Chapter 30: Cake

Wen Jiang left Lin Xun in the bathroom.

After retracting his Supernatural Ability and releasing Lin Xun, he didn’t immediately give the “okay” command. Instead, he silently loomed over the other boy.

Lin Xun before him was like a drowning man finally surfacing—desperately urgent as he bent at the waist and curled into himself. His breaths came heavy, his ear tips flushed red, and his every movement screamed careful caution amid the embarrassment.

Whether by accident or design, Lin Xun’s hunched form blocked Wen Jiang’s view of his lower body. All Wen Jiang could see was the boy’s somewhat disheveled hair. The physiological urge clearly tormented Lin Xun—his forearms braced against his thighs bulged with straining veins—but one thing was certain: Lin Xun made no further moves.

He’d become obedient.

He should count himself lucky that he still remembered to submit at a time like this. If Lin Xun had tried to stand right after being released, or bolted for a stall, Wen Jiang would’ve kicked him straight back. At that point, he probably would’ve lost whatever scraps of dignity he had left.

True obedience earned true rewards. Lin Xun had finally grasped that principle. Wen Jiang watched him for a few seconds—a span that felt endless, nearly frozen, to Lin Xun—before finally deeming him acceptable. As he turned and stepped through the doorway, he said, “You’re good.”

He heard Lin Xun let out a muffled, brief snort of laughter, almost like a sigh of relief.

Wen Jiang ignored it. He left the bathroom, washed his hands at the sink, and returned to find the shop—which had few customers to begin with—now completely empty except for their table. His backpack and homework sat untouched where he’d left them, and the two slices of cake the staff had brought midway still waited on the table.

No new customers had entered the shop since he’d arrived.

Wen Jiang packed his bag, then had his slice of cake boxed up to go. The front-desk clerk offered a professional smile. “If you’re not in a rush, we can make you a fresh one right now. Or leave an address, and we’ll deliver it at peak freshness.”

It hadn’t even been that long since the cake arrived—nowhere near stale. Wen Jiang replied calmly, “No need.”

He’d worked at this place before. The cake served as a “free gift” was likely a limited-edition from Aili Bakery. The head pastry chef rarely made them personally—apprentices handled most—but these two slices bore the chef’s own signature in chocolate sauce.

The shop manager and the rest must’ve known Lin Xun was here.

Wen Jiang pushed open the door with his takeout box in hand. Outside, the sky had darkened to a gloomy haze. The after-work and after-school rush had passed, leaving only scattered pedestrians on the streets. Night rolled in like a heavy blanket over the city skyline, but the streetlamps remained unlit. They stood silent in the shadows, lending the surroundings a lonely air.

At least the issue was resolved. He’d traded for some interesting homework. And there was cake. All in all, Wen Jiang figured the day hadn’t been bad. He glanced idly across the street and spotted a familiar car parked under a streetlamp—clearly waiting for him awhile.

As he approached, he realized the lamp wasn’t just dimmed for the hour or suffering a power glitch. The bulb had been physically shattered.

The lamp post and inner housing bore slashes like knife cuts. Shards of broken glass littered the dark base below.

I’d just seen someone destroy a streetlamp like this recently.

Wen Jiang opened the car door. No driver up front. In the back sat Xie Qi, silent as a stone—hunched forward, arms on his knees, hand propping his forehead. He looked like a brooding, irritable, frustrated, heartbroken rock. He gave no reaction to Wen Jiang’s arrival—unclear if it was rejection or invitation.

Who’d pissed the kid off into a damp, fuming powder keg this time?

Wen Jiang slid in, flicked on the interior light, and pulled out his phone—which he’d kept on silent—to text his teacher that the talk had gone smoothly. Opening the chat app, he found a dozen messages from Xie Qi.

17:30

Wen Jiang: Got plans.

Xie Qi: ?

Xie Qi: What does that mean?

Xie Qi: Who?

17:40

Xie Qi: Super busy?

17:45

Xie Qi: Can’t tell me?

17:52

Xie Qi: You stood me up.

Xie Qi: Plans with someone else?

18:00

Xie Qi: Doing it again.

Xie Qi: Real classy.

Xie Qi: Wait for it.

“…”

So I’d done it.

If he’d lingered with Lin Xun just a bit longer, would Xie Qi have stormed in and wrecked the place?

Xie Qi seemed like an overprotective parent spiraling into panic the second contact lapsed—convinced the kid was out learning bad habits. Strictly speaking, though, Wen Jiang had no obligation to report every move to Xie Qi.

In the heavy silence, Wen Jiang set the cake box between their seats, sent his text to the teacher, then leaned back into the plush seatback. “Xie Qi, let’s talk.”

Xie Qi rubbed his brow slowly, finally drew a deep breath, and looked up. His eyes were a bit red, but his face calm. He rumbled an “Mm” from his throat.

