Chapter 65: Strange

In theatrical performances, there was a common technique called a “stand-in kiss.”

Typically, it worked perfectly for scenes where actors had to pretend to kiss.

Wen Jiang had never really gotten the chance to use it, though.

Swearing on his S-Grade acting skills, if he ever got to employ it, he was confident he could nail it in one take—delivering a kiss that anyone watching would shout, “They definitely kissed for real!”

But the club president and Lin Wenzhi always went out of their way to avoid assigning him overtly romantic or intimate scenes, claiming it was too easy to lose control of the situation.

Wen Jiang had seen a draft script Lin Wenzhi had tried writing—a steamy, passion-heavy romance. He’d offered to take it on for her, earnestly declaring, “I can handle this.”

Lin Wenzhi had patted his shoulder and replied with equal sincerity, “That’s exactly why you won’t.”

Fine. Wen Jiang temporarily shelved his attempt to try out this unused skill.

That said—everyone knew Wen Jiang’s abilities extended far beyond conventional stage performances. He also had practical assignments as training, with a task list full of all sorts of fresh roles and relationships, creating endless random challenges. These often demanded advanced techniques he couldn’t showcase at Qingchi Theater.

Like “One-Day Boyfriend,” “One-Day Girlfriend,” “One-Day Parent (no blood relation version),” “One-Day Brother (blood relation but legally appropriate worldview version),” “One-Day Couple,” “One-Day Slave Master,” and the like.

…Wen Jiang kept shelving his skills.

But—”Lin Xun” might need it?

Not that it was essential, but while he had no idea how Lin Xun and his crowd “played” in private, Lin Xun clearly came across as the wild type. Wen Jiang still remembered their first meeting, when Lin Xun had brought along a “partner” he’d only seen that one time.

So, the “Lin Xun” he was playing should lean into that personality.

According to plan, after the Yanhai Art Festival performance ended, Wen Jiang’s next gig was to play “One-Day Lin Xun,” standing in for him at a party. This had naturally increased how often he talked to Lin Xun that week.

To play someone, you first had to understand them. For efficiency, Wen Jiang sent Lin Xun a questionnaire, asking him to fill in basics like personal info, daily preferences, relationships, and scenario simulations like “What would you do in this situation?”

Lin Xun started off enthusiastic, pledging full cooperation. But when he actually got the form and opened it, he got all awkward on the other end of the phone.

17:30

Lin Xun: This is so embarrassing.

Lin Xun: shy.jpg

Lin Xun: You don’t need to replicate this too accurately.

Lin Xun: Just do whatever feels right—they won’t mind.

Lin Xun: Eat or drink anything you want, no restrictions.

Lin Xun: You can pick a venue you like too.

Lin Xun: Oh right, speaking of food—what flavors do you prefer?

Wen Jiang: Shut up and fill it out.

18:40

Lin Xun: Got it.

An hour later, Wen Jiang received the first version of the character survey. He skimmed it, mentally sketching a model youth: no bad habits, didn’t touch smoking, drinking, gambling, or women; studious and progressive, upright in thought, polite to others, disciplined, with excellent conduct.

…Who was this?

20:30

Wen Jiang: Redo it.

Lin Xun: TAT

Lin Xun’s form-filling gave Wen Jiang the vibe of that elementary school teacher analogy: some kids studied like spinning a top—one flick and it spins a bit before stopping. The second version had some changes, but Wen Jiang could still spot the dishonest parts at a glance.

Wen Jiang sent it back for a third version, which was a tad more honest than the second.

What was done was done—playing coy now was pointless. Did Lin Xun think one form could overhaul his image? Wen Jiang impassively sent it back again.

Lin Xun had never hidden things from him before, even if he didn’t flaunt them. At least he’d never pretended to be a moral paragon in front of Wen Jiang. Realizing this, Wen Jiang figured Lin Xun was just trying to project a “socially acceptable good image” now.

Or at least not make it worse.

This left Wen Jiang rather touched. He immediately activated Backup Plan B, sending a simplified “Lin Xun Impression Survey” to the rest of their little circle to cross-verify the data.

Resumes were the same way—people consciously polished their image, so the info wasn’t raw. That wouldn’t do.

The surveys went out, and Jiang Hehu was the first to respond, firing off a string of question marks.

Jiang Hehu: ?????

