A Moon and a Cicada - Chapter 5

“You need to distribute these meals in batches, following a plan, to every colleague,” Long Bin said to Li Pu, pointing at the takeout boxes on the front desk.

Li Pu bowed and nodded, playing along, but the moment his back was turned, she made a face and mimicked his tone mockingly. “Distribute in batches, following a plan… Psh, look at Mr. Bureaucrat over here.”

The receptionist, amused by her antics, joked, “Wait, why is Lawyer Long coming back?”

“Lawyer Long, I didn’t mean—” The girl realized she’d been tricked and leaned over the desk. “You dare play me? Watch out, or I’ll confiscate your lunch box.”

“I already got mine. Blehhh!“

Li Pu rolled up her sleeves and scooped up a stack of lunch boxes, heading toward the workspace.

“Put them down.”

A familiar voice rang out with a hint of command. Li Pu’s head popped out from behind the white containers.

“Master!” She hurriedly dropped the boxes back down. “What are you doing at the office? Old Man—” She caught the receptionist’s eye and corrected herself. “I mean, Boss… didn’t he give you time off?”

“If I didn’t come, how would I get to see your circus act?”

Li Pu scratched her head awkwardly. Song Zhi walked ahead without looking back, and her apprentice scurried after her. “Is your workload not full enough? Why are you doing odd jobs for other people?”

In Song Zhi’s mind, no matter how Li Pu dressed, she was still a girl; she couldn’t stand seeing the others treat her like cheap labor.

“The Boss told me to learn more from Lawyer Long,” Li Pu said, her voice losing confidence.

“And what did you learn?”

Song Zhi reached her desk, pulled out her chair, and set her backpack down. Li Pu stood by the desk like a student who had made a mistake.

“So dedicated! Back at work already? Our Lawyer Song really is a model of professional devotion.”

Behind her sat the members of Long Bin’s team—eight people in total. Currently, Song Zhi only had Li Pu, having split off to form the second small group. The colleague wasn’t truly concerned; the words were laced with sarcasm.

Song Zhi was already in a bad mood. Hearing the provocation, she closed her eyes to suppress her temper. Just as she was about to turn around—

“Whether my Master is dedicated or not is none of your damn business!” Li Pu beat her to it.

The male colleague glanced disdainfully at the hotheaded rookie and muttered “fox borrowing the tiger’s terror” (relying on someone else’s power) before turning away.

“Who are you calling a tiger?” Li Pu rolled up her sleeves to step forward, but Song Zhi caught her arm.

Wang Huiteng walked up behind her and tapped her head with a folder.

“Hey! Who’s the blind— Boss…”

Wang Huiteng gave her a look of “why can’t you be better?” then stood still to announce a project. “The Pinecone Media contract was sent over. I was handling this client before, but which group wants to take it over now?”

Pinecone? It sounded familiar to Song Zhi. A flash of her dream returned—the giant poster she saw from the car. The popular star — Shu Mei. In a small, inconspicuous corner, it had said: Pinecone Media.

A lawyer’s eyes are sharp; not a single clue escapes them.

She remembered Li Pu—the Li Pu from four years in the future—saying to her: “Oh, isn’t that the artist from Lawyer Long’s client’s company?”

Meaning, in the “predicted” world, Long Bin was the one who took this case?

She had just been insulted; there was no way she was letting this go.

“We’ll take it!” Song Zhi leaned back in her chair, looking up at Wang Huiteng.

Wang Huiteng glanced at Long Bin, who was standing nearby. Long Bin shrugged, signaling he didn’t care. To him, the Pinecone Media account was too small to even provide a decent commission for his team.

“Alright then. Song Zhi, here are the materials and the original contract for Pinecone. Study them carefully. Put some heart into the renewal and the follow-up representation. If there’s anything you don’t understand, come ask me.”

“You got it!” Li Pu reached out to take them, but Wang Huiteng shifted his arm in a wide arc and handed them directly to Song Zhi.

Song Zhi shot Li Pu a look, and the girl immediately dragged a chair over to huddle up. Once Wang Huiteng was out of earshot, Song Zhi handed her the file box.

Li Pu took the blue box as if it were a sacred relic, gasping in awe. “Master, Master! This is the first client since I joined the team!”

“So do a good job. Read the materials first. This afternoon, we’ll do a background check on our ‘sugar daddy’ client.”

“Yes, Ma’am! Just you watch!” Li Pu gave a mock salute and slid her chair back to her desk, rubbing her hands together to get to work.

Song Zhi sat in a daze for a moment. She needed to adjust to this workstation and the current pace. If the heart is there, the dream remains. At worst, I’ll just start from scratch. After pumping herself up, she looked at the business card holder on her desk.

