A Moon and a Cicada - Chapter 7

Hang Che lowered her head and smiled softly. She spoke unhurriedly; even when making demands, her voice remained gentle and warm. Eight words suddenly flashed through Song Zhi’s mind:

“The breeze comes softly, the water remains unruffled.”

From a professional standpoint, however, Song Zhi couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Protecting interests is the baseline of legal work; wasting a point of leverage just to secure an assistant was a very poor bargain.

Qiu Yunyu? The name sounded familiar. Hang Che’s rumored boyfriend?

While researching her, Song Zhi had seen the question a reporter asked at the airport when Hang Che recently returned to the country: “Have you watched your boyfriend Qiu Yunyu’s hit drama ‘Destroying the Evidence’?”

Yes, that was it.

So, she wanted her boyfriend’s former assistant to be her own? It was a bit convoluted, and very interesting.

Song Zhi couldn’t help but take a few more glances at Tong Nian. She was dressed in an ordinary hoodie, jeans, and canvas shoes, wearing her employee badge. She was a bit round and looked quite simple and honest.

“Lawyer Song, since you’re here, did you get all those requirements Teacher Hang mentioned?” Shen Xin’s voice snapped Song Zhi back to the present.

“Yes, I’ve noted them. I will follow up with a separate private contract. Here are your company’s renewal contract and the artist agreement. Would you like to take a look?” Song Zhi pulled the blue file box from her briefcase, opening it as she spoke and organizing the documents inside.

“Teacher Hang, would you like to see?”

Shen Xin took the documents and pulled out one copy of the artist agreement to hand to Hang Che. Sensing a sharp gaze, Boss Shen quickly pulled out another copy for the “Great Young Lady” Shu Mei. Shu Mei snatched it and flipped through it lazily.

The paper rustled in Hang Che’s hands as she slowly turned the pages, reading intently. These words had been typed out by Song Zhi, line by line. This review felt like laying out the past two days of her hard work for her to scrutinize.

Shu Mei actually detested dense blocks of text; she could fall asleep just reading a script. She gave the contract a perfunctory glance before tossing it onto the coffee table and returning to her phone, though she didn’t seem inclined to leave.

Usually, checking a contract was just a matter of following procedure. Most people skimmed them, thinking all documents were more or less the same. The effort hidden in the fine details was rarely treated with such focus.

Song Zhi felt her ears begin to burn, though she didn’t know why.

Hang Che’s brow furrowed slightly; you could track exactly which line she was on just by following her eyes.

Page eight. She should be reading the section on termination compensation. Song Zhi felt a strange, inexplicable pang of guilt, watching Hang Che’s every subtle expression.

Sure enough, as Hang Che’s eyes traveled down the page, they stopped at the bottom. A faint smile played at the corners of her lips.

She caught it.

Song Zhi prepared her defense. She was the lawyer hired by the firm; serving the firm’s interests was her top priority.

Hang Che looked up. Song Zhi met her gaze without flinching, a hint of stubbornness in her eyes, waiting for the question.

An actor’s most important trait is observation. Perhaps because Song Zhi’s ears were burning so obviously, it was impossible not to be drawn to them. Her earlobes were a vivid crimson, the silver butterfly earring perched upon them like a bird on a red flower.

They looked so flushed they might bruise; Hang Che felt a sudden, strange urge to reach out and pinch them.

Why such a bizarre thought?

Hang Che gave a self-deprecating smile and turned to the next page.

This unpredicted ceasefire left Song Zhi a bit bewildered, but her years in the workplace had trained her to remain impassive. After a long silence, Shu Mei even let out a yawn.

“Do you have a pen?” Hang Che looked up at Song Zhi.

“Yes.” Song Zhi pulled a ballpoint pen from a side pocket in her bag and handed it over.

“Hey!” Shen Xin started to stand up to stop her, but then changed her mind and sat back down, rubbing her chin in confusion.

