Chapter 226: Relationship

Chapter 226: Relationship

For the latter half of math class, Wen Xian didn’t listen at all.

He carefully recalled everything from the Previous Dynasty and grinned. “He actually liked me?”

It was supposed to be a political marriage, but Shen Zhao—no, Zhiyi, Zhiyi hadn’t gained any benefit from him. Instead, he had lost a luxury car. Besides, with his looks and character, there were plenty of girls in Nan City willing to marry him. If he had wanted, his child should already be in kindergarten by now. There was no need for him to stubbornly cling to Wen Xian, a hopeless case.

Moreover…

Moreover, Wen Xian’s skills in intimacy weren’t that great.

Every intimate encounter brought more pain than pleasure. If Jiang Zhiyi preferred men, he could have easily found someone more experienced and compatible than Wen Xian.

So, Jiang Zhiyi really liked him—even in the Previous Dynasty.

The more Wen Xian thought about it, the happier he inexplicably became.

He chuckled to himself for quite a while, sipping his drink slowly until it was gone. Then he wondered, “Why didn’t he tell me?”

Wen Xian and his brother were notoriously difficult to handle within the circle of second-generation heirs. His family structure was simpler than most wealthy heirs’—Wen Huarong loved only Zhang Xiaoping, and Zhang Xiaoping loved only Wen Huarong. They were childhood sweethearts, each other’s first love, grew up together in the same courtyard, and eventually walked hand in hand into marriage, without any messy complications.

As a result, Wen Zhu and Wen Xian developed rather conservative views on relationships. To them, dating meant aiming for marriage. Wen Xian remained single all the way until studying abroad, never having dated anyone. Those gold-digging men and women also steered clear of the Wen brothers.

But Wen Xian pondered, “What if Zhiyi had said back then that he wanted to pursue me?”

The second young master of the Wen family admitted to himself—he wouldn’t have been able to resist.

If Jiang Zhiyi had acted like an ordinary suitor, inviting him out for meals, attending his band performances, and then, on a bright summer day, tentatively reaching for his hand, his beautiful eyes cautiously meeting Wen Xian’s as he asked, “Can I be your boyfriend?”—Wen Xian wouldn’t have been able to resist.

Back then, Jiang Zhiyi was the head of the Shen family, a rising star, highly educated, handsome, the talk of the town among Nan City’s elite circles, with a slender waist and long legs, every muscle perfectly sculpted. If he had pursued Wen Xian, Wen Xian would’ve been smug for ages. He’d throw a party, gathering all his rich second-gen friends from the overseas student circle, then proudly present Jiang Zhiyi to them: “See this? The head of the Shen family—the man who made your fathers wary—my boyfriend.”

He’d even kiss Jiang Zhiyi in front of his friends, holding his hand across the table. His friends would be stunned, wondering if Wen Xian had lost his mind. But Zhiyi would just press his lips together, silently allowing his antics.

Better yet, he’d bring Jiang Zhiyi home for dinner while his father and brother were fretting over business, preferably when Wen Zhu and Wen Huarong were sighing, “That Shen kid is really something.” Wen Xian would push the door open and announce, “Hey Dad, Brother, meet my boyfriend—future husband.”

Jiang Zhiyi would probably stiffen nervously, clinging to Wen Xian as he stammered, “Uncle… Brother…” Meanwhile, Wen Huarong and Wen Zhu would stare in bewildered silence. The family would endure the meal with forced calm while internally screaming, then subject Wen Xian to a full interrogation after Jiang Zhiyi left.

Wen Xian would feign innocence. “Who knows? Maybe your son’s just too handsome. It just… happened naturally. No sweet talk, no chasing—he pursued me. What, you don’t believe me? Doesn’t matter. That’s how it is. Want me to call Zhiyi over tomorrow so you can ask him yourself?”

Then, amid his family’s cries of “You little rascal!” “Come back here and explain properly!” and “I don’t buy a word of this!” he’d make a graceful exit, leaving without a care.

If they asked, “Where are you going so late?” he’d wave dismissively. “Oh, my boyfriend booked a cabin on a cruise. We’re off to the Caribbean to dive / to Antarctica to see penguins / to Norway to chase the Northern Lights. I’ll show you photos when I get back!”

And just before Mrs. Zhang’s slipper or Wen Huarong’s hand could reach him, he’d grab his luggage and stroll out.

In that scenario, it would’ve been a perfect ending.

But there were no “what ifs.”

