When people faced persistent suitors, there was a dramatic rejection tactic: rope in a familiar acquaintance to fake a relationship, creating the illusion that the flower had an owner, so others would back off and stop harassing them.
This relied on respecting the suitor’s sense of morality to work, so Qian Lang held no hopes. The next day, he offered Wen Jiang two clever strategies.
Wen Jiang was with Xie Qi at the time. Xie Qi handled his outfit and transportation, parking the car early at his doorstep to pick him up. Before changing clothes, Wen Jiang received a call from Qian Lang overseas. The strategist suggested, “Emphasize to him that you’re single.”
This was a way to test the waters.
Wen Jiang paused, reflecting on the common-sense education he’d received. Normally, if you’d accidentally sent a confession text to the wrong person and then proactively mentioned being single, it would only deepen the misunderstanding.
But use people without doubting, doubt without using—he knew nothing about Wen Tianlu’s quirks, except that the guy wasn’t as good at cards. Wen Jiang decided to humbly adopt the advice.
He messaged Wen Tianlu: I’m single.
Wen Tianlu replied lightning-fast: Me too^^
Wen Jiang’s face remained impassive as he forwarded the exchange to Qian Lang, reporting, “Seems like it didn’t work.”
“Ew.” Qian Lang eyed the record with distaste; he was all too familiar with that vibe. He quickly asked Wen Jiang, “Is he that annoying?”
“Not really.” Wen Jiang thought it over and gave a fair assessment. “Actually, it’s fine.”
No troubling issues had cropped up yet. The animal photos Wen Tianlu sent were all cute, and that morning he’d even flexed his Supernatural Ability, sending a pic of an ice-sculpted bunny.
The crystal-clear rabbit sat on a white round table, its upper body reared up, front paws touching the dangling leaves of some potted plant. It looked vivid and lifelike. Wen Jiang sincerely replied with a little dinosaur thumbs-up emoji.
Wen Tianlu: Wait till you come, I’ll give it to you.
Wen Jiang: No need.
Wen Jiang had to attend the Wen Family banquet today, so he’d inevitably cross paths with Wen Tianlu. Picking up the rabbit could be a chance to chat and observe him.
But his top priority was playing the role of intimate partner—staying in Xie Qi’s line of sight, being a dance partner who synced perfectly with him. Compared to nailing the practical assignment, other events could wait.
“If it’s fine, just ignore him for now.” The distant military advisor Qian Lang orchestrated from afar, offering the second ploy of holding position. “Let him be. Those who play others will always be played in turn. No need to preach morals to him—it’s all his own doing. Just don’t believe a word he says.”
Wen Jiang sighed. “Your language skills have really improved.”
He could even say things like “those who play others will always be played in turn” now.
“…Don’t change the subject!” Qian Lang nagged again, emphasizing, “Especially once you have a partner someday. Even if you wanna play, absolutely don’t play with him.”
Wen Tianlu’s true nature remained a mystery—who knew what lurked behind the scenes to make Qian Lang fixate on that “cheating” angle. Like Xie Qi, he wasn’t one for casual hookups, but with friends, he switched to a lenient standard, as if it were no big deal. Wen Jiang sometimes glimpsed the shadows of Qian Lang’s circle in that.
To play a role well, don’t forget the details, Wen Jiang concluded.
He remembered his main task, chatted briefly with Qian Lang, and hung up. Xie Qi must have cleared the place ahead of time; aside from staff, they were the only customers. Oddly, the changing room was built like a fortress—thin-looking but blast-proof. And once inside, you’d lose signal.
“Oh, my Supernatural Ability went haywire here once as a kid,” Xie Qi said lightly when asked. “So my family renovated it.”
Wen Jiang probed the logic. “If you showed signs of losing control again, they’d lock you in the changing room first?”
“In theory.” But these were materials from years ago, and he wasn’t standing still. Xie Qi shrugged indifferently. “It’s useless now anyway. Can’t hold me anymore.”
It still blocks me from outside messages. Wen Jiang silently handed his phone to Xie Qi, who waited outside, just in case of emergencies.
Come to think of it, both Qian Lang and Xie Qi were “friends” with Wen Tianlu. In public perception and Wen Jiang’s memories, the trio—plus Jiang Hehu and Lin Xun—had always been tight, bonded since childhood.
Yet Xie Qi had slickly pondered physically beating Wen Tianlu, and Qian Lang had just slickly suggested toying with him mentally. Wen Jiang figured their friendships didn’t follow ordinary standards. Wen Tianlu could probably slickly pull the same on the others in their little group.
—Like slickly meddling in a friend’s romance.
