*Chapter 42: Mei Yan's Weight*
The office was quiet, far too quiet for Mei Yan's liking. The clock ticked with stubborn precision, each second reminding her of the mountain of work that still lay on her desk. Stacks of case files, highlighted pages, and scribbled notes filled every inch of her small corner. The fluorescent light above buzzed faintly, adding to the tension already knotting at her temples.
It had been a long day at the legal firm. The senior partners were ruthless, expecting perfection in every brief, every clause, every word. Mei Yan thrived in this world, or at least she had convinced herself she did. But tonight, as she looked at the file of Mrs. Li — a widow who stood on the brink of eviction — her heart grew heavy.
The woman's husband had died under crushing debt, and now the creditors circled like vultures, eager to seize the only home she had left. Mei Yan read the woman's testimony again: shaky handwriting, stained by the faint marks of tears.
Her throat tightened. How cruel the world can be, she thought. To lose love, and then to lose the walls that kept the memories alive.
When her phone buzzed, she didn't look at the screen at first. The glow irritated her tired eyes. But the buzzing continued, insistent, until she finally picked it up.
"Shen Wei," she muttered, pressing the phone to her ear without greeting.
His voice came through with infuriating cheer. "Counselor Mei, you sound exhausted. Let me guess — saving another life with your mighty legal sword?"
She sighed. "Not in the mood, Shen Wei."
There was a pause. He wasn't used to her being this blunt. Usually, she countered with sarcasm, sharp remarks, or thinly veiled disdain. But tonight, her voice carried something heavier.
"Bad case?" he asked quietly.
Her silence was enough.
"Mei Yan," he said again, softer now, "you can't carry all of it alone. You'll burn out."
The words lingered, pressing against the walls she had carefully built. She looked around her office: the dim lamp, the scattered papers, the loneliness seeping into every corner.
"Not everything is solved with food and laughter," she said bitterly.
For a moment, she thought he would laugh it off like he always did. But instead, he surprised her. "I know. But maybe… not everything has to end in tears either."
The words pierced her defenses in a way she hadn't expected. Shen Wei was many things — arrogant, careless, too witty for his own good. But he wasn't blind. He saw her, even through the sarcasm and walls.
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Her chest ached with something she didn't want to name. "Shen Wei… why do you bother?"
"Because you're worth bothering about."
The line went quiet after that. She couldn't speak, and neither could he.
When she finally hung up, her eyes fell back to the widow's file. She felt the same weight — the cruel, unbearable weight of loss and injustice. And beneath it, the faint, unfamiliar warmth of someone's concern.
That night, she worked until her hands shook. But when exhaustion finally won, she allowed herself, for the first time in months, to believe that maybe someone would catch her if she fell.