Chen Mo finally couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed Xi Siyan’s wrist, took a step closer, and used the dim light to see his features clearly before confirming, “You’re drunk.”
Xi Siyan didn’t take back his words and insisted, “No.”
“Bullshit,” Chen Mo cursed. Then, as if afraid someone might overhear, he subconsciously lowered his voice and gritted his teeth. “Didn’t you say you don’t like men? Then why did you kiss me?”
Xi Siyan raised his eyes. “That’s because I’ve never liked anyone before, so my self-awareness was incomplete.”
“You…”
Chen Mo scoffed at the explanation, but then he processed the implication behind those words and was taken aback. “Are you saying… you like me?”
Xi Siyan pointed at him. “What else? Do you think I’d randomly kiss just anyone after drinking?”
Chen Mo was speechless. “Could you stop being so sarcastic at a time like this?”
He took two deep breaths, feeling the need to calm down.
Setting aside the fact that he hadn’t even felt anything from that brief kiss, he started recalling their past year together—going from strangers to acquaintances, to Xi Siyan becoming his deskmate, tutoring him, and accompanying him through various situations. The more he thought about it, the crazier it seemed.
Sure, Xi Siyan had taken him to the hospital more than once.
Found him a traditional Chinese medicine doctor, accompanied him during treatment, let him sleep in his bed, brought him meals, went shopping with him, and even witnessed him fight.
But what exactly did he like about him?
His love for black tea and cigarettes?
His habit of making public speeches under the national flag?
The fact that he had a half-crippled leg and had to start from scratch?
Chen Mo reflected, “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have spoken so recklessly in front of you.”
He regretted casually saying he was gay, joking in the shower about not doing anything to his face, and saying in a game that he was pregnant with his child.
Now, he could only blame himself for leading Xi Siyan astray.
Seeing Chen Mo desperately trying to come up with excuses, Xi Siyan let out a low laugh—part amused, part frustrated.
“You—”
“Shh! Not now!”
Chen Mo suddenly covered Xi Siyan’s mouth, shoving him into the shadows of the passageway.
Turning around, he waited for a group of people who had been talking outside to re-enter from another direction. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief. When he looked back, he realized he was still holding Xi Siyan’s face and quickly took two steps back.
Chen Mo thought for a moment and said bluntly, “Let’s just pretend this conversation never happened.”
“You think you can really pretend nothing happened?” Xi Siyan raised an eyebrow.
Chen Mo was about to say that a kiss was no big deal—he wasn’t some fragile soul who believed that just because they kissed, there had to be an explanation. In truth, he simply needed a solid excuse to distance himself from this situation, to redefine and sort out their relationship.
Before he could say anything, Qi Lin and the others came looking for them, wondering why they had been gone for so long.
“Did you two have a fight?” Qi Lin asked in a low voice, walking beside Xi Siyan.
Xi Siyan glanced at him. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know… you both seem off.” Qi Lin looked at Chen Mo, who had rejoined Lao Gou and the others, and added, “I just called him, but he ignored me. Hey, is all that stuff in the news about him really—”
Qi Lin didn’t finish his sentence.
Xi Siyan had already regained his usual composed demeanor. He tucked one hand into his pocket and simply hummed in response, confirming the news.
Qi Lin cursed under his breath.
The night ended several hours earlier than expected.
Chen Mo turned off his phone after the third call from an unfamiliar number.
He didn’t return to school either.
“Come in.” Xi Siyan pushed open the door of the top-floor suite of a luxury hotel and turned to Chen Mo, who was hesitating at the entrance.
“I can find a place to stay myself,” Chen Mo said.
“Where?” Xi Siyan leaned against the doorframe and looked at him. “You obviously won’t go back to the Yang family for the time being. You’ll probably take a leave from school for the next two days too. This is a room the Xi family reserves in this hotel 365 days a year—you can check in just by showing your ID. Stay here, wait until the storm dies down, and then decide what to do.”
Chen Mo hesitated for a moment. If it weren’t for what happened at the bar, he would’ve felt more at ease accepting the offer. But after that incident, he couldn’t help but feel a little wary.
Xi Siyan studied him for two seconds. “Are you scared of me?”
“What kind of bullshit is that?” Chen Mo rolled his eyes. “I just feel like I led you astray.”
Xi Siyan reached out, placed a hand on the back of Chen Mo’s neck, and pulled him into the room.
After closing the door, he said calmly, “You overestimate yourself. Even if someone I don’t like got on their knees and begged me, it wouldn’t change my choices or beliefs.”
Chen Mo actually believed him.
“Can’t you like someone else?” he asked.
“No,” Xi Siyan replied flatly. “Even though I’ve laid my cards on the table, you don’t have to worry about what I’ll do to you. But don’t let me hear you say something like that again.”
Chen Mo frowned. “Why didn’t I realize you were so difficult to deal with before?”
Always persistent. Never letting things slide.
Xi Siyan ignored the complaint.
After making sure everything in the suite was in order, he took the room card and said, “Get some rest. I’ll go buy some food.”
Chen Mo no longer struggled with the idea of staying there.