He must’ve spent Wen Jiang’s time in Aili Bakery riding another emotional rollercoaster before self-regulating. Or maybe he’d steadied when Wen Jiang signaled willingness to talk. Xie Qi opened with forced nonchalance: “I’ll drive you home.”

Typically, once he self-regulated, it meant he’d flipped the page for good—no rehashing old gripes. For all his sulking, Xie Qi was surprisingly clean-cut about it, so Wen Jiang rarely dragged things out. But thinking of the glass shards outside, he pressed: “Supernatural Ability acting up?”

“Mm.” Xie Qi explained, “Bad moods make it unstable. It’s fine now.”

“My phone was on silent—I didn’t see. Wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.” Wen Jiang watched Xie Qi’s head lift a fraction more, then added the second point. “You tracked me, didn’t you?”

Xie Qi could’ve done it easily. Lin Xun could clear out Aili Bakery, make the manager scramble to impress. Xie Qi, if he wanted, could bypass Wen Jiang entirely—track him like 24/7 surveillance. Wen Jiang wouldn’t bother telling Lin Xun about it, but Xie Qi needed to hear.

…Classic—offer a sweet, then a slap. Or is this the sweet? No way he’d gripe to Lin Xun about it. Xie Qi grumbled inwardly. His head, just lifting, dropped again. After a beat, he mumbled miserably, “Sorry.”

Wen Jiang “dried out” the damp powder keg. “Cake?”

The interior light warmed the space. Xie Qi got a piece with half a name scripted on it. He took a couple bites—the cheap ingredients neither tortured the tongue nor dazzled it—but the car’s vibe made him overlook the taste.

Wen Jiang clearly enjoyed his. He ate while gazing out the window at the streets, nestling lazily into his seat. Xie Qi glanced sideways, sensing a rare ease on Wen Jiang’s calm face.

Whatever tension had built with Lin Xun seemed to dissipate now—not massive or bloated or noisy, just like a light breeze brushing thin dust from his shoulders in some forgotten corner.

But it was enough. Wen Jiang felt at ease here, far more than in that cake shop. Xie Qi forked his cake into tinier bits. The realization sparked a strange courage, an impulse. After a silent moment, he stiffly circled back: “What’d you meet Lin Xun for?”

“Homework.” Wen Jiang hit a fruit slice in the cake layers—mood lifting further.

Lin Xun went to Wen Jiang for homework? Xie Qi’s fork paused. He frowned, certain: “He bullied you.”

“Not really.” Wen Jiang sensed if he didn’t elaborate, Xie Qi might hop out and hunt Lin Xun down. He stressed his win: “Traded for it.”

That looped back to the Peach Fragrance mess. People always sought middle ground—Xie Qi’s scheme from days ago sounded brain-dead in isolation (“Bro, what wiring you got?”). But after running into Lin Xun today, the memory auto-adjusted: At least the guy’s heart’s in the right place.

Wen Jiang sketched how he’d traded help fixing Lin Xun’s Supernatural Ability aftermath for the next practical assignment. Qian Lang would’ve doubled over laughing, showering him with “Damn, Xiao Jiang, you’re a beast!” Xie Qi didn’t praise—in fact, he soured, mood churning anew.

“So you turned me down,” Xie Qi paused, face darkening as he forced it out, “but fixed his problem?”

…Can you not phrase it like I actually did something? Did you hear a word? Wen Jiang deadpanned at him.

“I get it.” Xie Qi read the silence instantly, grumbled low in dissatisfaction, raked a hand through his hair in frustration. Knowing nothing happened didn’t stop the sourness, didn’t erase the instant Ability flare when he saw them together, didn’t undo the surrounding mess he’d made, didn’t quell the fresh surge of impulse.

“Why’re you so damn nice to others? Can’t you—” Xie Qi huffed, uncharacteristically blunt. “Shouldn’t you be nicer to me than to Lin Xun?”

You wanna compare to Lin Xun? Bold choice. Wen Jiang paused, conceding the point held water.

“Mm.” He turned. “What’re you getting at?”

“…You told me to find reasons to convince you.”

The unresolved urge resurfaced. If he laid out logical reasons, Wen Jiang would agree. But why’d it have to feel so… transactional?

Xie Qi still simmered. Wen Jiang couldn’t “date” Lin Xun behind his back, but instinct screamed crisis anyway.

Not that Lin Xun could steal him—just that Wen Jiang stayed at arm’s length. Close, but not closing in.

If he didn’t push forward, it’d stagnate. Or one day, Wen Jiang might veer off elsewhere.

It feels like… why do I feel like I’m the one chasing? We’re already—

A flicker of wrongness surfaced, then vanished like smoke. Wen Jiang finished his cake. Xie Qi’s focus snapped back—he sulked, cut a triangle from his share, plopped it on Wen Jiang’s plate. Still fuming and aggrieved, he said stiffly: “My Ability’s been unstable lately.”

“Mm.” Wen Jiang dug into the fresh cream triangle, elegantly slicing with the provided fork, gesturing for more.

