Chapter 10: Mutual Encouragement

The Wen Family often hosted banquets.

Their family’s tastes varied wildly—sometimes the events exuded low-key luxury and refined elegance, other times they veered sharply into pure hedonistic thrills. Wen Tianlu usually led the charge on the latter, and the specifics were often hush-hush. Rumor had it one time he went too far, enraging Old Lady Wen and earning himself three months of grounding.

This time, it was for Wen Tianlu’s older sister’s engagement party. She favored elegant social dances, so the latter half of the ceremony featured a slow-paced dancing segment at the Bohr Hotel. The first and second floors served as the main venue, while the upper levels offered guest rooms.

The Xie Family and Wen Family had always been close, so Xie Qi’s parents would attend as well.

Back in the last century, same-sex couples had already ceased to raise eyebrows. Xie Qi hesitated for a split second when inviting Wen Jiang to dance, mainly worrying his wildly uninhibited parents might catch wind and scare Wen Jiang off with their meddling.

Xie Qi had no plans to rush into meeting the parents. With their style, just dropping a hint like “I’m starting to date” would suffice.

His parents didn’t meddle in his love life anyway—play as wildly as he wanted. Perhaps because they were so unrestrained themselves, it had sparked an early aversion in Xie Qi, steering him toward a future path of unwavering fidelity for true love.

After Wen Jiang accepted the dance task, Xie Qi naturally took charge of his makeup, outfit, and transportation for the day. He seemed to have gleaned some inscrutable lesson from the Suppressor incident. The next day, Wen Jiang got a link from him—photos of various formal suits and accessories, no prices listed, no brand logos, more like a simple catalog than a store window.

Xie Qi: Any you like?

Wen Jiang: Any are fine.

Xie Qi: Got it.

Xie Qi moved fast. That afternoon, Wen Jiang’s measurements were taken. Whether by Xie Qi’s instructions or the stylists’ expertise, the team asked few questions, jotting notes while Wen Jiang just said “fine” or “looks good” now and then. Both sides ended satisfied.

Xie Qi’s status meant dancing with him would draw eyes—outfit scrutiny was inevitable. Wen Jiang usually handled banquets solo without friends’ help, so fussing now would be pointless vanity. He stuck to his task, twirling his pen as he asked Xie Qi once: “Do you prefer the plot of Flower and Diamond? Or The Game of the Crown?”

Flower and Diamond polarized audiences; The Game of the Crown earned praise but flopped commercially. Both featured lovers from vastly different backgrounds.

The former had fairy-tale vibes: the lower-status lover spent their life savings for one dance with their beloved, only to face noble mockery. Touched, the beloved harshly punished the nobles and publicly declared they’d marry them.

The latter was grittier—every gem worn symbolized respect earned.

Xie Qi picked the second without hesitation. Wen Jiang checked it off in his performance assignment notebook, handing over all styling to Xie Qi.

In colder terms, the first highlighted the high-status lover’s power: even if their partner’s attire broke etiquette or steps were stiff and novice, they could upend norms, meting out punishment and reward at will. The second focused on the dance itself, scoring strictly by rules.

With Xie Qi choosing the latter, externals weren’t Wen Jiang’s concern. His biggest issue? He’d never danced a formal waltz with a male partner.

Once same-sex dancing gained acceptance, it became commonplace. Some modern choreographies tweaked traditional pairs’ dances. Wen Jiang had Xie Qi pick a side first, then mirrored the opposite actions from videos.

From here, Xie Qi couldn’t help—it was still Supernatural Ability training at heart.

Wen Jiang practiced as needed and frequented the Drama Club’s dance space lately, but his methods weren’t textbook. He wasn’t aiming to master dance in a week.

His desk mate and Drama Club scriptwriter Lin Wenzhi once passed by, spotted him, and they spent three hours on the empty dance room floor watching an obscure musical—with zero dances like his assignment.

With her Wonderful Pen Produces Flowers ability, Lin Wenzhi watched just the first ten minutes of each act, then branched five alternate continuations in her notebook. Afterward, both agreed the session had been fulfilling and headed home.

Lin Wenzhi’s profile pic was a red bird. Before leaving, she abruptly asked, “Want to be the lead?” jolting Wen Jiang to attention.

Gao Mingcheng sucked at hiding intentions. Since then, it was like Wen Jiang had left the newbie village—no more blunt invitations at his door. He wasn’t clueless, though. The day after his A-Rank Arena clash with Jiang Hehu hit the grapevine, Lin Wenzhi’s glances turned thoughtful.