Wen Xian sighed softly.

The Zhiyi he was looking after now could nod when asked, “Do you really want to be in the same class as me?” and snap back, “Yeah, so what?” But the Zhiyi from the Previous Dynasty couldn’t.

That Jiang Zhiyi was more rigid, more guarded, less articulate. To him, vulnerability meant weakness, giving others ammunition. During his formative years, he hadn’t received proper affection or guidance. In business, he could learn to mimic, don a mask, and dominate—but in family and intimacy, he had no blueprint to follow.

He didn’t know how normal couples interacted, how families functioned, how to pursue, confess, or be vulnerable.

So he remained awkward. So he stayed silent. So he lost utterly.

Until the divorce, Wen Xian never realized his love.

During the years Wen Xian was gone, Jiang Zhiyi had suffered a great deal.

While Wen Xian was lost in thought, Shen Jixing dealt with his bleeding nose. He staggered through the back door into the classroom, limping past Wen Xian with gritted teeth, his glare venomous: “You’ll pay for this.”

Wen Xian spun his pen and leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Bring it on.”

The first thing Wen Xian did when he got home was run to Mrs. Zhang to tattle.

Mrs. Zhang had just stormed away from the mahjong table after losing two rounds straight—already in a foul mood. When Wen Xian exaggerated the story, she exploded: “What?!”

Zhang Xiaoping had never liked Shen Jixing anyway, but she admired Jiang Zhiyi, the top student who came from nothing. Now her son had been insulted to his face—no one would take that lying down.

Even Wen Zhu, reading the newspaper in the living room, looked up: “Did he pick on that smart kid who helped you with homework?”

Wen Xian nodded.

Wen Zhu gave him a meaningful look: “No going back?”

Wen Xian hesitated for a moment.

Then he softly said, “No. I’ve made up my mind.”

In both lifetimes.

Wen Zhu folded the newspaper shut. “Fine. This is our family’s business now. Leave it to me.”

Still furious, Mrs. Zhang missed the quiet exchange between her sons. As a socialite raised in Nan City, she didn’t need help from Wen Huarong—she had her own connections. She snatched up her bag and marched out of the house.

By Monday morning, Shen Yuechuan personally hauled Shen Jixing over to apologize.

Mrs. Zhang escorted Wen Xian to school herself, and the two met at the school gate.

No one mentioned Jiang Zhiyi. Shen Jixing dared not bring it up—he feared exposing the fact that he’d bullied his “sworn older brother.” Mrs. Zhang and Wen Zhu had no reason to speak of it either. So the incident was officially framed as “Shen Jixing accidentally being hit by Wen Xian and then hurling insults at the Wen family matriarch.”

Nan City’s business world was small, and many of the Shen family’s operations relied on the Wens. They were rivals and partners alike—right now, Wen Huarong controlled several key channels Shen Yuechuan needed.

So Shen Yuechuan yanked his son out of the Bentley and forced him to bow his head toward Wen Xian. Tears filled Shen Jixing’s eyes, disbelief flashing across his face as he muttered, “Dad… he started it…”

Shen Yuechuan’s tone was frosty: “Apologize.”

“Dad, I…”

“Want me to say it again?”

Shen Jixing finally apologized, though clearly against his will.

Mrs. Zhang nodded in approval. Wen Xian watched coolly, thinking to himself: *Shen Yuechuan really is scum.*

A parent should at least listen to their child’s side, see if they were wronged. In this matter, both boys were partly to blame—Wen Xian had used the opportunity to make Shen Jixing suffer silently. Yet Shen Yuechuan didn’t care. He groveled to apologize, not sparing his own dignity or his son’s. All he saw was the family business.

No wonder he could be such an opportunist—kowtowing to Ji Mingzhu for nearly twenty years, only to kill his first wife in a car crash and abandon Jiang Zhiyi to a welfare home without a word. Then, when he realized Shen Jixing wasn’t up to the task, he simply took Jiang Zhiyi back.

Afterward, Mrs. Zhang and Shen Yuechuan each left in their cars. Shen Jixing stomped off ahead while Wen Xian hung back, taking his time.

He spotted Jiang Zhiyi carrying two backpacks and reached out to help, grinning and winking: “He apologized. Feel better?”

They stood close—so close that from behind, they looked like a couple caught mid-flirtation, the kind that would earn them a major detention if the dean saw. Jiang Zhiyi shifted slightly. “Mm.”

Wen Xian felt satisfied.

