Chapter Seven: A Towel

“What was with that towel?” Yan Ming asked Yin Nian as they left the private room.

“I don’t know either.” Yin Nian hurried along, clearly distracted.

“Was it yours?” Yan Ming pressed.

“It should be, but I need to check.” The two stepped into the elevator. At that moment, Yu Weiran and her companions also exited the room. Yu Weiran curved her lips into a lofty smile from afar, making a gesture of invitation, exuding an air of superiority.

Yin Nian quickly pressed the door-close button. Only when Yu Weiran’s face disappeared behind the elevator doors did she mutter in disgust, “That woman is truly revolting. I never want to see her again.”

Yan Ming let out a long sigh. “I’d heard of her before, but today was the first time I actually met her.”

Yin Nian frowned. “Oh? She’s famous?”

“Not exactly famous, but she’s one of the star lawyers at Jade Law Firm. She’s especially skilled at twisting facts in civil defense cases. I’ve heard their firm charges little up front, but takes a hefty cut if they win. That’s why they go to such lengths to collect evidence and information. They’re desperate to win.”

“A bunch of parasites driven by self-interest, living off framing others. Sooner or later, retribution will come for them!” Yin Nian spat, her sense of justice burning.

Yan Ming mused, “Still, I doubt they’d deliberately forge physical evidence. That would risk the reputation of their whole firm, and they wouldn’t gamble it all on a single case.”

Yin Nian snorted softly and said nothing.

The elevator arrived at the ground floor. As she stepped out, Yin Nian asked, “If the towel really is mine, what does that mean for me?”

“It’s very bad. It’s not direct evidence, but you’ll have to clearly explain to the judge why the towel was there, why it had both blood and paint on it.”

“I have no idea how it got there. I never used it to wipe Old Madam Yang, let alone threw it down the slope. I’ve always treasured it—it was a birthday gift from a friend.”

Yan Ming silently studied Yin Nian’s profile.

After a few more steps, Yin Nian noticed his gaze. “What? You don’t believe me?”

Yan Ming shrugged. “Of course I believe you. You’re my client—how could I not? But you’ll still need a reason to explain the towel. You can’t just tell the judge you don’t remember; that would look like you’re dodging.”

Yin Nian quickened her pace. “I get it. I’ll go check right now if the towel is mine, then we’ll talk next steps.”

They reached the company’s underground parking lot. Yin Nian opened her car and searched inside but found no sign of the towel. If it wasn’t in the car, the only other place it could be was at home. But she remembered clearly: two days before the outing, she had washed it.

While Yin Nian searched the car, Yan Ming walked around it, crouching at the front to inspect the scratch marks carefully.

“What are you looking at?” Yin Nian asked, approaching him.

“Nothing much…” Yan Ming stood up, flashing a small, tiger-toothed smile.

“You suspect I hit someone, don’t you?” Yin Nian looked him straight in the eye.

They stood less than half a meter apart. Yan Ming could make out the fine down on her neck.

“Well, since I’m here, I might as well check.” Yan Ming scratched his head. For some reason, always so composed and confident, he suddenly felt a trace of shyness. He wasn’t sure if it was because Yin Nian was so close, or because she’d seen through his doubts.

“Now that you’ve looked, what’s your verdict?” Yin Nian asked, squaring her shoulders and locking eyes with him.

“The mark is small, no obvious dent. Looks more like a slow scrape than an impact,” Yan Ming said honestly. Yin Nian was about his height. After a moment’s gaze, Yan Ming took a step back and looked away.

“Alright.” Yin Nian slowly smiled.

Yan Ming couldn’t quite decipher the meaning behind her smile, but he sensed a gentleness and warmth in her eyes, different from the icy strength she’d displayed these past days.

After leaving the garage, Yin Nian called her boss to take the afternoon off, planning to go home to look for the towel and consult Yan Ming about their next steps.

Half an hour later, Yin Nian drove Yan Ming to her residence.

“Come up with me,” Yin Nian said.

“Me, too?” Yan Ming hesitated. Yesterday he’d gone upstairs because Yin Nian wanted to confront Liang Zhicheng face-to-face, which gave him a reason to be present. Today, there seemed no such necessity.

“Come up, take a break, and we’ll talk things over at home.”

“Alright then.” Since Yin Nian invited him, Yan Ming said no more.

Upon entering the apartment, Yin Nian heard voices in the living room. She walked past the foyer and saw several people: her husband Liang Zhicheng, her parents, and another unexpected guest—her best friend, Han Duoduo.

Han Duoduo came forward and hugged Yin Nian. “I messaged you but you never replied. I worried something happened, so I dropped by to check on you—and to say hi to your parents, too.” She looked at Yin Nian with concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine… When did you get back? Weren’t you traveling in Lijiang?”

“When I heard about what happened, I rushed back right away, to see if I could help.”

“I’ve been busy all morning and haven’t checked my phone.” Yin Nian pulled Han Duoduo down beside her to sit.

Han Duoduo had delicate features, fair skin, and a slender figure. Dressed in a flowing white dress with her jet-black hair cascading like a waterfall, she exuded a literary elegance.

Seeing Han Duoduo soothed Yin Nian’s anxiety. With Duoduo by her side, everything felt less daunting. The support Han Duoduo gave her was different from that of her husband or family.

Yin Nian and Han Duoduo had been friends for eleven years, inseparable since college and keeping close even after graduation, often dining together. When Yin Nian married, Han Duoduo was her sole bridesmaid—a testament to her importance.

