Qingchi’s student forum once had a post claiming: As everyone knew, the higher the rank of a Supernatural Ability, the more powerful it became, and the further it strayed from “harmless.” Even if someone’s ability was “mopping the floor impeccably clean,” if it reached the top tier, it might evolve into a conceptual skill that treated dust, microbes, or even standing humans on the targeted area as “trash to be swept away.” One swipe of the mop, and the destructive power would be terrifying. So, stepping back, weren’t all S-Grades essentially part of the Combat System at their core?
The statement sparked fierce backlash. Combat System students chimed in agreement, while others from different departments cursed them out shamelessly. Plenty of spectators left comments like, “Just say you want WJ to switch departments.”
So, did WJ—the student with the S-Grade Lifestyle Supernatural Ability Dramatic Stage—actually have any combat prowess? Since Wen Jiang never participated in Combat System matches, the debate remained unresolved. Some accounts insisted he was formidable, and others claimed they’d mustered the courage to ask him directly and received an affirmative answer.
The situation had gone like this: While Wen Jiang was reading Joke Anthology: The Art of Language, a few unfamiliar faces approached him out of nowhere, asking point-blank how good he was at fighting. Utterly baffled, he naturally shifted his gaze back to his book and gave a breezy “Mm.” The group erupted in a commotion before he could say more, shoving each other as they turned tail and fled, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
“…”
Wen Jiang swallowed the “Of course not” that had been on the tip of his tongue.
Timing jokes was tricky indeed; he’d gained valuable experience from it.
In a way, he hadn’t lied. Wen Jiang brushed off the minor incident. Later, Jiang Hehu scrolled the forum and spotted the post. Though not a natural-born S-Grade, he had one foot in that realm and lacked the usual reverence for the title. He scoffed at the Lifestyle System’s audacity.
That was when he decided to beat this Wen Jiang he’d never met, snap a few photos, and post them to end the boring debate.
He’d tried. The aftermath was best left unsaid. Now, Jiang Hehu locked eyes with Wen Jiang. Two seconds later, he looked away first—but froze mid-shift, scowled fiercely, and swung his head back, going further by leaping off the arena platform and striding toward Wen Jiang.
Oh? Not running, but coming straight at me— Wen Jiang dispersed the line that floated in his mind, noting the guy’s imposing momentum. Looked like he wanted a fight.
Fine by him. Wen Jiang glanced at Gao Mingcheng instead. The other boy managed a slight upward tug at his lips, his expression less rigid now. Satisfied, Wen Jiang patted his shoulder, set down the workbook, and leaned back in his chair to wait idly.
Gao Mingcheng was Jiang Hehu’s latest plaything. Truth be told, he got spooked too easily, which made it rather meh. If he had to rate it, the upside was the hilariously terrified look on his face.
Today was supposed to be the last time he’d mess with Gao Mingcheng. In the planned script, the kid would’ve watched the iron orb hurtle toward him, scared out of his wits, screaming as he tumbled from his chair. The Training Field’s cameras had auto-capture; the big screen would’ve broadcast a face drained of all color.
No real harm done—just middle-school-level bullying. He’d already given Wen Tianlu plenty of face.
But Wen Jiang had blocked Gao Mingcheng’s view—and his face. With the workbook lowered, Gao now pressed his lips tight, his face pale but composed. Not the dazed panic expected. If broadcast, someone might even praise, “That kid’s got guts.”
Dramatic Stage‘s effect?
Jiang Hehu clicked his tongue. The Training Room’s electronic voice dutifully announced the results: Since Jiang Hehu had jumped off the platform voluntarily, it counted as forfeiture. Victory went to his opponent. Students on the stands whispered among themselves, unbothered by the outcome. The two teachers maintaining order hurried over. Jiang Hehu stood by the workstation table, facing their questions with his usual line: “Slipped up. Total accident.”
When he willed it, he could look perfectly docile. Towering over Gao Mingcheng, Jiang Hehu soon curved his eyes into a smile, his tone sugary sweet like candy-laden pastry: “You’ll forgive me, right?”