Hang Che’s hands seemed larger than the average woman’s, but because her fingers were so long and slender, they didn’t look out of place. Her joints were well-defined, with faint blue veins tracing a clear path across the back of her hand. She gripped the pen and signed her name on the final page in fluid, elegant strokes.

Closing the folder, she handed it back with both hands. Song Zhi stood to receive it, nodding with perfect professional courtesy.

“Great! Teacher Hang, a triangle is the most stable shape, right? Pinecone is going to strike it rich!”

Shu Mei massaged her temples. What an embarrassing display, she thought of her boss.

“It’s a pleasure to work with you,” Hang Che said with a polite smile.

Song Zhi took the folder and couldn’t help but open it to look at those strokes.

Hang Che. It was written in a semi-cursive style—the handwriting reflected the person: powerful strokes, but not sharp.

February 14, 2020. Representative Lawyer: Song Zhi.

Their names sat side-by-side on the final page.

Song Zhi used to think “big news” was far removed from her life; major social events usually didn’t find their way to a small firm like theirs. But one thing was certain: she was now participating in a very big story.

Perhaps the moment they stepped out of this building, the news of Hang Che signing would hit the trending lists. She would never again swipe past such news with the detached indifference of a casual observer.

From this moment on, this person was bound to her.

“Lawyer Song, your conditions are quite good too. Why not join our company as an artist?” Shen Xin joked.

Shu Mei rolled her eyes. “You really fall in love with everyone you see and completely ignore the two of us. See that, Hang Che? Once you sign the ‘deed of sale,’ you lose your value.”

“My lady, I was wrong, okay?”

“If you’re wrong, then hand over the contract for ‘Flying Flowers Like a Dream’ with both hands.”

Hang Che crossed her legs and leaned against the sofa armrest, looking lazy and relaxed. Shen Xin, saving face, muttered quietly, “Can we just forget about that project? Don’t pay attention to the ‘slaps’ of other people’s excellence.”

“It’s not your face being slapped!” Shu Mei snapped. Only the one in pain knows how much it hurts.

They were quite a pair; Hang Che and Song Zhi were treated to a free comedy routine.

After the signing, everyone went their separate ways.

Perhaps it was just a polite inquiry to Song Zhi as they walked out together, but Song Zhi’s heart answered faster than her mouth.

Instantly, both of them froze. One hadn’t expected such a blunt “yes,” and the other hadn’t expected herself to be so bold.

Asking a superstar to drive me home? Am I insane?

They reached the underground garage together. Song Zhi wanted nothing more than to dive into the second basement level and master the art of vanishing into thin air.

A sports car. Two seats. Just right.

Hang Che moved her Sony camera from the passenger seat to the rear shelf.

“Where are we going?”

“Apartment 1872—oh, no, wait…” Song Zhi felt like the goddess of awkwardness. “Qinchun Garden.”

Whether the car’s AC was too high or Song Zhi was simply mortified, she felt her entire body heating up. At this hour, they were stuck on the East Fourth Ring Road the moment they pulled out. It wasn’t surprising.

It was too late to get out now; that would be rude and cause more trouble. Song Zhi stared out the window, wanting to cry.

How did it come to this?

Sensing Song Zhi’s mood, Hang Che turned on some music.

What should have been a 90-minute drive took two and a half hours in stop-and-go traffic. For Song Zhi, it felt like being grilled on a spit, scorched on both sides. Neither of them realized the fundamental cause of the traffic.

Engine off, start. Start, engine off.

Hang Che didn’t seem to mind the wear on her car, but Song Zhi felt the “pain” on her behalf.

“Um… let me buy you dinner.”

Standing by the roadside, Song Zhi saw Hang Che’s meaningful expression and realized once again she had overstepped. How could a superstar possibly have dinner with a stranger she’d only met once? If they were photographed, would it be another trending scandal?

