In cultivation novels, characters often had to endure immense hardships in the late stages to achieve a breakthrough—breaking and then rebuilding, putting themselves to death’s door only to be reborn. At the brink of life and death, they squeezed out their limits, gaining enlightenment in the final moment to take that last step toward perfection.
In real life, Combat System ability users sometimes strengthened themselves through sustained high-intensity Supernatural Ability battles. Other systems’ training methods were gentler, but the underlying principles of advancement were interconnected.
Wen Jiang had always trained diligently and earnestly. Lately, he’d harbored a vague premonition that “it was coming.” While doing homework, he cranked his ability values to the max. The formless monster he’d kept restrained finally stretched out freely—and the higher the values, the greater the demand for precise control. To bypass the Wen Family’s Supernatural Ability anomaly detection system, he pushed the concealment and stability traits of Dramatic Stage to their limits, like dancing a full waltz on a tightrope.
In short, through this ordeal, Wen Jiang crossed a new threshold—he’d “leveled up” after finishing his homework.
S-Grade was already the highest official rank, like a Taoist finally breaking through late Nascent Soul stage to ascend as an immortal. But as the saying went, learning was endless; even immortals had hierarchies and could progress. Exploring the limits of Supernatural Abilities was an eternal pursuit.
Typically, such “upgrades” weren’t massive leaps—more like bumping an exam score from 99.6 to 99.8. They relied heavily on the ability user’s self-perception. The last time Xie Qi clearly felt power surging through his body, confirming he’d grown stronger, was during Qingchi’s summer special training. A-Rank students trained in groups, while every S-Grade occupied an entire mountaintop alone to avoid harming innocents with full-power activations.
According to students observing from afar, the sky had filled with dark clouds, lightning flashed and thunder roared, massive tornadoes formed over the water—looking like apocalyptic disasters from a distance, soul-shaking spectacles.
Xie Qi didn’t dwell on the exaggerations, but he knew he’d caused a huge commotion. Large-scale environmental destruction wasn’t permitted. To avoid a one-way ticket to the Secret Tower from a single upgrade, he’d gone through a lengthy approval process before training.
In civilized times, the higher one’s Supernatural Ability rank climbed, the more preparations were required—especially for the Combat System, which advanced through training and battles. It wasn’t uncommon to receive an advancement assessment while bedridden in a hospital, bones broken and coughing blood. In Xie Qi’s subconscious, “upgrading” equated to “earth-shaking fanfare,” “utter exhaustion,” “thrilling release,” and even “fractures and vomiting blood.”
Then, last Sunday, Wen Jiang emerged from the Wen Family looking unusually wilted after homework. He hugged a pillow, rested on Xie Qi’s lap for a bit, perked up, and while playing a match-3 game, casually explained that the fatigue had been his breakthrough.
Now, he’d finished upgrading, so he was fine.
Xie Qi: ……
…Lifestyle System upgrades were just different from Combat System ones. The whole process looked utterly uneventful.
But the person involved brimmed with accomplishment—this was the fruit of his own hard work! Wen Jiang silently watched the other. Xie Qi met his gaze for two seconds in that suggestively quiet atmosphere, then sincerely said, “That’s amazing.”
So cute.
Wen Jiang was very satisfied. He then sent Lin Wenzhi a cartoon little dinosaur emoji: arms raised triumphantly upward, sparkles behind it—little dinosaur level up.jpg.
Lin Wenzhi got it immediately and replied: Oh oh
Lin Wenzhi: Then we can recover the cocoons
Lin Wenzhi: Now we can turn in the homework
Lin Wenzhi: moved, wiping tears.jpg
Strength gains brought many benefits. Wen Jiang plunged into a fulfilling, busy week. On Tuesday, he submitted the practical report to the teacher; Wednesday, he reported his Supernatural Ability upgrade and held a mini-discussion on future career paths. Thursday and Friday daytime, he stuck with Lin Wenzhi.
Just as Wen Jiang had anticipated, after his power-up, their previously hands-off group homework finally neared completion.
Causal Butterfly, the core they aimed to recreate for the assignment, was a causality-based fantastical Supernatural Ability from books. Its principle was familiar: a tiny initial deviation amplified through chain reactions into massive outcome differences—the so-called “butterfly effect.”
