“A lot of people, when they first see this case, their immediate reaction is anger. They instinctively assume that because I’m defending a murderer, I must be on her side—that we’re cut from the same cloth. But in reality, I’m not here to help her escape punishment.”
Bai Xizhou’s voice was light and drifting. From Wen Ruqing’s perspective, he could only see the side of his face, as if Bai was deliberately avoiding his gaze.
“The law grants everyone the right to a defense—even death row inmates. Besides, before a verdict is delivered, the death sentence is only speculation. And the lawyer’s role in a case like this is to present legal arguments in order to uphold procedural justice.” Bai Xizhou sighed. “I’m not trying to justify a criminal.”
Wen Ruqing sort of understood, and sort of didn’t. But at least he was sure of one thing: Bai Xizhou didn’t take this case for the reasons people online accused him of.
“So even if it wasn’t me, someone else would have taken it. And they would face the same public outrage, the same questioning. Ruqing, this is something every lawyer has to face. Can you understand me?” Bai Xizhou finally turned his head, and in his eyes was a clear trace of expectation.
He didn’t care about what others thought. When he’d first returned to China, things like this happened all the time—he had long gotten used to it. Bai Xizhou never liked explaining his logic to others, but when Wen Ruqing kept calling him over and over today, he did feel a bit helpless.
What if Wen Ruqing was just like the others—here to blame him?
If that was true, how could he even begin to explain?
He had to admit: compared to everyone else, it was Wen Ruqing’s opinion that mattered most to him. He wanted Ruqing’s approval. And he feared that he would see him just like everyone else did.
So he came straight to find him. Maybe face-to-face was easier than over the phone. He broke down the reasons why he took the case, piece by piece, in the simplest possible words—afraid Ruqing would misunderstand.
He didn’t even know when it started, but Wen Ruqing’s reaction had become his first concern. For someone like Bai Xizhou, who always seemed in control, there were still moments when he needed validation from someone else.
Wen Ruqing met Bai Xizhou’s gaze. His hair had fallen forward slightly, making him look a little worn out. He hadn’t noticed before, but Bai’s jaw had a faint layer of stubble—he must’ve been exhausted these days dealing with the case.
“I don’t understand,” Wen Ruqing said, turning his head away to look straight ahead as a few people walked past the front of their car, “but I choose to respect it. Before making your decision, you must have anticipated how things would play out. I’m just an ordinary person—I get angry at certain cases just like anyone else. So I can’t fully understand you, but because it’s you, I’ll respect your choice.”
Bai Xizhou froze, then broke into a smile. Wen Ruqing really was as blunt and sincere as ever.
But wasn’t it exactly this kind of personality that had piqued his curiosity back then—and brought the two of them to this moment, sitting in a car and talking?
“Let’s get you home.” Bai Xizhou returned to his usual tone and started the engine.
The car pulled up at the entrance to Wen Ruqing’s complex, just like always. And just like always, Wen Ruqing said goodbye and turned to leave. Bai Xizhou stared at his retreating figure until he disappeared from view.
This wasn’t the first time he’d watched him go—but for some reason, today it felt… unpleasant.
The cigarette he had been holding all this time—never lit—finally sparked to life after Wen Ruqing left.
[Bai Xizhou: Li Xin, let Chen Jia know to come with me tomorrow to meet the client.]
With the cigarette between his lips, Bai Xizhou pulled out his phone and sent the message to Li Xin. He didn’t leave the complex entrance until he had smoked the entire cigarette.
The weather in Xincheng was unpredictable. Mornings after rain carried a chill. Bai Xizhou arrived at the detention center with Li Xin and Chen Jia. After explaining their purpose to the officers, they were finally allowed inside.
When the officer brought Sun Yizhi in, Bai Xizhou saw her glance at him briefly. She was a girl in her early twenties, yet her eyes looked as lifeless as if she’d already seen through the world.
“You’re the lawyer handling my case? I remember your name—Bai Xizhou?” Sun Yizhi spoke first. Her tone was curious, unaffected by the environment. “Does my case even have any chance of turning around? Why waste the resources?”
