Why would Wen Ying, neither a girlfriend nor a wife, be willing to give him all her savings?
Xie Qian didn’t dwell on the question.
He hadn’t asked Wen Ying directly, but he was certain of her answer, because if the roles were reversed, he’d give his savings to Wen Ying without hesitation.
Wealth was external, not brought into life nor taken out. Compared to the cold digits in a bank account, the process of earning it held more value.
To Xie Qian, whether it was the logistics company, Jiaxin Film, or the land worth nearly 200 million soon to be demolished for a fortune, all were mere “external things.”
If they were lifeless possessions, how could they matter more than a living person?
So when Zheng Zhihe envied Jiang Youjia’s good wife, the younger Xie Qian remained unfazed, even instructing Zheng to keep Jiang Youjia’s financial crisis under wraps.
If Wen Ying learned of Jiang Youjia’s troubles, she’d connect it to Jiaxin Film, and Xie Qian didn’t want complications.
Zheng Zhihe promised, “If a client wants confidentiality, I’ll keep it.”
“Lawyer Zheng, that includes Editor Little Salamander.”
If Little Salamander knew, it was as good as Wen Ying knowing, rendering secrecy pointless.
“…”
Xie Qian wasn’t teasing Zheng Zhihe, just stating facts, but the suited Zheng Zhihe blushed.
Was it that obvious Little Salamander kept inviting him for late-night snacks?
No, he couldn’t let this continue unchecked… next time, she’d need to be more discreet!
Only after parting with Xie Qian did Zheng Zhihe snap out of it.
Wait a second.
Both he and Little Salamander were single, and going for late-night snacks wasn’t immoral or illegal. Why hide?
To be teased by a high school boy, what a disgrace to the legal profession!
Spurred by the jab, Zheng Zhihe mustered a surge of courage, turned his car around, and headed straight for *Spark* magazine.
The “Tianjiao-Spark Cup” writing contest announced its shortlist for the second round in April, publishing a special issue with the 12 outstanding short stories that advanced, while launching a reader voting phase. This literary event, which had broken into wider circles, was nearing its end, keeping editors like Little Salamander swamped.
Work stress meant Little Salamander hadn’t invited Zheng Zhihe for snacks in days. His visit, sparked by Xie Qian’s jab, was partly an excuse.
Arriving at the magazine office in a fervor, Zheng Zhihe was still catching his breath when he found Little Salamander.
She was discussing work with Song Foxiang and was surprised to see him, “Brother Zheng, what brings you here?”
Zheng Zhihe tugged at his tie, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, it might be abrupt… do you have feelings for me?”
—She must like him, always inviting him for snacks!
—And he always accepted, obviously because he liked her too.
With a lawyer’s logic, Zheng Zhihe deduced they liked each other, just needing to break the ice.
Shouldn’t the man take responsibility for that?
Little Salamander hadn’t expected such a direct move, leaving her flustered.
How could she admit it in front of Song Foxiang?
But denying it might hurt Zheng’s feelings… her ears burned, her face reddened, her gaze drifted, unable to meet his eyes, and she stammered, speechless.
As her silence stretched, Zheng Zhihe began to doubt his judgment.
Had he misread friendship for romance?
If he’d broken the ice today, could they still be friends?
Nervous, he glanced around and locked eyes with Song Foxiang.
Song, a seasoned romantic poet, had been in love since youth, blending charm and innocence, passion and devotion. He’d seen it all and instantly recognized mutual affection in the young pair!
Catching Zheng’s glance, Song thought he was in the way, stepping back two paces and tossing his long hair to make his stance clear, “Don’t look at me, you two are a perfect match, I’m not against you being together!”
With that, Song drifted off.
In the busy magazine office, no one seemed to notice Zheng Zhihe and Little Salamander.
Without onlookers, Little Salamander’s face was still red but less tense.
To ease the awkwardness, Zheng Zhihe spoke first, revealing his feelings, “I do have feelings for you. From our first meeting, I admired you, a workplace newbie standing up to your boss, holding firm to your moral principles, never stooping to Han Qin’s level. I also admire your cleverness, keeping evidence to fight back against unfair treatment!”
When did his feelings start?
Looking back, Zheng Zhihe couldn’t pinpoint it.
Recognizing and admiring someone was the foundation of romantic feelings.
Little Salamander was pure, untainted by workplace cynicism, carrying a student’s idealism.
Such a personality clashed with today’s materialistic society. Without Zou Weijun and Wen Ying, she might have suffered greatly.
Zheng Zhihe’s job exposed him to endless disputes over profit. In a complex world where human bonds grew thin and unreliable, Little Salamander’s idealism was precious.
He hadn’t thought this deeply on his way to the magazine, but confessing now was a journey of self-discovery.
Did he like her this much already?
Little Salamander was idealistic and passionate but not a naive damsel needing a man’s protection, Zheng Zhihe was certain of that.
Meeting such a girl, admiration turned to affection so naturally!
Zheng Zhihe wasn’t an inexperienced kid. Having bared his heart, awaiting her reply, he was still nervous.
Little Salamander looked at him, face flushed.
Did she like him?
Probably.
She liked his ease in the courtroom.
She liked his sense of justice.
Striving alone in a new city, she felt lonely too.
Things she couldn’t tell Zou Weijun or colleagues, Zheng Zhihe listened to patiently, offering advice from his experience.
They’d hit up countless late-night snack spots in Rongcheng. If that wasn’t liking someone, what was? Other “feelings” without action felt flimsier.
Looking at Zheng Zhihe, she asked, “You have feelings for me, and I for you. Want to be my boyfriend?”
