Xie Qi spotted Wen Jiang gazing at the painting Jiang Hehu had drawn.
A gentle breeze ruffled the strands of hair on his forehead. Wen Jiang reached out to smooth down the corner of the paper that had lifted, and the setting sun cast a soft glow on his profile, making his focused gaze appear unusually gentle—as if the sheet of paper in his hands held immense importance. Xie Qi paused mid-step for two or three seconds before resuming his pace.
Xie Qi knew this was just an illusion.
Wen Jiang’s eyes were a deep hue. When he stared intently at someone, it easily gave the impression of being peered into by an unfathomable abyss, a crushing pressure. Yet if their gazes locked for a few seconds, one couldn’t help but be drawn in. And if it was just a casual glance in passing, it made the other person feel like insignificant trash.
Only when facing other living creatures—or lifeless objects, like solving problems, reading scripts, or watching movies—did the sense of distance around him soften. It was like viewing a golden snow-capped mountain under spring sunlight through a screen versus standing atop it yourself, feeling the biting wind and snow, breathing the crisp, clear mountain air. They were worlds apart.
And most of these perceptions were illusions.
Even when he seemed focused on someone, his mind might just be pondering lunch options or I’m going to tell you a hilarious joke—let me brew it up first. That passing glance might simply be at a keychain dangling from someone’s backpack.
Setting aside his stage persona, Wen Jiang was rarely self-aware in private, seldom realizing the impression he left on others.
So right now, he was simply looking at the painting. Xie Qi walked over and glanced at it, immediately recognizing the exquisitely hand-drawn figure as Wen Jiang himself.
“…”
Wen Jiang acted utterly nonchalant. Seeing Xie Qi approach, he shifted his gaze from the painting to the cake as a silent invitation, with no intention of explaining: “Want some?”
It was still within the prime freshness window of two hours out of the oven.
“…Sure.” Xie Qi picked up his pre-sliced portion. His eyes swept over the remaining cake on the table and Wen Jiang’s plate, then he asked casually, “You had two servings?”
“One went to Jiang Hehu.”
Oh.
To Jiang Hehu.
Xie Qi’s fork sliced through the cream as he slowly forked up a piece of cake, then drawled, “Was he here the whole time?”
“Just left.” Wen Jiang replied offhandedly, pondering how to handle the painting. It was larger than a textbook; folding it to fit in a book would crease it.
It was a gift, after all. Out of politeness, he decided to roll it carefully along one edge into a tube to avoid any folds.
Xie Qi twirled his fork, watching Wen Jiang. “Did he just draw it now?”
“Yeah.”
Wen Jiang lowered his head and said it as he unzipped his backpack for a look before zipping it back up. No room inside, so he’d just carry the painting back like this—
Bang!
The plate cracked in half without warning, shattering on the floor. Sticky cream oozed between Xie Qi’s fingers. A sudden gale whipped up from nowhere, billowing their clothes and crumpling the paper tube in Wen Jiang’s hand.
The targeted blast quickly devolved into chaotic, turbulent winds howling in their ears. Wen Jiang silently eyed the fragile paper tube in his grasp, then looked at the expressionless Xie Qi. His gaze finally settled on the nearby pavilion pillar, now marred by deep scratches that hadn’t been there moments ago.
Wen Jiang: …WHY?
He seriously considered for a second if today’s cake had been too unpalatable for Xie Qi—bad enough to trigger massive emotional fluctuations and destabilize his Supernatural Ability.
***
The so-called stability of Supernatural Abilities was generally divided into “innate” and “acquired” categories.
“Acquired” instability was tied to the ability user’s personal strength. It often appeared in exceptionally talented children or teens, or in those who’d suffered trauma leading to psychological triggers around using their powers.
Their Supernatural Abilities were inherently powerful, but the users hadn’t grown enough to fully control them, resulting in leaks, fluctuations, and the like.
As long as the ability user’s strength improved steadily to a sufficient level, acquired instability could be perfectly resolved.
“Innate” instability, however, was like a person’s natural hair, skin, or eye color—like a game character’s preset stat panel. It coexisted with the Supernatural Ability, an integral part of this innate gift. Interfering with it wasn’t as simple as “just get stronger.”
