Chapter 17

That coffee shop wasn’t far, no need to even cross the street. They just walked through an alley to get there.

Weary office workers rarely chose to drink coffee and eat sandwiches for lunch, so the shop wasn’t crowded.

Jiang Mian ordered a caramel latte macchiato and a cheese sandwich.

Chen Gu’s taste was similar, except he also added a steak and pasta.

Thankfully, this café had both.

Chen Gu: “I wanted to say this last time, aren’t you eating too little?”

Jiang Mian, upon hearing this, glanced at Chen Gu’s sturdy forearms, which were almost like a fitness trainer’s, and said slowly, “I don’t work out.”

He found it too tiring.

They sat down in a corner again. The conversation somehow drifted to weights. “How much do you weigh?”

Jiang Mian thought for a moment. “At my physical last year, it was 101 pounds?”

He didn’t pay much attention to his height or weight, so he generally only measured during check-ups.

Chen Gu smiled.

With Jiang Mian’s weight, he could probably lift him with one hand.

So Chen Gu said meaningfully, “You should train a bit when you have time.”

He joked, “Otherwise, one day when a typhoon hits, I’m afraid you’ll get blown away.”

Jiang Mian wasn’t good with jokes and sometimes couldn’t tell if someone was joking. So, his tone was serious as he replied, “That’s why I usually don’t go out during typhoons.”

Chen Gu didn’t find him rigid. Instead, he let out a low chuckle. Especially when he saw the slightly puzzled look in Jiang Mian’s eyes, the mirth in his own gaze deepened.

Jiang Mian probably didn’t realize that this look of his, so obedient and “handsome,” made people want to tease him.

“Then, once you start working full-time, you can’t just stay home all the time, right?” Chen Gu tilted his head, extending an invitation. “Even if you don’t build muscle, exercising is still necessary.”

Jiang Mian mentally counted how many minor illnesses he’d had in the first half of this year and had to agree with Chen Gu.

But…

Jiang Mian pursed his lips slightly, lowering his eyes, his expression showing hesitation.

Chen Gu noticed his mood. “What’s up? A story there?”

“Not really.” Jiang Mian muttered. “I don’t like gyms.”

Because people would approach him and try to strike up a conversation. Not women—men.

He knew some people meant no harm, but Jiang Mian wasn’t good at handling that, and didn’t want to.

His world was small, his relationships simple, and he was very content with the status quo, not wanting to disrupt it.

“You could try jogging at night. If you’re worried about safety, I can join you. I go night running anyway.”

“Mm.”

Jiang Mian was still hesitant. “We’ll see.”

Chen Gu saw right through him—he just didn’t feel like moving. He chuckled softly, “Lazybones.”

Jiang Mian paused.

He looked at the reflection of Chen Gu on the table, thinking it felt a bit too familiar, crossing a line.

But actually, ever since Chen Gu had shown up on the bridge with an umbrella, that boundary of “just friends” seemed to have blurred.

Jiang Mian was very smart. He knew Chen Gu wasn’t familiar with the South Boundary, as he needed GPS navigation everywhere. Yet he had been able to pinpoint his location from just a single photo posted on Moments.

He must have either asked someone or checked a map. But no matter what, this action was a bit too deliberate.

Jiang Mian just couldn’t figure out Chen Gu’s goal.

Even though his instincts kept sounding alarms in his head, when he tried to trace the source, he drew a blank.

Was it that Chen Gu’s apology to Chen Yishen and admission of fault were just a pretense, a way to lower his guard and get closer?

Jiang Mian didn’t think so.

Then why would Chen Gu…

Jiang Mian couldn’t understand.

After the server brought the coffee and lunch, Chen Gu asked lazily, “Are you sure that’s enough for you? Want me to share some of mine?”

“No need.” Jiang Mian shook his head, paused, then uncharacteristically added an explanation: “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Chen Gu raised an eyebrow, not showing too much emotion to make Jiang Mian uncomfortable, just asking lightly, “In a bad mood?”

There were many things Jiang Mian wasn’t used to. Sharing his thoughts was one. Showing his true emotions was another.

But to be as unshakeable as his father, Jiang Liaoyi, he wasn’t capable of that yet. After all, he was only nineteen, lacking that depth of composure.

So Jiang Mian just stayed silent, taking small bites of his sandwich, which was the perfect temperature.

But Chen Gu didn’t take the hint to stop asking.

He chuckled softly. “Work stuff? I’ve heard lawyers have a duty of confidentiality.”

Chen Gu was right, and it was a perfect excuse for Jiang Mian to block his concern.

So Jiang Mian nodded.

Chen Gu’s smile grew even brighter at his nod. “Let me guess then. You don’t need to answer.”

Jiang Mian: “…”

He was a bit bewildered as he heard Chen Gu continue smoothly, “I heard from Chen Yishen that you took the part-time job mainly to experience a lawyer’s life and gain some experience. The firm was found for you by your father. The founder is your father’s student, so he’d definitely let you get involved in various types of cases.”

Chen Gu cut his steak casually. The medium-rare meat still had a little blood. His movements were natural and practiced, exuding an effortless elegance. “I’m guessing it’s a criminal case. Your client committed a crime, but you need to get him acquitted or find a way to reduce the sentence?”

