Chapter 44: Changes

Xie Qi was inherently someone who had nothing to do with being “meek and obedient.”

Expecting Xie Qi to become like the person in those demonstration videos—head bowed, utterly deferential, proactively kneeling at the door to greet his master—was possible, Wen Jiang thought, but he couldn’t see the reason or point in training him that way.

After all, they weren’t a formal pair of “playmates.” Wen Jiang had never considered taking on a “slave” just to satisfy physical desires, and Xie Qi had never thought about “finding himself a master.”

So, despite all the talk of rewards and training, once they were out of bed, their interactions defaulted back to normal under mutual agreement—more or less. It was comfortable that way for both of them.

Of course, with things progressing this far, some influence on their relationship was inevitable. Discovering these subtle changes in their everyday dynamic was a pleasure in itself. Wen Jiang recalled his elementary school days, the first time his parents entrusted him with caring for a potted cactus. He’d diligently kept a cultivation log, which Qian Lang had later flipped through.

Qian Lang had started out excited, determined to dig up some “down-to-earth” embarrassing stories from little Wen Jiang’s elementary diary—proof that the aloof top student had a childish side too. But as he read on, he fell silent, propping his chin on his hand in deep thought before sincerely asking, “What’s this distribution chart?”

Wen Jiang was browsing Qian Lang’s elementary diary nearby. This was a friendly diary swap, by the way—Xie Qi had been unilaterally kicked out by Qian Lang for never keeping one.

Wen Jiang turned a page, noting how the initially neat, elegant handwriting devolved into childish scrawls, and replied flatly, “It’s the cactus spines.”

Qian Lang couldn’t help but ask again: “Huh?”

Wen Jiang elaborated: “It’s a mapping of the changes in spine distribution during the cactus’s growth.”

Hand-drawn, one of a kind, crafted with care.

“…Wow,” Qian Lang had said back then, genuinely impressed by little Wen Jiang, praising him tonelessly: “Our Xiao Jiang is too amazing.”

Wen Jiang nodded. “I think so too.” The workload had been massive.

So, would the former cultivation master make a comeback and keep an observation log for Xie Qi? Wen Jiang figured it wasn’t necessary. Roughly speaking, Xie Qi had just become clingier, more tsundere, more irritable yet more controllable, quicker to spark friction but also quicker to cool off, more eager to seize every opportunity, and more enthusiastic about making deals.

Clingy, opportunistic, pushing his luck, deal-making—these made sense to Wen Jiang as Xie Qi’s attempts to earn “rewards.”

Xie Qi had always been full of little schemes. He never said them outright, but he was better at actively striving for than passively waiting—at least with Wen Jiang, who wouldn’t proactively offer what he liked the way others might with keen “eyesight.”

Xie Qi’s initial goal: snag a hug.

And not just any hug. Why should he always be the one stepping forward? They’d reached this stage—Xie Qi felt it was time to protest his sometimes-distant boyfriend. Precisely, his ambitious goal was to please Wen Jiang enough for a reward, making Wen Jiang “proactively” give him a hug.

Wen Jiang was always desireless, rarely accepted gifts, brushed off help with “no need.” Trading for rewards was tough; Xie Qi had no good angles unless heaven dropped a huge, unsolvable problem on Wen Jiang’s head, letting him play hero and save the beauty like in novels.

Xie Qi decided to pass.

He started with daily details. After leaving the secret room, Wen Jiang clearly felt the level of care escalate. The Storm greatly boosted Xie Qi’s service, to the point where if Wen Jiang paused his game for a bottle of water, a gust would preemptively deliver it right to his eyes.

This is treating me like a baby, Wen Jiang said expressionlessly. “You might as well feed me.”

Xie Qi paused, slowly averted his gaze, unscrewed the cap, and held the bottle to Wen Jiang’s lips.

Wen Jiang: …

Xie Qi didn’t even retort! Didn’t that make him the straight man?