He grabbed his backpack to leave when Jiang Zhiyi stepped forward: "Hey—"

When Wen Xian turned around, Jiang Zhiyi got flustered: "I mean, didn’t you say you were transferring to my class? When are you coming?"

Wen Xian: "This afternoon. I’ll go take care of the transfer in the morning."

True to his word, that very afternoon, he hauled his backpack into Jiang Zhiyi’s classroom.

Both he and Shen Jixing were infamous delinquents from the neighboring class, the kind who single-handedly dragged down the school’s college admission rates. The new homeroom teacher got a headache just looking at him but, given his family connections, reluctantly pointed him to a seat.

Right behind Jiang Zhiyi.

As Wen Xian carried his bag to the back, the top student made a show of reading, but though the textbook covered the lower half of his face, it couldn’t hide the upper half—his eyes crinkled with happiness, clearly delighted.

Wen Xian thought to himself, *Does he really like me this much?*

It was so obvious, impossible to hide, leaking from every glance. His joy showed in every expression.

How had he never noticed before?

Wen Xian took up residence behind Jiang Zhiyi. During class, their gazes would occasionally meet like they shared a mind. Wen Xian usually stared back openly, while Jiang Zhiyi would hurriedly look away.

Between classes, they hung out in the hallway. Wen Xian teased him, "Mr. Perfect Student, you’ve got college entrance exams to worry about. Don’t let me drag your grades down."

Shen Yuechuan was no philanthropist. Family bonds were worthless to him—nothing more than a worthless document. If Jiang Zhiyi wanted to smoothly enter the company, climb to mid-to-high management, and investigate the past, he had to prove his worth—just like in his previous life, attending top finance schools.

Jiang Zhiyi muttered, "I won’t."

They leaned side by side against the hallway railing, gazing at the lush metasequoia trees, tall and straight. Dappled green sunlight filtered through the leaves, half spilling onto the corridor. Students streamed past the classroom door—young men and women who couldn’t hide their feelings, brushing shoulders under the homeroom teacher’s watchful eye, fingers brushing with electric tension before hastily pulling apart. Even such a fleeting touch could linger in their memories for ages.

Wen Xian thought, *What a perfect time of life, what a beautiful afternoon.*

After a long silence, Jiang Zhiyi suddenly asked, "What about you? Aren’t you taking the exams?"

It was a question he already knew the answer to. Some students at the foreign language school didn’t take the exams, relying entirely on their parents’ connections. With Wen Xian’s current grades, unless he pulled miracle-level effort and repeated a year, Ivy Leagues might as well be on Mars—even average schools would be a stretch.

Besides, Ms. Zhang and Wen Huarong wouldn’t compromise on this. They’d already picked out a school for him.

Wen Xian paused briefly: "Then, would you run away overseas with me?"

If Jiang Zhiyi was willing, Wen Xian could cover all his tuition and living expenses. They could travel together, feed pigeons in the square. Though Jiang Zhiyi might never become the illustrious "Shen Zhao" of his previous life, living large in the spotlight, he also wouldn’t have to deal with the Shen family’s dirty affairs—he could live much more freely.

Jiang Zhiyi slowly shook his head.

Wen Xian smiled: "I knew it."

Jiang Zhiyi was the same in both lifetimes—resolute, with a clear direction. He wouldn’t let his mother’s death remain unresolved. Given another chance, fate would still steer toward its destined path.

But this time, some things were different.

Wen Xian gestured at the sky: "I can fly back to see you every week. No big deal—it's just a quick flight."

*Even if it were expensive, it’s fine. I’ll make you pay me back tenfold later,* he thought.

His firm tone softened the melancholy rising in Jiang Zhiyi’s heart. Jiang Zhiyi gripped the railing, lips pressed together, in that teasing-but-serious way: "What’s our relationship that you’d fly back to see me every week? By then, you might not even have my contact info anymore."

Young people were always like this—meeting in a whirlwind romance during their most vibrant years, like two shooting stars crossing paths. But after a brief moment side by side, they’d race along their separate trajectories until the other’s figure vanished from sight.

Jiang Zhiyi lowered his eyes, nails leaving half-moon marks in his palms. He was barely holding it together, unable to even keep up a smile.

—If that was the ending, he couldn’t accept it.

Meanwhile, Wen Xian blinked once, then again, as if he hadn’t understood.

*What’s our relationship?* he thought. *Of course I’ll come back to see you. You’re my future husband.*