Like a cat toasting the mouse at New Year’s. Gao Mingcheng’s fingers clenched unconsciously. This facade haunted him deeply—more than outright anger. He could handle absence, but up close, it felt like seawater flooding his nose, choking his throat. He struggled to hold his taut facade, half-fearing his voice would crack shrill if he spoke.
“…It’s fine.”
The words came out round and smooth, oddly carrying the indulgent tolerance of a superior forgiving a subordinate’s affront. Gao Mingcheng blinked, surprised by his own tone. He caught faint gasps from the crowd. Jiang Hehu’s face darkened as he glared at the silent Wen Jiang beside him.
Wen Jiang propped his arm on the chair back, cheek in hand, and smiled at him: “I forgive you too.”
A teacher coughed opportunely, breaking the heavy air. No one hurt, equipment intact—he clapped and said it was fine, urging everyone back to their matches. He kindly told Gao Mingcheng he could head down to rest; they’d assign someone else for the remaining work. Finally, he nodded at Wen Jiang.
Wen Jiang rose from his chair, hands in pockets, naturally falling into an escorting posture beside Gao Mingcheng to leave the Training Room. Suddenly, Jiang Hehu grabbed his arm: “And where do you think you’re going?”
Didn’t slip past him. Wen Jiang halted. Nearby folks paused a beat, then resumed indifferently. Only Gao Mingcheng pulled back his extended foot.
Wen Jiang waved him off: “Go on by yourself.”
“Real smooth.” Jiang Hehu gripped Wen Jiang tight, glancing sideways at Gao Mingcheng’s eerily calm, straight-backed stance—should be shaking like chaff in a sieve by now. He sneered out of nowhere: “You’re really letting him put on a good show.”
My ability’s exactly for this—same as praising a warrior for fighting, a chef for cooking, or a math teacher for math. Wen Jiang replied: “Thanks for the compliment.”
As he spoke, he tested his gripped left arm. No give. Physically, Jiang Hehu’s wrist was even slimmer—peak spoiled young master vibes. But his Bloodbath directly reinforced the body; activated, he could uproot willows barehanded. Wen Jiang’s arm felt shackled in iron.
“Why’d you run?” Jiang Hehu felt the resistance and scowled again, repeating himself. From the moment he’d spotted Wen Jiang today, that message had nagged him. The walk over had crystallized it, fueling his rage.
Weirdly, he’d brushed off the text at first. But dwelling on Wen Jiang’s character—Would this guy send random cryptic threats that just pissed you off? Yeah, exactly!
He grew certain it was Wen Jiang. Now, he demanded: “You’re turning on me over him?”
Classmates at nearby desks hunched lower, sensing the bizarre exchange.
Gao Mingcheng’s heart clenched, terrified he’d dragged Wen Jiang into major trouble. He shot him a worried look.
Wen Jiang fell silent, wondering if “turning on me” was a bit overdramatic.
But yeah, that fits. Is Poker Buddy No. 3 the type to flip out over a ruined mood or slighted ego? Spot on.
“Enough.” Peace wasn’t happening today. Wen Jiang’s right hand, pocketed, ghosted over his Ring: “Let go.”
“Ha?!” The grip crushed harder, nearly snapping bone. Jiang Hehu never knew restraint, bellowing: “Wen Jiang, what the hell do you—”
“…”
Wen Jiang twisted half-around, yanked by the pull. The moment he steadied, he transformed.
Demeanor, words, aura—all melted like ice into spring meadows, every blade of grass gilded in brilliant sun.
The stage curtains parted. The actor took center stage—a true metamorphosis. A natural smile bloomed on Wen Jiang’s face, clean, refreshing, softly playful: “Why so mad?”
—Ah, Seri’s Golden Lakeside. Same-System Gao Mingcheng recognized Dramatic Stage‘s activation faster than anyone. Jiang Hehu blinked, his Combat-honed senses lagging—then his face twisted: “You?!”
