Chapter 71: Eruption

It was noisy.

Outside the pool, beneath the water, behind the doors.

First floor, second floor, third floor.

The clink of glasses, the buzz of chatter, the sounds of play.

In the corners, increasingly loud arguments, repeated thuds and wails, sticky rhythmic splashes of water, moans rising and falling in pitch.

Wen Jiang was here.

Currents of air swirled outside the Gongguan, slipping inside through vents, door cracks, and open windows. People shut their doors, drawing boundaries, packaging the cacophony into neatly isolated little boxes. The cameras riddling the Gongguan never pointed inside the rooms—all the secrets hid behind closed doors.

The weather was clear today, cloudless skies, sunlight spilling evenly over the shimmering pool surface and the skin of the milling crowd. Xie Qi stood at the pool’s edge. People passing by recognized him; their laughter cut off abruptly. They nudged each other with knowing glances and slipped away quietly. Farther off, the revelers remained lost in the grand party.

Without private rooms to assert ownership and secrecy, the wares outside the Gongguan came cheaper, handled more roughly. As the party heated up, the air grew thick with fervor. Crowded, decadent vibes spread across the grounds. The flimsy scraps of swimsuit fabric offered only the thinnest veil of decorum. A casual glance around the poolside and water revealed pale flesh entwined everywhere.

Lin Xun actually dared to send Wen Jiang to a place like this.

But Wen Jiang couldn’t see any of it. Things had looked normal outside when he arrived, and now he had no attention to spare for the windows.

With that thought, Xie Qi exhaled, his face expressionless.

Of course he knew Wen Jiang was acting—including those eyes like rippling spring waters that he’d never seen before, the ambiguous softness in his demeanor, his indulgent silence toward the invitations and probes, and—his back always ramrod straight, no hint of evasion, nearly letting that kiss happen.

Why?

The surveillance gear had been irreversibly wrecked in his rage. Xie Qi’s eyes felt dry; he blinked slowly. The moment he closed them, Wen Jiang’s two dodges from him flashed in his mind.

He shouldn’t have tested it.

He should have done nothing, like before. A failed probe only stirred unrest—days of unease, sleepless nights—forcing him to dwell on things he shouldn’t, things there was no need to.

“…Young Master.”

The phone he’d ordered dialed connected. An attendant murmured softly while handing it over. Xie Qi took it, staring at a certain room on the third floor. Before speaking, a wave of absurdity and ridicule hit him about his own actions.

It left him silent for a few seconds before he continued: “If Wen Jiang’s assignment gets disrupted by outside interference, forcing the performance to end—”

[…that shady shared almost-boyfriend]

A gust carried the words to his ears.

[Xie Qi hasn’t even done anything yet—what are you in such a hurry for?]

The words cut off. Faces around him paled suddenly. A few exchanged covert glances; one backed up two steps, hand dipping into his pocket. But before he could hit the alert button, his movement froze. A strand of air current coiled around his thumb, gathering force to snap the bone with one twitch.

Cold sweat beaded on the man’s back. A suffocating tension spread among them. After a brief pause, Xie Qi’s throat bobbed, and he pressed on in the same even tone: “Will the assignment count as a failure?”

“…No.”

Resistance and surprises were hurdles in the assignment, but also chances to rack up points with a decisive push. On the other end, Wen Jiang’s advisor Lin Chahe explained: “If outside forces derail the plan, it theoretically won’t stop the assignment from proceeding. On-the-spot reactions to any emergencies make for key evaluation points.”

Last assignment, the mishap hit “before the dance started”—basically before the test began. This one had kicked off the moment Wen Jiang entered the Gongguan. By now, his student should’ve amassed plenty of “scoring material.”

Lin Chahe added dutifully: “Depending on the situation, outright changing plans is allowed if needed. Even if some unstoppable force makes it impossible to proceed, we can score based on prior progress.”

The call was sudden and odd, hard to read, but the caller was the young master with terrifying influence, close to his prized student. Even knowing his words weighed little, Lin Chahe chose them carefully, venturing a reminder: “But if the student gets hurt because of it, we’ll consider terminating immediately.”

Hurt?

Xie Qi let out a cold scoff from deep in his chest. Once he had his answer, he hung up. His arm dropped naturally, fingers tightening gradually around the phone.

