After the Reborn Young Master Embraced a Life of Wellness – Chapter 97

The 50th anniversary celebration was a grand affair. The speeches by distinguished alumni were just a small part of the event, yet from the moment Chen Mo stepped off the stage to the end of the program, the stares he received—curious, admiring, surprised—never stopped.

The event wrapped up around 3 p.m.

Lao Xiang said he wanted to treat Chen Mo to a meal. But before that, he asked him to drop by the current Class 1 of Grade 3 to give the students some encouragement.

Chen Mo hesitated.

To most, his high school story was a classic “dark horse” comeback. But he knew that wasn’t the full truth. Facing a room of high school seniors, anything he said—whether telling them not to worry too much about the college entrance exam or urging them to go all in—felt disingenuous.

So, unashamedly, he passed the buck. He pointed to Xi Siyan, who was off chatting with other alumni gathered around Lao Xiang.

“I’m really not the right person,” Chen Mo said. “Let the class monitor do it.”

Lao Xiang scoffed, “He’s not qualified. He didn’t even make it to his senior year.”

There was such withering disdain in his tone that for a moment, it made Xi Siyan—graduate of a top-tier foreign university—sound like an underachiever.

Chen Mo didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Didn’t he get into university as a sophomore? That’s better than senior year, no?”

Just then, Xi Siyan walked over. As if by instinct, his hand moved to the small of Chen Mo’s back.

“I heard my name,” he said, looking at Lao Xiang. “What’s the topic?”

Lao Xiang’s sharp eyes landed on his hand behind Chen Mo’s back. He responded curtly, “Nothing. I asked Chen Mo to talk to the students, and he pushed you out instead.”

Instead of pulling back, Xi Siyan moved even closer, pressing lightly against Chen Mo’s back.

“Am I not qualified to talk?” he asked, raising a brow.

Lao Xiang was the only teacher who had ever truly known the original connection between these two. After Xi Siyan went abroad, he’d seen firsthand how diligently Chen Mo had worked—how he’d pushed himself. He never believed it had nothing to do with Xi Siyan.

Now, seeing their current relationship, he felt a complicated mix of emotions—some resignation, but mostly relief. At least Chen Mo had someone who truly cared.

“Chen Mo is my proudest student,” Lao Xiang said, not bothering to hide his bias. “He’s more suited for it than you.”

“Oh?” Xi Siyan chuckled. “Funny, I heard you scolded him pretty hard after the college entrance exam.”

Old Xiang looked like he’d suffered a sudden spike in blood pressure.

He waved them off. “Fine. You go then. Say whatever you want.”

They walked forward side by side.

“Did I really get you scolded?” Xi Siyan asked quietly.

Chen Mo watched Lao Xiang’s retreating back, lips curving up slightly. “Not exactly. There was another reason.”

“What was it?”

“Well, I did badly on some of the last mock exams. Especially math—it was all over the place. Lao Xiang thought I’d lost focus. He kept telling me to keep my head straight, kept saying that a breakup wasn’t the end of the world.”

He chuckled and pushed up the bridge of his nose. “But in the actual exam, the points I lost were in physics. That’s what broke him.”

He said it all lightly, brushing past the ache of that time—those days drowning in endless problem sets, pushing forward without pause.

But Xi Siyan turned his head and looked at him, eyes tracing every detail, as if trying to peer through his current calm and see the weight Chen Mo had borne back then.

Then, gently, he pressed a kiss to the top of Chen Mo’s head.

—

Class 1 of Grade 3 hadn’t changed classrooms.

They were still in the same spot—same desks, same layout—just a new generation.

Chen Mo, Lao Gou, and a few other old classmates stood quietly at the back door, watching Xi Siyan walk in from the front, introduced by Lao Xiang.

Dressed in a suit and tie, Mr. Xi had the kind of poised authority that came with his role—and his presence alone quieted the room.

He kept his intro short. No fanfare. Just straight to a Q&A.

At first, the students were shy.

“Was senior year stressful for you?”

“I didn’t make it to senior year,” Xi Siyan said. “I was admitted early through the physics competition in sophomore year.”

