The A-Rank Training Field wasn’t always this rowdy.
At least in Wen Jiang’s memory, it was quiet about half the time, no less serene than the exam hall during final cultural studies tests. In the first month of school, he only watched from the waiting area outside the training room, peering through the glass curtain wall as the indoor simulated environments shifted, and the students inside reacted in all sorts of ways—like watching a series of impromptu mimes on stage.
A month later, his coaching teacher assigned him an advanced physical observation exercise, and the Drama Club’s newly finalized script included three fight scenes. To hone his acting skills, Wen Jiang submitted a safety waiver and followed the Combat System students into the training room. Under the fake scorching sunlight, others sweated buckets while he lounged in the shade of a tree. It generally didn’t feel noisy to him.
Wen Jiang found it more interesting inside than out. When alone, he’d read or do homework under the tree shade. When with others, there was a chance he’d get distracted and play cards.
But when the lesson turned to free-for-all skirmishes or red-versus-black team battles, all the Combat System students gathered together, their emotions building higher and higher until they got all hot-blooded, creating an atmosphere like a sports meet or arena match, complete with betting pools on the next round’s winner.
Once they formally entered the training room, it was like a coliseum. The central arena was reserved for the combatants, surrounded by three tiers of viewing platforms packed with chatting spectators. Gao Mingcheng scanned the crowd roughly and first spotted their Student Council President.
The president noticed them too, his gaze skipping over Gao Mingcheng to land on Wen Jiang beside him. He lingered there a moment, as if remembering something, before slowly shifting his eyes back. The earring in his right ear peeked out from his hair as he tilted his head, glinting under the lights.
Gao Mingcheng was terrible at dealing with him—his stomach instantly twisted like an invisible hand had grabbed it. Wen Jiang noticed Gao Mingcheng stiffen again. From the corner of his eye, he caught something shiny flashing, so he looked up and met the Student Council President’s gaze head-on. The guy froze for a second, then curved his eyes into a smile, grinning at Wen Jiang from afar.
Oh, it’s my card buddy Player 1.
Wen Jiang showed no reaction. He recalled that Player 1’s profile pic looked pretty red too, but Player 1 was S-Grade with high resistance to Qian Lang’s Supernatural Ability. Logically, there was no need to pay him too much mind.
As long as the guy didn’t do anything blatantly weird, Wen Jiang had no reason to probe based on uncertain possibilities, openly or covertly. He decided on a wait-and-see approach—if the enemy doesn’t move, neither do I.
For someone like Gao Mingcheng, it was just accompanying him for one class. No need to drag Qian Lang into it with some new excuse—even if he chalked it up to the message being from him personally, it didn’t matter.
Besides, under Qian Lang’s Supernatural Ability influence, explaining things clearly to Gao Mingcheng right now wouldn’t be easy. By the time the guy believed no message had been sent, the training session might already be over.
Wen Jiang accepted his role as temporary big brother and dutifully escorted the guy to the statistics teacher in charge. He even eavesdropped on their conversation for a bit. Everyone here was busy, desks cluttered with all sorts of stuff, but the teacher was super enthusiastic. Spotting Wen Jiang, he quickly added another chair next to Gao Mingcheng’s “workstation.”
So Wen Jiang straddled his chair backwards, arms draped over the backrest, listening to Gao Mingcheng tap away at the computer beside him.
He felt like a foreman overseeing the worker.
Wen Jiang was always this laid-back in the training field, but he wasn’t without playmates. At the start of term, he’d been forcibly added to a bunch of contacts— all the S-Grades and the so-called Super A types with post-awakening upgrade potential here in the field. Some had never said a word after friending him; others had at least played cards with him.
As a Lifestyle System student, Wen Jiang didn’t join training classes. Those Combat System S-Grades didn’t attend properly either. At first, Wen Jiang chilled at one end of the training room, they chilled at the other—mutual non-interference.
Then one day, Xie Qi suddenly came over from the other side to chat. He didn’t have any real business; he just seemed to want a change of scenery for his nap. He handed Wen Jiang a bottle of water and flopped down beside him, casually claiming part of his shady spot.
By then, Wen Jiang and Xie Qi already knew each other. He ignored him and kept doing his own thing, occasionally chatting a few sentences. At the end of class, seeing Xie Qi about to leave, Wen Jiang waved goodbye. Xie Qi paused, said nothing on the surface, but next time he came straight over and sat right next to him.
When Qian Lang later found out they hung out together in the training field, he’d asked in surprise how he’d pulled it off. Wen Jiang replied: I don’t know. Ask Xie Qi.
Qian Lang messaged Xie Qi instead. He wasn’t the first to ask—plenty of people had been bugging Xie Qi about it lately, annoying him. He replied with a cover-your-mouth emoji: Mind your own business.
