After stewing over it for half the night, Xie Qi finally picked up the “private talk” that Qian Lang’s phone call had interrupted once he dropped Wen Jiang off at his doorstep.
He wouldn’t bring it up on his own, and Wen Jiang wouldn’t play mind reader around him, coaxing and guessing to worm his way into his thoughts—it all depended on Xie Qi’s personal initiative. This approach had cured Xie Qi of his old habit of getting angry and then clamming up, waiting for others to guess what was wrong—at least in front of Wen Jiang. Now, Xie Qi just needed time to “prepare.”
He didn’t say anything during dinner, nor after they finished eating. His attempt to get Wen Jiang to stay over with “It’s getting late” was ruthlessly shot down. He didn’t say anything on the drive home either. Now, as Wen Jiang reached to open the door and get out, the fully prepared Xie Qi finally spoke: “About Qian Lang—I never planned to hide it from you.”
Wen Jiang paused for a second, realizing he meant Qian Lang brainwashing himself with his Supernatural Ability.
Not many people knew Qian Lang’s secret. Only a small circle was aware, and it wasn’t something Qian Lang had spilled himself.
It was a delicate matter. People didn’t just blurt out, “I’m going to tell you someone else’s huge secret” in the middle of normal life. But if it ever came out, having one of the three people theoretically in the dark would feel a bit off.
…Actually, was it really off? Xie Qi hadn’t mentioned it, and Wen Jiang had almost forgotten about it entirely.
“I know.” It wasn’t a big deal. Wen Jiang didn’t even think it warranted forgiveness or not—he just said, “Keeping secrets is normal.”
If anyone should hash it out, it was Qian Lang with Huo Xia Tong—assuming they wanted to spend their lives together. Hiding more from a spouse than from friends didn’t sound healthy for a relationship.
“No.” Xie Qi’s tone was firm. “I won’t hide anything from you.”
Wen Jiang blinked, then heard Xie Qi add: “And I won’t leave.”
“I won’t enter the Secret Tower.” After beating around the bush for so long, what Xie Qi had wanted to say from the start was simple. Recalling Wen Jiang’s conversation with Huo Xia Tong, he leaned in, took Wen Jiang’s hand, and said solemnly in a soft voice: “I’m not going anywhere.”
The moment felt familiar. A while back, after helping Gao Mingcheng with his trouble and leaving the A-Rank Arena, Wen Jiang had asked Xie Qi when he was leaving, and Xie Qi had stared at him just like this and said he “wasn’t leaving.”
…So that’s what his reaction had been about that day.
Wen Jiang remembered the first time he’d discussed his spending plans with Xie Qi, when he’d wanted Huo Xia Tong to meet Qian Lang.
Xie Qi hadn’t agreed right away. Instead, he’d asked if Wen Jiang thought it was a good idea. After a long silence, he’d told him to do it if he wanted. Back then, Xie Qi had even seemed a little heartbreaking.
But now, Xie Qi no longer looked at him with those scalded eyes. The grip on his hand was steady, conveying a determination that bordered on stubbornness. Wen Jiang rarely refused when Xie Qi suddenly took his hand these days. He lowered his gaze, struck by sudden inspiration, and realized Xie Qi was worried about him.
Worried that he’d feel upset or lonely because of it. Worried that he’d have to work hard for it—the Secret Tower’s visitation rules were stricter; it wasn’t just about having bus fare. It would be even tougher.
Sure, saying he’d forget Xie Qi existed the moment he entered the Secret Tower sounded too heartless. But the atmosphere right now felt like those TV dramas where longing couldn’t be satisfied by remote calls anymore—”crossing mountains and rivers just to see you once.” It moved Wen Jiang with Xie Qi’s resolve, but something still felt off.
Even if there were similarities, they couldn’t overlay their situation onto Huo Xia Tong and Qian Lang’s. They weren’t that kind of relationship.
…But if asked whether it touched him, yeah, it did. Xie Qi was pretty considerate.
“…Mm.” In the end, Wen Jiang agreed. No matter what, if Xie Qi wanted to stay outside, Wen Jiang hoped he could make it happen. And if they had the leeway to see each other often, that was even better.
He did think it was a bit weird, but he couldn’t dismiss Xie Qi’s worries as pure narcissism. Looking at him, Wen Jiang said: “I’ll help you.”
“And don’t feel too much pressure.” Wen Jiang thought for a moment, then comforted him calmly: “Maybe it’ll be easy for me to see you in the future.”
If the mountain won’t come to me, then I’ll go to the mountain. Who knew what the future held? Maybe he’d land a well-paying job someday. Then, seeing Xie Qi or Qian Lang in person would be way easier than now—no more eating bread for every meal and scraping by with weekend gigs for ages.
