Ke Yuan had dropped out.
He was like a wet leaf floating on the lake’s surface—when it fell, it barely caused a ripple, and then it was easily removed. The day after the Art Festival ended, Ke Yuan vanished into thin air from Qingchi, without a sound.
No one openly discussed the matter. There were some rumors on the forums claiming his departure hadn’t been peaceful, describing him as so miserable he’d sobbed heartbrokenly—but when pressed for details, people hemmed and hawed, vague and evasive, unable to say anything more specific.
Finally, someone replied that he’d crossed Xie Qi, and after that, the thread went quiet.
Two days later, everything Ke Yuan had done at his old school was fully exposed, drawing the attention of the relevant authorities. His parents were frantic and frazzled, while Qingchi remained like a distant still pond—no further gossip stirred its waters. The fish that had been fished out could flop around on its belly outside all it wanted, but it wouldn’t affect the pond in the slightest.
The sight of the collapsing scaffold, heavy rigging crashing down toward Wen Jiang’s head, had become an image Xie Qi couldn’t forget anytime soon. After the Art Festival competition ended and free time began, Wen Jiang and Xie Qi watched the evening parade performance together. Xie Qi held Wen Jiang’s hand as they wove through the crowd, not even letting go when buying snacks for him, as if afraid he’d get lost.
He’d truly been scared badly.
Wen Jiang glanced at Xie Qi, then at their clasped hands, and decided very considerately to stroke his fur to calm him. So for the entire evening, he drank his beverage with one hand, used his phone with one hand, ate snacks with one hand—and when two hands were needed, a marvelous cooperative form emerged.
Xie Qi bought Wen Jiang a paper box of skewers, holding his hand with one while cradling the box in the other and offering it up.
Wen Jiang picked up a skewer with his free hand and poked at the food in the box before him. Expressionless, he ate amid the crowd, feeling the occasional gaze thrown their way, and thought the whole thing felt inexplicably weird.
What if he ran out of hands? Wen Jiang experimentally said to Xie Qi, “I’m thirsty.”
Xie Qi glanced at him, pulled Wen Jiang to order his favorite drink, and then the beverage hovered in midair beside them—the air currents holding it steady.
…Right.
Wen Jiang continued silently eating his skewers with a blank face. In that case, Xie Qi doesn’t need to hold the box with his hand either.
It didn’t feel bad, actually.
But it was weird.
Weird. Qian Lang thought, staring at his phone.
There was no one he could confide in here in the therapy room. With nowhere to vent, he set his phone down and paced his room, from one end to the other, then turned and checked it again.
…Too weird.
On his phone was a memo where he’d compiled the information. To avoid disturbing Wen Jiang during the Art Festival competition, he’d held back many questions, instead doing some private self-review first.
Known: In Xie Qi’s eyes, he was dating Wen Jiang. Xie Qi’s last-minute change of mind about going to the Secret Tower was because he’d become lovers with Wen Jiang that very day.
Also known: The private rumors said Xie Qi had found a… seemingly not very “loyal” “lover,” who kept him at arm’s length, playing the classic “this person is pure and unconventional, successfully catching my eye” angle—probably trying to string him along.
Sure, some people in their circle liked that type, finding it thrilling to play with, but Xie Qi had never been into games like that. If he was dating someone, it was likely genuine emotion, just like with himself. And Qian Lang didn’t believe Xie Qi had zero eye for people.
He’d considered that a pure-hearted virgin might be shockingly easy to fool, but that felt more like an “intelligence issue” than an “emotional one.” And with this “lover” seemingly referring to Wen Jiang, it added even more absurdity.
There were already so many suspicious points. And finally, when he’d asked about Wen Jiang’s love life, the response had been a casual “none.”
That same night—the night Xie Qi backed out and supposedly “got together” with Wen Jiang—he’d done something mortifying. Probably—eighty percent, maybe—sent some off messages while mistakenly logged in as Wen Jiang.
…No way, right?
But Xie Qi’s profile pic wasn’t lit up with a notification. Qian Lang paced another lap in his room.
He had zero memory of that night, though. What if he’d messed up and clicked the wrong dark-mode account? Couldn’t rule out zero possibility. Qian Lang reached the wall.
But if so, how long had this misunderstanding lasted? Was that reasonable? Wouldn’t it just take Xie Qi to act a little— Qian Lang paused mid-step.
Tch, with Xie Qi’s personality—couldn’t get a word out of him with three strikes—it actually seemed pretty reasonable. Stuff like “I love you,” “I like you,” “darling,” “baby sweetheart”—he definitely hadn’t said a single one to Wen Jiang.
And Absolute Trust had played a pushing role. Xie Qi seemed utterly convinced they were dating. Qian Lang turned, perfectly dodging a wall collision as he walked back.
His Supernatural Ability was conditional, its effect tied to the target’s inner desires. For an S-Grade like Xie Qi with high mental resistance to fall for it, his true longing must have been intense.
