Lin Wenzhi’s advice was: “Just evaluate him yourself.”
With the mindset of gathering wisdom from many sources and adopting the best ideas, after school, Wen Jiang closed the romance novel he’d been reading and said flatly to his desk mate Lin Wenzhi, “I have a friend who recently ran into something.”
“…Huh?” Lin Wenzhi, who had already stood up to leave, paused. She was about to ask which friend, but suddenly got it. She sat back down with an understanding nod and cut straight to the point: “Go ahead—what happened to you?”
…Even though she saw right through the classic ‘friend’ trope, why does it feel so utterly lacking in accomplishment? Wen Jiang pondered silently for a moment.
Hiding all details that might point to Xie Qi, Wen Jiang simply described his situation to Lin Wenzhi. He’d barely said the first word—”confession”—when she held up a hand to interrupt, saying she needed a moment to process.
Wen Jiang waited quietly while she digested it. Once she flashed an OK sign, he continued. He’d just said the second phrase—”dating”—when she cut in again: “Hold on,” insisting she needed to sort it out some more.
Wen Jiang waited again. The two of them stumbled along like this for a good while before Lin Wenzhi finally accepted reality. Her first question was: “Right, can he fight?”
“…?” That’s a dangerous question—feels like it’ll give Xie Qi away. Wen Jiang said vaguely, “He’s decent.”
Then he’s pretty strong… Looks like a student from our school? Which student here would dare confess to Wen Jiang? Isn’t that the number one forbidden act on Qingchi’s top ten list? The only one bold enough might be… oh wow. Lin Wenzhi cut off her train of thought before it went further. Treating him as a mysterious symbol, she decisively suggested: “Then just evaluate him yourself.”
Wen Jiang looked at her like a diligent student awaiting the teacher’s wisdom. Lin Wenzhi caught on and continued: “Are you worried it wouldn’t respect him? Come on, don’t think of it as some contrived test or deliberate trap.”
Her peripheral glance caught the romance novel Wen Jiang had borrowed, sparking a memory of a similar plot inside. She choked a bit before adding: “Not like the one in that book—don’t copy that.”
“Mm.”
That novel had forcibly set up a “true heart test” where a relative and a lover were both drowning, and the protagonist could only save one. Wen Jiang found it pointless too. He said calmly: “I can swim.”
“As long as you can swim, it’s fine.” Lin Wenzhi nodded indifferently. Wen Jiang quietly looked away. He could swim, sure, but that line was meant as a joke.
“Anyway,” she got back on track, spreading her hands, “before getting married, couples always lay out their family backgrounds, get physicals, ask about past illnesses, right? Blind dates involve questions like how many in the family, job situation, salary. Dating someone takes your time and energy too. Jumping straight to ‘true love is priceless, anything else hurts feelings’—that’s just playing dirty.”
“If you’re unsure, just meet him again. Evaluate him up close, see if he matches what you want, and decide whether to give it a shot. That’s totally normal. Observing for a year or two while stringing someone along? That’s deliberate fishing. If he can’t handle a simple test and feels heartbroken or wronged, he’s probably not right for you anyway—might get even more dramatic later.”
Lin Wenzhi rattled it off dashingly. Good thing I didn’t ask who it is specifically, or I might not have dared say it.
Seeing Wen Jiang lost in thought, she couldn’t resist adding: “But don’t let him bully you, okay?”
Everyone’s worries are so synced up. After being cautioned twice about getting bullied, Wen Jiang graciously took it seriously, thought for a moment, then shook his head firmly: “He won’t.”
No way that’d happen, thought Xie Qi’s doctor.
Xie Qi’s Supernatural Ability had rioted in a way unseen for at least a decade, with one foot already through the Secret Tower’s doors. The entire Xie Family scrambled, barely pulling him out of the observation room after two days. Then came a battery of physical exams and ability tests. Even after bringing him home, there was still an observation and cooldown period. Finally, the restrictions lifted, granting the young master theoretical freedom of movement and privacy.
But the tug-of-war with the Secret Tower was far from over. Even with the inspectors gone, he had to wear a monitoring bracelet tracking his daily ability fluctuations. If the readings spiked consistently high, the Secret Tower would take control. If they stabilized below the threshold, his activity radius restrictions would lift, letting him return to school.
The test results kept skating the edge. Each time they came in, they practically prayed for good news. The butler was on high alert, reminding him overtly or subtly every day: “Young master, tell us what you need—we’ll do our best. But please don’t go out on your own. It wouldn’t be worth the risk if something happened.”
The doctor figured he was worried the young master would sneak out over the wall to find Wen Jiang.
Xie Qi showed no reaction. Since waking, he’d been silent or spacing out, lost in who-knows-what thoughts—like a tank of stagnant water dead for ten years. Hearing such words, he’d occasionally reply: “I’m not stupid.”
He hadn’t gotten dumber, after all, and would warn: “I can tell—don’t get any funny ideas.”
Plans to forcibly bring Wen Jiang over or bribe him for an early visit fizzled.
But this couldn’t go on forever. Another day’s test results came in, and the butler finally sighed deeply, steeling himself: “Let’s invite him over.”