A collective gasp swept the classroom.

“Was studying easy for you?”

“Any result that looks easy takes hard work. I got tired too,” he said, then added casually, “But for me, studying wasn’t that difficult.”

—

At the back door:

“Xi Gou is still like this. Infuriating as ever.”

“Seriously, what if all the students just give up after hearing him?”

But surprisingly, the room grew more relaxed.

The questions started coming faster:

“How do you write a Chinese essay if you have nothing to say?”

“Any tricks for memorization?”

“How old are you now, Senior?”

“What if my parents don’t approve of my relationship?”

“Have you ever been in a relationship during high school?”

To that last one, Xi Siyan nodded.

“Of course.”

A wave of laughter, whistles, and table-slapping followed. Lao Xiang gave him a warning glare.

Xi Siyan just looked calmly at the back row of the classroom. He raised his chin and said, “That student sleeping back there.”

Everyone turned. A boy in uniform, half-slumped on his desk, was shaken awake and sat up, looking lost.

“Right there,” Xi Siyan continued. “That’s the best spot for sunlight in the whole room. It’s very comfortable to nap there, isn’t it?”

The boy looked dazed.

People thought he was about to get scolded.

But then—Xi Siyan said softly:

“That’s where the person I liked used to sit.”

The room exploded.

“DAAAMN.”

“SENIOR, YOU’RE A LEGEND.”

“Lao Xiang’s about to explode!”

It was the peak of the entire event.

At the back door, Chen Mo pushed his glasses up, watching the man on stage. The golden afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, and for a second, it felt like time had reversed.

It was just like that day years ago—when Chen Mo had returned with a bottle of water, and Xi Siyan was on the podium, keeping order while the teacher was out.

—

The students kept asking questions:

“So… did you break up with the person you liked?”

“Are you still together?”

“What does she—or he—do now?”

But Xi Siyan didn’t answer.

And when the Q&A ended, the classroom emptied quickly—students rushing out, piling onto the balcony outside to talk, laugh, and shout.

Like they were trying to hold onto this moment for as long as possible.

Ten minutes after stepping off the podium, the man who had captivated the entire classroom now stood beside someone just as tall, with long legs and a presence that seemed to capture the ideal image of a first love—at least in the eyes of every student with a romantic streak. The two walked side by side, surrounded by a sea of classmates, yet no one could break into the quiet, private world that seemed to envelop them.

Chen Mo didn’t notice the glances behind him.

But at dinner that night, Xi Siyan couldn’t avoid being forced to drink.

They were all classmates, and everyone knew Chen Mo had sat in the back row of the experimental class from sophomore year all the way to graduation. Those who still half-doubted the reality of their relationship accused Siyan of not being considerate enough in the past.

Xi Siyan took every glass handed to him without hesitation. His drinking tolerance was absurd—glass after glass, and he still looked perfectly composed.

Ironically, it was Chen Mo, stuck in the most crowded part of the room, who was tricked into drinking a depth charge. When Siyan turned around and saw it, his face went dark in an instant.

The guy who had handed over the drink, still clueless, asked, “What? What’s wrong?”

“He had stomach surgery before New Year’s. For a bleeding ulcer,” Xi Siyan ground out through clenched teeth.

Without another word, he threw his coat to Qi Lin, picked Chen Mo up by the arm, and marched him straight to the bathroom.

Standing by the sink, Xi Siyan asked, frowning, “Do you want to throw up?”

Chen Mo simply rinsed his hands and looked sideways at him. There was a slight flush on his cheeks from the alcohol, but he didn’t look drunk. Leaning lazily against the counter, he shook his head. “Don’t be dramatic. The surgery was weeks ago.”

Xi Siyan still wasn’t reassured. He rolled up his sleeves and called someone to bring medicine.

Chen Mo waited quietly, then tilted his head and asked, “Do you want to go back?”

“No,” Xi Siyan replied. “We’ll get the meds, say goodbye to Lao Xiang, and then leave.”

Without warning, Chen Mo leaned in and kissed him.

He hooked an arm around Xi Siyan’s neck, pushed him back against the tiled wall, and took control—deep and direct, their tongues tangling with reckless heat.