Song Zhi, Senior Lawyer, Beijing Tianyi Law Firm.

Someone give me my ‘Senior Partner’ title back! Song Zhi wanted to cry, but there were no tears.

The projector hummed, and Li Pu stood before the conference table with a remote.

“Beijing Pinecone Film and TV Media Co., Ltd., referred to as Pinecone Media. Established in 2015. Person in charge: Shen Xin, female, 30. Pinecone handles their own artist contracts, renewing every five years. Usually, film companies have their own legal departments, but they…”

Li Pu flipped the slide. A face appeared on the screen—deep features with a noble aura, and that specific air of defiance found in those from ethnic minorities.

“But this company is too small. They focused all their energy on promoting Qiu Yunyu, but he stayed lukewarm for several dramas. In 2018, he fought to terminate his contract and signed with Beijing Jingge Zhihua Film Group. He paid Pinecone 8 million RMB in liquidated damages, which was a blessing in disguise as it kept them afloat for another year.”

At this point, Li Pu looked like she had stumbled upon a juicy secret and couldn’t stop smiling.

“Get to the point,” Song Zhi said, tapping her pen on the table. The slide flipped to a familiar face.

“In 2019, idol survival shows were all the rage—Rhythmic Newcomers. Only the top three got to debut. Shu Mei was fifth and didn’t make the cut, so she invested in Pinecone herself. Shortly after, she starred in last year’s hit period drama Dreaming of Today. She’s now a top-tier starlet and Pinecone’s only ‘Big Sister’.”

Li Pu struck a pose like a statue.

“Continue.”

“That’s it.”

Song Zhi shook her head and capped her pen. “Can’t I find this on Baidu? Why did you need to report it?”

Li Pu looked confused. Song Zhi explained: “The legal disputes they’ve had in recent years and the problems they might face in the future—that is what we need to focus on.”

“Oh, right! I also found a rumor that Pinecone is planning to sign Hang Che.”

“Hang Che? The Best Actress surrounded by scandals?”

“That’s the one!”

Song Zhi’s interest was piqued. She put down her pen. Li Pu pushed the laptop directly in front of her teacher, opened a pre-prepared folder, and clicked a video.

“She is the sweet-turned-vicious Ruan Feifei in ‘The Camellia’; she is the wise and passionate patriot Pei Ran in ‘The Butterfly’; and soon, she will appear as the mysterious and cold Ye Wushuang in ‘The Secret Report of Lin’an.’ Since her debut, she has won two Best Actress trophies. This week on ‘Movie Legend Stories,’ please welcome our guest—film actor, Hang Che.”

On the screen, the woman hailed as a “genius actor” and the youngest Best Actress made a composed entrance, shaking hands with the host.

“This is the only interview she’s done, and it’s from two years ago. Since her debut, she’s only done one talk show and one variety show. I watched the variety one; it’s useless for reference.”

The interview was full of routine questions, sounding like a scripted performance. Song Zhi had never looked closely at this face before. The woman just sat there—though she looked a bit green, she exuded a sense of calm and elegance.

Perhaps it was “eye-fate”—this person was very pleasing to Song Zhi’s eye. She was sure of it.

“I’d only heard her name before, but I did a deep dive this time. This big star has a colorful history. Fame at a young age, a mix of praise and infamy. Some say she’s an irreplaceable muse; others say she’s just lucky.” Li Pu mimicked the host’s dramatic tone.

“Speak like a human.”

“The verdict is: Her acting is universally praised, but her reputation is universally trashed.”

Song Zhi said nothing. Li Pu watched the video with a look of pity.

“Tsk, you really can’t judge a book by its cover. She looks so polite and dignified, but apparently, she acts like a diva and bullies her co-stars. I even heard she slept her way to the top.”

Before she could finish, Song Zhi slammed the laptop shut and shot Li Pu a sharp look. The girl immediately shut her mouth.

The moment Hang Che walked through the door, she smelled the sweet scent of corn and pork rib soup.

She kicked off her shoes, hung her coat and scarf in the entryway, and headed toward the kitchen. Her normally straight back was now slumped lazily against the kitchen counter. “Ms. Hang, I could smell your stew all the way from the hallway.”

“Stand up straight.”

Hang Tunan put down the tasting spoon, her eyes crinkling with a mock scold. The older woman was elegant, with gentle wrinkles touched by time at the corners of her eyes.

Hang Che dragged her feet closer and hugged her from behind, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. The light coffee-colored sweater tickled her face; she nuzzled into it.

Her mother took her hands. “Are the Teacher and Peiqin doing well?”

“Peiqin is as busy as ever. Teacher looks to be in good spirits, but her health seems a bit fragile.”

