Chapter 35

That move was basically pointless grandstanding.
In future major board decisions, Jing Miao would now have to attend too—was he really someone who could make those calls?
Xi Siyan had no hope left for the third “betrothal gift” Su Wan prepared.
He opened it with a roll of his eyes—then froze.
It was a donation agreement.
In both Jing Miao’s and Xi Siyan’s names, they would donate 20 million yuan to the XX County Orphanage.
Xi Siyan smiled.
Even if Jing Miao could never reach his own past again, they were still grateful to that poor, struggling orphanage that had never given up on a single child.
It had not only saved many lives.
It had also given Xi’s parents a lovable son—and given their family warmth.
“Miaomiao, tomorrow go thank Mom, okay?”
Jing Miao didn’t understand the document, but seeing Xi Siyan happy made him happy too.
“Okay~”
…
There was basically nothing to discuss about the wedding.
Whatever Xi Siyan said, Jing Miao said yes. No opinions, no preferences.
Xi Siyan asked helplessly, “Miaomiao, don’t you have anything you want for your own wedding?”
“I do,” Jing Miao nodded seriously. “As long as it’s gege marrying with me.”
Xi Siyan went speechless, heart pounding. “Good baby.”
He lost control and kissed him hard, pulling him tight into his arms.
“I love you.”
Kissed until soft and dizzy, Jing Miao mumbled, “Gege, let’s just go to bed.”
Outside, drums thundered and firecrackers roared.
Inside, there was only ragged breathing, unguarded sobbing, and endless *I love you*s.
On the eve of final exams in Jing Miao’s second semester of junior year, the project Xi Siyan helped lead passed national testing.
The aerospace materials field erupted.
Huada won another major honor.
Normally this kind of research news didn’t draw broad public attention—school honors usually only set Huada students on fire.
But this project had a twenty-nine-year-old rising star whose looks were too striking.
Combined with the university’s centennial celebration, Xi Siyan’s interview and photos spread fast.
Huada students were ecstatic: *That’s our campus king!*
Netizens teased: *He’s 29 and still “campus king”?*
Huada students shot back:
*Men are forever young. Xi Siyan is forever Huada’s campus king.*
Huada had a stadium used for campus events and sports meets only. It ranked top five in the capital. For a centennial celebration—where alumni from every field returned, plus celebrities, city and provincial leaders, and Ministry of Education officials—the commendation conference naturally had to be huge, loud, and youth-oriented.
They wanted “online gala” scale.
Of course, they couldn’t actually reach that scale.
Because Xi Siyan had suddenly become half an internet celebrity, the university insisted he appear on stage.
Even though Materials was a flagship discipline and had made stunning achievements this year, Huada had many top programs and many heavyweight scholars, leaders, and guest performers to speak.
Xi Siyan thought he’d just be up there a few minutes.
Instead, too many important guests meant endless early speeches; chaos piled up, and they waited backstage forever.
When he finally got on stage, the live director cut to a close-up of Xi Siyan on the giant screen.
The students below instantly went feral.
The excitement broke the event rhythm.
Compared with celebrities and famous alumni long graduated, “Campus Xi” whom students might actually see on campus was clearly more electrifying.
He gave them a sense of belonging.
Under massive roaring sound, the Materials team tried to deliver what was almost a silent report.
Professor Jin forced through a paragraph, then realized he couldn’t even hear himself.
He shoved the mic into Xi Siyan’s hand and feigned anger:
“You speak! They want to hear you!”
Sure enough, once the mic reached Xi Siyan, the audience gradually quieted.
Xi Siyan felt awkward.
He had prepared no script at all.
A wordless awkward silence dragged nearly thirty seconds—long enough for the audience to start laughing.
Professor Jin glared. “Why are you just standing there?”
Xi Siyan had no choice but to stiffly repeat Professor Jin’s points: project achievements, blessings for Huada’s 100th birthday, hopes for an even better future.
Less than thirty seconds.
Even more awkward.
Xi Siyan thought, *Huada should’ve assigned a host.*
He tried to end the segment:
“I’m not good with words, so I’ll stop here…”
“No!” someone from below shouted. “We want to hear about your boyfriend!”
“OHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
The formal report section had already ended anyway.
The student-led flow was all laughter and playfulness—easy, inclusive, high-energy.
Honor, gossip, and confessions blended together.
As the nation’s top university, Huada’s campus climate was ahead of its time.
At “boyfriend,” the crowd exploded again; even leaders in front rows smiled.
Backstage control protested symbolically:
“Ahem, what are you doing? This is a serious commendation conference!”
Students didn’t buy it:
“You put Campus Xi on stage—then let him say what we actually want to hear!”
They started chanting in unison:
“Show PDA! Show PDA! Show PDA!”
Control’s token resistance was useless; unable to beat the crowd, they joined:
“Then Student Xi Siyan can say a few lines.”
Xi Siyan: “……”
He looked at the dark sea of people.
He had mild myopia and couldn’t tell whether Jing Miao was there.
When he left home that morning, none of this had been scheduled. He’d been working normally at the institute when school leadership suddenly dragged him to the stadium.
He had assumed “a few minutes,” so his phone stayed in the office.
Now nearly three hours had passed.
He still hadn’t contacted Jing Miao.
He didn’t know where Jing Miao was.
He didn’t know whether, unable to reach him, the kid was hiding and crying again.
The bizarre crowd shouting only made him more frantic.
Professor Jin mocked him:
“Oh please. Usually when you call him you’re so mushy we all become invisible. Now not a single word?”
“Professor…” Xi Siyan muttered.