Xie Qi’s expression was icy, but in that moment, he seemed devoid of menace. No trace of savagery or agitation clung to him—like the dead-still afternoon before a storm hit.

The others could only watch in silence, awaiting orders. None dared approach or retreat.

A ringtone blared abruptly then—from Xie Qi’s own phone. He checked the caller ID, answered, and held it to his ear: “What is it?”

“…Hello?” Qian Lang was on the other end. Xie Qi’s tone threw him off; something felt profoundly off.

A flicker of unease crossed Qian Lang’s mind, but with the mindset of I’m already here, he pushed on: “Uh, didn’t I say I’d hit you up this week?”

First Xie Qi, then Wen Jiang. While patching things up with Huo Xia Tong, Qian Lang had finally nailed down his strategy. Perfect timing too—Wen Jiang had mentioned wanting to talk. So he called right at the end of their agreed window.

Start with Xie Qi: better a short sharp pain than a long dull ache. He might not take it well at first, but Qian Lang knew him—absent any other massive shock, Xie Qi should still hear reason.

For Wen Jiang, he had a plan too: a curated lineup of romance flicks packed with “misunderstandings born of mishaps.”

Who was Xiao Jiang, after all? Regular hints might flop, but if he dove into dramas or stage plays, earnestly studying the roles, he might connect it to his own life, follow the trail, spot Xie Qi’s oddness. Then a nudge from Qian Lang, and boom—misunderstanding cleared, smooth as silk.

Perfect plan.

Just… why did Xie Qi sound so weird today…?

Qian Lang hesitated: “So, you free? Got something to chat about.”

Silence lingered on the line. Xie Qi cut straight: “Chat about Wen Jiang with me?”

…Wrong. Wrong! Qian Lang’s heart lurched suspiciously. He laughed it off: “Hah, you already guessed? Not entirely—didn’t you guys help me out? Figured I’d check on your love lives too.”

Another silence answered. Bits of noise—near, far—piled up, making everything louder. Xie Qi’s eardrums ached. Listening to Qian Lang’s probing, evasive tone, recalling his hesitations about their romance, Xie Qi suddenly countered: “Ours? Or just mine?”

The words came soft, but exploded like thunder in Qian Lang’s ear. His breath hitched.

What? He’d figured it out early? How? His brain spun through a dozen scenarios—then Xie Qi’s near-mocking snort came through.

Fuck! Qian Lang got it—Xie Qi was baiting him!

Damn it, so is the Inhibitor off or what?! Does he think Wen Jiang’s cheating behind his back?! “Wait!” Qian Lang gripped his phone, urgent: “Don’t overthink! What do you even mean by—”

Someone whooped and cannonballed into the pool, splashing over a meter high amid cheers. The merry sounds buzzed through the phone line to Qian Lang’s ear. He froze, then jolted: “—where are you right now?”

Xie Qi gazed leisurely at the third floor, ignoring it: “I know.”

“You don’t know shit! You don’t!” Qian Lang’s head throbbed. While talking, he mashed the room’s emergency button: “Cool it first. You hunting down Wen Jiang?! I can explain—just don’t—”

“He doesn’t love me.”

The ambient noise blanked for a beat. That instinctive, telling silence confirmed the undeniable truth. Xie Qi jabbed the end call—smashing extra digits too.

Only then did he notice his hand trembling faintly.

Invisible air currents rampaged, funneling sounds endlessly: from the phone, the surroundings, inside the building. Relentless, unceasing.

A man’s moans had droned in his ear nonstop since earlier—one groan after another, like a dying cicada, voice lingering and doleful, like a mush of rotting berries.

[Relax.]

Another cool voice said so.

Relax.

Relax.

The din around him faded at some point. The playful crowd quieted their laughs, glancing around warily, puzzled. Xie Qi pocketed his phone. Some colossal pressure coalesced, yanking every air current into a single human frame.

His followers’ faces drained of color. One sneaked off an alert. Xie Qi ignored it, hand to the back of his neck, tilting his head slightly, cracking his joints with eerie ease.

Numbers on the Inhibitor Bracelet spiked wildly, red light flashing. It clamped inward, suppression kicking in hard to lock down the anomaly. Xie Qi chuckled. Next instant—crack—the ultra-durable bracelet, with a chunk of flesh, sheared into twin semicircles by wind and tumbled from his wrist.

The storm of annihilation erupted violently, centered on its humanoid weapon.