Song Zhi, oh Song Zhi, did Liang Jingru give you too much ‘Courage’ or did Wu Bai make you find a ‘Sudden Self’?

She could only look down at her boots.

“Okay.”

Her head snapped up from her scarf, eyes wide in disbelief. It was rare to see such an expression on an adult’s face. Hang Che feigned innocence. “Regretting it?”

Who could refuse her? Especially when she was doing it on purpose.

“No, no, no! Then… park the car over there. I know a noodle shop that’s particularly good.”

“Okay.”

Watching the white Porsche move slowly in the direction she pointed, stopping near a staircase by a pedestrian bridge, Song Zhi wondered if she was hallucinating. She shook her head until she saw Hang Che stylishly whip her scarf around her neck and throw it over her shoulder.

This was real. Not a dream.

They walked side-by-side in another silence. Song Zhi, face buried in her scarf and hands in her pockets, wondered if she should tell a “cold joke” to lighten the mood.

A young couple walked toward them. The girl held a massive bouquet of roses; they leaned into each other, faces full of happiness.

Something exploded in Song Zhi’s brain.

Is today Valentine’s Day?

The couple walked past them, the boy instinctively taking a few extra glances. Perhaps because the two women had such striking auras, he couldn’t help himself. He was quickly caught, his girlfriend tugging his ear in mock anger.

“What are you looking at! Do you have a death wish?!” Following the boy’s gaze, the girl finally noticed the two women approaching.

A lifelong solo-ist ruining a superstar’s date… Is Pinecone going to fire me tomorrow?

Forget the jokes; Song Zhi felt like a joke herself. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “No wonder the traffic was so bad.”

“Mm.”

What did “Mm” mean? It was hard to judge a superstar’s mood from a single syllable. Song Zhi’s heart was in her throat. She prided herself on her professional ethics; “kidnapping” a client had never happened before.

I swear on my dignity as a lawyer! This is the first time… a first offense…

Li Pu’s hyperbolic description suddenly echoed in her mind: “Some say she is an irreplaceable movie muse…”

Lost in her thoughts, she led the woman to the noodle shop where she usually had dinner. They stopped under the sign: Premium Hand-Shaved Noodles, Sichuan and Hunan Cuisine (Xisanqi Branch).

Immediately, she realized another problem: for the first time treating someone to dinner, this was incredibly stingy!

“Here?” Hang Che asked, her expression neutral.

“Yes,” Song Zhi replied with extreme reluctance.

They pushed the door open. It was near 8:00 PM and the shop wasn’t very crowded. They chose a seat against the wall. Hang Che pulled out some tissues to wipe the table while Song Zhi placed her briefcase on the chair beside her.

“Their food is actually very good.” Gotta save some face.

“What do you recommend?” The guest remained gentle.

“The tomato and chicken soup noodles are good. Or, if you can eat spicy food, the house beef noodles are decent too.”

“Tomato and chicken soup noodles, then.”

“Boss, three bowls of—” Song Zhi realized her mistake and corrected herself, “Two bowls of tomato and chicken soup noodles.”

Hang Che just smiled, folding the used tissue into a neat square before dropping it into the trash.

Song Zhi looked around. Thankfully, there weren’t many people. She shouldn’t cause trouble for Hang Che. A star like her, especially with the signing rumors, would be easily recognized, right? She wondered if there were paparazzi at the door and glanced toward the entrance.

Hang Che looked up and saw her worried expression, finding it quite amusing. “Stop looking. There’s no one.”

“How do you know what I’m looking for?”

“Actors are ordinary people, too. Not everything we do gets photographed.”

Actor. That was how Hang Che referred to herself.

Rather than waiting for a move, Song Zhi decided to strike first. She pulled out a pair of disposable chopsticks and handed them over. “Why did you sign that contract today?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You clearly noticed it, didn’t you?”

The landlady, a woman with a short, permed bob, walked over enthusiastically with a tray. “Two bowls of tomato chicken soup noodles! Xiao Song, working overtime again?”

