Wen Jiang was strikingly handsome, excelled academically, and his Supernatural Ability talent had exceeded measurable limits. He’d received an S-Level evaluation right from the start of school. With his perpetually neutral expression and sparse words, from afar, he embodied the archetype of a classic campus heartthrob.
There were very few S-Level Espers, and the school encouraged them to interact, spar friendly matches, and grow together. On the first day, Wen Jiang received a contact list for all Super A-Grade to S-Level students and was forced to add them as friends.
In truth, aside from Wen Jiang, the other top-tier Espers all came from extraordinary families. They either already knew each other or had crossed paths and heard the names—they were all part of the same circle. Only Wen Jiang was the outsider. Moreover, his Supernatural Ability didn’t fall under the Combat System; it was classified in the Lifestyle System, which made his position in the so-called S-circle rather awkward.
To get into Qingchi, a student needed at least one of three things: family background, Supernatural Ability, or grades. Wen Jiang hadn’t entered through the special Supernatural Ability recruitment channel. In a school full of nepotism kids and the ultra-wealthy, he’d gotten in purely on merit. His decent family was upper-class by normal standards, but to those rich heirs, it barely scraped the bottom rung—stuck in limbo, neither high nor low. Paired with his aloof demeanor, outsiders lumped him into the typical “isolated loner prone to bullying” category.
Combining these factors, the classic delusions people projected onto Wen Jiang included—but weren’t limited to—his cold personality stemming from a strict family, his apparent iciness hiding secret bullying, a scorching heart misunderstood beneath the iceberg, or a glamorous school life masking constant extortion for huge sums of money. All to fit the “beautiful, strong, and tragic” route.
Qian Lang was deeply worried about how Wen Jiang would fare at school without his protection. Before boarding the plane, he sighed while slinging an arm around Xie Qi’s shoulders, earnestly saying, “Sigh, while I’m gone these next few years, Xiao Jiang’s in your hands.”
Xie Qi frowned but let the arm stay, unusually not swatting it away. “Got it.”
Perhaps because Qian Lang was really leaving for years, Xie Qi’s attitude grew more solemn. He stayed quiet for a moment before adding, “……Even when you get back, he won’t need you.”
When did this kid get so reliable? He hasn’t listened once in the past five years, Qian Lang thought, overjoyed. He immediately declared, “Alright, Wen Jiang’s yours from now on.”
He thumped Xie Qi’s chest, the scene like a father handing his daughter to her husband-to-be. With melancholy, he said, “Live well together, yeah? If there’s no issue, I’m off.”
“I have a question.” Wen Jiang, who’d been silently watching for ages, cut in. He turned a question into a statement: “Why do I sound like I’m living some pitiful life in your words?”
Xie Qi flicked a quick glance at Wen Jiang, then jerked away as if burned, his face slightly flushing. “It’s not that…..”
“It is,” Qian Lang boldly agreed, pointing accusingly at Wen Jiang for ruining the mood. “Because your face screams that kind of character archetype! Don’t wreck the chivalrous big brother image I’ve cultivated—going abroad and still looking out for my little bro!”
“……” I have a harmonious family and smooth sailing life, Wen Jiang thought wordlessly, eyeing Qian Lang: So do you still remember what you did to your little bro’s phone?
Qian Lang ignored the silent accusation, coughed dryly, and turned for Xie Qi’s backup—only to see half his face darkened, impatience blatant in his tone. “If nothing’s up, get going already.”
……How does this guy’s attitude flip so fast? And here I thought you really missed me!
Qian Lang pouted, gave a few more reminders to think of him and stay in regular touch, then boarded the plane with many a backward glance. Once seated, he replayed whether entrusting Friend No. 1 to Friend No. 2 was the right call.
As fellow S-Rank Ability Users, Xie Qi was the real big shot who could strut anywhere, too lazy to give anyone a good face. His family background could easily crush Wen Jiang’s, and even Qian Lang’s family wouldn’t dare provoke the Xie Family excessively.
But then Qian Lang reconsidered: Xie Qi was just bad-tempered and tsundere, full of young master quirks, ruthless when pissed….. Whatever. At least he doesn’t lie about stuff like this. Since he agreed and has always seemed to like Wen Jiang, it should be fine.
As for the fresh phone fiasco, Qian Lang cringed every time he recalled it. He’d considered telling the new “Wen Jiang guardian” Xie Qi, but it was too embarrassing to admit. The deed was done anyway. After watching Qian Lang wallow in despair for a bit, Wen Jiang agreed to keep it confidential within reason—no exposing him as the culprit behind the scenes unless it couldn’t be covered up.
Theoretically, it wasn’t a big deal. Qian Lang’s messages boiled down to two possibilities: one, as he’d thought drunk, overflowing with sweet, passionate love; two, only fragments in his mind, the actual sent text garbled nonsense, hard to decipher.
The duration of Absolute Trust’s effect depended heavily on external factors. Neither message type matched Wen Jiang’s appearance at all. Even if initially believed under the Ability’s influence, a closer look at that face should reveal the mismatch soon enough.
The bad news? Wen Jiang himself didn’t quite match his appearance—or rather, there was a weird disconnect.
Qian Lang and Wen Jiang truly bonded in the first month of school. Before that, Wen Jiang had some fame as an S-Level, but not to today’s extent. Fans saw him as the ascetic hunk; haters as the pretentious prick. Qian Lang leaned toward the latter.
Back then, Qian Lang walked into class where class reps were discussing a play. Wen Jiang, buried in his book, looked up to listen silently, face expressionless. Sunlight streamed through the window like a spotlight on a star, amplifying that subtle air of pretentiousness.
Hormonal straight guys couldn’t stand it. Qian Lang inwardly scoffed and drawled like every novel’s antagonistic thug, “The top student into plays too, huh?”
