preparing her resignation letter.

She had just started when a message popped up on WeChat in their three-person group chat.

It was Hou Zihao speaking. He said:

“I think I’ve found some evidence.”

He was referring to evidence proving that Luo Siyu had indeed entered his house seven years ago.

Actually, when Hou Zihao met Luo Siyu in A City a few days ago, he had a strange feeling. Something about her seemed off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was wrong.

Until yesterday, when he called Haoting International’s property management to review the surveillance footage from the day Yan Lin brought Luo Siyu. Upon zooming in and carefully observing, he discovered the issue—

It was a ring.

A ring Luo Siyu was wearing.

Her attire was exaggerated that day, and she wore four rings on her hands, each adorned with large gemstones. At first glance, they appeared fake and cheap. However, upon closer inspection, Hou Zihao recognized one of the rings. Approximately three carats, with a pigeon-blood-red gemstone surrounded by marquise and round-cut diamonds.

...That belonged to Su Ruini.

Su Ruini had always been fond of beauty and enjoyed collecting gemstone jewelry. She had acquired many valuable pieces at auctions. Although this ruby ring wasn’t as expensive as some of her other acquisitions, she usually didn’t store it in a safe. She likely wore it casually and left it on the table after taking it off, never bothering to put it away properly.

Why was it on Luo Siyu’s hand?

Hadn’t she stolen it seven years ago when she broke into his house to plant the contract?

In their three-person group chat, Hou Zihao sent a screenshot of the surveillance footage, highlighting the ring. He also identified the brand—a luxury custom-made jeweler, proving it wasn’t something commonly available on the market.

“Can this be used as evidence?”

Hou Zihao @ed Yan Lin in the group.

Lawyer Yan took several minutes to respond with a voice message. Zhou Leqi, sitting in the office, couldn’t play it out loud and had to listen through her headphones. For the first time in her life, she heard Yan Lin get so excited that he swore:

“Shit, why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

Suddenly, a small breakthrough opened up the entire situation.

Lawyer Yan was efficient, quickly completing the chain of evidence and drafting materials. Yet, even with this, he remained pessimistic about reopening the investigation of the case from seven years ago—it wasn’t that he lacked a positive attitude, but overturning the verdict was indeed fraught with difficulties. They still needed another push, something beyond the evidence itself.

Thus, Yan Lin became increasingly busy. Besides managing his work at the law firm, he had to handle the Haoting case. Additionally, he was nearing graduation, and his advisor was keeping a close eye on him, requiring him to focus on his master’s thesis defense. He was overwhelmed.

Even so, Lawyer Yan didn’t forget to pick up Mi Lan from the TV station every day.

He had thoroughly learned from past mistakes and begun to understand the importance of companionship in relationships. With a desire to make amends to Mi Lan, he developed the habit of having lunch with her daily, usually dining near Beijing TV station, just as she had once gone from Renmin University to Peking University to see him.

Mi Lan naturally appreciated this, but outwardly maintained a pretense of aloofness, sometimes feigning reluctance, saying things like, “You don’t need to come and keep me company. It’s more convenient for me to eat in the staff canteen. You coming here just causes trouble.”

Yan Lin, of course, understood her well. He knew her temperament inside out, knowing she was just being prideful and secretly hoping he would visit. Thus, even amidst his hectic schedule, he persisted in visiting her daily, making her happy.

However, human energy is limited.

With unfinished work during the day, Yan Lin naturally had to catch up late into the night. One or two days were manageable, but over time, it became unsustainable. Especially with the complex twists and turns of the Haoting case, he grew increasingly worried. Sometimes, even when resting, he tossed and turned, his spirits waning. On two occasions, while dining with Mi Lan, he nearly dozed off at the table.

Mi Lan knew he was busy but still teased him, saying, “Master Yan, did you go clubbing to investigate the case again? Quite exhausting, huh?”

Her words were both sour and unreasonable.

Yan Lin massaged his temples, drank a cup of coffee from the restaurant to perk up, and replied, “You know where I am at night. Can you say something sensible?”

This was true.

Recently, the two had resumed video calls. Sometimes they chatted briefly, and other times they kept the video on while doing their own tasks. Mi Lan watched Yan Lin work, either in his rented apartment or in the dormitory at Peking University. He hadn’t gone out partying.

Yet, she insisted on being difficult, still pouting and asking, “Then what are you so busy with every day? Still writing your thesis?”

“No, the thesis passed blind review long ago,” Yan Lin’s eyes were red from consecutive nights of sleep deprivation, looking unusually tired. “It’s just a tricky case... a bit tough to handle.”

Mi Lan said “Oh,” took a bite of food from the table, examined Yan Lin, hesitated for a moment, and cautiously asked, “Is it... Master Hou’s case?”

She asked carefully, fearing to touch on painful memories from Yan Lin’s past. Yan Lin responded calmly, simply acknowledging with a soft sound.

Mi Lan realized that this topic wasn’t off-limits and gained some courage, asking further, “So, what’s the trouble? Tell me, maybe I can help.”

At that moment, Yan Lin looked up at Mi Lan, a flicker of hesitation flashing in his weary eyes, deep in thought. Mi Lan felt uncertain. After a while, she heard Yan Lin ask, “Perhaps... do you know any media outlets that mainly cover social news?”