Realizing he’d told another failed joke—hoisting a rock only to drop it on his own foot—Wen Jiang drank a sip with a melancholic deadpan face.

Wen Jiang felt they needed to talk: “You don’t have to be this… diligent.”

He said sincerely, “I’m happy as long as your Supernatural Ability stabilizes.” So work toward that.

But Xie Qi froze again, his face flushing bright red. He set down the bottle, eyes brewing complex, unreadable emotions—Wen Jiang guessed moved—and slowly leaned toward his face.

“…?” He could feel Xie Qi’s breath now. Wen Jiang pressed his head down, creating distance. “What are you doing?”

Xie Qi’s voice sounded sullen, then casually indifferent: “I’m wondering how far your rewards can go.”

See? Xie Qi had no destiny with perpetual meekness, always waiting for orders. That very day, he questioned freely. Wen Jiang asked, “Like what?”

Xie Qi hesitated vaguely: “Like a hug?”

Wen Jiang waited two seconds. No follow-up. …That’s it? He was shocked.

Was Xie Qi as low-maintenance as a cactus? He’d braced for some demanding request.

The two seconds of silence felt endless to the other. Xie Qi stared at the floor, gently removed Wen Jiang’s hand from his head, straightened up, and muttered, “Forget it…”

He hadn’t used force, so Wen Jiang easily slipped free. A faint frosty aura neared. Wen Jiang’s arms slid past Xie Qi’s sides, pulling him into a gentle hug. Mimicking his mother, he patted Xie Qi’s back lightly before gracefully withdrawing. Xie Qi felt like a snowflake had landed on him, his heart thumping loudly.

Piece of cake, Wen Jiang thought. No challenge at all.

Afterward, Xie Qi shifted goals to “get a kiss.” With battle-honed instincts, he knew this was truly tough—no good timing yet.

Wanting rewards was good; Wen Jiang felt Xie Qi’s effort. More concerning were the other changes: more tsundere, more prone to agitation, quicker to friction.

Xie Qi now showed higher self-control, but his moods remained volatile, even worsening.

The prime example: Monday back at school, Wen Jiang received Jiang Hehu’s gift—a brand-new top-model S-Level Ring Suppressor. To test it, he swapped out his wristband for the ring after school, quickly spotted by Xie Qi.

Xie Qi had ditched going home. With Wen Jiang busy at Drama Club post-school, Xie Qi tailed him there, found a corner to do his own thing—creating an unspoken no-disturbance zone where even glances were controlled.

Xie Qi came to pick up Wen Jiang. His gaze lingered on the bare wrist, then shifted casually. He barely spoke the whole way, only asking at the stairwell corner: “Why the ring?”

Wen Jiang answered truthfully: “Testing it.”

Wind began stirring at their feet. Wen Jiang didn’t say it, but the suspect was obvious. Who could gift a custom S-Grade Suppressor, bypass circle rules, and get Wen Jiang to accept? Tch. Xie Qi asked offhandedly: “Jiang Hehu’s?”

Supernatural Ability destabilizing now? Wen Jiang glanced at his fluttering pant leg. “Yeah.”

Xie Qi pursed his lips, suddenly realizing something, tone turning odd: “What about the old ring?”

His stiff tone felt off to Wen Jiang—like parents auditing a kid, deeply displeased. But as a peer, wasn’t this overreaching?

Uncomfortable without his wristband? Wen Jiang pondered: If a friend gave a phone, then you got a replacement from another—did using it trample the friend’s gift?

Not logical.

“It’s just a backup,” he added. “The old ring’s with Jiang Hehu—might’ve been tossed.”

Xie Qi’s voice dropped: “You gave him the ring.”

Wen Jiang: …

Stubborn streak again.

Do I need to report ring ownership transfers to you?

“You take it just ’cause he gives it? Can’t I give you a ring?” Emotions ignited like dry grass sparked by flint—the smoldering darkness swelling in his heart burst out. Xie Qi’s words turned aggressive, laced with fire: “I give you a wristband, and you push back?”