The doctor, whose fate was tied to Xie Qi’s results, hesitated: “Having him come might not be good.”
The young master clearly wanted to see Wen Jiang. He seemed like his pre-Qingchi self—indifferent to the Secret Tower—but clinging to one last breath. Without seeing him, he’d resent being dragged away. The doctor hadn’t figured it out and feared that if Xie Qi saw Wen Jiang and still didn’t recover, he’d lose even that final attachment and rush headlong toward the Secret Tower.
If he could stabilize and pass the tests through sheer will, he’d probably head straight for Wen Jiang. But these weren’t tests you could brute-force with grit—like a wuxia hero staggering back to the sect after multiple stab wounds on one breath of willpower. Now it was about measuring blood loss, with a hard limit of 200ml before you had to stop. What could you do?
“The madam and master both say to follow the young master’s wishes,” the butler said. “We’ll invite, not force.”
If he agreed, whatever happened next wasn’t up to them. If not… probably no chance. Then they’d pivot, but at least they’d have direction instead of flailing blindly.
They discussed back and forth. Meanwhile, back home, Wen Jiang pulled the Sea Heart Stone pendant from the Drama Club out of his bag.
The Sea Heart Stones were gifts from the props team seniors after the Yanhai Art Festival contest. They’d bought a whole crate at the festival expo and handed one to every club member, infused with Supernatural Ability craftsmanship to project the image others held of you in their hearts.
To use it, you could just leave it be to absorb ambient “essence of heaven and earth” like opening blind boxes for random virtual figurine projections. Or specify someone to infuse it with their ability, projecting their mental image of you once the stone changed color and “filled up.”
The seniors wanted to tally results. Wen Jiang was in the “half-random, half-specified” group. After school, he’d had Xie Qi try it in the car—Storm kicked in, and the stone colored over halfway instantly.
To leave room for randomness, Wen Jiang didn’t specify a second person. He left it in his school desk for a bit. Then practical assignments kept him busy, but Lin Wenzhi and the others had already “opened their blind boxes.” Today, curious, he’d asked her results. She’d looked complicated, hemmed and hawed, then said: “Specified ones are fine. Randoms are mostly useless—heavy on stereotypes, all similar.”
Sounds intriguing.
Wen Jiang picked up the now fully translucent pink Sea Heart Stone and rolled it back and forth on the desk like a marble—no real purpose, just wanted to. Then he infused it with his own ability.
The saturated stone glowed faintly under the stimulation, projecting four illusory figures onto the desk.
Hunks and twinks—the perfect meat-and-veggie combo.*
…So that’s what she meant by ‘stereotypical impressions.’
Wen Jiang stared blankly at the leftmost figurine. Though under ten centimeters tall, it exuded overwhelming presence—majestic without anger, handsome and upright, striding with tiger-like vigor to cow onlookers.
He dubbed it the “Muscle Hunk” Wen Jiang.
He sized it up, couldn’t resist grabbing a ruler. First vertical for height, then horizontal for shoulder width, scaling to his real height… Not of this mortal world.
This was Lin Wenzhi’s “pseudo-random,” he figured. Depending on perspective, some saw Wen Jiang as strong—in ability, acting, learning. Others viewed Drama Stage as a mere Lifestyle System ability, so “weak” there. It exaggerated that duality into fixed forms. You couldn’t call it wrong, but it cheated—everyone had such facets, leading to similar impressions.
Wen Jiang eyed the weakened version: “Delicate Willow” Wen Jiang.
The last one was three times buffer than him; this was two circles skinnier. Frail build, peach-blossom beauty, willow-slim waist. It timidly scanned around, then—without provocation—pouted and burst into tears, stunning even Wen Jiang.
Tears trailed down its cheeks with eerie realism, hitting the desk to roll away like marbles before vanishing. On closer look, they were pearls.
He renamed it “Lying Down Making Bank” Wen Jiang.
The third was true random, closest to his real expectations—similar build and looks, but clothes and personality shifting wildly. Tailcoat and top hat with a wink one moment; elegant bow in pristine white formalwear the next; ice-cold in black robes after. “Versatile Sparkle” Wen Jiang.
Wen Jiang identified them one by one: Yusser from Serri’s Golden Lakeside, Hvide from Winter Is Coming, the Hermit from Ethereal… As an actor, seeing his roles etched so vividly in minds was gratifying.
He watched until the “wardrobe” looped, then turned to the final, quietly still figurine.
It blinked, silently looking up at him.
This one was a perfect miniature replica—like staring into a pocket mirror.
They locked eyes with identical cool detachment—no words, no movement. After a bit, Wen Jiang thought: If it were me, I’d find something to do by now.
The figurine looked away, glanced around, then pulled a string from its pocket and started cat’s cradle—the “Eight-Layer Ladder” Wen Jiang himself favored most? No, his best was Seven-Layer.
This must be Xie Qi’s ‘Wen Jiang.’
His phone buzzed. A text from Xie Qi’s butler: an invitation to visit the still-grounded Xie Qi.
Wen Jiang replied. He sprawled over the desk, watching the perfect mini-him, and gently poked its hair with a finger.
In Xie Qi’s absence, he’d actually mastered the “Eight-Layer Ladder.”
