Chapter 75: Follow Your Heart

Wen Jiang received an excellent grade on his practical assignment this time around.

He wasn’t surprised by the result.

From the fundamental purpose, the practical assignment was designed to help Wen Jiang better utilize his Supernatural Ability in real life. It encompassed acting, infiltration, lie detection, investigation, and more—diverse tasks that also helped pinpoint employment directions he might be interested in.

Thus, fulfilling someone’s task request was essentially just one form of training. But “helping handle the meltdown of another S-Rank Ability User” carried far greater real-world significance than standing in for someone at a banquet, and it showcased Wen Jiang’s potential even more.

As for the task itself, Wen Jiang had already role-played as “Lin Xun” for half a day before the incident erupted. The teacher had plenty of material to evaluate his performance, so scoring wasn’t an issue. And with the subsequent emergency, Wen Jiang had already taken the best possible action at the time. Rules were dead, people were alive—some leeway had to be granted.

As for external factors… Wen Jiang knew Xie Qi wouldn’t impulsively sabotage his assignment.

Liu Nian had definitely realized he wasn’t “Lin Xun” by the end. To prevent him from blurting out something he shouldn’t, those air currents had throttled Liu Nian’s throat.

So when Lin Chahe called Wen Jiang to the office and informed him of his grade, Wen Jiang showed no surprise. He simply lowered his eyes, silently accepted his assignment report, his face utterly calm without a ripple.

Normally, good grades made him a bit happier.

Through Lin Chahe’s Perception Eye, that would show as a few pink little flowers floating behind him. But now, nothing. Lin Chahe sighed inwardly, removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The one and only student he’d taken under his wing this term had exceptional learning and adaptability. At Qingchi, even students admitted on grades had to learn to navigate the cliques’ rules. Yet Wen Jiang possessed talents that would draw the attention of even the most arrogant insiders.

At the start of term, Lin Chahe had worried this student might get “cut down” prematurely. He’d even rebuked those who disrespected Wen Jiang in their words.

Lin Chahe hailed from a Lin Family branch line—strict in teaching, sharp-tongued and venomous. There were a few amusing anecdotes about him on the Qingchi Forum. Back when students hadn’t seen Wen Jiang’s performance yet and their understanding of Dramatic Stage was limited to “acting better” or “broader role range,” someone had deliberately mocked: Since Wen Jiang could play anything, why not skip the “standard pretty-boy route” and try a bumbling extra who embarrasses himself, or snag a sleazy role in some third-rate flick? He’d surely nail it, make it “steamy”—anything less would waste an S-Grade rating.

Lin Chahe caught them red-handed, tearing into them in front of everyone. He dissected how such words revealed arrogance, vanity, shortsightedness, lack of vision, empty bluster—just desperate ploys to stand out by putting others down, meddling ignorantly.

He even dragged up their past Supernatural Ability class flubs and low scores, then sneered: Since your ability is just hearing-related, why not gouge out your eyes and rely on echolocation? It wouldn’t cramp your style—anything less wastes your rating. The culprit flushed red then pale under the onslaught.

Now, Lin Chahe felt the situation had flipped. First, the main family pressured him to give Lin Xun, an outsider, Wen Jiang’s practical slot. Then Xie Family’s young master trashed the Gongguan. And twice, Wen Jiang had cleaned up the mess.

…But that was proof of his student’s strength. Amid the sighs, there was pride too.

Wen Jiang was sharp as ever. Even accepting the grade, he probably still felt deep down it wasn’t “real” enough. Lin Chahe slid his glasses back on, steepled his fingers on the desk, and said in official tones: “There are several reasons for this score.”

Wen Jiang blinked, lifting his head again.

Lin Chahe pulled up the files and systematically explained his grading rationale and key points. He didn’t deny some “discretionary consideration,” but emphasized results over favors. Starting from when Wen Jiang entered, he analyzed from multiple angles and layers: pointed out shortcomings, praised standout acting moments, circled back to the assignment’s essence, and justified extra points for his on-the-spot handling and suppression of the S-Grade meltdown. Thorough, evidence-based, utterly convincing.

This is how genuinely earned, authentic achievements feel—purely through one’s own strength.

Half an hour later, the expressionless Wen Jiang opened the door. In Lin Chahe’s eyes, a few little flowers bobbed politely behind him as he bid farewell and left.

Wen Jiang shared his grade in the three-person group chat, earning a string of thumbs-up praises from Qian Lang.

