Chapter 22: Heat

Xie Qi actually thought about a lot in an instant.

Well, to be honest, his first reaction was “cute.”

Just like when he pulled off sleight-of-hand cheating at cards with flawless technique, when he delivered deadpan cold jokes with a straight face, when there was no one to play the straight man and he fell silent, then smoothly went along with it by saying, “Yeah, that’s exactly it”… After Wen Jiang explained his genius method, Xie Qi fell into stunned silence, a mix of shock and helpless amusement. At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking: Yeah, that’s totally something Wen Jiang would pull off.

Some people obsessed over their bedroom prowess whether it was real or fake, refusing to let anyone question it even slightly—Wen Jiang clearly wasn’t one of them. And though he’d never played a role quite like this, he was never the type of actor to nitpick or fret, “What if people laugh at me for acting this out?”

Charm-type Supernatural Abilities really did turn someone into a sex-addicted mess in the blink of an eye, and sexual frigidity was the perfect counter. Wen Jiang laid it out so frankly, straight facts—this method was seriously impressive.

Others might not grasp its brilliance, but it tested one’s reaction speed in chaotic emergencies, precise control over dual roles amid the Supernatural Ability clash, and most basically, the raw strength to crush another Ability head-on in unfamiliar territory. It was the kind of thing that, if Wen Jiang wrote it up in a homework report, the teacher would slap on extra points without hesitation.

But now that method was over. Wen Jiang’s gaze flicked to the side as he said flatly, “The Ability’s gone now.”

The wave of arousal had come from Peach Fragrance, but his counter had only worked by clashing against it. Now the lingering charm Supernatural Ability was wiped out by the drug—no more opponent meant the method lost its edge. All that remained was the normal physiological reaction.

In other words, though he’d been sitting here the whole time, he was actually—in a much worse state now.

The scorching heat swelled inside his body, his vision blurring like it was coated in a layer of water. Wen Jiang blinked lightly, his crow-feather lashes drooping. Xie Qi watched him like this, his own throat growing even drier. Playing along, he asked, “Can’t keep up the act?”

“I’m just an actor.” He was only acting—it wasn’t like he actually had a problem down there. Wen Jiang explained, “If you slashed me with a knife, I’d still bleed.”

He could just act like it didn’t hurt at all.

So after all that circling around, they were back to square one: they still needed to “resolve” this fast? Xie Qi zeroed in on the key point in an instant.

He held back, but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Can’t we talk about this after you’re not feeling so bad anymore?”

…I’ve actually been waiting for you to say that. Wen Jiang stayed silent, but he hadn’t gotten the expected roast earlier, so he just kept going.

His condition was predictably poor—head still foggy, body uncomfortable all over. But some people could ace an exam with a 38-degree fever; he could explain the basic principles of his method while riding out the arousal surge.

…Pointless, maybe. Whatever—resolving it now works just fine.

Wen Jiang turned his head back, meeting the eyes of Xie Qi, who was still half-kneeling. Perhaps because he’d finally said what he wanted to, Xie Qi caught a faint flicker of pleasure in those eyes.

When Wen Jiang wasn’t putting on his business face, his gaze often looked like he was staring at trash—and from above now, it was even more so. But the flush seeping through his skin made his face more vivid, his features softening toward something languid and casual compared to his usual iciness. Added a touch of easygoing laziness.

Even in this state, sitting there quietly, he didn’t look like someone you could just have your way with, touch at will. Xie Qi, who was closer to him than most, might snag some privileges. Xie Qi watched him and reached out, gently grasping his side waist—feeling the unexpectedly taut, lean lines beneath.

Wen Jiang looked at him as always, showing no rejection. Under that gaze, Xie Qi’s breathing grew heavier. His hand slipped under the edge of Wen Jiang’s shirt, unimpeded, touching the fever-hot, smooth skin of his side waist.

Palm curling in, the heat transferred into the other body, desire ballooning in the blink of an eye. Xie Qi started feeling an indescribable stuffiness.