It could also be seen as the nursery rhyme “For Want of a Nail.” “Because one nail was missing from the horseshoe, a kingdom ultimately fell.” A small event as the “cause” triggered a chain of mishaps, culminating in a subversive “result.”
In the most exaggerated versions, Causal Butterfly could spark brutal disasters in a neighboring country without firing a shot. Of course, no such real-world records existed. The teachers assigned this homework lightheartedly, stemming from Lin Chahe’s theoretical hypothesis.
Low-probability random events chaining into unexpected results were rare in reality but a staple in fictional creation. Blending randomness and inevitability had birthed many famous absurd comedies and darkly humorous satires.
Causal Butterfly originated from books, synergizing perfectly with Lin Wenzhi’s Wonderful Pen Produces Flowers. Once theoretical links were established, conceptual Supernatural Abilities gained viability. Framing Causal Butterfly as an absurd script projected onto reality turned those ensnared into unwitting actors, propelled by fortunate or unfortunate random events, their mundane lives twisting.
Life as the stage, people as actors, presenting the story—that was Dramatic Stage.
To ensure characters remained oblivious, acting from true hearts, Wen Jiang and Lin Wenzhi never explained the mechanics to subjects. They let life proceed normally—even forgetting was fine—with zero interference. Pure free-range.
It sounded simple, but execution demanded handling countless details. The biggest early hurdle: constructing Causal Butterfly‘s progression logic and base rules.
Whether butterfly effect or nail story, endings skewed tragic. They didn’t expect disaster from this trial run, but safeguards were essential. They couldn’t let helpful classmates suffer misfortune.
Thus, Wen Jiang and Lin Wenzhi set strict rules—like contest rules banning deaths/injuries, mandating happy endings for protagonists and loved ones. Building this simulated stage was their biggest headache, consuming the most effort.
Even past that, one issue lingered post-subject enrollment: how to judge success?
People lived day-to-day, encountering endless events—how to confirm one tied to Causal Butterfly?
The solution hinged on Wen Jiang “growing stronger.” Not mandatory, per Lin Chahe’s “process over results” philosophy; stage-building alone was great training. Failure wouldn’t fail them.
For safety, if no results by graduation, Wen Jiang would reclaim all marks on subjects.
The “cocoons” Lin Wenzhi mentioned—light orbs Wen Jiang implanted, like the one Xie Qi saw during participation.
Cocoons in subjects marked them as “actors,” vulnerable to one-time Causal Butterfly influence. Pre-upgrade, they were like yarn balls tossed into fog; Wen Jiang held one end but couldn’t track the rest.
Now, tangled threads converged before him. He perceived their “endings.”
Over school days, Wen Jiang and Lin Wenzhi met every participant except Xie Qi. They tailored surveys by situation, analyzed responses for patterns, summarized discussions—even inseparable at lunch.
This golden duo in work mode had unbreakable revolutionary camaraderie. From Monday, Xie Qi couldn’t monopolize Wen Jiang’s time. By Friday, he was like a hollow tree—outwardly upright, inwardly wilted. Unwilling to interrupt, he just checked his watch, counting down to 8:30 PM.
Today was Wen Jiang’s birthday. They’d scheduled post-8:30 free last Sunday.
At evening dismissal, with finishing touches pending, Wen Jiang skipped Xie Qi’s car, busying another twenty minutes with Lin Wenzhi. Classroom empty, she stretched lazily, sighing, “Finally almost done.”
“Mm.” Wen Jiang responded flatly, a subtle relaxation and fulfillment flickering behind his cool expression—visible only to the familiar.
“Just one left,” she said. The un-surveyed subject was Xie Qi. Data already yielded patterns and conclusions. Thinking of her partner’s upcoming date—with him, which she’d half-accepted as magically real—Lin Wenzhi jiggled her notebook. “So?”
True to his no-procrastination ethos, Wen Jiang replied without hesitation, “I’ll ask him tonight and recover the ‘cocoon.'”
Did dates clash with homework? Obviously not.
Plus, recalling Xie Qi’s erroneous text, Wen Jiang needed to address it anyway.
Post-misunderstanding, Xie Qi had heard Qian Lang and Wen Jiang discuss the “red avatar” rule, valid for everyone but him. Why did pure-black-avatar Xie Qi get the mis-sent text? Best guess: drunk Qian Lang fat-fingered it.
