Chapter 223: Plot

Chapter 223: Plot

Shen Zhao rested his chin in the hollow of Wen Xian’s shoulder. His warmth seeped through the fabric, mingling with the clean, pleasant scent of his shower gel. Shen Zhao took a deep breath and nuzzled his cheek against him.

Wen Xian patted his back. “We’ll see each other at school the day after tomorrow. Why does this feel like a dramatic farewell? Our classrooms are just across the wall from each other.”

Shen Zhao hummed softly and let go.

He picked up his luggage, said goodbye to Wen Xian, then took the elevator downstairs and walked to the intersection between the school and their apartment. A black car was parked there.

Shen Zhao checked the license plate, tapped on the window, then opened the back door and leaned in to sit down.

Just as the window began to roll up, Shen Zhao lifted his head. Through the unrelenting summer rain in Nan City, he looked toward the balcony. Wen Xian stood there with his arms crossed, silently mouthing the words: *“I’ll come find you after class on Monday.”*

Shen Zhao smiled. “Okay.”

Then his face disappeared behind the tinted silver-gray window.

*

After Shen Zhao left, the detective called again.

The background noise was loud, filled with distant shouts and bargaining. The detective seemed to be at a village market, forcing him to raise his voice so Wen Xian could hear clearly.

“Hey boss, I’m in Maozhou County now—the hometown of that classmate’s mother you wanted me to investigate. Right, right—Ms. Jiang’s hometown.”

Ms. Jiang—Shen Zhao’s mother. Wen Xian had once seen her face in a small six-inch black-and-white photo.

In the photo, her features were delicate, her skin slightly sun-tanned, likely from years of pushing a cart for her stall.

Working early and returning late, exhaustion was inevitable, but judging by her smile, she must have been an optimistic person.

Wen Xian hummed in acknowledgment, signaling him to continue.

“Ms. Jiang’s maiden name was Jiang Caiyue. She left her hometown in her teens, and not many relatives or friends remain. Luckily, the village hasn’t changed much. I found her old house, and from her neighbor, I learned that Ms. Jiang married a few years after coming to Nan City for work. They held a wedding banquet back in her hometown. The old lady couldn’t remember the groom’s name, but when I asked if it was ‘Shen,’ she nodded. Then I showed her a photo of Shen Yuechuan from his younger days, and she said he looked a bit like him.”

Wen Xian rubbed his temples.

If that was the case, Shen Zhao might indeed be Shen Yuechuan’s child.

Pieces of the puzzle were gradually surfacing, and Wen Xian could roughly piece together the full picture.

A social climber abandoning his wife and child—regardless of whether Ms. Jiang’s death was an accident—Shen Yuechuan should have at least supported his son. At best, it was neglect.

The problem was, without a marriage certificate, the old woman’s words couldn’t serve as testimony.

Wen Xian said, “Keep looking. Find out as much as you can.”

Since getting his credit card back, he’d been spending freely again. The detective agreed and hung up.

*

With Shen Zhao gone, Wen Xian didn’t want to stay alone in the apartment, so he grabbed his backpack and went home.

Zhang Xiaoping happened to be returning from a mahjong game. Seeing Wen Xian, she exclaimed, “Finally back! Done studying math with the top student? How’s it been going these past few days?”

Wen Zhu was typing on his laptop on the sofa. At this, he pushed up his glasses, his expression unreadable.

Wen Xian replied vaguely, “He was busy.”

Zhang Xiaoping asked, “Busy with what? Does he need help? All these years, I’ve never seen you click with anyone. Finally, you have a friend, and that top student seems lonely. You should spend more time with him. Invite him over sometime.”

Wen Zhu kept typing, but at “click with,” his eyebrows rose. At “spend more time,” his lips thinned into a frown. And when he heard “invite him over,” he picked up his coffee cup to hide his face, which twisted in distaste.

"It's fine, no help needed. He can handle it himself." Wen Xian passed by with his schoolbag, kindly reminding, "Big bro, if you're feeling unwell, get it checked out right away."

Wen Zhu broke into a fit of violent coughing.

Mrs. Zhang's concerned voice chimed in: "Oh my, why are you suddenly coughing so hard? Should I take you to the doctor?"

Wen Zhu: "Cough... not... not necessary... cough... no need, Mom."

Mrs. Zhang: "You’re so stubborn! Why’s it getting worse?"