Her mother nodded with a hint of helplessness and patted Hang Che’s hand, signaling her to let go.

“Mom, when are we going to Hainan? We’ve been talking about it for years.”

“Set the table. I made all your favorites.”

“Can I have some wine? Just one glass. Red wine. Please?” Hang Che tugged at her mother’s apron, acting spoiled.

“No.”

As the workday neared its end, Song Zhi prepared to pack up. She still wasn’t quite used to her “young” body. She had looked in the bathroom mirror earlier—she had to admit, being young was great. Her complexion was rosy and fresh.

“Master, Master! I dug up more rumors! I heard Shu Mei’s family owns mines in Hebei! They’re loaded! She brought her own funding to that drama. Her rival is the ‘National First Love’ Lu Shulin. Last year, they fought over the Golden Flower Goddess title…”

“I just realized something,” Song Zhi said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and crossing her arms.

“That I’m brilliant?”

“That you’re such a gossip.”

With that, Song Zhi walked away without looking back.

“Hey! I’m doing background research!”

“Fine, I get it. Go home early. We have to organize the renewal documents tomorrow. See ya.” Song Zhi waved at Li Pu over her shoulder.

Only after reaching the street did she remember—she was supposed to be living in Qinchun Garden near the office, right? The thought of her future studio apartment vanishing into thin air made the reality feel even harsher. She felt depressed.

It was freezing. Away from the heat, the Beijing wind felt like a blade against her face. She spotted a convenience store.

Ordering some oden, she sat by the glass window, eating skewers and checking her phone.

Was I this poor four years ago? No, it’s that I was quite rich four years later. She didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.

“The taxi was 250, tsk.” She couldn’t help but feel annoyed by the number. “Rent is 3,800, tsk.” Why were all the numbers so annoying? Luckily, her rental was close to the office; walking a few hundred meters every day saved on transportation.

A small TV above the clerk was showing a program on CCTV-6. The host’s voice cut through the air.

“Today we introduce the young actress Hang Che. Born on November 11, 1996, in Jinan, Shandong. Her mother is the famous cellist Hang Tunan. Influenced by her mother, Hang Che showed talent in music and dance from a young age. At 14, she entered the Middle School of the Beijing Dance Academy… At 19, she was discovered by the genius director Yang Lin and starred in the campus crime film ‘The Camellia.’ She became famous as Ruan Feifei and won the Best Actress award at the Hong Kong Film Awards, making her the youngest winner in its history.”

Song Zhi had no interest in this. She continued recording her expenses in her phone notes. “Parents’ mortgage: 7,650. Breakfast: 15. Lunch: 25. Dinner…”

Song Zhi looked at the oden. This is a luxury. Why did I order so many meat skewers? This costs 48! She felt a wave of guilt. How could she be so reckless with money? Who gave you the courage, Song Zhi?

It was just a dream, yet she was paying for her impulsive “future” self. It was so irrational.

“…The Taiwanese director Zhou Se then reached out for the spy thriller ‘The Butterfly.’ Co-starring with famous Hong Kong actress Deng Zijin, the two achieved mutual success and won the Golden Horse Best Actress award together… However, just as expectations for this genius actor were high, ‘The Secret Report of Lin’an’ fell to a rating of 4.6. Scandals followed: a set romance with lead Qiu Yunyu, refusing to perform in Director Chen Qing’s ‘The Pianist’s Night’… Rumors of bullying, exorbitant salaries, and diva behavior flooded the news.”

Song Zhi checked her bank statement. At this rate, when would she ever buy a car or a house? She placed her phone face down on the table, cupped her hands around the paper cup, and watched the sparse pedestrians outside.

“Whether it is the arrogance of early fame or simply a headstrong nature, opinions remain divided. After a year of silence, she appeared in the Korean film ‘Seoul Plan’…”

Suddenly, she realized the person on TV was linked to her. She turned her head. Hang Che!

With all those negative rumors, surely she needs a lawyer? Ha! My ‘God of Wealth’ has arrived!

At that thought, Song Zhi picked up a fishball skewer. I’m coming for you, client! Delicious!

Taking her keys from her bag, Song Zhi followed her memory to open the door. It was a three-bedroom apartment divided for rent. She had a master bedroom with a balcony. The living room had been partitioned off. Walking down the hallway, the wooden doors of other tenants were tightly shut.

At the end of the hall, she pressed her finger to the smart lock. The door clicked open.

The light flickered before stabilizing. Song Zhi sat on the edge of the bed and fell backward, staring at the ceiling. She pulled out her phone. The memories of the next four years were a bit blurry, but the thought of losing her phone—as she had in the “future”—still made her heart ache.

I can’t lose it. I have to protect it.