“Wen Jiang, you can’t always—” A powerful wind surged along the ground, defying physics, drawing distant lingering students’ stares.

No outbursts here—no uncontrolled wind blades. Wen Jiang’s voice chilled: “Xie Qi.”

“—”

The airflow halted instantly. Xie Qi clenched his fists. This was the first time Wen Jiang had been so stern about his loss of control.

Like a bomb packed to bursting, doused with cold water at detonation. More irritable, but easier to defuse. Was this training’s fruit? The near-uncontrolled winds retracted, obedient, after a few breaths.

“…Fine, fine.” Xie Qi roughly wrestled his mind into submission, took a deep breath, averted his eyes, and gritted out: “I won’t argue with you over this again.”

What am I arguing for? Just deal with the other guy. The thought flashed, then he realized: Do that, and Wen Jiang would think I’m pressuring him through others—might really get mad and fight. It almost made Xie Qi laugh at his own hypothetical.

He quickly smothered the laugh, silent for two seconds, then turned back as if nothing happened: “Let’s go.”

Wen Jiang watched him, said nothing more, and walked past. Xie Qi’s heart inexplicably tightened; he grabbed Wen Jiang’s hand: “You’re mad?”

Couples argue, friction happens. Didn’t escalate—no cold war, right?

“No.” Wen Jiang said calmly. Long-term friends had friction too—no cold war over this. He countered: “Didn’t you say you won’t bring it up again?”

“…Yeah.” Bring it up again, who knew? Wen Jiang’s attitude and the real warmth from his hand calmed Xie Qi’s mind—yet with it came faint longing and dissatisfaction.

Xie Qi knew how to calm further: Another hug from Wen Jiang.

Wen Jiang watched him calmly, like pristine snow close enough to cup in hands. He never resisted, never shook off his hand—but just stood there. Wen Jiang didn’t “approach” proactively.

Xie Qi had seen people in love: Qian Lang’s dumb, flashy showiness with Huo Xia Tong, the clueless couple flashing everywhere; his parents’ open love-sex separation. But some intangible things didn’t lie.

Xie Qi sometimes had the illusion that he was immersed in an absurd yet sweet dream. Certain subtle anomalies reminded him that something wasn’t quite right, hinting at something strange, but his subconscious whispered: You’re not ready to wake up yet.

So he ignored those anomalies, either deliberately or not, prolonging the fragile dream in his anticipation. Xie Qi rubbed Wen Jiang’s wrist, not even fully aware of what he was saying himself: “I believe you, so don’t……”

As long as you don’t go too far, don’t cross that final line, I can pretend nothing ever happened.

The words clogged in his throat and ultimately went unsaid. In the end, Xie Qi simply repeated, “I won’t quarrel with you over this kind of thing again.”

Wen Jiang blinked, looking at him like he was some sulky kid, and reminded him in turn: “If you keep bottling it up, it’ll build up to overload.”

In history, attempts to mentally suppress high-rank Ability users through forceful oppression—aiming to cultivate the most obedient army—often turned their mental pressure into an ever-expanding water balloon. It looked perfectly stable on the surface, but one day it would inevitably burst with a bang—, leading to tragedy. This was knowledge straight out of middle school history class.

Stabilizing one’s Abilities was proving to be a long, drawn-out challenge. This moody unpredictability wasn’t a solution—better to avoid those pointless arguments that led to pointless outbursts. But bottling it all up carried its own risks of becoming unmanageable. Luckily, the Xie Family ran regular mental stability checks on Xie Qi; otherwise, it’d be like gambling with folk remedies.

“You can give it a try,” Wen Jiang finally told him. “Just say so ahead of time if you feel like you can’t hold back anymore.”

As he spoke, he withdrew his hand. Xie Qi’s fingertip brushed over that small ring.