Oh, and by the way—that was a cheeky line to lighten the heavy mood.
But Xie Qi didn’t seem to get it. He just stared at Wen Jiang, a bit dazed.
“I…” He faltered, like his surging emotions had clogged his throat. The tips of his ears gradually turned red. Xie Qi leaned forward until he was almost pressed against Wen Jiang. Wen Jiang instinctively shifted back, his back hitting the car door.
…?
Xie Qi’s fingers slipped shallowly between Wen Jiang’s, interlacing them. He stared unblinking at Wen Jiang, his other hand resting on Wen Jiang’s knee.
Not long ago, he’d kissed him there.
The realization hit Xie Qi like a fierce, burning thirst.
They held hands, hugged, spent whole days relaxed together, even helped each other with physical needs.
Then what?
No passionate kisses, no murmured endearments. All their intimacy came with a transactional “purpose,” an equivalent exchange. After that heat cycle round, the skin under Wen Jiang’s collar was still pristine, white as snow, unmarked.
He’d kissed Wen Jiang’s hair and fingertips, kissed his knee through the fabric—dragonfly-light, fleeting, like an illusory, fragile dream.
He couldn’t lift Wen Jiang’s clothes, couldn’t let his hands roam freely over his waistline, couldn’t leave marks on his neck, collarbone, abdomen, or anywhere else.
It didn’t conflict with their previous… play. But the more they did it, the more Xie Qi felt something barricading them—separating clinical tasks from the unspoken flirtation of lovers.
How had he held back this much?
Why had he held back this much?
His heart pounded wildly. The temperature rose. The spacious car felt oppressively small. Emotions he couldn’t voice demanded bolder touches.
Xie Qi saw his reflection in Wen Jiang’s dark eyes—calm and deep, tinged with faint confusion, but no repulsion or disgust.
Desire didn’t sate; it built unnoticed. A month ago, Xie Qi wouldn’t have dared more. But Wen Jiang’s growing indulgence had torn a wider gap in his restraint.
Weren’t they lovers? If they were mutual, he should—he deserved—to do more—
Their breaths mingled. For the first time, Xie Qi’s face was this close to someone else’s. Wen Jiang instinctively pulled back from the proximity, his body bumping the car door with a faint sound.
—He’d be rejected.
His lips brushed hair instead. Xie Qi wrapped his arms around Wen Jiang, then tightened them in what felt like a deeply platonic, heartfelt hug. Out of Wen Jiang’s sight, his right hand clenched his left wrist so hard it nearly crushed the bones.
“…” An illusion? Wen Jiang tilted his head. “Xie Qi?”
“Mm.” Xie Qi mumbled a vague response, took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was normal: “I won’t leave.”
“No matter what happens,” Xie Qi repeated, unclear if he was telling Wen Jiang or himself, “no one can make me leave.”
…The air currents grew unstable.
The driver up front stared rigidly out the window. The car had built-in privacy measures—he couldn’t see or hear the back. But if the big shots in the rear got impulsive, he knew how to make himself invisible and scram from the vehicle pronto.
The Xie Family’s madam and sir wouldn’t care if he overheard or glimpsed something. Would you feel awkward if an ant caught a glimpse of your hot kiss? No one gave a damn.
But their kids—the Young Master Xie—was different.
As a veteran driver skilled at reading the room, he had no doubt that catching even a sliver of skin from the Young Master’s lover—the first and only one he’d brought to the “Birthday Gift”—would get him embarrassingly blasted out by the wind. So he’d stayed vigilant, ready to handle it perfectly.
…He’d rather face that now. Hell, he wished* for it!
Invisible winds swirled around the car, kicking up a small vortex ahead. From the window, it looked harmless. But no one could guarantee a hand reaching out wouldn’t get sliced clean off at the fingers.
The driver gripped his phone, sweat trickling down his back, unsure if he should report up yet. In the back seat, Wen Jiang blinked lightly.
Over Xie Qi’s shoulder, he saw leaves whirl outside the opposite window, then shear neatly in half. So Wen Jiang looped his arms around Xie Qi’s back and patted him twice, gently.
“I’m right here.”
It hadn’t fully lost control. No big deal.
Maybe he could test the “training” results.
“Xie Qi.” He used a different tone than usual—a cool voice laced with another melody, vibrating the air, carrying through to the ear. Wen Jiang tilted his head and said softly: “Reel it in.”
Xie Qi’s body shuddered suddenly. Moments later, the vortex outside the window dissipated, and all the air flows settled down.
![The Tower Will Fall [Apocalypse]](https://i2.wp.com/dobynovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/93.jpg?resize=151,215 "The Tower Will Fall [Apocalypse]")