As longtime desk mates and partners—including last year’s unfinished group project—Wen Jiang knew her patterns well. Sensing the subtle off-note, he’d braced for her approach.

Actors had no other answer for that question. Wen Jiang admitted he did. Lin Wenzhi sighed deeply, earnestly saying, “Keep at it,” then shook his hand: “Mutual encouragement!“

Not even a scrap of info, huh?

Wen Jiang shook back seriously, conveying his mood wordlessly: “Mutual encouragement.“

He’d crossed into high-stakes territory; suspects went quiet, striking later without spilling details. Lin Wenzhi today; another two days prior.

Wen Jiang left late. At the school gate, the Xie Family car waited. As he slid in, his phone pinged—a Student Council office cat pic from Wen Tianlu.

Cute cat. Wen Jiang politely liked it.

Xie Qi glanced at his screen impassively, then asked after a beat: “Dinner together later?”

Another buzz. Three new cat pics from different angles. Wen Jiang liked them too.

Xie Qi’s pickups were ironclad. After days of it, Wen Jiang sensed he’d keep it up all semester. Qian Lang, abroad, gossiped like he roamed campus daily. Before Wen Jiang spoke, Qian Lang reeled in shock, then relief, finally realizing: “Is he just too lonely?”

…Is he?

Wen Jiang eyed Xie Qi, who squirmed under the stare, ears reddening as he grumbled: “Eat or not? Forget it if not.”

“Not tonight—too late.” Another buzz from Wen Tianlu: No three likes?

Wen Jiang ignored it. Seeing Xie Qi’s downcast eyes, he asked outright: “Don’t want to eat alone?”

Rides home weren’t enough anymore—Wen Jiang’s coolness probably contributed over 1%. Xie Qi craved more avenues, veering toward covering his food and board, but hit a wall at step one.

Yet things turned. Xie Qi’s eyes widened: “Huh?”

“I…” He stalled, ears burning under Wen Jiang’s gaze, muttering as he ruffled his hair: “Fuck, too sappy.”

Cat pics kept coming, notifications noisy. Wen Jiang muted it. Xie Qi frowned at the sound, then faced him with feigned nonchalance: “Whatever. When you free?”

“Tomorrow noon.”

Wen Jiang’s black Inhibitor Bracelet gleamed on his wrist. He’d learned from the Suppressor fiasco too—Xie Qi’s “dinner” meant places way above his paygrade, no splitting bills. He decided unilaterally: “Meet you at Yi Restaurant.”

If it was loneliness (maybe), location didn’t matter. School cafeteria screamed youth, perfect for students.

Wen Tianlu sent a windowsill bird pic.

Huh? Where’s the cat? Wen Jiang glanced down, feeling Xie Qi’s intense stare. “Fine,” Xie Qi said darkly, at his limit: “…Who’s the spammer?”

“Wen Tianlu.” Weirder than Lin Wenzhi, but timing off. Hers had buildup; Wen Tianlu acted normal at the Training Field, then vanished till this sudden barrage. Mindful of their long friendship, Wen Jiang probed Xie Qi’s reaction: “Any ideas?”

Xie Qi scowled harder, jaw clenched: “No.”

Wen Jiang eyed him coolly.

“…Not yet, unsure.” Xie Qi relented after two stubborn seconds, vouching from years of friendship: “His attentiveness means trouble. Ignore him.”

Fair enough—Wen Jiang agreed.

They played cards with good sportsmanship: table rules one thing, off-table another. No beef with Wen Tianlu—he was cordial in person—but online chats were rare.

Qian Lang and Xie Qi seemed wary of them getting too close too. Last semester, spying Combat System Supernatural Ability classes, Wen Jiang once overheard Wen Tianlu in the bathroom with outsiders, gleaning hints outsiders lacked.

Debating muting the erratic Wen Tianlu or setting a special tone as prime suspect, Wen Jiang tabled it.

Xie Qi stayed brooding, visibly pissed. Wen Jiang paused, then deadpanned: “You’re making me think he wants to assassinate me.”

He wants to… Xie Qi’s face soured, tone casual: “He can’t touch you.”

To reassure: “I’ll handle him first if he tries.”

Combat System and Lifestyle System friendships hit different—musing real fights like breathing. Wen Jiang gazed out the window, realizing Xie Qi missed the joke.

He recalled Qian Lang’s first intro to their group—his card skills let him doodle on Lin Xun’s face mid-game, another overlooked quip.

“…Yeah, it’s fine.” Pointing out the joke would kill it. Wen Jiang let it slide.