“Yes, Auntie,” Song Zhi replied with a sweet, obedient tilt of her head.

“Why aren’t you out celebrating today?” At this, Song Zhi awkwardly tucked a stray hair behind her ear and stole a glance at the person across from her, who was unwrapping her chopsticks.

“Oh my, is this your friend? She’s so beautiful, looks just like a TV star. What’s her name? The one in that…?” The landlady had a sharp eye.

“Right? People often say that about my friend. She just looks like one.”

Song Zhi quickly cut off the landlady’s train of thought. The landlady slapped her apron. “Well, like attracts like! A beauty’s friends are always beauties. You two eat up; call me if you need anything.”

“Okay, Auntie.”

Song Zhi seemed very familiar with the owner. The steaming noodles arrived, piled high with greens and shredded chicken. The orange-red broth was very inviting.

Whether it was because she was hungry or because the food was genuinely good, Hang Che—who was from Shandong and naturally fond of wheaten foods—thought this was the best meal she’d had in a long time.

Hang Che had taken off her black coat and scarf upon entering. Underneath, she wore a cream-colored turtleneck sweater. It was soft and form-fitting, outlining her graceful silhouette. Her black hair cascaded like a waterfall, partially veiling her chest.

Her eyelashes are so long, Song Zhi thought. If she cried, they’d probably dry out before they even fell.

Song Zhi’s chopsticks froze mid-air as she stared directly at the woman opposite her. It was impossible not to be captivated.

“As the company’s legal representative, you are very responsible,” Hang Che said, answering the previous question while she ate.

Song Zhi snapped back to reality, shielding her hair with her hand as she looked down to eat.

“With a lawyer so professional and thoughtful, I have no reason not to sign.”

The way Hang Che said it made it sound as if she had signed because of Song Zhi. Song Zhi knew that wasn’t the case. Though Hang Che was famous, she had no one to back her. She had come this far entirely on her own, without managing her fan base—she was as “Zen” as they come. She must have faced a lot of unpleasantness.

Song Zhi found it easy to empathize with her clients. Between emotion and logic, she could understand her client’s feelings and provide timely comfort, while also providing rational judgment based on the facts. This was the basic quality of a competent lawyer.

But she aimed to be more than competent; she wanted to be an outstanding senior lawyer—mostly, of course, because the income was higher.

At the same time, a lawyer needed to be observant and patient to find details and master evidence. Like now—Song Zhi roughly calculated that in the six hours she had been with Hang Che, the actress hadn’t looked at her phone once.

That was very unusual. Wasn’t today Valentine’s Day?

Did Hang Che not need to see her lover? Or rather, shouldn’t her lover have contacted her? Song Zhi didn’t know why she was so curious; she realized she was being quite a gossip.

“Aren’t you spending the holiday with your boyfriend?” The person across from her seemed to have the same question and asked it first.

Song Zhi chewed her food while organizing her words. “Well, my romantic life has always been very smooth.”

Hang Che looked up, waiting for the rest.

Song Zhi shielded her mouth with her hand and added with a straight face, “Completely empty, no obstacles in sight!”

Hang Che simply laughed and reached for a tissue to give to her. Song Zhi felt it was improper for a client—especially a superstar—to serve her. “I’ll do it.”

Hang Che didn’t insist, simply pushing the tissue box gently toward her. Her smile was faint and sweet, like coconut milk—pure and refreshing.

Once they had filled their stomachs, Hang Che started the engine. Song Zhi leaned down to knock on the car window, then reached inside to produce a bag of snacks like a magic trick.

A bag of pistachios. Hang Che froze, clearly surprised.

“Take it,” Song Zhi urged.

The car sat low. Song Zhi leaned down, her eyes curving into crescents, shimmering with a soft, pointillist glow in the dim light.

“Thank you.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Actually, not just today—be happy every day.”