After the Reborn Young Master Embraced a Life of Wellness – Chapter 89

The explosion’s aftermath, combined with the unfamiliar voices ringing in his head, pushed Xi Siyan to the edge.

He could no longer hear the people around him, and even began to doubt whether he’d suffered nerve damage. But then he felt the person beneath him stirring, trying to get up—and then, in turn, supporting his hand. The grip grew firmer.

Xi Siyan shook his head hard, then grabbed Chen Mo’s wrist in return, clutching it tightly. In a hoarse voice, he said, “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

To him, it felt like his voice was completely muted, like someone had turned the volume dial all the way down.

Thankfully, it seemed Chen Mo had heard him. The tension in his gaze finally eased a bit.

Soon, people gathered from all sides.

Their mouths were moving, and they were clearly talking, but Xi Siyan couldn’t make out a single word.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Anyone hurt?”

“The hospital crew is almost here!”

Xi Siyan’s head was pounding as he checked Chen Mo’s condition. His brain was being bombarded by countless fragmented thoughts and memories that wouldn’t connect properly. He had no energy left to respond to anything else.

All he could do was hold tightly to Chen Mo’s hand—refusing to let go.

Because, amid all the chaotic, overlapping voices in his mind, one line stood out clearly—something from one of his dreams: Chen Mo died.

He died instantly, at the bottom of a collapsed building.

Chen Mo didn’t know what kind of storm was brewing in Xi Siyan’s heart. He only knew that in his eyes, Xi Siyan’s condition looked terrible.

His arms and body were covered in soot and ash. His palms and elbows were scraped bloody from shielding someone on the ground, with dust and gravel embedded in the wounds. The explosion had temporarily taken his hearing. Worst of all, his back had been burned. Under the charred remains of his shirt, large swaths of scorched skin and raw flesh were visible. It was a terrifying sight.

Fortunately, the fire brigade quickly opened the emergency lane and arrived on-site to extinguish the flames.

In the chaos, Xi Siyan refused to receive on-the-spot emergency treatment.

He and Chen Mo quietly left the scene.

The multi-vehicle accident on Jinlu Bridge in Suicheng quickly made it into the local news cycle.

Some of the photos and footage from the scene were so harrowing they required content warnings or censorship before they could be broadcast.

The flaming, exploding vehicle made people feel breathless just watching it.

[Thank goodness everyone got out. It was far too close.]

[Those passersby were heroes. They didn’t give up even in the worst moment. Can’t even imagine what would’ve happened if they hadn’t stepped in.]

[It’s been hours—any updates from the scene? The people closest to the explosion must’ve been injured, right?]

In fact, one of the videos of the explosion ended with a frame showing Xi Siyan and Chen Mo.

But due to the distance, the fading light, and the camera angle, their faces couldn’t be seen clearly.

Still, someone had managed to capture a striking image of the two of them shielding one another, running out of the blast zone. That single still quickly went viral.

The narrative that followed was all about ordinary heroes.

Normally in cases like this, reporters would immediately chase leads to interview the people involved—hoping to hear their firsthand accounts of bravery.

But this time, nothing.

There were no interviews, no public statements.

Instead, details about the accident—its cause, the number of vehicles involved, the injuries—were investigated and reported with stunning speed and clarity. The process was unusually efficient, with no conflicting accounts or ambiguity.

So clean, in fact, that it became conspicuous.

The media’s focus remained stuck on that blurry image of the two men running from the explosion.

[I’ve seen reports and interviews with several others at the scene, but what about those two? Did the media not find them?]

[Honestly, they look familiar somehow…]

[Maybe they didn’t want to be identified. I was there when it happened—they didn’t even get into the ambulance. Someone picked them up directly. Judging by their clothes, they’re definitely not ordinary people.]

[If they didn’t take the ambulance, and were that badly injured… are they okay?]

The Xi Family Estate.

The old residence was a traditional Chinese-style villa, with intricately carved beams, painted pillars, and a refined, elegant courtyard.

Xi Siyan’s room was located in the second-floor wing at the back.

This was also Chen Mo’s first time visiting.

Gathered in the courtyard were many members of the Xi family. Aside from the old patriarch, Xi Siyan’s parents, and his uncle, there were also several younger relatives Chen Mo didn’t recognize.

Chen Mo also spotted Xi Jianxing, Siyan’s second uncle.

Compared to five years ago, Xi Jianxing had grown thinner and more reserved, with a newfound steadiness. He stood alongside Han Qian.

No one knew when Han Qian had shown up.

