The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 99: Chapter 99 - Taking out the tracker

On the other side of the city, Jian laid down on the creaky hotel bed, his body limp from exhaustion. The thin mattress dipped beneath him, groaning as if sharing his weariness. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, where an old fan rotated in lazy circles. The blood loss had left him dizzy, floating between numbness and sleep, but he couldn’t let himself drift off—not yet.

His skin still shimmered faintly with dried golden blood. Every movement tugged at him, every breath reminded him he was not normal—not human.

Across the room, his grandfather sat on a low stool, a towel in hand, gently wiping Jian’s arms. The water in the basin beside him had already turned a soft, metallic hue. The old man’s wrinkled fingers were steady, though his eyes held a deep, unspoken concern.

”I’ll take a bath, Grandpa,” Jian murmured, voice husky and tired. He reached out gently, removing the towel from his grandfather’s hand and offering him a small, comforting smile.

But the old man shook his head with soft insistence. ”It’s okay. I’ll give you a towel bath, son. Just sleep, alright?”

Jian sat up, his gaze sharp despite the haze in his head. He looked at his grandfather without blinking, voice low and trembling. ”Why doesn’t it bother you that I’m not human, Grandpa...? Why aren’t you scared of me?”

The old man paused. Then he gave a soft chuckle, as if the question was both painful and absurd. ”I’ve raised the both of you since you were this small,” he said, holding his hands out to the size of a watermelon. His eyes shimmered with warmth. ”How could I not know what my grandson is like?”

A faint smile crept onto Jian’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned forward, carefully holding his grandfather’s calloused hands in his own golden-streaked palms.

”You’ve always been kind,” he said quietly. ”And pure-hearted. But... Grandpa, Bian isn’t innocent anymore. You don’t know what he’s done. He’s not a child anymore.”

The old man frowned, but Jian didn’t let him speak.

”I’m your grandson. You can always trust me,” Jian whispered. ”I’ll keep you safe. I’ll make sure we survive through this.”

He turned his head slightly, his eyes drifting to the window. Outside, far in the distance, several dark ships floated ominously over the city center. The alien vessels hovered in silence, casting long shadows across the sky like vultures waiting to strike.

”I hope this ends peacefully,” his grandfather said under his breath, wringing the golden-stained towel into the bowl.

Jian said nothing. He simply stood up and walked slowly to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, sealing away the dim comfort of the room.

The Graylings did not bring a platoon of their warships to come in peace. They came here to invade. His poor innocent grandpa didn’t even realize that. If it was like last time, they would only wait for a few hours before they would blow up every single main city and main port.

Even then, Jian had no clue why the Graylings desperately wanted their planet. They did not make it explicit. But their desperate struggle with the Farians in his last life to claim their planet as their own was a sure clue that Earth had something the Graylings wanted.

Inside, the bathroom light flickered as he turned it on. A small mirror hung above the cracked sink. He stepped toward it, resting his hands on the edge, his legs trembling from weakness. His reflection stared back at him—pale, drained, hollow-eyed. Dried blood clung to his jaw, neck, and collarbones, as if painted on.

He reached up and tried to wipe it away.

The stains wouldn’t budge.

No matter how hard he scrubbed, the gold clung to him like a curse.

He splashed water on his face, again and again, but the golden sheen remained. The more he rubbed, the redder his skin became—but the gold stayed.

Jian looked at his reflection once more. His expression had hardened.

He stood trembling in front of the mirror, his breath fogging the glass.

The towel he had soaked was no longer white, now stained with streaks of gold and faint traces of red.

His fingers, slick and shaking, worked methodically as he tried to scrub off the caked blood from his chest, arms, and face.

The warm water helped, but only so much.

The metallic smell lingered—heavy, unnatural, clinging to his skin.

But then came the part he dreaded the most.

His hand, still trembling, moved up toward the back of his neck. There it was—the slight bulge beneath his skin, right between two vertebrae. A hard, foreign thing no bigger than a pill. The moment his fingers brushed against it, white-hot pain jolted through him like a lightning strike.

He flinched violently, his knees nearly buckled.

Jian stuffed a hand towel into his mouth, biting down hard until his jaw ached. His free hand clenched around the edge of the sink. He took a deep breath, bracing himself—and pushed the pill-like thing with his other hand.

Agonizing pain spread through his spine all the way over to his legs.

His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees with a hollow thud, the cold floor biting into him. Silent sobs wracked his body. His vision swam. The pain crawled up his back and down his limbs like fire ants, clawing at every nerve.

It will be fine,

It will be over... It will be over after I get this out...

Tears mixed with sweat as he forced himself to keep going.

With a last desperate push of his hand, he felt it dislodge—something small. He fell forward, hands hitting the floor to catch himself, breathing in gasps.

His entire body trembled.

But the worst was over.

For now.

********

At the same time, miles away on the darkened city roads, Xing Yu’s eyes widened as sharp pain flared in the back of his neck. It hit so suddenly, so viciously, that he swerved violently, nearly crashing into a streetlamp. He slammed the brakes just in time, the tires screeching as the car came to a jerking halt by the curb.

He clutched the steering wheel, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut.

Then the pain surged again, spreading like wildfire down his spine and into his legs. It was as if his bones themselves were vibrating with Jian’s agony. A connection—impossible to explain, but undeniable. His entire body was echoing the prince’s pain.

He couldn’t breathe.

His forehead fell to the wheel as his strength gave way. His hands shook uncontrollably, knuckles white as he gripped the leather tighter, as if that could ground him.

”Jian...” he whispered, voice cracking with panic and anguish. ”He’s in pain... He’s suffering...”

”I need to find him,” he gasped. His mind raced, panicking, heart pounding as though it would burst.

The pain pulsed again, and Xing Yu’s entire body arched against it. ”Please...” he whispered, closing his eyes. ”Hang on... I’m coming.”

There wasn’t much time.

The Graylings were already preparing to strike. He had seen the signs—ships shifting positions, communications growing silent. Earth was standing on the brink, unaware that its skies were about to fall.

And if he didn’t reach the young prince before they made their move—

He might lose him forever.

His mate.

His heart.

His reason to fight.

With a growl of desperation, Xing Yu slammed the car into gear and sped back into the city streets, blood roaring in his ears, his pain and fear driving him faster than reason.

He would find Jian.

Even if it meant burning the world to reach him.