No wonder he’d ditched plans overnight after “getting together.” The logic flowed perfectly—Xie Qi’s desire to be with Wen Jiang was probably an obsession now.
God, an obsession. Qian Lang closed his eyes, head throbbing as he pulled out his phone again.
Should he call? Who? What to say?
If his reasoning was right, could Xie Qi handle the truth? Qian Lang turned off the screen.
But what if Wen Jiang didn’t like him? Couldn’t just throw away Wen Jiang’s life because Xie Qi had an obsession, right? And I still wanna ask how he ended up like this! Qian Lang indignantly lit the screen again.
Then he remembered this mess started with him, and guilt washed over instantly.
No, no—nothing was set in stone yet. Don’t be too pessimistic. Qian Lang slumped onto the sofa with a bitter face. His silent solo performance finally ended. After much deliberation, he dialed Wen Jiang’s number.
Staying here thinking wouldn’t progress anything. Better to probe their relationship status indirectly. Qian Lang steeled himself, and when the call connected, he adopted a steady guardian tone, asking gravely with full gravitas: “Xiao Jiang, you free right now?”
“No.” Wen Jiang sat in the coffee shop, replying expressionlessly.
Why call now, of all times—not earlier, not later?
“…Oh.” Qian Lang’s momentum deflated.
“Then when are you free?” Qian Lang switched tactics, sighing deeply with a sad, heartrending tone: “Have you grown up and started finding me annoying? You haven’t made time to chat heart-to-heart lately.”
“Tonight works.” Wen Jiang checked the time and ruthlessly deflected the incoming blame. “You picked the wrong time.”
He was clearly dead set against chatting now. “Alright.” Qian Lang conceded, but slipped in one last question before hanging up: “Just one final thing—how’s it going with Xie Qi lately?”
Qian Lang’s heart subtly tensed. Wen Jiang replied flatly on the other end: “Pretty good.”
…Should he feel happy or sigh at that? Qian Lang’s emotions were complicated.
Wen Jiang sat by the window, turning to watch the bustling crowd outside. After a moment’s silence, he took the initiative: “I have a question too.”
“Huh?” Did Wen Jiang notice something off…? Qian Lang’s heart lifted again. “Shoot.”
Wen Jiang asked bluntly: “Do you still like Huo Xia Tong?”
Silence on the line. Qian Lang scratched his head, bewildered at how the dynamic had flipped in one sentence.
The red rope bracelet on his wrist brushed his ear as he lowered his hand. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.
Nothing to hide—it was something they all knew deep down, just tacitly avoiding. After all, to fully cut off a romance, you shouldn’t keep looking back, right?
Though sometimes, deliberately not thinking about it kept it etched in memory forever. Maybe mentioning it more for desensitization was better? Qian Lang had no idea.
Neither was an emotions expert. With no precognition, anything could be wrong. Qian Lang leaned back on the sofa and told Wen Jiang: “Yeah.”
He added quickly: “I’ll call you later then. Go ahead with what you’re doing.”
“Mm.”
Wen Jiang hung up, staying put. He checked his things, ordered two coffees based on the time, then propped his chin and stared at the faint white steam rising from one.
The shop clock ticked forward. The elegant walnut door swung open, wind chimes tinkling by it.
Right on time, Huo Xia Tong scanned the room and locked on her target. She sat across from Wen Jiang, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “Long time no see.”
Wen Jiang and Huo Xia Tong hadn’t met often, but through Qian Lang, they knew each other—could even call their past relation good. But “friend’s partner” or “partner’s friend” ties snap fast when the “partner” becomes ex. After she and Qian Lang split, there’d been no further contact.
This was the first time Wen Jiang had requested a meeting. Since she’d come, Huo Xia Tong cut straight: “What do you need?”
Wen Jiang lowered his gaze. He’d thought hard about how to start, then realized no fancy words were needed. He glanced at her right wrist—adorned only with a simple, handmade red rope bracelet, stark against the flashy ones on her other.
Finally, he slid a slim black notebook across to her.
Huo Xia Tong tilted her head, reaching for it. “What’s th—”
Her words halted. Flipping it open, between the cover and first page was a paperclip holding two plane tickets.
One glance told her the destination.
Qingchi Drama Club had lived up to expectations, clinching first in the Yanhai Art Festival drama competition with overwhelming votes. The hefty prize money, plus the club president’s contribution—since the club had suddenly lost a member—meant Wen Jiang got a bit more than planned.
Add his saved pocket money, Xie Qi voluntarily covering the other half of costs as backup, and Wen Jiang’s own emergency reserves.
That covered round-trip travel, lodging, meals, and any miscellaneous expenses.
Applications with the treatment center, travel itineraries—all sorted with Xie Qi.
Just missing the most crucial person.
“If all you need to do is set out,” Wen Jiang asked calmly, “would you be willing to go see Qian Lang?”
