The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 74 - 74 - Rightful place

Bian sat hunched over the wobbly dining table, a bowl of lukewarm chicken soup in front of him. The sour stench of grease filled the air, and the sight of his grandmother gnawing loudly on a chicken leg made his stomach churn. Fat dribbled down her chin, and the wet smacking of her chewing reverberated through the dimly lit room. A stray bit of chicken flew from her mouth and stuck to his cheek.

”Jian, that bastard!” she spat, her voice a mix of contempt and fury. ”He stole what was supposed to be yours. He’s a fake, Bian. A fraud. Eat up—we’ll show them. We’ll make them see you’re the real one.”

Her words were punctuated by the flying remnants of her meal. Bian wiped his face, his hand trembling. The clarity in his thoughts sharpened as anger and indignation churned in his chest.

”Yes,” he muttered, his voice low but resolute. ”I’m the real one. If I demand a blood test, the Wang family will know Jian isn’t theirs.”

But doubt seeped in. What if the truth about Jian being an alien surfaced? Would they treasure him more? His thoughts spiraled into a dark abyss. No, the alien invasion hadn’t happened yet. If they found out now, they’d cast Jian away—and then they’d take Bian in.

He slammed his chopsticks on the table, the sound reverberating in the small room. ”Grandma, let’s go get my family back.”

Her grin was toothy and triumphant, bits of meat still clinging to her teeth. ”That’s my boy!” she cackled, wiping her hands on her already grease-stained dress.

For a fleeting moment, Bian considered leaving her behind. Her habits repulsed him—the constant chewing, the unapologetic filth. But he swallowed his disdain. He needed her, for now. Once he was in the Wang family, he wouldn’t have to tolerate her anymore. A cruel smirk twisted his lips as he began to pack.

The bus ride was unbearable. Pressed into a corner seat, Bian was squished against a massive man whose sweat-soaked shirt reeked of sour fish. Every jostle of the bus pushed the man further into Bian’s space, and his rancid breath made Bian’s stomach churn violently. He clenched his fists, willing himself not to vomit.

’I was supposed to be rich!’ he thought bitterly. ’Why do I have to deal with this filth?’

When he had first transmigrated into the novel as a baby, he had been ecstatic. Knowing the plot gave him an edge. He was the son of a powerful conglomerate, destined for wealth and influence. But that joy was short-lived. Reality was harsh—he was stuck eating gruel in a rundown shack. The thought of Jian stealing his rightful place made his blood boil.

’I’ll fucking deal with him after I gain the Wang family’s power. Fuck that bitch. He deserves to die! No, I will slowly make him suffer. Maybe sell him to a grimy looser like this one.’

As if on cue, the man beside him let out a loud, fishy burp directly in his face. That was the last straw. Bian’s stomach gave out, and he vomited all over himself.

By the time they arrived in the city, night had fallen. Bian’s white shirt, chosen to enhance his image of innocence, was stained and reeking. Fury simmered in his chest as he glared at his ruined appearance. ”I should’ve punched that disgusting pig in his filthy mouth!” he fumed internally.

Too ashamed to present himself to the Wang family in such disarray, they settled for a dingy motel. The bed was riddled with bedbugs, and Bian spent the night swatting and scratching. By morning, he looked anything but composed. Dark circles marred his once-pristine face, and his usually pristine demeanor had crumbled.

”Fuck this!” he hissed, scrubbing himself clean in the cramped bathroom. He applied blush under his eyes to mask the evidence of his sleepless night, forcing his reflection to appear delicate and pitiable.

”This will have to do,” he muttered.

The Wang mansion loomed before him, grand and imposing. The massive gates framed a sprawling garden with a fountain sparkling in the morning sun. Bian’s eyes glimmered with longing as he clutched the cold iron bars.

”This is my family,” he whispered to himself. ”The life I was meant to live.”

”Who are you here to see, sir?” A guard’s voice broke through his thoughts. The man emerged from a small booth, his gaze scrutinizing. ”You look like...”

”Yes, I’m the young master,” Bian interrupted with a soft smile, trying to sound composed.

The guard hesitated, his brow furrowing in confusion. ”Young master? Oh, I mean... uh, if you’re the young master, then... could you tell me the password?” His tone wavered, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation.

Bian’s smile faltered, irritation creeping into his voice. ”Password? That’s ridiculous. Do you want my father to wait because of your nonsense?”

The guard shuffled nervously, his eyes darting toward the mansion as if seeking reassurance. ”I—well, I can’t let anyone in without the password. It’s, um, protocol.” He forced a sheepish smile, clearly uncomfortable but resolute.

Frustration bubbled over. ”You’re wasting my time! Call my father!”

The guard’s awkwardness began to fade, replaced by a more guarded expression. ”I don’t have the authority to call the master,” he said, his tone growing colder. ”But I can contact the assistant to confirm your identity.”

Bian clenched his fists, fury surging through him. ’I’ll fire this idiot the moment I’m back in this house,’ he thought venomously.

Minutes later, the guard returned, his demeanor entirely transformed. His earlier uncertainty was gone, replaced by a grim, professional coldness. ”Sorry, sir. You don’t have an appointment. Please leave, or I’ll have to call the authorities.”

”What? I am his son!” Bian snapped, desperation leaking into his voice.

The guard’s expression didn’t budge. ”The young master is already in the house,” he said flatly. ”You’re not him.”

The guard’s gaze turned steely, and his smile tightened into something that was more of a warning than a gesture of kindness. ”Now leave before I stop being cordial.”