The living room erupted into chaos. Wen Xian headed straight to his bedroom, only to find it wasn’t quiet either. The moment he stepped in, he heard a cacophony of sounds—the TV was blaring, playing a low-budget Thai drama from the early 2000s. The plot was over-the-top, reaching its climax as characters exposed each other’s secrets. The villainess shouted "oi!" and slapped the heroine, who retaliated with her own "oi!" slap.

Amid the back-and-forth "oi" cries, there was also 66 cackling with laughter.

The system had placed two pillows in the middle of Wen Xian’s bed and spread out a snack mat in front, arranging the snacks Wen Xian had offered—chips, jelly, and chocolate. It lounged like a king between the pillows, watching the two leads passionately slap each other.

Wen Xian: "..."

He quickly shut the door to prevent Mrs. Zhang from hearing the "oi oi" commotion and lowered his voice. "Seriously, you’ve got the volume cranked up? What if my mom thinks it’s haunted?"

66 rolled over. "Why does it have to be ghosts? Could just be plumbing or wiring issues. Besides, I tested it—your walls are soundproof. Mom won’t hear a thing."

It patted the empty spot beside it like it owned the place. "Wanna join? The plot’s pretty intense."

Wen Xian: "Suit yourself."

66 had claimed the best spot on the bed, leaving Wen Xian, the actual owner, to huddle in a corner. He snatched a chip from 66 and poked its screen, trying to butter it up. "Hey, 66, any new missions lately?"

The Su Zhu of his student days already carried the serious air of his future self, yet there was still a noticeable gap from the Su Zhu in Wen Xian’s memories. He wanted to know what had happened over the years to turn the once-young genius into that version.

66 side-eyed the screen and huffed, "Nope, haven't heard, don't know!"

Wen Xian crinkled the chip bag. "Not even one?"

66 shifted, opened another bag of chips, and muttered, "You’re in the way of the TV."

On screen, the argument had escalated—the heroine grabbed a vase and smashed it over the villainess’s head. Shards embedded into her scalp, blood trickling down her face.

Wen Xian frowned slightly. "That’s harsh."

Even knowing it was special effects makeup, it was still unsettling to watch.

66 munched noisily. "She’s the villain. Villains deserve punishment."

Then it poked Wen Xian with a sharp edge. "Isn’t Su Zhu a villain too? Why are you protecting him?"

Wen Xian: "...Is that what you think?"

66: "Yeah, that’s what the script says."

The mainframe said so, the script said so—Su Zhu was ungrateful, tearing a happy family apart, landing his adoptive father in prison. And wasn’t Wen Xian’s rebirth also because he despised Su Zhu and desperately wanted to escape him?

As for why things had gone so off-script… 66 had no idea.

But the host charging down the opposite path wasn’t exactly new. 66 had a good attitude—at least this time, there were snacks.

It went back to munching chips and watching TV, waiting for the villain’s comeuppance, only for Wen Xian to take a deep breath and scoop it up.

66: "…?"

It clutched the potato chips defensively and said, “What are you trying to do?”

Wen Xian paused the TV. “66, want me to tell you a story?”

Even though countless people later misunderstood Shen Zhao this way—including Wen Xian himself—he now didn’t want anyone to hold such a misconception.

With the TV paused, 66 had no choice but to straighten up. “Fine, go ahead.”

So Wen Xian started the story in a small mountain village.

Using the detective’s deductions and his own analysis, adding reasonable speculation, he connected the dots until the whole story came into focus.

“…Long story short,” Wen Xian sighed, “Shen Zhao and his mother were just pawns in Shen Yuechuan’s ruthless climb to power and wealth. 66? 66, are you listening?”

At some point, 66 had gone completely quiet in his hands.

Wen Xian looked down and saw that it had flipped screen-side down onto his lap.

He frowned as he turned it over. “Seriously? Did I put you to sleep…?”

Before he could finish speaking, he saw two giant teary eyes (like fried eggs) on its screen.

66: “Waaah—*hic*—”

Tears as thick as noodles gushed from its fried egg-shaped eyes. 66 broke free of Wen Xian’s hand and plopped back onto the bed, covering its eyes.

Wen Xian: “….”

He scratched his head. “I mean, my storytelling wasn’t *that* emotional. No need to get so worked up…”

66: “Waaah—what kind of monster is this?! So this is what a villain is like?! Waaah—damn it, damn it—the Mainbrain tricked me! Waaah—”

Wen Xian: “….”

