Chapter 25: Dance and Quarrel Part 1

The outdoor courtyard of the Bohr Hotel currently maintained a deathly silence.

It was like dropping a stone into water. The window glass on the fifth-floor room suddenly shattered, and the oppressive force of an S-Grade clash swept downward. Those not on the guest list brazenly stepped into the venue, but in an instant, they alarmed the bystanders. Ripples spread across the water’s surface, splashing droplets everywhere, before the Bohr Hotel quickly returned to silence. The lake remained as calm as ever, as if everything that had just happened was merely a fleeting illusion.

At least, that’s how it appeared to outsiders.

The “all-night dance party for the young crowd” was underway at the Bohr Hotel. All the luxury prizes that had been claimed were fully redeemed, elegant dance music drifted through the hall, and wine and snacks were served at any moment. If there was anywhere the atmosphere fell short, it was in the dance floor, where the number of gracefully twirling men and women was disappointingly sparse.

Those without the standing to speak either didn’t dare make a peep, had already witnessed the Xie Family’s style, or chose to treat the situation like a one-night hotel vacation. Those with the standing to speak always reached a consensus at lightning speed—sweeping major incidents under the rug and turning trifles into nothing. Wen Ruoyue sat on the second-floor sofa, letting out a small yawn, utterly unhurried in her heart.

After all, at the end of the day, she was the type who would invite a bunch of unrelated people just to watch more drama unfold. Wen Ruoyue stretched lazily, her peripheral vision catching sight of Wen Tianlu’s profile—plastered with a cooling patch, still somewhat swollen red. She couldn’t hold back and giggled out loud.

“You gonna laugh every time you see me?” Wen Tianlu asked coolly. He lounged on the sofa with his legs propped up, focused on his handheld game, not even lifting his eyes.

“What’s wrong with laughing at you?” Wen Ruoyue lifted her chin, firing back with sharp wit. “You guys ruined my engagement party! I haven’t even settled the score with you yet—can’t I at least laugh?”

She didn’t look the least bit aggrieved or angry. In truth, if she’d thrown a tantrum, wailing and ranting about how the Xie Family had gone too far by sabotaging her important engagement and demanding an explanation, the elders’ discussion wouldn’t have wrapped up so quickly.

But was she that stupid? When her fiancé—who wasn’t even officially married to her yet—had expressed heartbroken “regret” on her behalf, Wen Ruoyue had shot him an amused glance, her eyes curving into crescents as she suggested that since he cared so much, why didn’t he step up, argue her case, demand an apology from the Xie Family? Then, citing her need to look after her little brother, she’d politely ushered him out of the private room.

Before closing the door, she’d offered her stiff-faced almost-husband a heartfelt cheer: “You got this!”

It was a good thing Wen Tianlu was in a foul mood; otherwise, he’d have definitely fanned the flames for his brother-in-law-to-be, pushing him into a corner where backing down would make him unfit for marriage. If anything, that was what truly made Wen Ruoyue feel a bit regretful.

“The dance party’s got zero vibe right now,” she had a completely different spiel for her brother, analyzing it with him in detail. “Either the skill level’s too low, or their hearts aren’t in it. That guy of yours… what number was he again? No. 8? He dances pretty well. I specially invited him, and then he goes and falls—broke my heart, sis is devastated.”

“You should blame Xie Qi for that, or blame the guy himself,” Wen Tianlu mocked. He hooked the corner of his mouth, but the slight sting from his medicated cheek hit first, and his expression quickly chilled again.

Wen Tianlu hadn’t remembered No. 8 before, but he’d likely recall him for a long while now. They said men die for wealth just as birds perish for food—No. 8’s “courage” that night was no less than No. 13’s.

Desperate to pay off debts with shady dealings, he’d scurried around the venue all evening. After snatching something, he ran smack into the Xie Family sealing the exits. Shocked and thinking he’d been exposed, he panicked and bolted from the bathroom window.

Then he hit a wall.

Air currents from below caught him like a woven net—or a stone barrier—hurling him violently back inside. No. 8 crashed hard onto the bathroom tiles, clutching his leg and wailing in agony by the time people rushed over at the sound.

On the surface, the Xie Family had handled it mildly—not brute suppression, but a more decorous “suggestion.” Wen Ruoyue, who had invited the guests herself, knew full well not everyone there had sharp eyes or brains; plenty were hot-tempered idiots. Their current docility piqued her interest as she gazed out the window. This must be how they finally spotted the anomaly outside, thanks to No. 8.

No breath of wind stirred outside the hotel, but oddly, a close look at the courtyard lawn revealed patches of grass blades uniformly bending and swaying in the same direction, linking up to form an arc.

The arc kept extending, formless air currents sweeping across the hotel’s rear until they connected end to end, forming a complete, inescapable circle. Right now, the Bohr Hotel stood as the sole calm eye in the storm’s field, enveloped by Xie Qi’s 【Storm】.

The Xie Family’s experience in handling Xie Qi’s Supernatural Ability issues made suppressing this spectacle routine. But it also relied on Xie Qi’s own efforts—the encircling wind field was invisible and steady, controllable in range and intensity, not qualifying as a “disaster.”