The restlessness of youth, his good upbringing, and the ingrained mindset of his circle all tugged at Xie Qi at once. They’d been dating this long, and he was still plotting how to get Wen Jiang to hold hands willingly for ages—hadn’t even reached kissing yet. But if they tumbled straight into bed? Xie Qi would jump at it, no hesitation whatsoever.

How fast things progressed depended entirely on his boyfriend—whether Wen Jiang leaned open or conservative. He paused for two seconds, seemingly genuinely curious, and asked, “Why are you still here?”

The “empty room,” huh?

“?” Xie Qi hadn’t seen that coming and froze. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“…?” Wen Jiang processed the words, inwardly shocked. “If you don’t leave, how am I supposed to resolve this?”

“…Fuck.”

Maybe because he’d always believed that in a moment like this, he’d definitely come in handy—getting rejected now hit hard. Xie Qi, who’d thought he’d gotten used to his boyfriend’s aloofness, suddenly couldn’t take it.

He wanted to snap in that instant, but seeing Wen Jiang’s face made him swallow it back. He took a deep breath, lowering his voice, though it came out gritted through clenched teeth: “So I’m not needed here at all, huh?”

…Yeah?

What do you have to do with it?

Is my brain just not working right now? The sticky, scorching sensations still clung to him, thoughts a muddled mess. Wen Jiang mulled it over slowly for two seconds, drew no conclusions. Without the distraction of explaining his method, the weird feelings in his body were growing more obvious.

…So hot.

He opened his mouth—and in that instant, Xie Qi erupted with intense grievance.

Anticipating the decision, before Wen Jiang could tell him to get out, Xie Qi shot to his feet and cut in: “I’ll help you.”

Wen Jiang’s brain wasn’t spinning; based on basic life common sense, he politely replied: “No need.”

“Why not?” Anything was better than being kicked out. Xie Qi’s hand pressed onto Wen Jiang’s shoulder. After so long holding back, his true temper finally slipped out. His chest heaved dramatically twice as he scrambled for an emotion-free, pragmatic reason: “Me helping you will be faster than you doing it yourself.”

He knew exactly what words would earn Wen Jiang’s trust: “It’s hard to finish on your own—just let me take over.”

Is that so? Wen Jiang pondered instinctively. Abilities and Physiology… Yeah, the book really did say that.

Charm-type Supernatural Abilities often amplified stimulation from contact with others, ensuring natural escalation in group scenarios—because self-resolving went against the artificial intent of the Ability’s effect…

So… reasonable? Was it?

…Too hot.

Can’t stay stuck here anymore.

Unnoticed, Xie Qi had drawn even closer. His voice came out especially low and husky to Wen Jiang’s ears. The hand on his shoulder gripped hard, like a branding iron clamping down—pure domineering insistence.

“What’s the big deal?” Matching the forceful move, Xie Qi murmured, his tone carrying a casual arrogance. “Just think of it as helping each other out.”

Uncannily natural flirtation, paired with oppressive behavior—they were locked in a silent contest of wills.

Standing now blocked Wen Jiang’s line of sight. Xie Qi stared him down like a head wolf eyeing prey, nearly corralling him into his arms. One leg pressed onto the sofa cushion, the air thickening to a standstill, sparks flying in the invisible clash.

Suddenly, Wen Jiang gripped Xie Qi’s wrist where it was pinned on his shoulder.

Not hard, but steady—the attitude clear and unyielding, a hardness utterly unlike Xie Qi’s style.

Wen Jiang glanced coolly downward, not getting where Xie Qi’s excitement was coming from.

But his head was burning up; he didn’t want to think anymore.

He tilted his head slightly, fringe sweeping aside. His gaze shifted from looking down to looking up, locking straight onto Xie Qi’s eyes.

Looking down is like staring at trash—so does changing the angle, the position, really make some fundamental difference?

Wen Jiang’s expression was icy, his pitch-black pupils like an abyss locking someone in, or frost condensing.

The guy was too close. Too hot.

The earlier distance was better.

Thinking on instinct, Wen Jiang said: “Xie Qi, kneel back down.”