Chapter 29: Reenactment

Lin Xun sorted through his thoughts on the way to the bathroom.

The current situation was undoubtedly the so-called “reenactment”—not only had all the necessary characters appeared, but it had also recreated the main stage of the previous incident, along with that deeply unpleasant “stifled sensation.”

Ever since that night at the hotel, the persistent discomfort that had shadowed him, refusing to dissipate, had now merged with a very clear physiological urgency. Though different from the torment of desire, it still evoked endurance, irritability, urgency, and a sense of intimacy. Lin Xun stood at the door of the empty bathroom, Wen Jiang’s calm face right behind him.

The logic held up. Reenactment was all about simulating past scenes with other elements, Lin Xun judged objectively. This approach even avoided anything too evocative. But how to wrap it up?

Using this sensation to stand in for the effects of Peach Fragrance meant that “releasing desire” would just be… taking a piss?

“You planning to watch the whole time?”

Was it really that simple to resolve things this way?

Sensing that Wen Jiang’s anger had faded—or maybe it had all been an act—Lin Xun felt a bit more at ease. He let out a muffled chuckle to break the silence. “This doesn’t really count as you ‘taking the stage,’ does it?”

Even with the sensations all mixed up, he could still tell what was what. He’d never heard of Charm-Type Esper Ability aftereffects being cured by holding in piss. And the key to the solution definitely lay with Wen Jiang, which was why he’d come to him. But this “reenactment” had practically exonerated Wen Jiang completely. Lin Xun teased, “I could handle this kind of thing on my own.”

This wasn’t a “solo act.” What he wanted Wen Jiang to do—academically speaking—was help alleviate the physiological distress caused by the Charm-Type Esper Ability. Bluntly put, do the deed with him to vent it out.

Or at least skirt the edges of it.

Lin Xun didn’t think they could go all the way. Getting Wen Jiang to use his hands would be a stretch. When negotiating terms, he’d said they didn’t even have to touch—that wasn’t a lie. He truly didn’t care about the process before reaching the goal.

Provided the goal could actually be achieved. A half-assed make-believe like this was obviously going nowhere.

“You’re looking forward to it,” Wen Jiang said flatly. Lin Xun turned around, unable to read any emotion in those pitch-black eyes. Sometimes Wen Jiang’s pupils felt like an abyss, giving the illusion of being completely seen through when stared at. He gazed at Lin Xun, reverting to a distant, enigmatic snow-capped mountain, his voice devoid of ripples. “Feels like a competition to you?”

A competition?

It could be seen that way, Lin Xun thought. Though it was his problem to solve, this was a contest only Wen Jiang was competing in—one that would only affect Wen Jiang.

When the doctor had suggested the reenactment method and tactfully recommended discussing it with Wen Jiang, amid the eager excitement or the strange annoyance, Lin Xun remembered clearly: his first thought was that if this started, Wen Jiang was basically “done for.”

A purely rational judgment.

Whether it was “deep exchange” or just surface-level, groping a bit at his waist or zero physical contact, Wen Jiang providing visual stimulation like in some borderline short video—no matter the style, be it sweet, gentle, seductive, arrogant, or aloof—it wouldn’t matter.

The moment it happened under a transactional deal, even a hint of pleasing someone else, of helping vent desire with that ambiguous allure, the image of “Wen Jiang” in others’ eyes would start to crumble.

Wen Jiang was exceptional. Lin Xun knew plenty in the circle—including himself—had once seen him as the ultimate prize: handsome features, ordinary background, standard classification but a rule-breaking grade in his Supernatural Ability, all adding up to sky-high “collector’s value.”

Back then in Qingchi, he’d been insanely popular. But later? No more piles of flashy gifts on his desk. Open discussions about him shifted underground. People kept their distance in conversations, were careful with invitations, intel got locked down. Qingchi Theater banned filming and sharing performances, and privately, everyone followed suit.

The A-Rank Arena surveillance footage Lin Xun got from Jiang Hehu was probably the longest record of Wen Jiang’s off-stage acting. He seemed oblivious, but his photos could fetch top dollar—yet no one dared snap them recklessly anymore.

He’d earned respect. Or as Lin Xun called it, the circle’s collective “stardom chase.”

He never viewed those celebrities through a normal person’s rose-tinted glasses. They could be people, or commodities—toys, servants, dirt, things money and power could bend. Fans never knew that the face screened at the hot spring plaza last week had serviced in some game before that.

Wen Jiang was different now. Many still genuinely saw him as an “actor.” Without Ji Yu’s push at the hotel, the boulder wouldn’t have rolled off the cliff. And if that had succeeded—or if he and Wen Jiang advanced half a step now because of this deal—Wen Jiang would tumble from his untouchable peak, back to being a delectable dish on the plate, ready to be carved up and savored.

Dispelling the charm. For an actor, there couldn’t be anything worse.

“Kinda, yeah,” Lin Xun admitted.

But scrutinizing his heart, he had to admit: before Wen Jiang actually reached that point, he’d definitely hold expectations toward him.

Did Wen Jiang realize the predicament he was in? Could he exceed expectations like in those unprecedented performances and resolve it?

