Lu Xuan waved his hand quickly. "It's not entirely your fault. I didn't see it either, so there's no need to apologize."
Wen Si Ning hadn't expected him to be so easygoing. Years of habit had taught her to be wary of people like him, but his tone was disarmingly calm. She studied him for a moment, guarded.
Noticing her scrutiny, Lu Xuan added smoothly, "I’m something of a public figure, albeit a minor one. I don't want this turned into a spectacle or dragged onto social media. Let's just sort it out quietly."
That was exactly what Wen had suspected all along—he was careful with words, careful with appearances. Her skepticism melted a little under his steady manner.
Someone in the crowd had already called for an ambulance; it arrived within minutes, paramedics moving with efficient, practiced calm. Wen handed the situation over to her assistant and went with Qiao Xi and Lu Xuan in the ambulance to the hospital.
On the stretcher, a medic cleaned and bandaged the cut on Lu Xuan's arm. "I'll cover my own medical bills," he said.
Qiao Xi froze, her eyes rimmed red. She looked painfully embarrassed. "No—no, I should pay. After all, it was my car."
Lu Xuan shook his head. "Miss Qiao, please. I don't mean to make trouble, and I'm not trying to make a fuss."
"Let me," Qiao insisted, voice trembling. "It'll make me feel better."
He didn't press the matter further.
At the hospital a nurse took Lu Xuan for a full check—standard after a head knock—and the doctor mentioned a mild concussion. Qiao Xi, still flickering with guilt, insisted on paying the bill right then. Wen Si Ning had already slipped a message to her.
She tapped Qiao's knee and passed her phone so she could read: Go out for a bit.
Qiao glanced at the message and nodded. Wen gave her a look that said she had something to say, then turned to Lu Xuan. "Mr. Lu, it's about lunch hour. Qiao and I will step out to get something to eat. We'll be right back."
Lu Xuan nodded politely. They left the hospital lobby and sat on a bench by the entrance.
"Xi Xi," Wen said softly, using the nickname, "please be more careful when you drive from now on." Only just now had the shock worn off for her; learning Qiao had actually hit someone had made her hands shake through the meeting they'd cut short earlier.
Qiao Xi burst into fresh tears. "I know. I’ve been in two accidents now—I don’t think I can bring myself to drive again." The thought of getting behind the wheel terrified her.
Wen patted her back and fished a tissue from her bag. "Then don't. I'll be your driver. It's on my way anyway. If I'm ever unavailable, I'll hire someone to take you."
Qiao's sobs turned into sniffling giggles. "You're too good to me," she choked out, voice full of gratitude.
Wen grinned. "If I don't spoil you, who will?"
The tease made Qiao cry again—this time from relief rather than fear. Once Qiao had calmed, the two of them bought a bowl of congee and brought it back to the ward for Lu Xuan.
"I'll handle the admission paperwork," Wen said.
Lu began to protest, but Wen anticipated him. "With your arm injured and a mild concussion, you should be under observation. If anything unexpected happens, you'll get treatment immediately."
Qiao agreed. Lu realized arguing was pointless and let her take charge. Wen arranged a private room, and he was admitted.
He lay on the bed with his bag at his side. He drew out a script and, exactly as he had intended, let it be seen. Wen, who had just returned from the nurses' desk, looked up when she noticed it.
"Is that your script?" she asked, curiosity lighting her face.
Lu Xuan smiled. He wanted to approach her as a writer-producer. "Yes. I'm the head of Moxin Group's creative department. I've been meaning to find a chance to work with you—it's funny we meet like this."
Wen lifted her eyes from the pages and returned his smile. "Mr. Lu, you're flattering me."
"Flattery?" He shook his head. "Every word is true. If you don't mind, can we exchange contacts?"
There was nothing pretentious in his manner—just plain, practiced charm. Wen didn't hesitate. They swapped numbers.
The door opened and Qiao Xi came in, having checked with the doctor about Lu's condition. "Mr. Lu, can I stay and keep you company?" She couldn't help feeling responsible; if it weren't for her mistake, he wouldn't be in pain.
"It's fine," he said. "You should go. I have someone meeting me tonight—my assistant will pick me up."
Qiao bit her lip but didn't press him. "If you need anything, you can come to me. I'll take responsibility."
He nodded politely. When the two women stepped out of the room, Qiao couldn't help sighing. "He's really a decent man. If he'd dug into who was at fault, I might have been looking at police reports or worse."
Wen squeezed her arm. "This isn't that kind of thing. You weren't drunk, and you didn't drive off. It won't blow up into something bigger."
Qiao felt braver with Wen's reassurances, and the tension that had been coiled around her loosened.
Outside, Wen's car had already been driven away by her assistant, so they hailed a taxi. Wen dropped Qiao at the gate of her apartment complex—taxis couldn't go inside, but the distance to the door was short.
"Go inside, I'll drive you to work tomorrow," Wen said. "Let me know when you get in."
Qiao waved, voice small but relieved. "Thanks. Text me when you get home."
Wen nodded. She watched until Qiao disappeared through the gate, then climbed back into the taxi as it pulled away, the hospital receding in the rearview mirror.