Wen Tianlu had never actually interfered with the love lives of his childhood friends. Circle insiders gossiped that he took after his dad but at least wouldn’t touch a friend’s wife. When it reached his ears, he’d smile without denying it.
Objects I couldn’t even touch myself, Wen Tianlu thought. Xie Qi was the eternal bachelor, Jiang Hehu a fight-loving brat at heart, Lin Xun and he had always swapped toys—no need to steal, and what fun was there in it?
Qian Lang was the worst option. What he craved couldn’t be summed up as sleeping with married folks or breaking up couples.
He just loved seeing a relationship—polished and pristine on the surface—suddenly shatter. Crudely put, over mere affairs, he preferred the thrill of getting caught. Secrets painstakingly hidden had to be exposed someday, like vast ice crystals exploding in sunlight, each bursting flower sparkling brilliantly.
But Wen Tianlu had to admit, Qian Lang and Huo Xia Tong had brains apart but turned into idiot lovers together. Idiot romance was cloying cream—sticky and unpleasant.
And if they all ended up in arranged marriages for gain someday, who needed these few around? Weighing cost against pleasure, Wen Tianlu didn’t mind staying the “no friend’s wife” good friend.
He figured it’d stay that way for a long time—until a few days ago, when Lin Xun messaged him out of the blue. The content surprised Wen Tianlu: Wen Jiang had sent him a confession text.
Lin Xun hesitantly added, “Dunno what he’s up to.”
The S-Grade outsider drifting on the circle’s edges, whose name had grown familiar since entering Qingchi. A “confession” from Wen Jiang… Honestly, Wen Tianlu didn’t care.
The Wen Jiang he’d seen in the training room showed no signs of branch-climbing. Plus, Jiang Hehu got a weird message too, and his matched Lin Xun’s. Logical guess: mis-send during a game or something. Even if it was multi-line seduction, who’d be dumb enough to fire off identical texts simultaneously to them?
But… couldn’t Lin Xun see how “fake” it was?
Wen Tianlu: For real?
Lin Xun: Definitely fake lol
You know that and still ask? Wen Tianlu typed, then paused before sending. He realized this hesitation was weirder than taking it at face value.
As an off-campus student, Lin Xun saw Wen Jiang far less than he did. No setup for some Lin Family heir “settling down” drama.
He deleted the message, trying to think purely as a predator sizing up prey.
No doubt, Wen Jiang’s looks were flawless. Even Lin Xun, jaded by celebrities, couldn’t claim they were just averagely handsome.
Purely on appearance, it was a face many would call “face-value alone boosts your status.” So why was Lin Xun hesitating here? If viewing him as mere decoration, confession truth didn’t matter— it’d be fodder for laughs.
That keen scent of something made Wen Tianlu’s heart bubble like boiling water, bubbles stirring restlessly, rising eagerly.
Wen Tianlu: Wanna play with him?
Lin Xun didn’t reply for a while.
…Taking forever.
The time in the top-right corner ticked steadily, each minute fueling the boil beneath.
When did Lin Xun start caring about Wen Jiang? For the first time in ages, Wen Tianlu sharply felt that familiar “detachment.”
Since Wen Jiang dropped into their circle like from the heavens, their internal dynamics had subtly realigned—or destabilized. Waiting, Wen Tianlu recalled the buzz that shook all of Qingchi: Wen Jiang’s debut stage performance after enrolling.
He’d sat in the second-floor box. Once Wen Jiang took the stage, he quickly sensed his disconnect from everyone.
In the premium room: Lin Xun there for fun, Jiang Hehu griping “boring,” Qian Lang defending “you’ll see how great he is soon,” Xie Qi annoyed by the noise—all fell into rapt silence without exception.
Wen Tianlu scanned their faces, got no response. Peering out, he was surprised—the silence unified with the audience below.
Elite boxes or common hall, whispers ceased, fidgety kids froze, eyes from phones or books snapped to the single focus. The theater held only the stage’s music.
S-Grade Dramatic Stage*.
An invisible curtain parted, drawing people into the play’s world. Wen Tianlu realized he was the only one who could look away. Without his lucky glimpse of that mysterious one-off in an empty theater, he’d have been enthralled too.
But that sole performance—this pivotal twist—had isolated him from everyone. He’d assumed things would normalize post-curtain, but what if his circle had changed beyond his expectations?
A secret thrill mingled with rising white steam. Seeing Lin Xun finally reply “whatever,” Wen Tianlu finally laughed aloud.
Wen Tianlu: Oh?
Wen Tianlu: What a coincidence
Wen Tianlu: Wen Jiang sent me one too^^
He was interested now.