Xie Qi sent the message with a furrowed brow, then realized he might have issues. Wen Tianlu’s side was indeed annoying and noisy, but this class on Wen Jiang’s side… he’d only said about five sentences to him.
Two of those were questions about Combat System Supernatural Ability basics, treating him like a convenient search bar for info.
But when Wen Jiang needed to focus on homework, he’d warn him upfront that he was concentrating and might miss what he said. If Xie Qi got mad after that about Wen Jiang’s “aloofness,” he simply wouldn’t respond.
…So what? Why did he have to stick around here? Xie Qi’s temper flared up out of nowhere. He suddenly felt fed up and half-sat up from the grass.
The training room simulated a summer sports field, sending cool breezes at set intervals. The tree overhead rustled with the wind, sunlight filtering through the layered branches to dapple Wen Jiang in a nearly translucent warm white glow on his fingertips and earlobes.
Wen Jiang finished his last line, closed his notebook, and turned to Xie Qi. Xie Qi, who’d been quiet half the class, looked away and lay back down, complaining, “You just sit here chilling every day—you’re not bored?”
Good student Wen Jiang answered honestly: “Bored.”
He packed away his paper and pens, feeling refreshed from finishing homework early, and pulled out a deck of cards from his bag. “Wanna play?”
Chess would work too—he had a stack of disposable chessboard paper in his bag.
Xie Qi: ……
Wen Jiang had observed closely: teachers took a hands-off approach with S-Grades. Over at Xie Qi’s original spot, outsiders from other schools sometimes joined the fun, probably using “S-Grade escort” privileges. By comparison, playing brain teasers here barely disrupted class.
After the two kept playing their routine games for a while, new people started drifting over from “that side” to join in, giving Wen Jiang fresh card buddies.
When they approached, they saw Xie Qi and Wen Jiang solemnly playing “Chase Donkey” and “Draw Turtle.” They looked like they wanted to say something, but Xie Qi’s cold glare was too intimidating, so they swallowed their words.
Now, no one was playing with Wen Jiang. He sat for a bit, then pulled out his pen and a blank workbook like the model student he was, intending to scribble some notes. His phone buzzed twice right on cue. Wen Jiang checked: one was Qian Lang’s daily caring check-in; the other from Xie Qi.
Xie Qi: Where’d you go?
The next came right after: I don’t see you.
Wen Jiang sent a puzzled little dinosaur emoji. Seconds later, Xie Qi replied: I’m at the school gate.
Xie Qi: I’ll pick you up.
…Such thoughtful care.
Back at the airport, Xie Qi had wanted to drive him home too—fully living up to his deal with Qian Lang. This should have been a passing whim that’d fade once the novelty wore off, but Wen Jiang had a hunch Xie Qi could keep it up for a while.
Wen Jiang: A-Rank arena.
Xie Qi: ?
Xie Qi: Why’d you go there?
Wen Jiang’s screen went dark as Xie Qi called him. At the same time, excited cheers erupted from the surrounding stands. After Endbrain’s random shuffle, the matchup list for the showdown appeared on the central electronic screen—Xie Qi’s name was on it.
The noisy crowd drowned out the phone audio. Wen Jiang hung up and typed back concisely: Accompanying a classmate.
His reply should’ve been perfect, but Xie Qi blew up. He sent a “you,” couldn’t muster anything harsher, slammed the car door, and walked back while arguing with Wen Jiang: What classmate?
Xie Qi: Needs you to accompany them?
What a way to put it… He wasn’t some pampered heir—accompanying a classmate to class like it was an insult. With nothing else to do, Wen Jiang chatted idly: Weird?
No response. Wen Jiang hadn’t attended Supernatural Ability training in a while. Xie Qi couldn’t find him a few times, asked why he wasn’t in class, and got a “busy” in reply.
Wen Jiang kept skipping, so Xie Qi stopped coming too. He’d thought Wen Jiang would head home after school, perfect timing to pick him up. Instead, Wen Jiang quietly went to the training field with someone else.
People really are incomparable—makes you mad.
Wen Jiang was oblivious to Xie Qi’s inner turmoil. In short order, Xie Qi wanted to snap and demand the classmate’s name but didn’t want to seem unreasonably jealous. Finally, Wen Jiang checked his phone: Xie Qi had replied: You’ve never accompanied me.
For a split second, he thought it was Qian Lang.
When Wen Jiang was busy, Qian Lang would sometimes fake-complaint like that. When the drama bug hit hard, he’d even team up with their deskmate Lin Wenzhi, wiping nonexistent tears and sighing, “Xiao Jiang’s grown up, dazzled by the outside world’s temptations, won’t look at us old-timers anymore,” and so on.
So nostalgic. Wen Jiang felt a twinge of sentiment—Xie Qi lately really seemed to have learned from Qian Lang. No matter; he knew just how to reply.
Wen Jiang: Yeah.
Wen Jiang: Little Dinosaur Head Pat.jpg
Then he ignored it.
