Chapter 215: Taste

Chapter 215: Testing the Waters

"Alright."

The boss was straightforward, and the detective wasted no time: "The driver's hometown is in Lingchuan County, roughly 70–80 kilometers from Nancheng. If you want me to investigate, I'll book a flight tonight. Also, you know my policy—investigation fees need to be paid upfront. As for accommodation and travel expenses, I’ll cover them first and send you the receipts once I find something."

Wen Xian naturally agreed.

Private detectives weren’t legal, so contracts weren’t necessary. However, the person was trustworthy within the industry, and Wen Xian had worked with them smoothly in a previous life, so he didn’t hesitate and transferred the money directly to their account.

Though Wen Xian hadn’t taken the gaokao (college entrance exam) yet, he was already over sixteen and could open a bank account. The Wen couple doted on their youngest son and had set up an account in his name early on, depositing a yearly allowance for him.

Aside from the allowance, Mrs. Zhang had also bought Wen Xian an apartment—a well-lit, spacious unit near the Foreign Language School.

Thus, Wen Xian didn’t mind spending money on the detective. He paid casually and then turned his attention back to the mathematics test, feeling troubled.

This test was really hard.

Wen Xian was a poor student, but even slackers had their pride. If the top students in his class scored 140, his 70 was still somewhat acceptable—but 20? That was just ridiculous.

He pulled out his textbooks, planning to review from the first year of high school. However, Wen Xian’s approach to studying was like fishing with no bait—only the truly interested would bite. He randomly picked sections that interested him, and whether he actually learned anything depended entirely on fate. His textbooks were nearly blank, without even a single note.

The symbols in the math book made his vision swim. He barely managed to grasp the first two problems but got stuck on the third.

In less than twenty minutes, Wen Xian started procrastinating.

He opened his phone and absentmindedly swiped into the contacts list.

At this time, phones didn’t have many flashy features—text messages and calls were the two most important functions. Thinking about the detective’s work, Wen Xian sent Shen Zhao a message.

He chose his words carefully, making the conversation seem natural—just a casual greeting between strangers who had just exchanged numbers.

"Hello, Classmate Jiang. May I ask your name? I'd like to save it properly."

The reply came immediately—so fast that Wen Xian wondered if Shen Zhao had been staring at his phone.

"Hello, my name is Jiang Zhiyi. May I ask yours as well?"

Just as careful in his reply.

Wen Xian thought to himself, So it really is Jiang Zhiyi.

He replied, "Wen Xian. Just call me by my name—no need to be so formal. How’s the injury on your leg?"

"It’s fine now. I’ve put some medicine on it."

Wen Xian mused, Hah, "put some medicine on it"—what kind of answer is that? He wanted to know if the wound was inflamed, whether it needed a doctor’s attention after being soaked in dirty water, if there was any fever, swelling, or pain—not just a vague "put some medicine on it."

But since Shen Zhao said so, he couldn’t press further. As Wen Xian pondered how to steer the conversation elsewhere, his gaze drifted to the test paper beside him.

Wen Xian: "Classmate Jiang, I heard your grades are outstanding—you're the valedictorian at 33rd Middle School. I happen to be stuck on a math problem. Could I ask you for help?"

He wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to ask Shen Zhao for help. Maybe it was the strange satisfaction of distracting a top student from their homework to chat with a slacker like him.

Wen Xian didn’t actually know Shen Zhao’s original name or anything about Jiang Zhiyi, but he guessed he was first in his class.

Shen Zhao’s grades were absurdly good. Later, he transferred from 33rd Middle School to the Foreign Language School through standardized testing—said to be the only one from his year to do so. Even there, he ranked among the top students, reportedly earning full scholarships. However, he wasn’t in Wen Xian’s class, so they didn’t interact much in high school.

The reply was immediate: "Sure."

Wen Xian raised his hand, ready to send the third problem that had been bugging him for ages, but paused at the last second.

As everyone knows, the first few questions are all easy ones. In Wen Xian’s class, anyone who lost points on the first five problems would be berated by the math teacher as a "dumbass." If he sent this question to Shen Zhao, wouldn’t that make him look like a total dumbass?