He slipped up beside Chen Mo, nudged him with an elbow, and whispered, “You two are seriously something. Talk about dramatic timing. I’ve never seen anyone introduce themselves to the family like this. It’s been years since I’ve seen the Xi family this worked up.”

Chen Mo shot him a glance and said nothing.

Han Qian added, “Don’t worry. The Xi family’s medical resources are top-notch. For this level of injury, they really didn’t need to rally the whole cavalry. But, well… he’s the heir.”

Chen Mo leaned against a column in the corridor, silently enduring the various gazes being thrown his way from around the courtyard.

Some of the younger members were whispering amongst themselves.

“That’s Brother Yan’s boyfriend?”

“Seriously? Didn’t you see how he held onto him the entire time? They didn’t let go until after the anesthesia kicked in.”

“They’ve been broken up for five years, and he still ends up being the one.”

“Well, they were together since high school. And did you see that leg wound? He didn’t even flinch when they treated it. He’s been standing here the whole time like it’s nothing. I wouldn’t mess with him.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourselves. Grandpa hasn’t said anything yet. It’s not our place to speculate. Just shut up.”

Han Qian tilted his head toward Chen Mo again and asked, “Want to sit down and rest for a bit?”

“No need,” Chen Mo replied.

He made idle conversation with Han Qian, but his mind was completely elsewhere.

Ever since he saw the burn on Xi Siyan’s back, his thoughts had been in disarray.

After all, he remembered being the one who dove forward to shield Siyan at the last moment. It was a reflex, not a conscious decision. Just instinct in the face of life and death.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before the sound of the door opening broke the heavy atmosphere.

Two doctors in gloves stepped out and spoke to the old patriarch.

“The wounds have been cleaned and bandaged,” one of them said. “Mr. Xi is young and strong. There’s no serious risk. He’ll recover after some rest.”

“Can we go in now?” Jiang Jing, Xi Siyan’s mother, asked quickly.

The doctor hesitated. “The anesthetic just wore off. He’s experiencing severe headaches from the blast. It’s best to avoid too many visitors for now, to reduce the risk of infection.”

Chen Mo frowned. “Is there any way to relieve the headache?”

“We’ve used painkillers,” the doctor said, “but oddly, they haven’t had much effect.”

“I’ll go in and check on him,” Chen Mo said, stepping forward.

But the doctor stopped him. “Not today, Mr. Chen. Mr. Xi said he doesn’t want to see anyone right now.”

Han Qian was stunned. “Chen Mo can’t go in either? That’s not like him.”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. That includes Mr. Chen.”

All eyes immediately turned to Chen Mo.

Jiang Jing stepped in quickly, smiling gently. “Since it’s not too serious, there’s no need to worry. You’ve both been through so much today. I’ll have the kitchen prepare something warm. Let’s all get some rest tonight.”

Old Master Xi leaned on his cane with both hands and, in front of the gathered crowd, finally said, “Then don’t let him go in. Prepare the room next to him, and let him stay home for now. Work can wait.”

No matter what others were thinking or what their expressions showed—

Chen Mo stayed silent for two seconds, then nodded. “Okay.”

That night, after everyone left, the small building where Xi Siyan lived fell into complete silence.

At midnight, Chen Mo quietly pushed open the door to Xi Siyan’s room.

The lights were off.

Luckily, moonlight from the window was enough to let Chen Mo see clearly.

The room was large, and the sleeping area was only visible after turning a corner. Chen Mo walked forward a few steps and saw someone lying face-down on the dark bedding. His bare upper body was wrapped in bandages, shoulder muscles slightly tensed—his face hidden.

Chen Mo walked over, sat by the bed, and reached out to touch his upper arm.

The man, who had seemed to be asleep, suddenly opened his eyes. Even in the dim moonlight, Chen Mo could clearly see the shockingly bloodshot eyes staring back at him.

“Is your headache worse?” Chen Mo’s heart sank. He immediately tried to help him sit up. “I’ll call the doctor.”

“No need.” Xi Siyan pulled him down, not caring about anything else, and wrapped his arms around him.

That familiar breath washed over him. With that, Xi Siyan was finally able to pull himself from the chaos in his mind and hold on to a shred of clarity.

This… this was the real, living Chen Mo.

If the explosion had brought with it a flurry of voices and fragments not his own, then the process of anesthesia and wound treatment had made him relive his own life—or a version of it.

There is a natural distance between someone born under a lucky star and a boy abandoned by a wealthy family, forced to claw his way up through the mud.

Back in school, when they barely seemed to interact—when had he started noticing Chen Mo?

Maybe it was how fast he ran during gym class, or the way he quietly applied ointment to his injuries in the classroom after fighting off bullies. Maybe it was how he was always the last to leave at night and the first to arrive in the morning, his presence constant yet silent.

