At the funeral of Yang Xiaoning's father, who tragically passed away in a car accident on his way to watch his daughters compete in the Olympics, Shen Zhaoyan stood among the mourners. As the defense attorney for the Yang family, she had initially attended the service out of professional duty. However, fate had other plans—on this solemn day, she found herself captivated by the composed and strikingly handsome Yang Xiaoning, despite knowing that she was a woman.
Shen Zhaoyan first comforted Yang Qingyue, Xiaoning's elder sister, who was already in tears. But as she embraced her, the overwhelming grief seeped into her own heart, and she, too, couldn't hold back her tears. Although Yang Xiaoning maintained a facade of calmness, Zhaoyan could tell that she was struggling internally. The slight furrow of her brows, the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes—these subtle signs betrayed the sorrow she tried so hard to conceal.
Seizing the moment, Zhaoyan played a small trick. Pretending to wipe away a nonexistent tear from Xiaoning's face, her palm naturally rested on her cheek. Perhaps out of kindness, Xiaoning didn't push her away. Instead, she extended her arms and pulled both Zhaoyan and her sister into a gentle embrace. At 183 cm, her tall figure easily enveloped them, exuding a warmth that was both strong and tender. Unfortunately, the embrace lasted only about thirty seconds before someone called Xiaoning away. Zhaoyan couldn't deny the slight pang of disappointment, but she quickly pushed those thoughts aside—after all, she had a trial to prepare for in the coming days.
After ensuring that Yang Qingyue was calm, Zhaoyan excused herself and headed toward the restroom. As she stepped out of the doorway, a sudden presence blocked her path. Before she could react, she bumped straight into the figure, nearly losing her balance. Just as she was about to fall, a firm hand caught her waist.
The man smirked slightly, his eyes curving into crescents. A small, distinct mole rested beneath the corner of his right eye. That face... it seemed familiar. Zhaoyan quickly apologized and looked up, realizing that the man before her was none other than Song Yiheng, the infamous university heartthrob from her college days.
Back when they were still students, she had often heard rumors about him—an undeniable rich heir, the only son of one of the country's most prestigious corporate families. Immediately after graduating, he had taken over his family business, becoming a figure of envy among many. But it wasn't just his wealth that made him famous; his stunning looks had made him the campus prince, a title earned effortlessly. Every day, he received dozens of love confessions from admirers, though there were just as many rumors about his flirtatious nature. It was said that he frequented bars at night, charming women left and right, and changed girlfriends faster than one could count. Of course, these were only rumors, and not all of them were necessarily true.
Yiheng chuckled playfully. "What, did you bump into me on purpose? I know my charm is irresistible, but there's no need to create an excuse for physical contact, you know."
Hearing this, Zhaoyan's cheeks flushed red. She quickly explained, her voice slightly flustered, "I really didn't mean to bump into you. If I caused any misunderstanding, I sincerely apologize."
Instead of responding immediately, Yiheng studied her with amusement before lifting her hand. "If anyone should apologize, it's me," he said. "After all, you hurt your hand."
Confused, Zhaoyan glanced at her palm. She didn't feel any pain—was she really injured? But before she could check, Yiheng suddenly leaned in, pressing his lips gently against her so-called wound.
The instant his lips made contact with her skin, a jolt of electricity ran through her body. The air between them grew thick with tension, and the only sound she could hear was the rapid pounding of her own heartbeat—so loud it felt like everyone around them could hear it too.
Panicked, Zhaoyan averted her gaze, desperately trying to suppress the chaotic rhythm of her heart. Meanwhile, Yiheng simply chuckled, his voice light and teasing. "See you next time." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, dazed.
Only then did she realize—her hand had never been injured in the first place.
Trying to collect herself, Zhaoyan stepped out of the restroom, still lost in thought. Was Song Yiheng really as frivolous as the rumors claimed? His actions certainly suggested so. But at the same time, she knew better than to judge someone based solely on hearsay.
Still distracted, she turned a corner and nearly bumped into another person.
This time, a firm yet gentle grip steadied her. "Are you okay?" a familiar voice asked with concern.
Looking up, she met the warm, kind gaze of Bai Muli, her childhood friend. He had always been gentle, always considerate—ever since they were kids, he had been the caring older brother figure who never failed to look after her.
Smiling, she reassured him, "I'm fine."
Only then did he relax, his worried expression softening into his usual warmth.