S-Grade was a class that broke conventional limits. Lifestyle System had highly stable S-Grade ability users, but in Combat System, “innate instability” afflicted 100% of cases. Rare phenomena like Dual Abilities or Triple Abilities were similar. Thus, Xie Qi and Qian Lang, that pair of fellow unfortunates, were doomed to wrestle with Supernatural Ability stability for years.
Qian Lang had it relatively easier; people focused more on his Heaven’s Jealousy Dual Abilities. For S-Grade users, even decent stability ratings drew skepticism: “S-Grade can’t be judged conventionally,” “S-Grade demands stricter standards,” “Results aren’t reliable,” “It’ll destabilize again once they get stronger,” “Any mental dip and it’ll crash immediately”—doubts from every angle.
S-Rank Combat Type ability users like Xie Qi and Wen Tianlu thus faced dual pressures: the inherent difficulty of resolving Supernatural Ability instability, and the public’s exacting standards. This forced them into the Secret Tower for comprehensive oversight.
Since enrolling, Xie Qi’s Supernatural Ability stability hadn’t entered the safe zone, but it had trended positively. He always appeared stable around Wen Jiang, so Wen Jiang had little real sense of the issue—perhaps the least among his acquaintances.
But now Wen Jiang did.
There’d been a brief instability at Bole Hotel. During his meeting with Lin Xun, Xie Qi’s powers had spiraled out of control. And that afternoon at school, he’d witnessed another short burst. In just a week, Xie Qi had lost control three times that he knew of.
Not optimistic at all. Wen Jiang checked the items for his sleepover.
Daily toiletries—destination had a full set, no need.
Change of clothes and loungewear—better stick to his own for comfort; pack those.
Unread novel—probably unnecessary.
Gift for crashing at a friend’s: a bag of Mom’s signature devil-pepper-flavored cookies. They looked normal enough to pass as sweet to fool Xie Qi.
Academic homework—finished Friday night. Unsure if he’d head home tomorrow, so pack it.
That covered it. Wen Jiang packed his light luggage, said goodbye to his parents, and stepped out. A familiar car idled quietly in the darkness, waiting. He ultimately decided to head to the new address he’d agreed on with Xie Qi for Saturday night.
Prioritizing a sense of companionship.
After a half-hour drive from the bustling, brightly lit city center, they arrived at a solitary villa. With the butler gone, only Wen Jiang and Xie Qi remained.
The overly spacious living room featured a central touchscreen TV, a gaming display case, and a spiral staircase carved with intricate patterns leading to the second floor. The fridge was stocked with food, but lacked any signs of daily life—Xie Qi probably rarely stayed here.
Bedrooms were free pick. Wen Jiang dropped his bag upstairs. His mood held no trace of hassle or surprise.
They were both S-Grade; no stereotypical public views between them. Xie Qi wasn’t a walking terror bomb, a hidden menace, or some mentally fragile infant tied to doctors, needing constant coddling. He might even be tougher than many “normals”—a master of self-regulation.
Yet this self-regulation master led Wen Jiang on a listless house tour, listlessly served dinner, listlessly washed fruit, and listlessly rummaged a tea table drawer for movies. Wen Jiang quietly wandered, quietly ate, quietly waited. The companionship route wasn’t working.
Among factors destabilizing Supernatural Abilities, the most direct and common was “mental state.” Wen Jiang sat on the sofa and took the initiative: “Any idea why it suddenly got like this?”
Xie Qi’s hand paused while selecting films. He mumbled glumly, “Yeah.”
Good, Wen Jiang thought.
Better than instability from foul moods or sudden shocks. Worst was when an ability user felt perfectly fine—sunny disposition, healthy mindset—yet their powers rampaged unpredictably. That meant the Supernatural Ability had fully “derailed” from the user; even they couldn’t spot precursors.
If Xie Qi knew the cause, it was standard instability—easier for doctors to treat later.
Topics touching on inner emotions and privacy were delicate, so Wen Jiang considerately didn’t pry: “Need help?”