Yin Nian was a career woman, while Han Duoduo had no interest in conventional jobs. She preferred to travel, taking photos and writing travelogues to earn a living.

Han Duoduo was, in a way, Yin Nian’s other self—doing things Yin Nian longed to do but had no time for. Yin Nian admired her free-spirited lifestyle.

“I thought I’d just stop by, then come again tonight, but here you are already.” Han Duoduo laughed. “Did you somehow sniff me out?”

“No wonder I caught a lovely scent from afar—it was you.” With Han Duoduo, Yin Nian relaxed enough to tease.

“And this is?” Han Duoduo looked at Yan Ming.

“He’s my lawyer. We’re here to handle something.” The topic turned serious and Yin Nian’s expression grew solemn. She took a deep breath. “This morning we met with the opposing lawyer. They wanted eight hundred thousand in private settlement, or they’d sue to send me to prison. They also brought a crucial piece of evidence—a towel. The one you gave me for my birthday last year. Remember?”

“Of course I do! I sewed it myself. What about it?”

“They found it near the accident scene. It has Old Madam Yang’s blood on it—and car paint.”

“How could that happen?”

“I don’t know either. I wanted to check—there was only one towel, right?”

“Yes, just one.”

“Alright. I’ll see if it’s still at home.” Yin Nian headed for the bedroom to search.

Her mother and Han Duoduo followed her in to help.

Yin Nian’s mother, impatient by nature, muttered as she searched, complaining that saving Old Madam Yang had brought nothing but trouble, and now the whole neighborhood knew, constantly coming by to ask about it. She and Yin Nian’s father no longer dared stay at home, hiding out upstairs instead.

Yin Nian was used to her mother’s nagging and tuned her out, focusing on the search—wardrobe, balcony, bed, under the bed—everywhere. But she’d already lost hope after not finding it in the car.

Returning to the living room, Yin Nian looked grim, realizing the gravity of the situation.

“So, the towel really is yours?” Yan Ming asked.

“At this point, it seems so. But I have no idea how it got there,” Yin Nian answered.

“Alright, let’s set the rest aside and assume for now that the towel was genuinely found down the slope, with Old Madam Yang’s blood and car paint on it. It’s only circumstantial, but we’ll still need to give the judge an explanation.” Yan Ming opened his notebook. “Do you have a plausible explanation in mind? If not, I can help.”

“Let’s hear your idea first.” Yin Nian looked at him—after these past days, she’d come to trust him.

“We can say you used the towel to wipe the old lady and forgot to put it back in the car. The wind blew it down the slope. As for the paint, the towel had always been in your car, so it’s natural for it to have picked up some paint. And besides, who can prove the paint is even from your car?”

“But… isn’t that a lie?” she asked.

“Lying makes the logic more coherent.”

“But if we use one lie to cover another, it’ll only lead to more lies, and once that starts, we’ll be on the back foot.”

“I understand your concern. So what’s your take?”

“I think we should get to the bottom of what really happened. If we still don’t know by the time of trial, we can use your explanation as a backup.”

“Agreed,” Yan Ming said decisively.

“So… what do we do next? Is there any chance we can turn the tables?” Yin Nian asked.

“At this stage, it’s unlikely. We’ll have to respond as things develop. I’d hoped to focus on the towel and prove it was planted, but I doubt they’d make such a rookie mistake, so let’s not bother. By the way—where’s Yangyang?” Yan Ming turned a new page in his notebook, glancing around.

Yin Nian glanced at the small bedroom; the door was closed but ajar. “Why?”

“Since neither side has direct physical evidence, witnesses and statements become crucial. Old Madam Yang’s statement is already unreliable because of her age and muddled mind. On our side, Yangyang may be young, but at least he’s clear-headed. If we can get a full statement from him, it could really help, give us some leverage so we’re not completely passive.”

Yin Nian nodded. She’d thought of this, but the police had already questioned Yangyang, and she’d encouraged him to speak up a few times herself. Each time, he’d become tense and frightened, and if pressed, he would start to cry. He’d never been a talkative child, and since the incident, he’d become even more withdrawn.

Worried, Yin Nian said, “I’m afraid this will have a negative impact on him—he’s still so young.”

Yan Ming shook his head. “If he tells the truth, there’ll be no harm. Bottling it up or lying is what really hurts. We should encourage and guide him to speak up. At this point, we can’t afford to miss any chance to clear your name. Besides, if Yangyang never gives a statement, Yu Weiran’s side could use that against us, saying your son’s silence proves you’re the culprit—after all, you wouldn’t make your child lie for you.”

Yin Nian realized he was right. No matter what, Yangyang needed to speak up—for her sake and his own.

Having made up her mind, Yin Nian called toward the bedroom, “Yangyang, come out for a moment.”

The small room was silent, and at some point, the door had been quietly shut.

Just as Yin Nian was about to call again, Liang Zhicheng stood up. “I’ll go get him, maybe he fell asleep.”

He knocked twice on the door before gently opening it. “Yangyang, are you asleep?” he asked softly.

Yangyang lay still on the bed.

Liang Zhicheng sat down beside him, gently stroking his shoulder. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Yangyang glanced at his father and shook his head.

Liang Zhicheng stroked his cheek. “My Yangyang is always so good. Everyone’s in the living room, Aunt Duoduo is here too. We have a few questions to ask you. Can you come out for a bit?”

Yangyang nodded silently, saying nothing.

Liang Zhicheng picked him up, smiling. “You’ve gotten heavier, haven’t you?”