Wen Yin actually landed a bull’s-eye.
The livestream chat, which had been a roaring river of text, froze for a beat — then erupted. Lines of astonishment scrolled so fast they blurred.
“My god — what is happening??”
“Who just said Wen Yin couldn’t shoot? Come out now!”
“I’m mortified for Jiang Shihuai. He was about to lecture her and now what?”
“Sorry not sorry, I can’t stop laughing.”
“I swear I didn’t mean it, I swear — but this is priceless!!!”
“Has anyone noticed Jiang’s face is completely frozen?”
“He probably had no idea she was even capable of this. What a hidden boss!”
“Please, don’t gatekeep the sister’s gender—give her a chance!!”
Jiang Shihuai hadn’t expected this either. He had teased that he’d teach her, and now—first shot, dead center.
A brittle smile tugged at his mouth. “Didn’t think Teacher Wen was a secret expert.”
“Oh? I didn’t expect you to bring me here either,” Wen Yin said, and there was an edge to her voice. Her long, pale fingers toyed with the bowstring as if contemplating it like a thing that belonged to her. “You said this would be the perfect date spot. This…is it?”
She sounded pointed. Jiang felt there was more behind her words than the surface allowed. But he didn’t dare pry at the expression on her face; it was so cold it cut. The uneasy feeling in his chest grew sharper.
For the next half hour it was almost mechanical — Wen Yin shot after shot, every arrow finding the ten. The love-struck viewers went wild.
“She’s killing me with this cuteness!!”
“I love that she’s both salty and sweet!”
“I thought she seemed cold, but I’m converted!!”
“How is she this precise every time??”
“Is this a legit perfect-streak?”
“Ugh, she totally tricked me.”
“Sis is cool as hell. I stan.”
“I want to be her dog, I swear!!”
“Dude, please stop being dramatic upstairs!”
“HAHAHAHAHAHA.”
All morning they practiced with no hint of the intimacy Jiang had imagined. He watched Wen Yin as if the person in front of him had subtly shifted into someone else. The smile on his face tasted faintly of something bitter.
She glanced up and saw him staring, then asked as if nothing had happened, “Teacher Jiang, aren’t you going to try?”
He nodded and took aim. The bow came up, the moment stretched… and Wen Yin’s voice, light as air, fell right beside him like a thrown stone.
“You’re pretty practiced with your posture now. You’re not nearly as awkward as when you used to climb trees.”
The words detonated in him. His hand slipped, the arrow flew wide.
“What did you say?” he demanded, turning abruptly, brows knitting.
The chat froze again, puzzled.
“What the—what childhood?”
“Did they know each other as kids?”
“I remember Wen Zhi saying on the show that she and Jiang were childhood friends. Wait—did Wen Yin and Wen Zhi know each other too?”
“This feels like I just uncovered something huge!”
“Check Weibo now — Wen Yin might be the real heiress of the Wen family!”
“If that’s true, then Wen Zhi’s whole persona might be staged.”
“Could they actually be sisters? And all three childhood friends?”
“No way would that be so coincidental. If Wen Yin’s her real sister, Wen Zhi is doomed.”
Wen Zhi’s fans, reading the increasingly absurd wild guesses, couldn’t help but push back.
Jiang stared at Wen Yin as if trying to catch her out. “Teacher Wen, what did you mean just now?”
Wen Yin let her eyes flick aside, deliberately vague. “Nothing.”
She let it trail, and the implication filled the space between them anyway — you knew each other when you were kids, he knew her back then but had forgotten.
The thought was too much for him. A subtle crack appeared in his usually even temper. Wen Yin, seeming not quite satisfied, added, “But that was more than a decade ago. It’s normal you wouldn’t remember Wenwen.”
Those two words — Wenwen — landed with the weight of a stone.
A fragment of memory rose up in Jiang’s mind, sudden and bright: one winter afternoon. He’d climbed a tree and slipped. He’d been about to fall when someone caught him from below. The girl’s arm had been hurt—she left with a cast. Before she’d fully recovered, his parents had shipped him abroad to his grandmother’s. He came back that summer and played again like nothing had happened.
Childhood memories were foggy. Faces blurred together; sometimes Wen Yin’s features overlapped with Wenwen’s in his mind, sometimes they resembled Wen Zhi. The confusion churned into something almost absurd. He forced himself to push it down.
They spent the morning at the range, then Jiang tried to persuade Wen Yin to go eat. She refused without fuss — her face unreadable — and left before he could press it. He knew exactly why he’d brought her here: to wake some old recollection. Which made it all the stranger — why had he gone to such lengths to get close to her?
Her tight-lipped expression made his own chest tighten.
Meanwhile the chat still buzzed, demanding answers.
“So what exactly is what?”
“Can some sleuth dig this up? I need the truth.”
“Please, I’m begging for the truth.”
Back at the Heart Room, Jiang didn’t bother to hide his impatience. He went straight to Wen Zhi.
Wen Yin watched his retreating back and felt something like relief flicker through her. This was the real Jiang Shihuai — composed, determined.
Wen Zhi had only just registered the situation and opened her mouth to speak when he cut in coolly, voice flat.
“When you were a child, which arm did you break?”