By evaluation, Xie Qi’s Supernatural Ability stability had indeed improved over the past two years, especially after entering Qingchi, where chaos incidents dropped markedly. He’d teetered on the critical line repeatedly, dragging out his Secret Tower deadline from three years ago to today.

But delays had their limits. Xie Qi still couldn’t achieve true “normalcy.” As an S-Grade, his constant growth meant escalating potential harm. Word was, even Xie Qi himself had prepared for it.

Rumors had swirled that Xie Qi would soon leave school entirely for the Secret Tower—possibly for life, with no return date. Yet something had changed; he still stood freely outside.

No surprise there… Wen Ruoyue mused. The Secret Tower’s human rights issues were hugely controversial. The Xie Family doted on Xie Qi so much—if he flat-out refused to enter, they’d keep finding ways to stall. By comparison, sigh, her own little brother might be the one in real peril.

If Wen Tianlu failed his stability rating one more time, their mother would decisively sign the consent form and toss him into the Secret Tower without a backward glance. Perhaps that’s why Wen Tianlu always carried that “live in the moment,” thrill-seeking vibe in his actions.

Come to think of it, Wen Ruoyue reflected with a sigh, getting slapped hard by an outsider for the first time—how’s that not a novel experience for Wen Tianlu?

＊＊＊

Meanwhile, the one who’d slapped Wen Tianlu sat on the edge of the central fountain in the hotel courtyard, scooping up handfuls of cool water.

The flow slipped through his fingers. Moonlight reflected on the surface, shattering as the pool rippled, then reforming moments later. Xie Qi sat beside Wen Jiang, watching him play with the water. After a bit, he spoke first: “You heading back in?”

Wen Jiang was pondering the same. He flicked his hand lightly, round water droplets rolling from his fingertips back into the pool. “Depends on you.”

Wen Jiang and Xie Qi had descended directly from the fifth floor via wind. For Xie Qi, this felt a bit like the “post-smoke” cooldown phase. Though they hadn’t made any massive leaps, with bodies cooling and rationality kicking in, blowing off steam outside beat awkward silence in the room.

Wen Jiang figured steering clear of the hall crowd was wise for now. The open, quiet space aided clear thinking, but the pressing issue loomed: How to wrap up this assignment?

Regrettably, even with a valid cause and a genius counter to the Charm-Type Esper Ability, it was like gilding the lily. Without the “brocade” foundation, Wen Jiang’s failure to complete the assignment smoothly remained unchanged.

Handling on-site surprises was a solid bonus in practical exercises. Sure, outright failure meant the Wen-Xie duo disbanded on the spot, packing up and heading home—no harsh grading from the teacher. But as a top student, he felt he could salvage it.

Like Plan A: Act like nothing happened, slip seamlessly into the venue unnoticed… Nah, impossible. Xie Qi had forced the party to drag on this long; his reappearance would draw instant eyes, and the crowd’s mood wouldn’t allow a smooth entry, gradually drawing gazes with the music as originally planned.

Or Plan B: Storm the dance floor with full-throttle Supernatural Ability, bulldoze through head-on, ignore all backstory—just dance and secure a passing grade. The classic “just do it and call it a win” slacker tactic.

That demanded maxed-out power, essentially minimizing Xie Qi’s presence. Visually, it’d be more solo showcase than partner dance.

Strictly speaking, they needed to blend as one—that would truly fulfill inviter Xie Qi’s wish.

“I’m fine either way,” Xie Qi said, playing it nonchalant. He knew saying “I’m satisfied” wouldn’t let Wen Jiang turn in the assignment. So he rephrased more pointedly: “As long as we dance, it’s good. Location doesn’t matter.”

Wen Jiang had ideas too. He glanced around. “Even here?”

“Sure.” Xie Qi took Wen Jiang’s hand, warming the damp, cool palm with his own dry one. “I don’t care. Up to you.”

It wasn’t far from the hall—anyone opening a window could see them. Through the closed glass doors, music drifted from inside. The surroundings were scenic, the space ample, with a lavish fountain. The only flaw? Wen Jiang eyed the nearby lights. Too bright.

Like broad daylight, ruining the night’s intimate vibe.

“Too bright, right?” Xie Qi noticed too. With a few bangs! bangs!, the nearest bulbs shattered, leaving only edge dimmers. The area dimmed instantly, moonlight standing out.

Wen Jiang: …

Xie Qi asked from beside him: “Better?”

“Good enough.” Halting further bulb carnage, Wen Jiang looked away—only to find Xie Qi’s face inexplicably close, poised like for an attack. Puzzled, he pressed down on the guy’s head, creating distance. “Shall we dance?”

“Let’s.” Xie Qi mumbled affirmatively, decisive yet tinged with unexplained grumpiness. Touching the soft hair, Wen Jiang thought of big-dog breeds.

In “cat person or dog person” terms, Xie Qi’s tsundere twistiness fit cat better. But back when Xie Qi acted cat-like, Wen Jiang never cooed or soothed his moods—Xie Qi sulked solo, self-regulated, and returned, growing less cat-like.

Qian Lang, advocate of “say what you love,” had whispered to Wen Jiang: Xie Qi’s lucky he hasn’t dated; if he did and pulled this, they’d cold-war for half a year, then he’d bring it up and his partner would gawk: “When did we start dating?”