Low odds, but no better explanation. Reality wasn’t a TV drama—starting from one text to uncover shadowy organizations and earth-shattering secrets.
Qian Lang guessed cruise-night Truth or Dare: no one dared extreme dares on Xie Qi, maybe just “change avatar to pranking Josie (the red-clothed clown).” Qian Lang saw, mis-sent. Xie Qi revert fixed the loophole.
Full of holes. Xie Qi had eyed Qian Lang like an idiot, killing it with “I never changed my avatar.”
Topic closed as “pure coincidence,” “heaven’s favor for Xie Qi.” Weird flukes happened in a big world—until last Sunday, when Wen Jiang spotted the glowing orb in Xie Qi’s chest. The “cocoon” calling to him.
Wen Jiang suspected the text linked to Causal Butterfly. He’d held off details for investigation. Now, he had answers.
“Got it. Recover all cocoons. I’ll sync my Supernatural Ability with yours now.” Lin Wenzhi stowed her notebook. “Saves me popping in mid-date to help. Sounds awkward.”
She glanced at Wen Jiang, sighing emotionally, “You’ve got a boyfriend now, huh.”
Wen Jiang nodded slightly with a “Mm,” his question phrased as statement: “Relieved now?”
“Mm—” Lin Wenzhi crossed arms, pondered seriously, then said truthfully, “Kinda.”
She had never thought of interfering in Wen Jiang’s love life, but she did harbor some wariness toward Xie Qi.
It wasn’t that she had any personal grudge against Xie Qi himself, or that she doubted Wen Jiang’s judgment—it was just that, as a “commoner” in Qingchi, it would be foolish not to stay on guard. If someone heard about this kind of cross-class relationship and their first reaction was to fantasize about the other person landing a sweet, stable true love that propelled them into a wealthy family and the peak of life, well, whether that person could even graduate from Qingchi was up in the air.
As fellow commoners, Wen Jiang understood this perfectly well. On this matter, they maintained their usual tacit understanding—neither interfering with the other. Over time, things would naturally become clear. Besides, Lin Wenzhi had always been skilled at reading people.
“Ah, but in the end, what can I even do about it?” Lin Wenzhi waved her hand dismissively, her habit of drawing metaphors from scripts and stories kicking in as always. She rubbed her arm with exaggerated distaste. “Am I supposed to suddenly charge up and warn him menacingly, ‘You’d better treat him right from now on, or I won’t let you off’? That would be way too random.”
Wen Jiang let out a soft chuckle, knowing her heart had eased quite a bit.
Lin Wenzhi added casually, “Besides, you two might end up working together in the future anyway, right?”
Even though most of their collaborations so far had revolved around drama, Lin Wenzhi never saw Wen Jiang as just an “actor with exceptionally superb skills.” With his S-Grade Dramatic Stage, he could be a perfectly safe actor, celebrity, or preschool teacher. He could also handle criminal interrogations, mental counseling, or even go undercover as a legitimate spy. And now, spending more time with Lifestyle System ability users, his future colleagues might lean even more toward the Combat System side.
His advisor had intentionally exposed him to the Combat System students’ environment early on. Before entering the Training Field, Wen Jiang had signed a safety pledge. The Combat System students generally thought it was to protect him personally, but it was actually a two-way commitment—Wen Jiang couldn’t use his Supernatural Ability to put those lower-ranked Combat System folks in danger either.
With Wen Jiang’s abilities, Lin Wenzhi didn’t envision a future where “his boyfriend held a high position while he scraped by as a lowly clerk.” She sighed with a touch of emotion. “If I want to work with you on a play someday, I might have to submit an application in advance.”
“No need,” Wen Jiang replied matter-of-factly. “You can just text me directly.”
“Oh?” Lin Wenzhi blinked, then curved her lips into a smile. “Such a sweet talker.”
“Here, this is for you.” After a bit more chit-chat, Lin Wenzhi rummaged through her bag one last time and pulled out a wrapped gift box. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” Wen Jiang accepted the gift, stowed it in his bag, then pulled out two chocolates. They had a habit of sharing snacks, even on birthdays. He closed the classroom door. The setting sun filtered through the hallway windows, casting two slender shadows. Lin Wenzhi popped one chocolate into her mouth and let out a “Whoa.”
Once again, it carried a flavor far beyond what their budget should allow.
“From my boyfriend,” Wen Jiang said flatly.