Years later, when Shen Zhao took over as CEO of Shen Group and sat in a meeting with Wen Xian, Wen Xian’s assistant, Wen Xian’s lawyer, and discussed the stock split—what if Shen Zhao suddenly remembered this incident? Wen Xian would want to die from embarrassment.

So Wen Xian decisively flipped to the final page and sent the killer problem to Shen Zhao.

He remembered the math teacher saying when handing out the test that it was a bit tricky and required some serious thinking. The teacher even left the answer early to encourage students to work backward.

Of course, this “serious thinking” was meant for average students in the class—Wen Xian and other math whizzes like Shen Jixing weren’t even considered.

But within minutes, Shen Zhao sent back the answer.

Back then, texts still had character limits. Rich Boy Wen could spam text messages without any restraint, but Shen Zhao couldn’t afford to waste texts—he kept his reply brief, just outlining the steps and logic.

Shen Zhao didn’t seem used to typing on a phone; his formatting was choppy, but the answer was 100% correct.

“…”

Holy shit, the problem the math teacher called difficult was this easy for Shen Zhao?

Wen Xian stared at those lines with a strange expression for a long time.

…Still didn’t get it.

Even if the standard answer were right in front of him, a math dunce was still a math dunce—he’d stay clueless.

Shen Zhao seemed to realize his explanation was too short and quickly sent another text: “It’s hard to explain clearly through texts. If you have time, I can go over it after school tomorrow.”

Even though Wen Xian asked first, it somehow became Shen Zhao offering help if Wen Xian had time.

Wen Xian felt weird: “Is Shen Zhao really this eager to help?”

Then who was that stone-faced CEO who never made a sound, even when getting railed in bed?

But even if Shen Zhao dared to teach, Wen Xian didn’t dare let him.

He picked the killer problem to challenge Shen Zhao—not because he actually wanted to solve it. He hadn’t even figured out the third question yet. Having a top student teach him the hardest one would be setting himself up for humiliation.

It’d go like this: Shen Zhao says, “Given,” and Wen Xian replies, “Wait, what?” Shen Zhao says, “It can be proven,” and Wen Xian goes, “Wait, what?” Shen Zhao says, “Easily derived,” and Wen Xian still says, “Wait, what?”

That would be so embarrassing.

Just as he was about to send a vague message to dodge the whole thing, someone knocked three times at the door. His mom Zhang Xiaoping’s voice came from outside: “Xiao Er, are you free? I brought fruit.”

Wen Xian was the second child in the family, with an older brother. His family was pretty laid-back—they didn’t bother coming up with cute nicknames, so they just called him Number Two.

Sometimes he was glad there were only two kids.

Panicking, Wen Xian hurriedly put his phone away. “Yeah!”

Feeling guilty, he shoved his failed quiz full of red Xs into a book and stood up to open the door.

Zhang Xiaoping was an elegant woman who took great care of her looks, her hair freshly permed into stylish waves, wearing a thick Australian South Sea pearl necklace (over 12mm), practically dripping with wealth.

She carried a plate of cut-up pitaya, looked at Wen Xian once, and said, “You’re acting shady.”

She eyed her son suspiciously, then glanced at the locked screen of his phone on the desk. “You rushed to open the door the moment I knocked, and made sure to lock your phone screen. Something’s not right. Are you texting some girl?”

In this era, phones couldn’t cause much trouble—just scrolling through social news or reading text-only novels. The internet was so slow that even ads failed to load. Wen Xian never hid his phone use from his mother.

Wen Xian thought to himself, *There really isn’t any pretty girl—just a future son-in-law who’ll bully your son into marriage years from now.*

But of course, he couldn’t say that to Mrs. Zhang. He took a step back and accepted the plate of dragon fruit, replying guiltily, “Mom, anything else? I’m studying.”

Mrs. Zhang’s suspicion overflowed like a full cup, as if she’d just heard the funniest joke in her life. “Ha? *You’re* studying?”

Her eyes swept over the test paper littered with red crosses. “Look, kiddo, I don’t expect you to be top of the class, but at least make it passable. You and your cousin Shen Jixing trade off being dead last. Your dad can barely bring himself to go to your parent-teacher meetings—a company CEO reduced to bowing and scraping in front of teachers. If this keeps up, don’t be surprised if your bank account gets frozen.”

Wen Xian mumbled meekly.