Jiang Mian froze.

He didn’t speak, just looked at Chen Gu, whose eyes were curved as he watched him. His already taut nerves drew even tighter.

Chen Gu was really something.

Without any clues, he had managed to guess correctly.

Especially when Chen Gu continued, “To achieve that goal, your side might have to conceal some evidence or leads?”

All correct.

Jiang Mian couldn’t speak or give any reaction.

Because of the duty of confidentiality, no matter how much he struggled internally, he couldn’t stab Partner Wang and the others in the back.

He just lowered his eyes and continued eating his sandwich.

But he didn’t realize his reaction only confirmed Chen Gu’s already strong suspicions.

However, Chen Gu didn’t say anything more about it. He just watched Jiang Mian, who, ever since Chen Gu had seen him today, had been emitting a low-pressure aura, his whole being screaming “lost.”

Chen Gu ate a perfectly portioned piece of steak, his thoughts drifting.

Before, Chen Yishen had told him that Jiang Mian, this person who seemed cool and aloof, as if no one could live in his heart nor could anything weigh on his mind—like a detached, otherworldly monk. But that wasn’t true. Jiang Mian’s heart was very soft. If you asked him for help, and expected him to do one part, he would, within his capacity and without negatively impacting himself, do three, four, or even more parts.

He was also very meticulous, especially regarding the law.

Though there was a saying, “There is compassion beyond the law,” if this case had made Jiang Mian lose his appetite, it meant their client wasn’t a good person who could be tolerated with mercy.

So Chen Gu asked, “Do you absolutely have to become a lawyer?”

Jiang Mian paused.

His hand, which had been stirring his latte art, stopped. He looked at Chen Gu with slightly widened eyes.

Chen Gu looked completely harmless. “Do you have some special attachment to being a lawyer? If so, I won’t say what I was going to say next.”

Jiang Mian pursed his lips, hesitated for a moment, then said, “Go ahead.”

Chen Gu nodded and continued. “There should be many other jobs after law school. I think, rather than following a plan, stepping onto a path, it’s better to follow your heart and do something that makes you happy. There must be jobs that strictly adhere to the law without having to navigate grey areas, right?”

There were indeed.

Jiang Mian’s expression flickered, but he still hesitated. “But I’m not the only one who invested effort in choosing the path of a lawyer.”

There was also Jiang Liaoyi, and his professors at school. They had all guided him and placed expectations on him.

He was afraid that if he stopped pursuing law over this one incident, he would let them down.

Chen Gu chuckled softly. “Jiang Mian, I think the people who love you will love and support you no matter what. If someone is disappointed in you just because you feel this path isn’t suited for you, then there’s no need to keep such a person close, right?”

Jiang Mian moved his lips, wanting to speak.

“Life is short.” Chen Gu raised his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Live for yourself.”

He said it casually, without any special setting or deeply memorable moment.

But Jiang Mian, looking at this easygoing Chen Gu, somehow felt his fingertips, curled around the coffee cup handle, tighten slightly. It was like they had been in one position too long and gone numb, a strange sensation traveling to his heart.

Jiang Mian realized something belatedly.

During Chen Gu’s monologue, he had been subtly drawn in by Chen Gu to express his own thoughts.

He had been confiding in Chen Gu.

Realizing this, Jiang Mian frowned, instinctively wanting to retreat, to shrink back into the shell he had never before noticed he possessed.

But Jiang Mian met Chen Gu’s eyes.

Chen Gu had classically endearing “puppy-dog eyes,” slightly downturned at the corners, giving him a pitiable, innocent, even naive look. But his overall aura was different.

Especially with his grown-out hair tied back in a ponytail, it draped him in a mysterious veil.

When Chen Gu spoke to him, his tone was just right—not making Jiang Mian feel intruded upon, nor lectured.

He guided him patiently, as if voicing Jiang Mian’s own inner thoughts, giving Jiang Mian the illusion of talking to his own heart.

Perhaps it was because of this, or maybe something else, Jiang Mian, on impulse, pulled back his step of retreat and instead took a step forward.

He asked, “You mean I should… do what I want?”

Chen Gu tilted his head, as if it were obvious. “What else? The average human lifespan is seventy-some years. Don’t think that’s a lot, it’s actually very short. We’ve already lived through two-sevenths of it. In a mere seventy years, if you don’t seize the moment, what’s the point of living this life?”

He joked, “Did you descend from heaven to endure tribulation as a celestial being?”

Jiang Mian paused for a moment, then was ultimately amused by him.

He hooked his lips into a very shallow smile. The originally suppressed gloom dissipated, and his usually cool, clear willow leaf eyes softened, like beautiful fallen leaves floating on a warm spring river.

Jiang Mian’s eyes slightly curved. “I understand.”

He said earnestly, “Thank you.”

Looking at Chen Gu, Jiang Mian tried joking for the first time. “I’m not a celestial being descending for tribulation, but you must be a Bodhisattva reincarnated to enlighten me.”

But Chen Gu didn’t accept the compliment. He even let out a soft scoff, half-warning, “Jiang Mian, don’t give me a ‘good guy’ card.”

Careful, or he might break the law and lock him up right then and there in that basement no one knew about.