No word yet from Xie Family’s butler since Xie Qi was taken away. Wen Jiang’s life settled back into a rhythm from long ago—no more group meals or shared rides home. During Drama Club activities, no “escort” waited anymore. Without Qian Lang and Xie Qi, his surroundings inevitably grew much quieter.

Yet Wen Jiang’s days remained fulfilling. He methodically tackled classes, club rehearsals, and in spare time, learned a new bread type at off-campus cooking lessons. He tutored the neighbor kid’s homework once, tried silently joining the old men’s chess games during a park stroll—and three days later, earned their “chess master” title.

He also tagged along with Lin Wenzhi to check out the neighboring Literature Club and Manga Research Club, observing their tea chats and themed discussions.

This week’s topic: romance novels and shoujo manga.

Perhaps worried he’d be lonely, Lin Wenzhi had upped their chats lately. The Drama Club president slipped him candies now and then. Qian Lang’s check-ins had spiked too.

Beyond small talk, they touched on Xie Qi. The deed was done—the die was cast. Xie Qi had confessed to Wen Jiang in a roundabout way. You couldn’t dodge it forever or pretend ignorance. After much deliberation—and plain curiosity—Qian Lang finally asked what Wen Jiang thought.

What did Wen Jiang think? Beyond romance’s pure “like or not,” the situation involved heaps of external factors.

A confession’s outcome boiled down to accept or reject: date Xie Qi or dial it back, but at minimum, don’t cut ties. Objective reasons abounded.

Like playing emotional or moral cards. Right now, the Secret Tower’s scrutiny on Xie Qi would skyrocket—one slip and he’d be locked away. Xie Qi desperately needed a “stabilizing factor.”

They weren’t the type to cheer his downfall. Wen Jiang had voluntarily helped fix Xie Qi’s ability instability before. Even without some cliché “for old times’ sake, just give in to the young master,” at least don’t ghost him. A harsh rejection now could wreck Xie Qi’s mental state—who knew how bad?

Stepping back, even a “mutual aid” setup—purely professional hiring—came with perks: cash, housing, favors, promises. The Xie Family would pay, maybe already pondering it, just unsure of Xie Qi’s stance to act.

Given their background gap, worst-case: Xie Family forces Wen Jiang to submit.

Sure, he could die before bending… Qian Lang laid out pros/cons humorously yet objectively. Wen Jiang listened, then calmly murmured agreement—he got it.

Qian Lang scratched his head, paused, then said: “So, looks like he’s still got a shot, huh.”

Wen Jiang ummed affirmatively again, straightforward as ever.

Simple logic. None of those reasons touched Wen Jiang’s romantic feelings. If he truly loathed it or felt zero spark, he’d focus solely on how to reject—words, method—not let external factors sway the outcome.

Not like he’d suddenly realize some deep-rooted love for Xie Qi, indispensable. Nor was he thrilled—recalling Xie Qi’s ulterior motives in past talks sent chills; he’d rather steer clear.

Often, feelings aren’t black-and-white love/hate. More like “could take it or leave it,” “nice if there, fine without,” “fond but hesitant,” “not thrilled but tolerable.” Yet Wen Jiang had to pick an absolute: date or not.

Treating it like “business as usual,” giving a soft face while stalling—no reply, no rejection—until Xie Qi stabilized? A compromise. But Qian Lang figured Wen Jiang wouldn’t do that to him.

His mind flip-flopped, tempted to nudge a trial run, but after internal debate: “If you don’t want to, just reject him.”

“If anyone bullies you over it, tell me.” Relationships forged in pity-kidnapping were worthless. Love couldn’t be forced—what era was this? Shackled lifelong to someone unloved? Everyone had sob stories; Wen Jiang wasn’t raised on arranged-marriage vibes.

“Of course, if you wanna say yes, I’d back that too.” Qian Lang sighed inwardly: “Just follow your heart. Don’t overthink. I’m on your side here.”

Wen Jiang blinked from his desk sprawl, umming once more.

This time, the sound flipped the seriousness switch. Qian Lang openly groaned, face twisting as he confessed: “Truth is, I’m not that firm either.”

Wen Jiang chuckled softly.

“It’s killing me. Hey, I had this perfect plan before, but it crashed right into Gongguan night.” Qian Lang grumbled listlessly, then fretted: “Wanna poll others? Brainstorm. Or worst case, flip through some romance mags for inspo.”

Half-joking, but Wen Jiang latched on: “Sure.”

Qian Lang’s eyes bugged. Wen Jiang added plainly: “I’ve checked some out already.”

He’d browsed popular shoujo manga at the Manga Research Club.