As class monitor, he had quietly warned off the troublemakers, paid close attention to Chen Mo’s every move, and initiated small conversations to learn more about him. It had all seemed natural—so natural that he never even admitted his own feelings until after the college entrance exams.

But that exam had split their paths—sending them further and further apart.

Years later, the boyhood concern had become adult reality.

One became ensnared in family power struggles. The other stood at the edge of an abyss, equally dazzling in his own way.

The Yang family’s “other son” openly demanded favoritism on a business project, making it all the more jarring. The man who once slurred his words drunkenly across the dinner table was no longer young. When he drove him home that night, he thought it was the start of something new.

Little did he know, it was a prelude to an already fated ending.

That ending was blood-red.

Someone died suddenly.

All that remained was a pile of ashes and a sunset stretched long across the ground beneath the building—stretching long enough to span a lifetime. The Xi family had struggled so long to reach the top, but in the end, the man standing there was still alone.

Even if he had never lived through that moment himself, the regret—that life-long, soul-piercing regret—had already carved itself deep into Xi Siyan’s bones.

He needed proof.

Proof that Chen Mo was still alive.

That this life wasn’t just some illusion conjured by regret at the end of a lonely dream.

Chen Mo’s voice, soft in the dark, was real: “Didn’t you say you didn’t want to see me? Are you feeling better?”

The touch of his skin, the warmth of his body—also real.

Xi Siyan pulled him into a tight embrace and whispered hoarsely, “Yeah. Much better. It was just… a nightmare.”

Chen Mo touched the bandages on his back but didn’t ask any more questions. The two of them lay curled together in the darkness. Because of his injuries, Siyan could only wrap his arms around him from the side, careful to avoid Chen Mo’s injured leg.

Chen Mo quietly adjusted to his position.

He rested his head on Xi Siyan’s chest, completely at ease. His hand absently brushed through Siyan’s hair again and again, until Siyan’s muscles gradually relaxed and his breathing evened out.

The night passed quietly.

—

Morning.

At the Xi family’s estate, a group of younger relatives were playing cards in the courtyard outside Xi Siyan’s wing.

They were all around junior high or high school age. The old patriarch had instructed them to bring some life back into the house, and so here they were, laughing and bickering.

Then, mid-game, a loud bang rang out.

The door on the second floor suddenly flew open.

Xi Siyan, head of CM Group and a man who commanded countless subordinates, stepped out wearing a coat. The white bandages underneath were still clearly visible. His face looked like a storm was brewing.

Everyone downstairs froze in fear, looking up in confusion.

“Brother Yan?” someone called hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

Siyan scanned the courtyard, frowning. “Where is he?”

“Who?” someone asked, confused.

Only after asking did they realize how ugly Xi Siyan’s expression had become.

Fortunately, before things could escalate further, someone appeared at the courtyard gate.

Chen Mo, holding a notebook, looked up and blinked. “Why are you awake already?”

The group of younger cousins immediately relaxed.

“So that’s who you were looking for, big bro!”

“You should’ve said it was Brother Mo! He’s been up for a while.”

“You two didn’t sleep in the same room last night, right? He wasn’t even there.”

Even after all that, Xi Siyan didn’t reply.

He just stared down at Chen Mo.

And while he let out a quiet sigh of relief, a chilling realization settled into his bones:

Chen Mo’s departure from the Yang family didn’t mean he didn’t care about family ties.

His sudden change in attitude didn’t mean he was free of all past burdens.

From another perspective—everything had started from that internet café when they were seventeen.

If this Chen Mo wasn’t exactly the same as the one from before…

But was still Chen Mo—

Then everything made sense.

At the gate, bathed in the soft morning light, Chen Mo chatted casually with the younger kids. No one knew what had happened earlier that morning, but clearly, they were close to him. Far more relaxed around him than they were around Xi Siyan. The atmosphere lightened instantly.

One of them joked, “Brother Mo, is Brother Yan grumpy in the morning?”

Another added, “No wonder Brother Han Qian’s been looking more and more exhausted lately. That door slam nearly made me throw my winning hand.”

…

All of the chatter turned into meaningless background noise.

Xi Siyan tuned them out entirely.

This was the place he’d grown up. He knew every tree, every corner, every brick.

But in this moment, the pain was sharper than any nightmare where he had seen Chen Mo lying in a pool of blood.

Because this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

The living, breathing Chen Mo standing before him had clearly walked a long, lonely road—tearing himself apart and putting himself back together—just to be able to stand here today.

And the mere thought of that broke Xi Siyan’s heart.

Like a blade piercing straight through.