Chapter 96: Understanding

Wen Jiang had some understanding of Wen Tianlu.

For example, Wen Tianlu kept “toys,” assigning them numbers, but Wen Jiang had no interest in the specifics: their exact numbers, training methods, turnover rate, or selection criteria.

Another example: As Player 1 in their card games, Wen Tianlu favored high-risk maneuvers and all-or-nothing plays. He’d diligently build up points early on, only for the endgame to swing wildly—either scooping up everyone’s chips in one go or getting wiped out in a brutal reversal. Wen Jiang tailored his strategies around this trait.

Of course, they never wagered real money, so losses meant nothing. Bold, aggressive play for the thrill was fine. Whether Wen Tianlu carried that same do-or-die style to off-campus gambling dens? Wen Jiang had no interest in knowing.

Yet another example: The stage play Seri’s Golden Lakeside—scripted by Lin Wenzhi, starring Wen Jiang, their debut as first-year freshmen at Qingchi Theater—exploded in popularity upon release, marking the start of the “golden duo” legend. Wen Tianlu watched it and wasn’t satisfied.

Jiang Hehu dismissed it with his usual prickly “Eh, it’s alright” routine due to his awkward personality. Wen Tianlu never trashed it publicly, but his dissatisfaction was genuine, like a test paper that refused to award full marks no matter how hard you tried.

Qian Lang picked up on it and griped to the two sitting at the desks in front of him in an empty classroom. Lin Wenzhi smiled reassuringly: “Hey, everyone’s got different tastes, right?”

Wen Jiang nodded along: “Mm.”

With just the three of them in the room, Qian Lang slumped over his desk, glancing left at Lin Wenzhi, right at Wen Jiang, then sat up straight: “Be real with me.”

“……” Lin Wenzhi smiled and looked away: “No taste.”

Wen Jiang nodded along: “Mm.”

That said, they didn’t hold it against him much—it mostly ignited a fire under them.

Lin Wenzhi declared they’d make something even better next time. Wen Jiang responded with a blank-faced clap. Qian Lang watched thoughtfully for a full minute, scrutinizing Wen Jiang’s utterly impassive ice-berg expression during the applause: was he just messing around, or was he fired up too?

In hindsight, Wen Tianlu’s dissatisfaction might’ve even helped solidify the golden duo’s long-term partnership.

As for Wen Tianlu’s more personal gripes, the deeper reasons behind his dissatisfaction beyond the work itself, or what he truly thought of their duo—Lin Wenzhi had no interest in knowing. Neither did Wen Jiang.

One more example—and damn, he knew a surprising amount—Wen Tianlu had latent tendencies on certain kinks. In a way, he was more “teachable material” than Xie Qi. Maybe even his close friends and family didn’t know, or perhaps his real inclinations ran completely counter to their assumptions.

But Wen Jiang had no interest in teaching him.

Who taught whom established a certain “dynamic.” Wen Tianlu’s sister, Wen Ruoyue, probably hoped to forge some bond with him too. She seemed convinced it would help stabilize his Supernatural Ability—a vibe Wen Jiang picked up from her posted task.

Wen Tianlu’s feelings toward his family’s meddling seemed complicated.

The Xie Family’s car dropped Wen Jiang at the Wen Residence, where servants escorted him to see Wen Tianlu, still under house arrest. He was holed up in a standalone cottage in the back garden. Wen Jiang’s path took him through the main building’s grand first-floor hall and out the back door to the rear yard. Crossing the hall, he spotted people partying.

Wen Tianlu wasn’t there, but his playmates were. They gave Wen Jiang a passing glance before turning back to their fun. He didn’t recognize the ones chatting casually in seats, but the ones kneeling silently on the floor rang a bell.

Each seated guest had a kneeling server nearby. Faces familiar from TV: idols, stars, actors… undoubtedly performance-type Ability users.

One stood out clearest: the lead from a hot recent drama. Wen Jiang remembered his mom’s rapt viewing in the living room—that kind, resilient poor student railing against noble classmates. Now, his gaze swept over the guy’s undignified outfit and meek profile.