Lin Xun gradually felt a thrill. He’d anticipated something like this before, hoping for an unexpected show, like an artist yearning for their muse’s favor. That was probably why, even after being played and stuck in this awkward spot, he couldn’t muster any unreasonable blame toward Wen Jiang.

“I’m pretty obedient, right? You’ve gotta solve the problem too.” Not giving him room to deliberate, Lin Xun spread his hands, still with a hint of eager anticipation. “So, what are you gonna do to me?”

…Looking punchable.

Ah, so that hidden eagerness he’d sensed at the hotel—the mood of setting himself a puzzle to see what score he’d deliver—was the same now. And whether it was a high score or a fail, Lin Xun would enjoy it either way.

He really loves a no-lose proposition, Wen Jiang thought, a faint smile suddenly brushing his face. Lin Xun tensed up for a moment, but quickly realized the smile wasn’t dangerous.

No gaze pulling or controlling. The smile vanished like morning dew. Wen Jiang said coolly, “I get it.”

Get what—? The next second, Lin Xun’s thoughts cut off abruptly as searing pain exploded in his leg.

Wen Jiang kicked him hard, sending Lin Xun’s body reeling backward. He instinctively sidestepped half a pace, but before he could steady himself, a massive pull yanked him. Wen Jiang grabbed his collar and yanked down, slamming him to the ground while his stance was unstable.

Damn, again???

A muffled thud echoed in the room. No human cushion this time—Lin Xun hit the floor hard, fire lancing through half his body, along with a subtle sour ache from the liquid inside sloshing violently. Fury hit him first second, embarrassment the next. He pushed up with one arm, straightening his upper body in a flash. Before he could act, all chaotic emotions froze in his chest.

“Don’t move.”

Wen Jiang issued the utterly indifferent command casually, planting one foot squarely on Lin Xun’s abdomen, his pupils locking down from above.

The situation flipped in seconds. An invisible monster uncoiled silently, stretching its limbs, enveloping the entire space, slinking around and leaving faint traces in Lin Xun’s eyes.

Reenactment.

How many points should I give you for this?

The foot pressed right on target—not a hint of relation to the most sensitive, intimate spot. The toned muscles from constant training kept his abs from feeling soft. The only issue: Lin Xun had drunk way too much water.

Any extra pressure downward would multiply the intense humiliation exponentially. Total humiliation felt just one step away.

…Fuck! This was worse than Peach Fragrance, Lin Xun gritted out, all his thoughts fixated below. If choosing between toying with a boring plaything or pissing himself in public, he’d pick the former!

His face flushed red in another sense. The commotion hadn’t drawn outside attention, but it still spiked his anxiety. He glanced at the door, revealing he dreaded outsiders showing up far more than Wen Jiang did. His voice came out urgent and hushed. “Hey, stop…”

“Quiet,” Wen Jiang said coolly, grinding down on his abdomen.

The man underfoot nearly stopped breathing. Lin Xun froze like a bird startled by a bowstring, clamping his mouth shut, scalp tingling, body instinctively curling.

Wen Jiang bent down, closing in on the increasingly rigid Lin Xun. The pressure from his foot naturally intensified. The aura around him shifted soundlessly.

Similar to the hotel—hazy intimacy mixed with a frosty, snowy chill—slowly enveloping Lin Xun. His words brushed past his ear, almost like soft whispers. But reality was, his wrist got seized again.

The Portable Barrier Spray was forcibly yanked from his pocket and clattered to the floor, rolling away. Lin Xun’s throat bobbed. Propped against the abdominal pressure, he forced his mouth open in a rushed grimace—looking pitiful, like begging or explaining. But Wen Jiang cut in first. “You’re testing me.”

Continuously observing the Supernatural Ability, gathering data, gauging if he’d detect the barrier spray, and the dosage threshold—a hallmark of Forbidden Fruit‘s powerful ability to dissect.

Once a Supernatural Ability lost its mystery, it became easier for Forbidden Fruit to reshape it. Lin Xun was damn good at grabbing what he wanted in any situation, always pulling sneaky little moves. Let your guard down a bit, and he’d push boundaries. Wen Jiang straightened up, gazing down again. “Rat.”

“Ah… you mad?” Lin Xun managed a strained smile, surprised Wen Jiang hadn’t taken his voice yet. He still had bandwidth to probe Wen Jiang’s limits. Wen Jiang figured he should be grateful—if it were the dress shoes from the dance, the heel would’ve dug into flesh way better.

The pressure ramped up again. Sourness and nauseating pain hit simultaneously. Lin Xun’s face stiffened, his prior thoughts shattering. He couldn’t hold back, raising his voice. “Hey, stop stepping!”

“You ordering me?” Wen Jiang countered flatly, the words carrying the intent to get serious, along with intensified squeezing ache. Lin Xun’s heart sank. He instinctively gripped Wen Jiang’s ankle.

He’s really gonna make me…?!

The goal had flipped unwittingly—from relief to desperate endurance. Embarrassment, panic, worry, humiliation, anger, strangeness—emotions crashed like waves. Lin Xun wanted the foot off, but his hand soon stopped struggling. His mind blanked for an instant. Realizing what was happening, his eyes widened, genuine pleading surging.