The next instant, Wen Jiang seized Jiang Hehu’s arm with his right hand. Skin met skin; the Ring’s chill touch transmitted clearly. Jiang Hehu’s ability suppressed to minimum. Wen Jiang kicked his ankle—vicious, precise. Jiang Hehu pitched forward in pain.
He loosened; Wen Jiang yanked free, grabbed his hair, slammed his forehead into the desk with a bang! Then wrenched the arm behind his back, pinning it.
Ow, fuck! Jiang Hehu’s vision swam. Upper body crushed to the desk under Wen Jiang’s control. Defiant, he swung a leg back—only for Wen Jiang to yank his head up and smash it down harder. Another bang! echoed through the workstation. Jiang Hehu went limp from agony.
Bloodbath was a mighty Super A-Grade ability, reshaping the body outright. But its fatal flaw: enhancements tied solely to activation. Unlike same-year S-Grades—Wen Jiang, Xie Qi, Wen Tianlu—whose ability training and physique were separate, Jiang Hehu’s were one.
The Suppressor Ring nestled between Wen Jiang’s palm and Jiang Hehu’s arm touched both skins, steadily inhibiting doubly—for Wen Jiang a restraint, for Jiang near-total nullification. Moments like this hammered home their ability gap.
Deprived of Bloodbath, Jiang Hehu reverted to baseline frailty, pain tolerance plummeting. What usually fueled his battle frenzy now numbed his mind, tears pricking physiologically.
“You’re doing it again!” Recalling their awful first meeting, Jiang Hehu griped while squirming—only tightening the hold. Wen Jiang clutched him like a flailing, unscratched cat; cats got gentler treatment.
He hoisted Jiang Hehu’s head a third time, smashing it cleanly into the desk. This time, tears squeezed from Jiang Hehu’s eyes, vision blacking, curses choking as the impact nicked his tongue.
He wouldn’t do this to others. But for Jiang Hehu’s type, Wen Jiang had to keep it one-sided from start to finish. Loosen midway as he turned fierce in bark but faint of heart? He’d reactivate, counterattack tenfold—no stopping at a few cracked ribs.
Stay dominant till he can’t fight back.
“You bastard!” Jiang Hehu sensed the intent, spat a curse, and kicked forward—toppling a chair. Its legs screeched across the floor like a signal. Strangers on the stands and in corners rose; the nearest leveled a hand at Wen Jiang, flames coiling at his fingertips.
Escalation hit. The whole Training Field roiled. “Gonna murder someone?” Wen Jiang said flatly, still pinning Jiang Hehu as a reminder: “Protections are up—how could they?”
He exaggerated deliberately. Poker Buddy No. 3 had this trait.
Jiang Hehu’s face warped at the words, delicate features surging with violence. His glare knifed toward his own would-be protectors: “Put that fucking hand down!”
After all, he was one of the top dogs in the Combat System. When Jiang Hehu set his mind to taking someone down single-handedly, anyone thinking of jumping in to outnumber the enemy just became a bunch of useless obstacles.
The Jiang Family bodyguard’s expression didn’t change, the flames on his hands still burning bright. But in that split-second hesitation—just a blink of an eye—the situation on the field flipped dramatically. The man literally flew through the air.
In slow-motion replay, it started with his hair whipping to the left, then his clothes, limbs, torso. A tornado-like gale roared in from the far end of the Training Field, scooping up several other suspicious strangers in its path and hurling them straight into the opposite wall.
The solid arena floor bore deep gashes like they’d been sliced by blades. The more restrained force on the spectator stands nearly caught bystanders in the blast, but ice crystals erupted from Wen Tianlu’s feet, forming a shield that blocked the wind’s aftermath.
“Blind fools, where’d you come from?”
At the Training Field entrance stood Xie Qi, his face dark as thunder. Invisible currents of air, laced with crushing pressure, blanketed the sky above. He eyed the Supernatural Ability users sprawled on the far side, itching to strike. “Do that again, and I’ll chop your hand off.”