“…But after last time,” Xie Qi’s tone turned odd, reluctant, “it stabilized better.”

Wen Jiang’s elegant hand paused.

I am considering this carefully.

???

Words spoken, water spilled. Xie Qi knew what’d sway Wen Jiang most. He rummaged in the car, handed over a stack of test reports.

The Xie Family obsessed over his Ability issues—tons of targeted research. He’d encased Bohr Hotel in a wind field at high output, but it’d held steady till dispersal. Good sign. He’d rushed stability tests.

The doctor pitched it as a breakthrough—report ballooned with data, inferences, three pages of cited theories like an academic paper.

Physiological release eases mental strain, stabilizing Abilities? Does that even…? Straight-A Wen Jiang pored over every page. …Damn, it holds up.

It echoed the hotel relief—shocking at first blush, weird on second. But logically? No solid counter.

“Do you want to make a deal with me too?” Xie Qi proposed again. “Something like last time. Before your side effects end, you help me… and I’ll help you in passing.”

“If you’re not willing, forget it,” he quickly added. Xie Qi was bottling up a surge of frustration inside—he just couldn’t shake the feeling that Lin Xun had dared to propose a trade with Wen Jiang and actually succeeded! There was no reason he couldn’t do the same. But the moment the words left his mouth, he immediately worried about pressuring Wen Jiang, so he contradictorily emphasized, “It’s fine if we don’t. I have ways to handle it. This is just me asking.”

You just wrecked the streetlamp and now claim you have ways? That doesn’t sound convincing at all, Wen Jiang silently lampooned.

What had previously been shot down—helping Wen Jiang resolve the potential aftereffects of his Peach Fragrance—had now been reframed by Xie Qi as mutual aid, or more accurately, Xie Qi requesting Wen Jiang’s help in turn.

…This was getting a bit tricky, Wen Jiang thought once more.

The stability of a Supernatural Ability was fundamentally a grave matter. For D-Grade Abilities, people might crack jokes like “stable or not, it makes no difference anyway” or even snidely mock it as groundless worry. But at S-Grade, instability brought real dread and unease. Every year, extremists demanded that all S-Grades be unconditionally shipped off to the Secret Tower, spitting venom at the Ability protection agencies as lapdogs of privilege.

As an S-Grade himself, Wen Jiang knew better than anyone that this wasn’t a topic to brush off like chit-chat about the weather. If Xie Qi were a stranger trying to “bind” him with the moral weight of an unstable Ability, Wen Jiang could dismiss it outright. But he could see Xie Qi’s hesitation.

Xie Qi’s Ability check had actually been around the same time as Wen Jiang’s physical exam, with the report dated several days back, yet he’d never brought it up. Even after their fight, his resentment had only led to self-adjustment. Bringing it out now was mainly spurred by today’s events.

…Lin Xun could stand to learn a thing or two about proper ways to ask for help.

Wen Jiang scanned the summary at the end of the report. Unlike Lin Xun’s replication factors, where “Wen Jiang” was the key element, it didn’t specify that he had to be the one helping. If they viewed the hotel incident—accidentally unlocking Xie Qi’s new world—as a successful case of easing Ability disruption, then theoretically, the “behavior” from that time was what needed replicating, not necessarily the exact cast of characters.

But that created a paradox. Because of the Ability instability, asking a friend to do that kind of thing with him felt profoundly awkward. Yet because of the instability, seeking out a stranger for that kind of thing… Sure, in movies or dramas, this would segue into offers of sponsorship, contracts, or binding agreements—but on Xie Qi, that would seem utterly bizarre.

Setting that aside, if they were talking about the world behind that new door, Wen Jiang had zero experience compared to professionals. He hadn’t studied it, hadn’t even truly witnessed it. It was hard to say if he could really help.

It was strange. Defining it as a serious matter made it sound weighty, but picking him as the helper turned it into something laced with personal feelings—hardly rigorous or efficient, just an ordinary favor.

Wen Jiang probed delicately: “It doesn’t say it has to be me.”

Xie Qi whipped his head toward him, voice laced with disbelief: “Then you want me to go find—?!”

He cut himself off short, the rest of the words failing to emerge. A massive wave of emotion crested in an instant.

Why not just say kill me? Xie Qi’s mind went blank, unable to process why this conversation was even happening. Wen Jiang felt like the other had shattered in that moment.

His words must have sounded too insulting. “I’m just not sure I can actually help,” Wen Jiang reflected, sighing inwardly as he pieced his broken friend back together. “I promise you.”

“Let’s give it a try first. You free this weekend?”

No point overthinking now—practice proves truth. Wen Jiang efficiently shifted to scheduling, smoothing the conversation along seamlessly. Xie Qi, just freed from that suffocating feeling, hadn’t fully recovered, staring a bit dazedly as Wen Jiang suggested, “Want to pick a spot?”

…This was probably the first time Wen Jiang had proactively suggested spending the weekend together.

“Sure.” Xie Qi ducked his head, rubbing his eyes as he said it.