Though he had no idea what this “Mainbrain” thing was, it didn’t stop him from realizing that 66 was about to cry itself unconscious.

Wen Xian couldn’t stand seeing others cry. Even if 66 wasn’t human, it was still a pretty adorable electronic pet. Making it cry was unacceptable.

He tsked and pulled open the bedside drawer—his secret snack stash. These were all rare imported treats, hard to find locally, usually brought home by his parents from overseas trips. Each one was wrapped in gaudy wrappers, and judging by the excessive packaging alone, they were clearly expensive.

With a few quick rips, Wen Xian tore open the wrapper and pushed a dark little truffle toward 66. “Here, Belgian black truffle chocolate. Try this and tell me how it is. Stop crying, 66.”

The system was still hiccupping when something fragrant and soft suddenly appeared in front of it. The moment its screen touched the chocolate, the truffle *plop*—vanished into it.

66 plopped onto the blanket. “*Hic*—so good—”

Wen Xian: “….”

He still had no clue how it ate.

After being fed the chocolate, 66 finally caught its breath. It buried itself in the blanket, looking downright sulky.

Wen Xian gave it a poke.

No reaction.

He gave it another poke.

Still nothing.

Wen Xian tapped its smooth back: "66, by the way, do you even have a backside at all?"

He had always been curious about how it was built.

66 jumped up.

It rammed into Wen Xian, its egg-yolk eyes brimming with fury: "—Su Zhu!"

*Thud.*

It was caught.

Wen Xian laid it flat on his lap: "Alright, can you pull some strings and tell me what Shen Zhao will face next?"

66: "Oh, sure."

It scanned the plot.

As a tragic protagonist support system, 66's storyline began from Shen Zhao's high school days. It wasn't privy to the full story, nor could it delve into the protagonist’s inner thoughts—only the most superficial details were visible.

Moreover, the plot relied heavily on indirect descriptions, focusing on what bystanders thought of Shen Zhao, rarely depicting his experiences directly.

"In my storyline, Shen Yuechuan was unusually kind to Shen Zhao. He didn’t like his own biological son, Shen Jixing, because Shen Jixing was too dim-witted. Shen Yuechuan believed that if he handed over his hard-won business empire to Shen Jixing, it would surely be ruined."

Wen Xian thought to himself: *Not bad.*

"Thus, Shen Yuechuan had long been plotting to install a different heir to replace Shen Jixing."

"Then, Shen Zhao appeared—sharp, good-looking, and deferential in demeanor. Shen Yuechuan planned to groom him for a few years before bringing him into the company."

"But Ji Mingzhu had an iron-willed personality. She held the majority of the company’s shares, her status higher than Shen Yuechuan’s. She had only one child and naturally wouldn’t allow anyone to surpass Shen Jixing. She needled this foster son relentlessly, though with Shen Yuechuan’s protection, he still got by."

Wen Xian nodded: "Makes sense."

A man like Shen Yuechuan loved no one—utterly selfish. Since he had abandoned Shen Zhao, he wouldn’t take him back. But after years of playing the dutiful trophy husband, living as a dependent, he must have long resented Ji Mingzhu and Shen Jixing. He just wanted counterbalance, and Shen Zhao, sharing his blood, became the perfect pawn.

66 continued scanning the script:

"But..."

It paused there.

Wen Xian: "But?"

The little interface nudged him: "Give me another chocolate."

Wen Xian: "..."

He pulled open the drawer, peeled one open, and handed it to 66.

66 swallowed it contentedly.

"But in school, it was easy for Shen Jixing to make trouble for Shen Zhao."

"He was already a top-tier bully, surrounded by a gang of trust-fund brats. One day, during first-period gym class, he backed Shen Zhao into the small woods behind the field and pulled out a freshly bought cigarette."

Wen Xian’s eyebrow jerked sharply.

In the previous life, Shen Zhao’s waist bore cigarette scars—gnarled, raised patches marring his smooth stomach. Every time Wen Xian touched or kissed them, Shen Zhao would tremble violently.

Back then, Shen Zhao had refused to elaborate, only saying they were from childhood. But Wen Xian remembered—now, his waist was completely unblemished.

Wen Xian’s knuckles popped as he cursed: "Fuck."