Jiang Hehu: You message me once a month

Jiang Hehu: Asking what kind of partners Lin Xun likes????

Wen Jiang: For a task.

Jiang Hehu paused, deleting the rapid-fire typing in the chat.

Jiang Hehu: Oh.

Jiang Hehu filled his out quickly without further comment. Wen Tianlu soon followed, even attaching extra photos for reference. Wen Jiang compared them, then sent back Lin Xun’s fourth version, telling him to redo the private life section in detail.

Lin Xun was collapsing. He knew he couldn’t pass for innocent in Wen Jiang’s eyes, but imagining the others exaggerating maliciously felt like his clean name was being slandered.

Lin Xun: That’s defamation!

Lin Xun: TT That’s really defamation!

He meant it sincerely. Even ignoring his recent… abstinence phase, by circle standards, he was pretty discerning—not some “anything goes” slob. But he couldn’t say that to Wen Jiang.

Wen Jiang wasn’t truly interested in Lin Xun’s private life; he just wanted reliable data to nail the persona. He simply reminded Lin Xun: Xie Qi and Qian Lang filled theirs too.

They wouldn’t hype it up or hide it, so best to be honest.

Wen Jiang: Important directive: Redo it.

Ten minutes later, Lin Xun replied listlessly: Got it.

Wen Jiang screenshotted and asked: Not changing this?

The screenshot was Lin Xun’s “preferred type,” unchanged across versions: “Muse.” It didn’t seem random, but it was baffling.

Lin Xun sent a shy emoticon: No need.

Weird fetish for Poker Buddy No. 2. None of the people he’d seen with Lin Xun fit “Muse.” Wen Jiang rephrased: Do others know?

Lin Xun: Ah

Lin Xun: No.

Easy fix. Wen Jiang: Then delete it. Change to past likes.

Lin Xun, mid-debate on teasing “Wanna know?“: ……

Lin Xun’s “base template” mattered, but Wen Jiang saw the task’s core as playing “the Lin Xun in others’ minds,” not the “real” one. To up the challenge, he couldn’t even survey impressions until showtime.

Thus, if no one knew Lin Xun’s “Muse” thing, it was irrelevant here.

What type caught his interest? How did he act when hooked? Shy at pick-ups and flirts, reject, or smile back? Lin Xun could pick—playboy or reformed rake. But if Wen Jiang acted too prim at flirty moments or too eager at rejections, it’d ring false.

The circle’s view of Lin Xun probably differed from the party’s crowd. Not copy-paste, but useful reference.

Qian Lang had officially reconciled with Huo Xia Tong. They were in full lovey-dovey mode, lost in their world. Wen Jiang didn’t push, just said fill it when free. Days of sweet bliss later, on the eve of Wen Jiang’s gig, Qian Lang called in a panic.

He blurted in doomsday tones: “Why are you suddenly into Lin Xun?!”

“…” Version rollback. Wen Jiang evenly reminded him: “Practical assignment.”

“Oh, right.” Qian Lang exhaled, steadying. He had checkups that day, squeezed in the call. He warned hastily, “Lin Xun’s no good guy,” then ritualistically asked before hanging: “How’s it going with Xie Qi lately?”

Wen Jiang paused on his end, then said calmly: “Fine.”

Fine, for now.

…Why the pause? Qian Lang’s calmed heart twitched. If he had time, he’d call a “chat session.”

Wen Jiang reflected—they weren’t bad.

Reviewing the week: After finding Huo Xia Tong and handling one heat cycle, Xie Qi had demoed a perfect “stand-in kiss” in the car home, then hugged him, touched.

Two days later, with aftereffects mostly gone (last one self-manageable), Wen Jiang told Xie Qi he no longer needed help. Cue a small spat.

They’d been fine, then bam—argument. Pattern lately. Good news: Fights multiplied but resolved faster. No cold wars or breakups.

Just… strange.

He’d sensed the weirdness early; now it was glaring.

Focus on tomorrow’s assignment first. But once Qian Lang was free, Wen Jiang might discuss Xie Qi with him.

Wen Jiang listened to Qian Lang’s “Mm, yeah, okay”s, hung up, felt the breeze, turned to Xie Qi—who’d been holding him through the call—and said: “All done.”

Xie Qi stirred, letting out a muffled sigh. Hot breath fanned Wen Jiang’s neck.

Something scorching pressed against Wen Jiang’s abdomen through their clothes.