If urgent, stepping on you tonight would work fine. Wen Jiang fully respected his friend’s kinks.
Xie Qi looked up with an incredibly complicated expression, no trace of S-Grade camaraderie in his eyes.
He fiddled with his forehead hair, sifting through “ways Wen Jiang could help” for the most viable, then asked without much hope: “Could you… just live here from today on…?”
Wen Jiang’s face stayed blank: “No.”
Xie Qi retreated a step: “Put a tracker on your phone…?”
Wen Jiang didn’t budge: “No.”
Wen Jiang refined his wording: “Within legal bounds, anything you need help with?”
There were plenty, sure. Xie Qi’s mind tumbled with a wishlist, only for reality to remind him their progress topped out at “hand-holding” and “dinners together.”
Oh, and that stiff, businesslike “mutual aid.”
…This instability isn’t all my fault, is it? Seeing Xie Qi go silent, Wen Jiang rummaged the drawer for films himself. Xie Qi leaned back on the sofa, staring at that somewhat distant profile, frustrated by his Storm’s sudden instability—and increasingly indignant.
He knew the root of his power loss. Earlier, when Wen Jiang rejected his last help offer, when he abruptly realized his deepest intolerance, a dark seed took root. It scorched his insides now and then.
Sure, he might be—a lot—excessively—overly fixated on Wen Jiang interacting with others. But wasn’t Wen Jiang’s persistently lukewarm attitude toward him at least 1% at fault?
Wen Jiang seriously compared movie covers beside him.
“…You keep talking to others. I can’t control it.” Xie Qi muttered at the floor nearby, then—as if steeling himself, pre-spending a lifetime’s honesty—turned and asked, “What do you really think—”
Xie Qi saw the expansive swath of flesh tones on the film Wen Jiang held.
What the hell???
Honesty evaporated. Xie Qi’s mind blanked. Focusing, he saw a boneless, feminine hand.
Its owner was off-screen, cradling the jaw of a faceless man. Most of the cover was devoted to the kneeling man’s bare upper body, bound in red ropes with intricate techniques.
Complete with a proper title: From Beginner to Mastery Newbie Must-Learn Video Collection.
No wonder they’d switched to the new address—prepping “new world” study materials here. Wen Jiang glanced understandingly at Xie Qi.
“I haven’t watched it,” Xie Qi blurted, brain still blank.
He hadn’t shown Wen Jiang the villa’s biggest secret yet—the Birthday Gift Secret Room his parents prepared. He’d planned mental prep first, but this place was riddled with “traps.”
Brain short-circuiting, he saw Wen Jiang look down again and reflexively said: “Can you stop staring at him?”
Huh? Bewildered, Wen Jiang shifted his gaze from the cover.
“No,” Xie Qi regained a bit of rationality, ruffled his hair, and said out of the blue: “There’s nothing good to look at about him anyway.”
Only then did Wen Jiang realize that the “he” Xie Qi referred to was the shirtless man on the cover—and yeah, there really wasn’t anything special to see there.
He had simply assumed he needed to learn how to tie this rope properly, as a total “novice.”
After all, the rope was <em>obviously</em> meant to be wielded by the other person on the cover.
Sure, they hadn’t spelled it out explicitly, but between him and Xie Qi, who would hold the rope and who would end up kneeling—it should have been self-evident, no verification required.
If they were truly going to tackle the problem with “new world” methods, and it was always just him doing the stepping, the thrill would probably wear off over time, dulling the effect. He had zero experience in this realm, but the straight-A student had already wisely grasped the importance of proper study.
Wen Jiang held up the cover and asked flatly: “Do you want to use it?”
Use what?!
Was he talking about the rope? Who the hell would want to get tied up? What was so great about being bound hand and foot— In that instant, inspiration struck Xie Qi. He fell silent for a moment, then rasped out: “You tie?”
…What, you gonna use your Supernatural Ability to tie yourself up? Wen Jiang shot back silently in his mind as he let out an affirmative hum.
“…Oh.” Xie Qi rubbed his neck, hearing his own voice mutter: “……Sure, why not.”
