Lin Qiao stood at the plaintiff's table, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing against the coffee stain on the edge of the case file. This was the seventh hearing for the forced demolition case of the Bay Project. The defendant's seat, empty for the past three days, was finally occupied today.
The sound of leather shoes tapping against marble floors grew closer.
"Apologies for the delay on the road."
The deep voice resonated like a cello gliding over rosin. Lin Qiao looked up and saw a tall figure silhouetted against the light as he stood before the defendant's table. He wasn't wearing a lawyer's robe but a finely tailored three-piece suit in dark gray, the silver cufflinks glinting coldly in the dim courtroom.
"Legal Director of the Li Group, Li Yunzheng," the judge adjusted his reading glasses. "You may take your seat."
Lin Qiao's pen left an ink blot on the paper. She had heard that name before—Li Chenzhou's most trusted right-hand man, the Li family's illegitimate son, the devilish lawyer known in the industry as the "living legal code."
"According to Article 47 of the Labor Law—" she began.
"Exception clause under Article 47, Paragraph 3," the man cut her off without even looking up, flipping a coin deftly between his fingers. "If the forced demolition is approved by the provincial government, civil compensation can be exempted."
The coin landed with a *clink*, heads up.
Lin Qiao narrowed her eyes. The air conditioning blew a cold gust that lifted the loose strands of hair at her temples, revealing a three-centimeter scar behind her right ear—left there five years ago when she was shoved by Li Group's security during the Bay Project conflict.
"What a coincidence," she pulled out a red-stamped document from her folder. "This is the provincial government's announcement revoking that approval—issued yesterday."
Li Yunzheng finally looked up.
Only then did Lin Qiao get a clear view of his face: high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a faint, nearly invisible beauty mark at the outer corner of his left eye. Her breath hitched—there was an old photo in her father's keepsake box, and the young man in it had the exact same mole.
"Attorney Lin," Li Yunzheng suddenly smiled. "Your mascara has smudged under your eyes."
When the recess bell rang, Lin Qiao deliberately spilled her entire cup of Americano on his trousers. The dark brown liquid seeped into the expensive cashmere fabric, but he merely took out a handkerchief with slow deliberation. "Did you know? Your pupils turn amber when you're angry."
"Just like your father's," he whispered this sentence by her ear, his minty breath brushing against the scar behind it.