Chapter 13: Quasi-Boyfriend

Xie Qi had no intention of sneaking a peek at his “boyfriend’s” phone while he changed.

Or rather, if he really wanted to snoop on someone, he had far stealthier, more thorough methods at his disposal. No need for something so crude.

What actually made him a touch restless was the faint sounds coming from the changing room.

His already sharp senses sharpened further without him realizing. Invisible air currents swept over the roof, through the hall, and into the tiniest cracks around the door and windows, delivering sounds right to his ears. Xie Qi quickly noticed his Supernatural Ability leaking slightly.

He glanced at his wrist. The black Inhibitor Bracelet read “Anomaly Value: 3″—within socially accepted safe limits, so the suppression didn’t kick in. This was far smarter than the old Ring Wen Jiang used to wear, which blindly maxed out suppression on skin contact.

Anomaly Value was one of the metrics closely monitored for S-Grade Ability Users. It measured the degree of Supernatural Ability leakage beyond the user’s control—whether chaotic outbursts, loss of control, or even unconscious seepage that could be reined in with a thought.

Beyond flowery praise like “heaven’s gift,” “extraordinary pinnacle,” or “world’s apex,” the public also had demystifying takes on S-Grade Ability Users: “prone to rampages,” “uncontrollable,” “probably mentally unstable.”

To be precise, high-rank Ability Users had far superior control over their powers compared to low-ranks; it was just that the benchmarks differed by tier.

A D-Grade user’s rampage barely caused widespread damage. Under official standardized metrics, an average leakage below 50 was deemed controllable.

But Xie Qi had merely zoned out, and his natural leakage drew in a flood of information. Even as a kid, when he was much weaker, a “25 anomaly value” chaos had nearly demolished his surroundings.

His S-Grade 【Storm】 far exceeded typical wind abilities—overwhelming violence and turbulence. Rated for three straight periods as needing prompt entry into the Secret Tower, the fact that Xie Qi could still attend school outside was pure family privilege.

His daily allowed leakage cap was 9. Any lower, and the Ability User Protection Agency would cry “human rights violation.” Wen Tianlu’s was 15, Wen Jiang’s 20—the S-Grade max.

In a way, his and Wen Jiang’s ability manifestations were polar opposites.

Upstairs, someone quietly asked about a unfamiliar guest, only to get cut off. Footsteps and chatter he shouldn’t have heard pulled Xie Qi’s thoughts back.

The leakage amplified his hearing; one step further, and he’d get vague “tactile” feedback through air currents. Normally useless except for the noise, Xie Qi calmed the flows, dialing his senses back to normal.

Wen Jiang had just taken off his shirt.

The air currents froze for an instant.

In the changing room, fingertips brushed the suit fabric, tracing down the waistline before shaking it out. The lightweight, breathable white dress shirt had a satin-like sheen, hugging the skin just right. Arms slid into sleeves with a soft rustle of friction.

Xie Qi’s gaze flicked to the table, his ears turning red.

Anomaly value dropped to 0. Everything under control. The invisible air began flowing again—slowly, quietly. Other noises vanished, leaving only the changing room sounds amplified in his ears.

This is just human nature… Xie Qi rubbed his brow and muttered, unconsciously glancing at Wen Jiang’s phone on the table. The screen lit up with the latest message, freezing his stare.

“Xie Qi.” Wen Jiang spoke flatly into the empty room, knowing he could hear. “You want to chat?”

Xie Qi jolted, nearly leaping off the sofa. His eyes snapped to the closed changing room door.

Wen Jiang’s question sounded like a statement as he buttoned up one by one. “My hem fluttered earlier.”

What “natural breeze” was that?

“…Oh.” Xie Qi paused, his jumbled thoughts clearing fast now that he’d been caught. He cupped his ear to cool it, then strode to the door with long legs. Casually, he said, “Wen Tianlu asked who you’re dancing with. Want me to reply?”

“Whatever.” Wen Jiang straightened his cuffs and rested a hand on his waistband, exuding pure bro-tier nonchalance about changing clothes.

Xie Qi turned away with a cough. He had some “acting” chops too. After pulling up Wen Tianlu’s number, any lingering awkwardness vanished. Irritation creased his eyes and brows—he was fully in another mode.

“Wen Jiang’s dancing with me.” Xie Qi leaned against the wall by the door, his cold tone laced with aggression. “Anything else? If not, stop asking.”

One of the guardians just came online. Wen Tianlu’s smile faded slightly, but his voice stayed casual. “I’m bored as hell,” he griped, staring at the milling heads below. “You’re all late, so I’m harassing you first.”

Xie Qi gave no quarter. Wen Jiang picked up his black jacket and heard Xie Qi raise his voice: “Aren’t those stacks in your phone enough to keep you busy? Ji Family’s number thirteen—or was it seventeen? He’s coming too. Dance with him.”

That didn’t sound like numbering a “friend.” Wen Jiang silently spectated as he shrugged on the jacket.

“Tch, you’re extra pissy today.” Like a dog could dance with a human. Wen Tianlu chuckled. “Just asking. Partners aren’t fixed anyway—”

“He’s only dancing with me.” Xie Qi cut him off sharply. “You get that?”

Silence on the line.

Two sharp, icy auras clashed faintly through the connection for a split second, but it dissipated as Wen Tianlu spoke again.

“Yeah? If Wen Jiang’s cool with it, so am I.” His words still carried amusement, like he found it novel. “But aren’t you babysitting him a bit much?”

“Wen Jiang hasn’t said I’m annoying. If he wanted to turn me down, he’d say it straight. Since he hasn’t… isn’t that just normal hanging out?”

Wen Tianlu shifted against the railing, his tone turning devil-may-care. “Besides, trying it out can’t hurt. You don’t think Wen Jiang’s the type to break his word, right?”

Or the type to get lured away with a little bait, thinking he’s got all the control…

“What kind of person he is—is that for you to tell me?”

Xie Qi’s voice dropped dangerously. Wen Tianlu realized he’d truly pissed him off—this verbal swiping at Wen Jiang irked him far more than “unanswered harassment texts.”

“Handle your own messes.”

The call ended abruptly, roughly. Wen Tianlu clicked his tongue, unfazed. Xie Qi’s temper had always been shit; it’d only mellowed since Qingchi.

Too mellow, even. Back then, it wouldn’t end in two sentences.

More people filled the first floor, making the second-floor vantage conspicuous. Wen Tianlu headed back to the private box, sank into the sofa, and scrolled his messages.

No need to hunt; just swipe up past his own rambling texts. Wen Jiang’s latest: “Single.”

A beat of silence, then low laughter filled the room. It grew freer, freer—until his peripheral caught the Ice Rabbit on the table, the one he’d spent half the morning on. The laughs tapered off.

The rabbit held form via his ability. Wen Tianlu tugged his lips, and it dissolved into white mist, vanishing in seconds.

He tamped down a faint, baseless unease and sighed. Suddenly, he got Lin Xun’s vibe. Facts and reasons be damned—emotionally, he increasingly hoped that confession text came from Wen Jiang himself.

He swiped the screen, half-agreeing with Lin Xun’s label, and messaged: Maybe not shared quasi-boyfriend.