He wasn’t planning to return to school for a few days, and he couldn’t stay in any regular hotel—he’d definitely be tracked down by reporters.
Since he wasn’t browsing the internet, watching TV, or reading newspapers, the media frenzy hadn’t affected him directly.
By the time Xi Siyan returned with dinner, Chen Mo had already dozed off on the sofa.
It wasn’t until he felt someone draping a thin blanket over him that he muttered drowsily, “Ada, close the door on your way out.”
“Who’s Ada?” A deep male voice startled Chen Mo awake.
For a moment, he had been dreaming of his past life, where Ada was his secretary and frequently came in and out of his home.
As he opened his eyes and saw Xi Siyan’s face, he casually explained, “Ada… was a stray cat from my old village. I raised it.”
Xi Siyan stepped back and sneered. “Your cat was quite fashionable. Not only did it have an English name, but it also knew how to close doors. Pretty smart.”
He didn’t press the issue further. “Get up and eat something now that you’re awake.”
Only then did Chen Mo realize that the main lights in the suite’s living room had been turned off, leaving only a few warm yellow night lights on, giving the room a hazy glow.
Xi Siyan didn’t move far away. Instead, he turned around and sat down on the sofa right in front of where Chen Mo had been sleeping.
Chen Mo watched as Xi Siyan opened the takeout containers and asked, “What did you buy?”
“Millet porridge and a few side dishes. It’s too late for a heavy meal, so just something simple.”
Chen Mo turned sideways but didn’t get up right away.
Resting his head on one hand, he lazily observed Xi Siyan under the dim light, his gaze unrestrained.
In reality, there wasn’t much difference between the seventeen-year-old Xi Siyan and the twenty-seven-year-old version from his past life. At most, his features had sharpened, and his temperament had deepened over time.
Maybe there were other changes, but Chen Mo wouldn’t know. After all, they had never been that familiar in his previous life.
Yet now, sitting together in the quiet of the night, the air between them remained untroubled—even after what had happened a few hours ago. Chen Mo found it strangely surreal.
Why?
Chen Mo asked himself this.
After some thought, he realized his trust in a certain class monitor had grown beyond his expectations.
At least on an instinctual level, he felt that this person was safe and reliable. Safer than the Yang family. Safer than even Lao Gou, his longtime friend from his past life.
And it was precisely because of that—because he had chosen to stop here—that it was dangerous.
For someone like Chen Mo, who had always made choices based on intuition, this was not a good sign.
Dependence on anything meant weakness.
The old Chen Mo was never qualified to have weaknesses. And even the current Chen Mo still carried that belief deep in his bones.
“Does it look good?” Xi Siyan asked.
He hadn’t even turned around, yet he knew Chen Mo was staring at him.
Chen Mo didn’t bother denying it. “Yeah, looks good.”
“How good?” This time, Xi Siyan turned around.
Chen Mo remained lying on his side, his gaze sweeping over Xi Siyan’s sharp eyes, straight nose, and well-shaped lips. He smirked. “You’re universally acknowledged to be good-looking.”
Xi Siyan leaned onto the sofa, shifting closer by a few inches, his voice dropping into a slow, almost hypnotic murmur. “Since it’s so good-looking, why don’t you keep looking?”
Chen Mo glanced at his lips, then smirked. “Squad leader, you’re about to graduate soon. Have you ever considered that seducing a minor in school is a crime?”
Xi Siyan’s gaze trailed over Chen Mo’s collarbone—exposed due to his relaxed posture—then down his toned waistline and long legs. Finally, his gaze returned to Chen Mo’s face.
“Who’s seducing who?” he asked.
Chen Mo suddenly reached out, hooking his arms around Xi Siyan’s neck and using the leverage to pull himself upright.
Settling comfortably on the sofa, he mimicked what Xi Siyan had done earlier—lightly brushing his earlobe. With a teasing smile, he leaned in and whispered, “Brother Yan, people tend to make mistakes late at night. And you drank tonight, so I won’t take what you said seriously. But…”
Chen Mo deliberately paused, wrapping an arm around Xi Siyan’s shoulders, drawing closer. “Can you feel it? I don’t mind telling people I’m gay. I also don’t mind getting close to someone I have feelings for. But I won’t fall in love. And it’s not because I said I wouldn’t date early—I don’t plan to date at all.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Chen Mo swiftly pulled back.
It was as if the Chen Mo who had just spoken so candidly had never existed.
In that instant, he didn’t seem like a teenager at all. He was sharp, pragmatic, and composed—reminiscent of the kind of people who enjoyed one-night stands in bars, only to walk away the next morning as if nothing had happened.
Unfortunately for Chen Mo, he had underestimated Xi Siyan.
The reaction he expected—either questioning or retreating—never came.
Instead, Xi Siyan calmly placed a spoon into his hand. “I never asked you to date me.”
Chen Mo blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
Xi Siyan raised an eyebrow. “If I say I like you, does that mean we must have a conclusion? Do we have to be together forever?”
Chen Mo countered, “Then what are we doing now?”
“That depends on how you define it.”