“That’s not why I’m here.” Bai Xizhou leaned back in his chair, legs crossed. “I want to ask you—why did you kill?”
“Isn’t that already clearly written in the statement?” Sun Yizhi leaned back as well, mirroring his posture.
She looked easy to talk to, but was actually completely impervious.
“I want to hear you say it yourself.”
Chen Jia and Li Xin got out their notebooks, ready to take notes, but Bai Xizhou waved his hand to tell them to put them away.
“I visited your hometown. They said you used to have an older brother—Sun Shuo. But that detail isn’t mentioned at all in your statement.” Bai Xizhou flipped through her file. Not a single word about a brother.
“What does that have to do with this case?” Sun Yizhi’s voice suddenly rose. But then, realizing something, she quickly returned to her previous calm.
Still, Bai Xizhou caught the flicker of emotion on her face. Compared to earlier, something had cracked. There was something other than numbness in her deadened eyes now. Her hand clutched tightly at the corner of her clothes as she struggled to restrain her emotions.
“I heard you were born when your brother was five. Not long after your birth, he died from illness…”
Sun Yizhi’s hometown was a village. Things like this spread fast. Just ask a few older folks, and you’d know everything.
And none of this appeared in the official records.
“What are you trying to say! What does that have to do with the case!” Sun Yizhi suddenly stood, slamming both hands on the table. The crash of her handcuffs hitting the surface echoed loudly.
The noise brought a warning from the guards. Only then did she calm herself and sit back down.
Her reaction was entirely within Bai Xizhou’s expectations. He sighed, glanced at the two interns beside him, then looked back at Sun Yizhi.
“Let me take a wild guess—your parents never liked you. Compared to you, they much preferred your brother. Am I right?”
Sun Yizhi didn’t respond, but her trembling shoulders gave her away.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. My parents didn’t like me either.” When she heard this, Sun Yizhi suddenly lifted her head, her eyes filled with wariness.
“My parents didn’t marry out of love, and I wasn’t any kind of token of affection. They never once showed up to my parent-teacher meetings. They didn’t care about me, yet they still tried to control me. There were countless times I wanted to do what you did. But in the end, I chose to run. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be seeing me here today.”
“Run away, huh? Sounds easy. I stopped being able to run a long time ago. People who are deprived of love… just one drop of sweetness and they’ll be grateful for a long time.” Her voice suddenly choked. With her head lowered, fat tears dropped onto her clothes, soaking into them and leaving dark stains. “But they wouldn’t even give me that one drop.”
Chen Jia quickly reached into her bag and handed her a tissue. Sun Yizhi didn’t take it. She simply wiped her face with her hand, then looked up again, an unreadable smile on her lips.
“Since Lawyer Bai even brought up his own past, then I’ll tell you a story too.”
…
When the three of them left the detention center, their expressions were varied.
Chen Jia’s eyes were red, as if she’d just cried. Li Xin looked angry, but more than that—helpless. Only Bai Xizhou remained expressionless, staring blankly at his empty wrist.
“Lawyer Bai, you’d already guessed everything, hadn’t you?” Chen Jia suddenly asked. “And what you said earlier—about your childhood—was that true?”
“No. I lied to her.” Bai Xizhou’s tone was cold. “It was just a technique to get her to open up.”
“Lawyer Bai, I think… she’s a little pitiful. She’s still so young.” Chen Jia sniffled. “Was it wrong of me to feel empathy for her?”
“There are two sides to everything. Nothing is absolute. Empathy isn’t necessarily a bad thing.” Bai Xizhou reached into his pocket and felt for a pack of cigarettes. “Tomorrow, you two go meet with Sun Yizhi’s mother. The hospital just contacted us—she’s agreed to a meeting.”
“Got it,” Li Xin replied.
“You two head back to the firm first. I’ll take a walk.” Bai Xizhou waved them off, turned around, and walked away, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. The glowing tip flared in the breeze, flickering dim and bright.