Others caught the unreasonable sarcasm, exchanging awkward glances. Finally, Wen Jiang’s deskmate and language rep Lin Wenzhi smoothed it over: “Qian Lang, you want Wen Jiang in the play? Good eye. I think he’d make a great prince.”
The play was their class’s arts festival assignment, but casting was undecided—recommendations or anonymous votes? Lin Wenzhi’s words warmed the mood. Wen Jiang nodded slightly. “I think so too.”
That instantly soured the air again. Qian Lang drawled coolly, “Whoa, big shot.” The girl handling costumes and props adjusted her round glasses, saying tactfully, “Wen Jiang does look the part, but the prince is sunny and outgoing, with expressive lines. If he smiled more, it’d be perfect.”
Wen Jiang nodded again. “I think so too.”
……What exactly do you think?
Qian Lang rolled his eyes amid the silent questions. “Then smile for us now—open our eyes.”
“Okay.” Wen Jiang paused a few seconds, then flashed a brilliantly standard toothy grin. His features softened, eyes sparkled, radiating vibrant youthful energy head to toe. The propaganda rep, short on positive pics, gasped in awe. Most onlookers froze. The smile vanished like an ephemera; he blandly asked, “How’s that?”
“……Perfect.” The glasses girl struggled. “Too perfect.”
An iceberg hunk’s rare gentle smile could stun; too genuine and hearty, it turned horror story. Lin Wenzhi closed her eyes, muttering, “This isn’t how I pictured it going.”
Qian Lang took the biggest mental hit. Stunned speechless, he finally blurted, “You can smile?!”
“Of course I can.” The crowd’s poker-faced Wen Jiang, still poker-faced, retorted, “I’m not emotionless.”
Qian Lang chuckled now recalling it. That incident inexplicably improved his view of Wen Jiang. Then seats shuffled him behind the guy, and they grew closer. Knowing Wen Jiang struggled to fit the elite Esper circle, Qian Lang played matchmaker, formally introducing him to Xie Qi.
Xie Qi’s pampered personality was tough for most; Wen Jiang wasn’t chatty either. Qian Lang figured face familiarity was best-case. Surprisingly, they clicked—Xie Qi even asked about Wen Jiang sometimes.
I’m a real wingman pro, Qian Lang smugly affirmed, pulling down his eye mask to sleep.
In Qian Lang’s mind, Friend No. 1 and No. 2 exited the airport lobby one after the other. Xie Qi lagged behind, suddenly calling to Wen Jiang, “Hey, wanna hold hands?”
“??” Why hold hands out of nowhere? Wen Jiang turned. “Nah.”
Xie Qi’s face fell. Frowning, he hurried over. “You mind in public?”
Is this an inside/outside thing? Recalling Xie Qi’s handover chat with Qian Lang, Wen Jiang countered, “You think you need to take good care of me now?”
Xie Qi stared, then ruffled his own hair, turning away to mumble, “Fuck, that sounds cheesy.”
He faced back with nonchalance. “Something like that.”
Wen Jiang hadn’t expected Xie Qi to heed Qian Lang so well—or this meticulously. He eyed Xie Qi like a new continent, matching the rare earnestness seriously. “Fine.”
Silence stretched about ten seconds. Xie Qi’s expression shifted from puzzled to stunned to incredulous. He raised his voice. “That’s it?”
“What else should I say?” Wen Jiang puzzled, adding, “Holding hands is fine, just not too long.”
He wasn’t a toddler; he could play along somewhat, but not if too bothersome. Xie Qi seemed deeply dissatisfied, enunciating, “Fine? Not too long?”
Spotting the displeasure, Wen Jiang tilted his head. “Or skip it altogether?”
Qian Lang missed their alone time. Unlike his image of Xie Qi’s princeling tantrums, Wen Jiang’s social obliviousness and spotty EQ didn’t yield “unfazed acceptance” or “surprising soothing.” Wen Jiang rarely fully deferred to Xie Qi. If Wen Jiang described his view of Xie Qi for Qian Lang, he’d gawk: “Who’re you talking about?”
Xie Qi wasn’t bad deep down; Wen Jiang didn’t dislike him. But their arguments were unconventional. Wen Jiang raised his right hand, stating clearly, “Those are the options. No? Five, four, three…..”
Before “two,” Xie Qi lunged, gripping firmly. Grumbling, “You can’t keep doing this!”
“Not too long—it’s inconvenient for moving,” Wen Jiang repeated, noting Xie Qi’s face and stressing, “I’m not mad, but no all-the-time holding.”
Xie Qi was used to indulgence; sulking without easy apologies. Wen Jiang lacked the fawning empathy—or dogleg spirit. Past Xie Qis itched with frustration but powerless; Wen Jiang truly wasn’t scared.
But Xie Qi increasingly felt in the right this time. Past wrongs were one thing; now their bond wasn’t mere friendship—why not hand-holding? Nothing shameful!
Unconvinced, he griped, “Never seen someone so prissy……”
The word shocked Wen Jiang inwardly. Reflecting on lifelong norms, he was dead certain one grown man refusing another’s persistent hand-holding wasn’t “prissy.” He let Xie Qi hold till airport exit, spotting the Xie Family luxury car signaling home time, then released to part ways.
Wen Jiang tugged at his hand, but it didn’t budge. Xie Qi still gripped it tightly, staying completely silent, his stubborn stance clear in that wordless attitude.
“……” Stubbornness flared up in him again. Wen Jiang looked at him coolly. “Xie Qi.”
Xie Qi straightened his back slightly at the hint in Wen Jiang’s gaze. He seemed ready to snap back at Wen Jiang in the next moment, but then suddenly relaxed as if giving up, reluctantly letting go of Wen Jiang’s hand.