Not now, absolutely not now! Just like the hotel “reenactment,” his gaze couldn’t shift, senses forcibly narrowed, immersed in captivating illusion. But he couldn’t let Drama Stage seize all attention in this state—he’d have no bandwidth for the most mortifying part!

It was his body, yet Lin Xun had lost control. “Relief” command fell into Wen Jiang’s hands. Wen Jiang tweaked the pressure slightly, and Lin Xun yelped in shocked outrage. “Stop! I won’t bug you anymore, okay? Just don’t—”

“—!”

The heaviest grind yet nearly crushed his thoughts. Lin Xun almost broke from the instinctive liquid surge. He held his breath, regaining awareness and shakily checking. At least he was still within the final safety line.

Wen Jiang’s gaze dropped on him, silently urging.

That was it—his opponent had deliberately left his mouth free so he could beg properly, voicing the right words on his own. Lin Xun, ever the slippery opportunist who always fished for advantages in any gap, grew agitated and dejected. Two seconds later, he swallowed his dry saliva and rasped, “……Please.”

Oh.

And then?

Wen Jiang didn’t release him.

In a certain sense, Lin Xun and Jiang Hehu were the same type—born standing too high to see the boundaries that those below observed, or to understand why a butterfly couldn’t withstand having its wings torn open.

Just like fighting Jiang Hehu: no matter how pathetic he looked midway, you had to keep beating him until he couldn’t fight back. Some scenes might look like reversed bullying on the surface, but they were really just self-preservation.

……No, he wasn’t acting entirely rationally either, Wen Jiang thought. He was genuinely angry.

A smooth trade of homework for reenactment would have been the most dignified end. If he’d insisted on refusing, Lin Xun definitely wouldn’t have backed off obediently. And from the moment he’d met Lin Xun, all the teacher’s odd behavior made sense.

His Supernatural Ability guidance teacher was always straightforward and decisive. Though strict on homework reviews, he’d never interfered midway. For an outsider from another school to barge in unannounced like this—like pulling strings through the back door—was completely against the rules the teacher himself had set.

The vague, passive attitude, saying nothing clearly—he’d clearly been warned in advance. But in the end, the teacher had told him to refuse if he didn’t want to. Probably afraid he’d get bullied. Wen Jiang pinched Lin Xun’s chin and lifted it. He didn’t even need to apply force—Lin Xun’s gaze obediently shifted to his face as desired.

“You pressured my teacher,” Wen Jiang said, staring at Lin Xun’s disheveled state. The atmosphere he created felt paradoxically more relaxed and gentle, but the friendlier he was to Lin Xun, the more his pupils contracted, the more terror gripped his heart.

“……Sorry.” The words squeezed from his throat. His legs pressed together tightly as the bizarre discomfort piled higher and higher. His attention drained further, his brain whirring only on how to placate the other man. At some point, he thought fuck it, enough already in broken resignation—but was he really going to do it here? Right in front of Wen Jiang? His damn dad hadn’t even dispelled the charm yet, and how was he supposed to leave afterward? Call someone to bring him pants?

“…….I’ll apologize to him later.” Something would die alongside the moment his attention shattered completely—far worse than now, when not many people knew yet. In the end, Lin Xun obeyed, pleading ingratiatingly. Then, he earned a smile from Wen Jiang, laced with the flavor of reward.

What difference did this make from punishment?! Stop…! The ideal type meant for flattery and delight had become a dagger begging to be sheathed, but Lin Xun’s urge to curse scattered quickly. His once-functioning mind slowed again. His heart pounded fiercely, his breathing forcibly altered, and the snow lotus before him waited, budding in the wind and snow.

An irrational fascination, traces that remained elusive even so.

Muse… Muse?

“You guessed the timing wrong—it was too long,” Wen Jiang revealed the answer to the previous act atop this new stage. “I only used five seconds.”

What did that mean? Lin Xun didn’t react at first. His gaze lingered on Wen Jiang’s face, the sensation on his skin where Wen Jiang touched him. In a small corner of his mind, belatedly, he recalled that clear clap.

Aside from the gaze control during the clap, the rest could be called a prelude building to those five seconds—or a fake extension using the performance’s afterglow. In short, it was all just the most ordinary, purest acting. Everything Lin Xun felt from it? He should ask himself about that. It had nothing to do with Supernatural Ability manipulation.

The endpoint of the timeframe he’d been so sure of had been wrong from the start.

“As for the other times, I lied.”

The true Drama Stage should be at this level: a brilliant, gorgeous smile, contrasted with haughty detachment, a tone blending coldness with teasing intimacy. The ideal image Lin Xun had always longed for finally appeared. The snow lotus quietly bloomed—a perfect reenactment.

The two discomforts fully merged, impossible to distinguish. A muffled whimper escaped his body as it writhed in torment and anguish. But very luckily, he just needed to use the bathroom to end this agony. Wasn’t that a mercy?

“Once I say you can move, then you can,” Wen Jiang said, tying up the hotel’s proper conclusion with a smile. “You should give me full marks.”