“Are we about to become… sex partners?”
Xi Siyan closed his eyes, clearly restraining himself.
“Don’t mess with me,” he warned.
Chen Mo raised an eyebrow. “What, did I hit a nerve?”
Xi Siyan’s gaze dragged over him from head to toe, the intensity nearly stripping him bare. He said solemnly, “A prerequisite for being sex partners is mutual sexual attraction. Can you handle that?”
Chen Mo fell silent.
He had confidently drawn a line just now, but now he realized something—he had absolutely no practical experience.
In two lifetimes, he had never been in a relationship, never had a one-night stand, and never had a casual partner.
In this life, he had no desires, no emotions that needed venting, no burdens that needed release.
It was only at this moment that he realized something for the first time—he hadn’t even touched himself in a long time, nor had he ever felt the urge to.
Subconsciously, his gaze flicked downward toward his legs.
…Was there something wrong with him?
Xi Siyan noticed the movement and asked in a low voice, “What are you looking at?”
“I’m checking if I’ve been drinking too much herbal tea,” Chen Mo answered bluntly. “After all, even if I wanted to play around, I’d need to make sure I was physically capable first.”
Xi Siyan: “…”
After dinner, when Xi Siyan suggested leaving, the atmosphere in the room had become indescribably strange.
Chen Mo checked the time—it was almost midnight.
“Stay here tonight,” he said. “The sofa’s big enough. It’s not like you can’t sleep on it.”
After their string of bizarre conversations, his invitation felt far too deliberate.
Xi Siyan just glanced at him, then agreed. Chen Mo quietly exhaled in relief.
For a moment, he had thought their conversation tonight had ruined everything, that they might never interact normally again.
But as it turned out, it wasn’t just Chen Mo—who considered himself an “adult”—who had a habit of glossing over things.
When Xi Siyan woke up early the next morning, he acted as if none of it had happened. He drank his tea as usual, as if the person he had been the night before had completely disappeared.
“Morning.” Xi Siyan emerged from the bathroom after washing up, greeting Chen Mo as if nothing had changed.
Chen Mo yawned. “Morning.”
Everything seemed normal.
Then, at eight in the morning, Qi Lin and Lao Gou arrived, bringing him the latest updates.
Qi Lin said, “I heard the Yang family has been doing emergency PR. Sounds like they’re panicking. Apparently, they’re planning to file a new lawsuit—whatever that means.”
Lao Gou added, “I already requested leave for you. Just follow Brother Yan’s arrangements. Don’t worry about it.”
Chen Mo was brushing his teeth when he suddenly remembered. “Oh yeah, I ordered a laptop online. Make sure you sign for it when it arrives.”
“Got it.” Lao Gou leaned against the door and looked at him.
Curious, Lao Gou asked, “I thought you wouldn’t be able to sleep all night. I was worried about you, but your face looks so red. Do you have some good news or something?”
Chen Mo subconsciously touched his face and looked down again.
Good news?
He had finally started caring about his own desires again. Was that a good thing?
Chen Mo glanced up.
At that moment, he happened to see Xi Siyan sitting in front of the computer, with Qi Lin perched on the armrest of the sofa next to him. It was unclear whether he had overheard the conversation, but Xi Siyan looked up.
Chen Mo naturally withdrew his gaze and responded to Lao Gou, “There’s no happy news. Do you think it’s fun having your past laid bare for the public?”
He was holding a freshly powered-on phone in his hand.
The sheer volume of unread messages made the phone vibrate non-stop for a long time before finally settling.
Most were from the Yang family, asking where he was.
There were also messages from classmates, acquaintances, and even old neighbors.
Even the restaurant owner where Chen Mo had worked washing dishes in his second year of junior high school sent him a message:
“Chen Mo, I’m sorry. I really didn’t expect things to blow up like this. I think the Yang family didn’t expose anything before because they wanted to protect you. I’m really sorry.”
Chen Mo sneered.
Protect him?
He replied: “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”
Scrolling further down, he found messages from Yang Shule.
Voice messages.
Chen Mo set his phone down on the bathroom sink, turned on the speaker, and played them while brushing his teeth, watching his reflection in the mirror.
Yang Shule’s voice came through:
“Chen Mo, where are you? Your parents are looking for you like crazy. Do you even know that?”
The second message auto-played:
“I’ve always known you weren’t happy with the family’s decision to drop the lawsuit for my sake and the company’s. Even if you had complaints, you should’ve discussed it with them first. Do you even realize how much trouble you’ve brought to the family by making this public so rashly?”
The third:
“Please reply as soon as possible. We’re all waiting for you.”
Lao Gou was instantly furious. He snatched his phone and started cursing at the screen.
Chen Mo, however, calmly picked up the phone and pressed the voice reply button—only for it to be taken away before he could say anything.
Xi Siyan had walked over at some point and, without hesitation, recorded and sent a reply himself.
His voice was steady, cold, and laced with unmistakable warning:
“The evidence of your contact with the reporter has been sent to your adoptive parents and your eldest brother.”
A second later, he added:
“If you send another message, don’t blame me for being rude.”