Acting’s trash.

The seated crowd was openly curious about Wen Jiang but ordered silent, leading to fidgety excess. The performers stayed “focused,” amplifying the awkward vibe… It all felt so sloppy.

No time for intel-gathering; tonight relied on on-the-spot observation. Someone clearly staged this for him: No matter how adored outside, these performance Ability users were just kneeling lapdogs for the young masters and ladies.

Wen Ruoyue wouldn’t bother. Had to be Wen Tianlu.

…What was the point?

If it was performative humiliation, why enforce silence? A few cutting remarks would’ve sold it better. Instead, it played like a script with contradictory themes. Did he want Wen Jiang uncomfortable, or not?

Besides, Wen Tianlu knew damn well this wouldn’t faze him—ever since that Qingchi bathroom run-in with him and kneeling No. 13.

If not humiliation, view it positively?

Wen Jiang recalled Wen Ruoyue’s exaggerated “woe-is-me” complaints: her brother as a lovesick fool, desperate to please rather than mock.

Eh, whatever. Trailing the servant through the back garden to the cottage, Wen Jiang reflected: The key takeaway from that chat was that external aids for Supernatural Ability stability were Secret Tower-approved—not just devices or drugs, but people. Hence, Wen Ruoyue roping him in.

***

—”You’re wearing ‘I don’t care’ all over your face.”

Half an hour later, Wen Tianlu drawled coolly from his chair.

Across from him, Wen Jiang sat silently on the sofa, reading. He flipped a page at the words.

Compared to the main building, this garden cottage was compact but fully equipped: living room bleeding into bedroom, adjacent bath—like a five-star hotel suite. Wen Jiang entered wordlessly, inspected everywhere solo—from living area to toilet—then, bored, grabbed an intriguing book from the shelf past Wen Tianlu and settled in.

Wen Tianlu, sidelined spectator: ……

Wen Jiang embodied peak nonchalance: You don’t talk, I won’t bother. Predictably, Wen Tianlu spoke first. Silence was expected; he wasn’t here willingly.

Seeing no reply, Wen Tianlu smirked: “I figured if you came, you’d have a plan.”

His speech was clear, attire sharp, logic sound. Mood… seemed stable. Wall thermometer read normal temps. No big changes since last time.

Outwardly, no one would guess Wen Tianlu teetered on Supernatural Ability meltdown—save the Potent Suppressor on his wrist.

“As my ‘psychologist,’ no plans to chat?” Wen Tianlu asked leisurely. “Or is the ‘perfect image’ in my head a mute?”

“Embody the perfect image in Wen Tianlu’s heart”—Wen Ruoyue’s task for this practical. Objectively challenging, fitting the assignment’s rigor.

No brute force; like Lin Xun, she’d wrap demands in polite convo. In their minds, that was compromise.

Xie Qi or Qian Lang could pull similar stunts—disrupt the assignment or just hand over credits. Wen Jiang’s past ones went undisturbed mostly because Wen Tianlu and Lin Xun “chose not to,” unlike Qian Lang and Xie Qi who “wouldn’t.”

…Why did Xie Qi rack up goodwill even absent? Credit his effort, or the competition?

Wen Jiang glanced up, tossing the ball back: “Chat about what.”

Wen Tianlu grinned, pausing seconds before: “Why so bundled up today?”

Long socks, long sleeves, long pants—all buttons fastened at cuffs and collar, neckerchief as accent.

…Wen Jiang figured he knew why.

He’d prefer casual, but no room.

Bite marks, bug bites, cold weather, flu—plenty excuses. No lightening the mood, he ignored the probe, casually ordering: “Change topics.”

“……”

Wen Tianlu looked away, smile fading slightly. But compared to before, he was downright docile—no defiance, no passive-aggressive jabs.

“Fine.” Short and done, eyes back: “Saw the people in the hall, right?”

“In their eyes, you’re here for the same thing they are.”

Not the loungers enjoying service—the kneelers. Wen Tianlu suggested coolly: “Wanna leave? Someone’ll show you out.”