The discussion around the case was growing by the day. Every time there was small talk in the department, it would inevitably come up. Most of the time, Wen Ruqing chose not to get involved.
Xu Yuanyuan still believed there was no room for debate—murderers should pay with their lives, especially if the victims were their own parents. Chen Qi wasn’t as extreme, but he also supported the death penalty.
“I heard the first trial is today. There were a lot of people crowding outside the courthouse—not just reporters, but tons of bystanders too. Online they said someone even threw stones at the lawyer,” Xu Yuanyuan gossiped while working.
“That’s too much. It’s just the lawyer’s job, it’s not like he killed anyone,” Chen Qi frowned, clearly disapproving of such extreme behavior.
“Did anyone get hurt?”
“If you ask me, they deserved it.”
Wen Ruqing turned to ask Xu Yuanyuan, but his voice was drowned out by someone suddenly entering—Han Mu. Xu Yuanyuan seemed confused, probably didn’t hear him clearly.
After who knew how many days, Han Mu appeared in their department again. No one had given a heads-up, so Wen Ruqing hadn’t had a chance to hide.
Han Mu walked straight over to Wen Ruqing’s desk, leaned against the edge, and sat down with one hand on the tabletop, staring down at the top of Wen Ruqing’s head.
“If you ask me, people like that just crave attention. They don’t take their job as a lawyer seriously and only care about flashy, dramatic cases. They just enjoy being in the spotlight. That’s called histrionic personality disorder in psychology.”
As Han Mu went on talking, Chen Qi glanced over at Wen Ruqing. He knew Wen Ruqing couldn’t stand Han Mu and had been avoiding him for peace’s sake. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to dodge him today, and now Han Mu was even sitting on his desk. If it were him, he’d be fuming by now. But Wen Ruqing… really had a good temper.
“People like that just love going against the crowd, as if it makes them look more rational or unique.”
Han Mu rambled on endlessly, and to Wen Ruqing, it just sounded like a buzzing fly in his ear.
[Where are you?]
He lowered his head and sent a message to Bai Xizhou.
[At the hospital.]
Bai Xizhou replied with just those three words.
“Ruqing, you agree with me too, right?” Han Mu tapped the table, trying to get his attention.
“Making judgments about someone without knowing anything only makes you look ignorant,” Wen Ruqing stood up. “If anyone here has a histrionic personality, it’s you—showing off like a peacock all day long.”
The department burst into quiet laughter.
Publicly humiliated, Han Mu’s expression turned sour. He stepped down from the desk and left with an ugly look on his face.
Wen Ruqing couldn’t care less how Han Mu reacted. He packed up his things and asked Chen Qi to help him request half a day off. He only mentioned a friend was sick, didn’t go into details. Chen Qi automatically assumed it was his partner, patted his chest, and told him to go without worry.
By the time he got to the hospital, Bai Xizhou had already had his wound treated. Qu Qingchen was with him, picking up the medication at the window. A white bandage was stuck on Bai Xizhou’s brow bone—it looked kind of silly.
Wen Ruqing walked over, stared at him, a hundred things in his heart, but couldn’t say a word once he saw him.
“You’re insane.” In the end, that was all Wen Ruqing could say. His tone was irritable—whether aimed at Bai Xizhou or the person who threw the rock was unclear.
To Bai Xizhou, Wen Ruqing now looked exactly like a fluffed-up little rabbit. But he didn’t say so—he was afraid the bunny would bite him.
“Since Ruqing’s here, I’ll be heading out.” Qu Qingchen very tactfully decided not to linger, handed the medicine to Wen Ruqing, quickly explained how to use it, and slipped away.
“Don’t be mad. Don’t you have work this afternoon? You skipped it?”
“Bullshit. I took leave.” Wen Ruqing rolled his eyes. “Give me the car keys. I’ll drive you home.”
Bai Xizhou chuckled and obediently handed over the car keys.
Frozen Starlight
Not about whitewashing the criminal — the focus is on the reasons that led to such an outcome. If you can’t accept that, then stop reading while you can. It’s better for everyone.
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