To be honest, resorting to staging an accident just because he didn’t snag the lead role in one performance—was this something a normal person would do?
Anyway, without seeing “at least thirty chapters’ worth of POV tracking and inner monologue,” Wen Jiang didn’t think it was normal at all.
But this was Qingchi, and Ke Yuan was someone who habitually hung out in the “upper echelons” here. Thinking about it that way, it suddenly didn’t seem so strange that something like this had happened.
Ke Yuan didn’t seem intent on sending anyone to the hospital either. Based on the estimates, as long as Wen Jiang stood in the right spot, when the thing came crashing down, the visual impact would be stunning—the show would definitely be scrapped—but Wen Jiang had a decent chance of dodging it too.
Wen Jiang stared at the metal frame, not feeling any kinder toward the guy for it.
The competition was the next day. There wasn’t time to dismantle the lighting rig or switch venues. This event was held specifically for the Art Festival, with every time slot locked in ages ago. At this critical juncture, it wasn’t like they could just postpone it. But if the drama competition got outright canceled like this, it would indirectly fulfill Ke Yuan’s wishes anyway.
That said, it would also mean completely losing the shot at the Art Festival prize money, which troubled Wen Jiang a bit.
In the end, he’d spent half the night dealing with it—mostly simulating possible scenarios and coordinating with others. After discovering the Supernatural Ability on the grid frame, Wen Tianlu stood nearby watching him, while Lin Xun watched from the other end of the phone. Wen Jiang glanced at the two of them, picked a seat, and sat down, dialing Xie Qi’s number without missing a beat.
Lin Xun, whose call had just been abruptly hung up, fired off a message to Wen Jiang: TvT
Xie Qi was also the type to pick up instantly. The moment he heard the other’s voice, a rather wonderful feeling welled up in Wen Jiang—like he’d trudged through a treacherous swamp, swatting away a few snapping snakes along the way, and finally made it back to safety, spotting the familiar glow of lit-up buildings.
He hadn’t felt scared or annoyed for even a second while crossing that danger zone. No injuries, no exhaustion. If he had to describe it, it was just like entering normally, exiting smoothly—walking a stretch of road, plain and simple.
Even so, the sensation made his poker face hold steady as he let out the faintest sigh in his mind.
People really do fear comparison. Not exaggerating, if affection could be quantified in numbers, Xie Qi had just earned ten points from Wen Jiang with that single “hello.”
Sitting at home, and affection rains down from the heavens—what kind of deal was this? The power of peer contrast was terrifying.
Xie Qi didn’t hear Wen Jiang’s voice right away. There was a pause on his end before he spoke again: “What’s up?”
He picked up on something off from Wen Jiang’s one- or two-second silence. Whenever this happened, Xie Qi got the urge to install surveillance on him. His voice dropped low as he asked softly, “Someone bullying you again?”
Look at this guy—he’s such a good person! Wen Jiang marveled (in a completely flat tone): “No.”
Considering Xie Qi’s recent emotional instability—which could trigger his Supernatural Ability to go haywire—Wen Jiang took the lead: “First, look up. Deep breaths.”
“……?” Xie Qi puzzledly complied on the other end of the line, furrowing his brow halfway through before stating with certainty: “You are being bullied.”
He couldn’t think of anything else that would require him to adjust his breathing first.
Wen Jiang: ……
Wen Tianlu hadn’t left for some reason, but he had the good sense not to crowd over. Instead, he went to the other side to make a call. From afar, Wen Jiang caught a glimpse of his profile—face flushed bright red.
“No,” Wen Jiang said firmly. “I think I won.”
“I’ll tell you the details later.” That wasn’t the point right now. Wen Jiang cut straight to it: “There’s something wrong with the lighting rig at Gaotian Theater.”
Just as Lin Wenzhi had said, this was worse than slashed costumes or nails in shoes… Huh? Did this count as being “bullied” by Ke Yuan? Wen Jiang realized it belatedly.
He gazed at the empty stage, which responded with silent fact.
When Wen Tianlu had forced the two-choice dilemma on him, he hadn’t had the confidence to declare something dramatic like “I don’t need either” or “I’ll take the third path.” Saying it would just be petulant venting.
Just like Wen Tianlu had said—and as Wen Jiang had anticipated—he couldn’t handle this alone. He needed backup.
Truth be told, if he spilled everything to Xie Qi right now, hung up, went to sleep, and woke up the next morning to find the Xie Family handing him a perfectly satisfying resolution… it wouldn’t surprise him.
They could even fix it on the spot. After all, Wen Jiang’s push for the lead role and the prize money boiled down to scraping together funds he needed himself. Xie Qi had agreed to split it half-and-half, but he always followed through by covering the full amount upfront—with no loss to himself.
But something would definitely be different about that. It had nothing to do with pride or staying above it all, or the dignity of commoners.
