Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“I’m sorry, Xu Nianhe.”

Lin Qingyue stood in the court-designated apology box. The manuscript in her hand shook violently, but her voice remained firm, like a string stretched to its limit. After reading out the terms “forging evidence,” “commercial defamation,” and “public compensation,” she looked up at me. There was no remorse in her eyes, only a thin veil of hatred.

“Are you satisfied now?”

A low gasp rippled through the gallery. Her lawyer immediately tugged at her sleeve, signaling her to shut up. The judge rapped the gavel, reminding her to complete her statement according to procedure.

I didn’t respond. I simply pressed my pen against the confirmation documents and signed my name. As the nib scraped across the paper, I suddenly remembered the day of the wedding. She had stood before the vanity mirror, stroking her lower abdomen, smiling as she touched up my lipstick. She had said, “Don’t be nervous, I’m here.”

That “I’m here,” it turned out, meant she was standing behind me, ready to push me off the ledge.

Once the proceedings were finished, the compensation amount, the deadline for the apology, and the duration it had to remain pinned on social media platforms were all clearly laid out. Legal language was cold, yet it was more honest than a “best friend’s” explanation.

Before walking out of the courtroom, I paused at the door for two seconds. Whether as friends or enemies, the shackles of money and emotion could no longer make choices for me.

Just as I stepped down the stairs, Lin Qingyue caught up from behind.

“Give me five minutes.”

“The only things left between us are the settlement payment and the apology link.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

She sneered, the corners of her eyes turning a fierce red. “Didn’t you used to love talking about ‘dignity’ and ‘grace’? What’s wrong? Now you don’t even dare to hear me out?”

I turned back to look at her. Her makeup was ruined, and her foundation was flaking around the sides of her nose. She looked like a poster that had been soaked in the rain. She was no longer the relationship blogger who preached “independence and clarity” in every sentence in front of the camera; she was nothing but a mess.

“Speak.” I turned on my phone’s recording app and flashed the screen at her.

She stared at the red dot, fell silent for a few seconds, and suddenly laughed. “You really have been well-taught by Cheng Xubai. Secure the evidence first, talk about feelings later.”

“You have three minutes left.”

“Lu Jingchuan never intended to give me a formal status.” She gritted her teeth, emphasizing every word. “The child was a bargaining chip, not a promise. He told me the day he had me forge your emails-once you signed the agreement and the land was transferred, he’d give me a sum of money to go out of town to ‘wait for the birth.’ Then you blew up the wedding, and he was the first to throw me under the bus.”

I didn’t respond.

“You think I’m really stupid enough to just be a scapegoat?” She fished a tiny black USB drive out of her bag and held it between her fingertips. “I kept things. All our chat logs, the transfer paths, the voice notes where he told me to post the hit pieces-it’s all in here.”

She held the USB drive out, then pulled it back half an inch.

“But I have conditions. Help me save my account; don’t let the platform ban me permanently. And-” Her throat bobbed. “Stop pursuing matters related to my child.”

“Are you trying to strike a deal with me?”

“Doesn’t this world only recognize deals?” Her gaze turned cold. “With backgrounds like ours, if we don’t rely on deals, what else do we have?”

I looked at her, suddenly finding it absurd. She translated all betrayal into “reality” and packaged all harm as “having no choice.” Yet, her hand had been steady the night she forged my emails. Her captions had been beautiful when she edited screenshots of me and Cheng Xubai to look ambiguous. She hadn’t trembled once when she stepped over me to trend on social media.

“Lin Qingyue, the person you should apologize to most isn’t the one mentioned in those template lines in court.”

“Then who?”

“You knew exactly what you were doing from start to finish.”

The muscles in her face twitched as if she’d been slapped. A second later, she suddenly lowered her voice and leaned in close. “Then what about your mother? Was she forced, too?”

My fingertips went stiff.

Watching my reaction, her smile deepened with a sense of malicious pleasure. “A month before the wedding, she was the one who came to me first. She said you were too stubborn and needed a push-that we had to tarnish your and Cheng Xubai’s reputations first so you would obediently return to the path the Lu Family set for you. She even told me, ‘The most important thing for a woman is to marry right; don’t take your career too seriously.’ Guess who gave me that surreptitious video first?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re afraid to hear it, aren’t you?” Her voice grew faster. “You think you’re at war with a scumbag today, but in reality, your family’s logic is no different from the Lu Family’s. You’ve just changed battlefields-”

“I said, shut up.”

The words were squeezed through my teeth. It felt as if someone had stuffed broken glass into my chest; even breathing hurt. I had always known my mother wasn’t clean in this matter, but hearing the words “she was the one who sought out Lin Qingyue first” still felt like a knife in the back.

Lin Qingyue shoved the USB drive into my palm with heavy force.

“Stop acting so noble, Xu Nianhe. We’re all in the mud; you’re just standing a little higher today.”

I opened my hand and looked at the drive. It was a black casing with no markings, light as if it had no weight, yet it made my palm burn.

“I will be handing this over to the court. There will be no private settlement.”

“Suit yourself.” She took a step back, her eyes finally turning completely bloodshot. “You’ve already won anyway.”

She turned to leave, then stopped without looking back. “I really did envy you. Not because you had Lu Jingchuan, but because you always had someone willing to catch you. Only later did I realize you aren’t doing much better than me.”

She walked away, her figure quickly disappearing into the crowd.

I stood there as the wind swept through the court steps, making the corners of my documents rustle. My phone vibrated; it was a message from Cheng Xubai: I’m in the south parking lot. Don’t walk alone.

I had just typed “Okay” when a piercing sound of metal snapping suddenly rang out.

The bracket of the billboard overhead tilted violently, and the entire light box crashed down toward me. Someone lunged from the side, forcefully knocking me out of the way. I stumbled and fell by the steps, the skin on my elbows scraping painfully. A flash of white light filled my vision. A second later, the heavy light box slammed into the ground. The sound of shattering glass exploded, and flying shards grazed my cheek.

“Nianhe!”

Cheng Xubai was half-kneeling on the ground. His shoulder had been sliced open by a metal edge, and his shirt was rapidly soaking red. Before he could even stand up, my phone vibrated frantically again. A text from an unknown number popped up-

Withdraw the lawsuit within three days. Next time, it won’t be a sign falling. Your father is on the seventh floor of the Rehabilitation Building.