He didn’t dare mention that, ironically, another parent-teacher meeting was just around the corner.

After brushing off his mom with vague excuses and politely seeing her out, Wen Xian grabbed his phone to reply to Shen Zhao.

By then, nearly ten minutes had passed.

Just as he was about to respond, he saw Shen Zhao had sent another text.

Five minutes after Wen Xian went silent.

*“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I wasn’t trying to make you stay after school either. It’s just hard to explain over text. If you don’t want to meet, you can just tell me.”*

“…”

Wen Xian froze mid-typing.

The message was hesitant, practically dripping with confusion and panic. Wen Xian didn’t need to see Shen Zhao to imagine him hunched in some tiny room under a dim yellow bulb, biting his lip while typing.

He probably typed, deleted, retyped, and deleted again before finally sending something this careful.

But the Shen Zhao in Wen Xian’s memory wasn’t like this.

Shen Zhao had dragged him all the way back from overseas and forced him into marriage. Why was he being so cautious over a few minutes’ delay?

Shen Zhao was always stone-faced, the all-business, no-nonsense type. Wen Xian hadn’t realized how sensitive he could be.

Still, in that past life, Wen Xian had made his coldness obvious…

Had Shen Zhao ever felt hurt?

*My bad,* Wen Xian thought. Looks like this after-school study session was happening, ready or not.

He typed: *“No, you misunderstood. My mom came to talk just now, so I didn’t reply. Sure, where should we meet tomorrow? How about the café across from 33rd Middle School? You teach me, I’ll treat you to dinner.”*

Shen Zhao was pretty skinny, and given his home life, he probably didn’t eat well.

The reply came quickly: *“Sure.”*

The next day, Wen Xian headed to school looking like he was marching to his doom.

As the teacher went over the test, he listened more intently than ever, scribbling notes like his life depended on them. After class, he even bribed the class brain with snacks to re-explain the final problem.

He still didn’t fully get it, but at least he wouldn’t end up completely getting his wires crossed when Shen Zhao tried to help.

Shen Jixing shuffled by, half-dead on his feet, and teased, “Whoa, you actually trying now?”

Wen Xian waved him off. “Beat it.”

After class, Wen Xian informed Uncle Wu and Ms. Zhang in advance that he would be home late, then collected the exam papers and headed to the café.

Shen Zhao was waiting at the entrance of the café.

He didn’t seem accustomed to such places, looking visibly uncomfortable, his fingers clutching the hem of his school uniform as if unsure whether to step inside.

The Shen Zhao of later years was notoriously picky, drinking only imported Ecuadorian coffee, but this version of him was still raw and painfully green.

Wen Xian threw an arm around his shoulders and guided him forward. "I’m here with you—what’s there to worry about?"

Shen Zhao’s shoulders were all bone, making Wen Xian think he really ought to eat more.

Shen Zhao: "...Mm."

They took a seat in a small booth by the window. Wen Xian ordered first, going with the set meal to avoid the hassle of choosing individual dishes. But when his gaze landed on Shen Zhao, he threw in a cream of mushroom soup.

...He had a feeling Shen Zhao would like it.

While waiting for the food, Shen Zhao took out a pen and scratch paper, scribbling out calculations and walking Wen Xian through each step.

After hearing the problem explained three or four times, with each step broken down, and given that Wen Xian was someone who’d been reborn—he’d just forgotten, not lost his basics entirely—so although he still couldn’t solve it on his own, he managed to pick up most of the logic.

By the time the problem was fully explained, their meal arrived. Shen Zhao tucked the scratch paper into his bag and picked up his fork, starting on the side of pasta.

But he didn’t touch the steak itself.

Wen Xian thought, *Does he not like meat? That’s no good.*

He was already too thin—skipping meat wouldn’t help.

Then, upon closer observation, he noticed Shen Zhao sneaking glances at the knife and fork in his hands.

Wen Xian understood.

The whole time, Wen Xian was nervous about embarrassing himself, yet Shen Zhao was just as anxious for the same reason.

Oddly, Wen Xian felt himself relax.

Pretending not to notice, he slowed down and demonstrated how to cut the steak, then forked the juiciest bite from the center and placed it in Shen Zhao’s bowl.

"Try it. Tell me what you think. If not, we can order something else next time."