“Not that I’m fussing,” Shao Yinan said with a light chuckle. “Just a friendly reminder to Teacher Jiang.”
Jiang Shihuai’s expression tightened. He flashed a heavy look at Shao—one man reading another’s little private thoughts with uncanny accuracy.
Jiang replayed the past few episodes in his head, watching how Shao had behaved around Wen Yin. The answer was almost there, at the edge of thought, and it made his gaze colder, edged with something like rivalry. A raw possessiveness tugged at him.
“No need. I’m sure I’ll give Wen Yin a perfect date.” He ground the words out with a touch of steel, as if declaring ownership.
Shao didn’t say another word. The air between them—an obvious clash of men—set the chatroom alight.
“AHHHHH who’s dead? It’s me!!”
“I never dreamed I’d be fought over by two men at once.”
“Who got crowned King of Jealousy? Me! Me!”
“With the younger brother? That’s three male contestants now!”
“Quietly rubbing my hands—I want the three-way showdown!!!”
“Ignore me!!! I’m going insane!!!”
“Is this what a mature-men love battlefield looks like??”
“So jealous, I’m literally dying!”
“Thesecond-placer for Jealousy Award goes to Shao Yinan!”
Shao idly lifted a lid of an eyelid and gave the two of them a lazy once-over. “Then I wish Ah Yin a good time.”
The chat exploded again.
“He only wished Wen Yin, not Jiang?!”
“I can hear the sourness in his voice!”
“Oh my god, Shao Yinan sulking is so cute!!!”
“Where’s Wen Yin? Where is she?!!!”
“My only thought right now: soul-transfer into Wen Yin!!!”
“This cruelty—let me be in that mess instead!!! I volunteer to take it!”
Wen Yin heard her name and looked up automatically. Her eyes met Shao’s. He gave a faint, crooked smile—pitiful, pleading, like a dog with its tail down. It made something clench in the chest that wanted to smooth his head and comfort him.
Jiang seemed to sense the exchange. He lifted his head fast and swept his gaze at Shao. The two pairs of dark eyes locked for a moment; sparks seemed to flash between them.
Jiang spoke first, voice tilted up on a confident note, a little show-offy. “I’ve picked the place. Let’s go.”
Wen Yin withdrew her stare, distracted. They arrived at the destination and she looked up at the sign—Archery Range. Jiang watched her with soft, almost intimate warmth. “Do you like it?” he asked. “I remember you once mentioned you wanted to try shooting.”
Something shifted in Wen Yin then. Her face tightened; a corner of her mouth lifted in something like derision. Old memories—raw and bloodied—surfaced, but she felt no pain now, only the detached echo of them. A voice from long ago floated up: “Shihuai, you look so handsome when you shoot. When you have time, take me with you, okay?”
What had Jiang answered back then? Wen Yin couldn’t quite place it—younger, gentler words, but the memory rounded into a single warm sound: “Sure.”
And later? Later, Wen Zhi returned to the country, and Jiang left with her. He’d abandoned Wen Yin.
Realizing that Jiang was fishing in her past to stir something in her, Wen Yin’s smile grew colder, sharper. Her gaze went hard and still, like an ancient glacier that never melts.
“No, I think you misunderstand, Teacher Jiang.” She kept her voice flat—cool and precise.
Jiang didn’t seem to notice her tone at all; he was still inside his own remembrances. Wen Yin’s lips pressed together, and when she spoke it was like snapping ice. “Shooting is the sport I hate most. Without exception.”
The smile under Jiang’s eyes cracked. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses his dark irises flashed disbelief, then a clumsy awkwardness. “Sorry—my mistake.”
From the chat:
“Wait, why’s the vibe awkward all of a sudden?”
“Yep, it is awkward.”
“This woman has zero social skill!!!”
“Wen Yin dares refuse Jiang?!”
“Refusal’s fine, but she didn’t have to be so harsh, did she?”
“Her expression looks... off.”
“Who’s the secret shipper? It’s me!!!”
Wen Zhi’s fans lurked and pounced, quick to smear Wen Yin in the comments, but Jiang didn’t have that kind of fanbase—no massive army turning on her. It was just a little targeted nastiness from Wen Zhi’s corner, nothing more.
“Wen Zhi’s fans are showing such variety,” one voice sneered.
“Why aren’t you watching your idol and instead causing trouble here?”
“Is Wen Zhi crying in her room? Need some entertainment?”
“You lot have no shame. I’m done.”
Unaware of the storm in the chat, Jiang’s look fell back on Wen Yin, a shadow of guilt darkening his face. He searched her expression for pity, for some shard of sorrow he could cradle. When her face remained bluntly unexpressive, his guilt deepened into something like panic—something in him felt as if it were slipping away despite how hard he tried to hold on.
“But since we’re already here, let’s at least have a look inside,” Wen Yin said, eyes unreadable.
Jiang put the gentleman back on and offered a polite, warm gesture to lead the way. Wen Yin walked in without looking at him, as if refusing to entertain him.
A fleeting loneliness crossed Jiang’s face; he kept it locked down and followed.
“You’re not very practiced,” Jiang said as if offering a courtesy, “I can teach you, step by step.”
Wen Yin half-lidded her eyes in lazy curiosity. “Oh?”
The next second, the twang of string, the arrow tore a line through the air—swift and clean. It thunked into the target dead center.