Siyan didn’t respond at first, startled. But soon, he responded with equal hunger. When the kiss finally slowed, he cradled the back of Chen Mo’s neck, gently pried him away, and removed his glasses.

“You say you’re fine,” he said hoarsely, “but you’re obviously drunk.”

“Just one glass.” Chen Mo smirked, but his eyes turned hazy. A distant memory surfaced—one he thought he’d forgotten: in his past life, after a project social event, he’d blacked out. But now he remembered faintly—he had wrapped himself around Xi Siyan’s neck on the street, only to be pushed away, coldly.

Half-drunk, half-awake, Chen Mo leaned in again and murmured, “You were really cruel back then.” He whispered closer, “Don’t push me away this time. Kiss me.”

Xi Siyan stilled.

It wasn’t just the words—it was the rawness in them. It hit a place inside him he didn’t expect. The guilt. The years of distance. The fact that even now, there was still a sliver of space between them.

He moved.

His body closed in with gravity, his breath turning heavier.

That night, the two of them never returned to the banquet.

Later, the group only received a message that they had left early.

Some classmates, unwilling to let them off so easily, bombarded them with texts:

“Seriously? Ghosting us like that?”

“Where are you two? Come back!”

But Chen Mo was in no state to reply.

His phone buzzed again and again, somewhere in the gap between the sofa cushions.

His hair was wet, his body pressed against the tall glass window, locked in place with nowhere to escape. Breathless, stripped of all poise, he was folded into the light with disheveled clothes and the flushed, trembling look of someone undone.

The pristine white shirt he wore earlier was now wrinkled around the wrists.

Xi Siyan, still fully clothed, pressed close from behind. The pale skin on Chen Mo’s waist and nape bore countless red marks, vivid under the warm lighting. His palms, braced against the glass, were ghostly white from the pressure—soon covered by a larger hand that smoothed them down, leaving fogged prints and wet streaks as evidence of their desire.

From behind, it was clear this wasn’t Genting Bay.

It was the small house Chen Mo had once rented from Xi Siyan during school.

Though he hadn’t returned in years, Xi Siyan had prepared the space in advance. The furnishings were nearly identical to how they had been. If anything, it was brighter. More livable.

Chen Mo had nowhere to hide in that bright, open space.

Gazing at the blurry reflection in the window, he grabbed Xi Siyan’s arm and gritted out between gasps, “You installed this floor-to-ceiling window… just for this?”

Siyan pulled him gently back from the chilled glass, kissed his ear, and whispered hoarsely, “No. Look outside.”

Chen Mo opened his eyes.

Through the fogged window, he could see it: the teaching building of Suicheng No. 1 Middle School, lit up for night self-study.

It reminded him of all the evenings he’d spent at his desk, head down, pen moving.

And yet, standing here now, he felt no regret.

They were just memories. Deep, meaningful—but not the end.

Still, shame burned through him. He pulled away and said, voice tight, “Let go.”

“Why?” Siyan pushed in closer, one leg parting his. “Give me a reason.”

“I have to meet a client tomorrow.”

Siyan chuckled darkly. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re afraid someone might see?”

Chen Mo turned his face away, flustered. “You’re sick, class monitor Xi.”

There was laughter behind him—deep, low, dangerous.

“One-way glass, baby,” came the answer.

Of course, Mr. Xi would never allow anyone else to see.

He’d probably tear their eyes out if they tried.

The teasing words faded, overtaken by heavier, more desperate movement. Chen Mo’s soft groans filled the room again, rising with the fever that seemed to possess the house.

At precisely 9 p.m., the smart speaker—linked to Xinrui’s AI system—chimed in the bedroom:

“Tomorrow’s forecast is sunny. High of 28°C. Air quality: Excellent. Suitable for outings, travel, marriage, and spending time with loved ones.”

For some, a missed chance lasts a lifetime.

Some never turn back once they’ve walked away.

But because he couldn’t let go.
Because he still loved him.
Because it had always been him—

For them, this time, everything was just right.

And every day from now on would be the start of their forever.