He felt no burning admiration or hatred toward these people. Why would he constantly compare himself to them?
Maybe it was just that Xie Qi had his ways of handling things, and Wen Jiang had his own. Since he could move and think, he shouldn’t dump it all on someone else. Finally, Wen Jiang said: “I need you to do me a favor.”
***
The next day, the Yanhai Art Festival kicked off as if nothing had happened. Beyond the drama competition, there were outdoor art exhibits, photography shows, craft workshops, street parades, and more. Wen Jiang stayed in the Gaotian Theater backstage, seizing moments to rest with his eyes closed, half-listening to the Drama Club members chatting about where to go after the competition ended.
“Why do you look so tired?” Lin Wenzhi passed by, glancing at him now and then before plopping down beside him. “Didn’t sleep well last night? Still doing the rounds later?”
“Mm.” He’d barely slept half the night, but Wen Jiang slumped backward in his chair, head pillowed on his arms, drawling lazily. His lashes fluttered, then he suddenly opened his eyes—pupils clear and bright, not a trace of drowsiness: “Won’t affect it.”
Lin Wenzhi got it instantly, giving a quick, light clap: “Great acting.”
“I think so too.” Wen Jiang closed his eyes again, sprawling lazily once more.
Lin Wenzhi eyed him thoughtfully for a bit, then asked out of nowhere: “Did you find the problem?”
“Mm.” Wen Jiang mumbled back: “Don’t worry.”
Telling too many people the full details would just breed panic. But how could he treat Lin Wenzhi like an “outsider” in this? He pulled out his phone and messaged her right there: problem with the lighting rig.
The Supernatural Ability attached to the frame was a trigger-type corrosion ability. Scans showed there wasn’t enough time to weaken or strip it away. Direct interference would stimulate it prematurely, corroding the grid frame’s critical load-bearing joints on the spot.
Qingchi Drama Club was the last to perform. On the main stage, unfamiliar actors from other schools sang out melody-like lines. A vocal Supernatural Ability made their voices seduce like sirens in the mist, while two ability users hid behind the curtains, timing their powers to release pale, ethereal fog across the stage, heightening the hazy, dreamlike scene.
Since the birth of theater, Supernatural Abilities had been inseparable from it, delivering all sorts of stylistic effects—a key scoring factor in the competition.
Up above the actors, the Supernatural Ability on the grid frame lurked like a targeted explosive, behaving itself so far. Just in case, Wen Jiang had asked Xie Qi to keep an eye on it.
Xie Qi might even score some public service points for helping resolve a social issue—potentially slowing or stopping his path to the Secret Tower. One stone, two birds.
Beyond that, they had to trace the corrosion ability’s source. Tracking an anonymous Supernatural Ability from scratch would be a hassle, but starting from Ke Yuan sped things up.
After all, the “upper class” knew best how to deal with their own. Ke Yuan couldn’t cover his tracks perfectly—a weak spot for Wen Jiang, but the other young masters thrived at it.
They dove in like fish to water, quickly confirming the “suspect” as the mastermind, nailing down times, places, contacts. As Wen Jiang messaged Lin Wenzhi, Lin Xun sent fresh screenshots of Ke Yuan’s dealings.
Wen Jiang still didn’t know the name of whoever had actually planted the corrosion ability on the frame. If this were a prime-time TV conspiracy thriller, it’d balloon into some massive dark organization reveal, thrusting him onto a perilous path stalked by the underworld.
But Ke Yuan lacked that clout. A quick scan of the screenshots just added undeniable evidence against him.
It was like how detectives busting serial killers was work, but so was digging up extramarital affairs or lost kittens—most cases were the latter. Wen Jiang figured he’d never learn the hired hand’s identity, nor did he care to ask. Revenge? No point.
The stranger had caused trouble but would fade from his sight forever.
Wen Jiang had no clue about Ke Yuan’s hidden grudges or motives either. Lin Wenzhi, with more face-time, had scripted a full “plotline.” To Wen Jiang—the protagonist—it felt like getting stabbed out of nowhere on a normal walk.
His phone pinged again. Lin Xun kept messaging. The young masters didn’t care who the troublemaker was—they investigated for bragging rights, competing on speed before piling on volume.
Lin Xun: How’s it going?
Lin Xun: Worth a compliment?
Lin Xun: Pitiful expression.jpg
Lin Xun: Heading backstage soon btw
A compliment? Absolutely. Someone here deserved major praise for spotting the hazard. Wen Jiang sifted the chatter for key info, then turned to Lin Wenzhi: “Very impressive.”
Friendship points well earned.
Lin Wenzhi blinked, looked up from the messages, met his eyes, and grinned: “Oh, my praise segment already?”
If Wen Jiang said not to worry, then no worries. She should act normal. Lin Wenzhi echoed lazily: “I think so too.”
