The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 142: Chapter 142 - Part of the tribe

Jian crouched beside the little boy silently, gently pouring water into his own palm and pouring it over the child’s fingers. The boy winced once—quietly—but didn’t pull away.

”There,” Jian murmured. ”Almost clean.”

He took a strip of torn cloth from his pocket and carefully dabbed the boy’s small hand dry. The touch was light, as if afraid the boy might vanish if he pressed too hard.

The boy lifted his chin slowly, revealing wide, glistening eyes and a tiny, gap-toothed smile. ”Thanks, Mister Jian.”

Jian blinked at the innocent grin before a soft chuckle left him. He reached out and tousled the boy’s tangled hair, ruffling it affectionately. ”What’s your name, kid?”

The smile on the boy’s face grew even brighter. For a moment, he radiated like a little sun—pure, warm, and untouched by the horrors they’d just escaped.

But instead of answering, the boy took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Jian’s leg, clinging like a vine desperate for shelter.

”If I say my name...” the boy began softly, his voice suddenly fragile, ”you have to promise to always keep me.”

Jian’s hands froze in midair.

The warmth in his chest faltered, and a strange stillness settled over him. His breath hitched quietly.

The boy must have felt it—his grip loosened, and he slowly looked away. The light in his eyes dimmed.

”My dad left me,” he whispered, ”and now Mom... You won’t leave me too, right, Mister Jian?”

His bottom lip trembled as he fought to keep his voice steady.

”I’m strong. I can—watch.”

He squatted quickly and picked up a chunk of broken concrete, lifting it with all his might and presenting it with both hands. It wasn’t much—Jian could have lifted it with a single finger—but in the boy’s hands, it looked like a boulder.

”I can help you!” he said quickly. ”I can even cook! My mom said I make the best omelets!!”

His voice cracked, but he still tried to smile.

”So... so please don’t leave me...”

The words spilled out in a frantic breath, like his entire heart had just tumbled from his chest.

Jian stood there, staring down at the boy’s quivering frame. The makeshift concrete ’gift’ trembled in his tiny hands. The silence stretched for one, two, three heartbeats.

Then Jian knelt.

He lowered himself down without a word and wrapped both arms around the boy’s thin shoulders, pulling him gently into a hug.

The boy gasped at the contact, stiff at first—then melted into the warmth.

”I won’t,” Jian said, firm and low in his chest. ”I promise. I won’t leave you.”

He pulled back just enough to look the boy in the eye, brushing the dirt from his cheeks with a thumb.

”And don’t call me Mister Jian,” he said, offering a gentle smile. ”I’m your older brother now, okay?”

The boy’s mouth fell open slightly. His breath caught in his throat—and then his eyes welled with tears.

”Y-yeah... Yes. Older brother,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

And then he threw his arms around Jian’s neck, holding tight, clinging like a child afraid the world might rip him away again.

Jian hugged him back without hesitation, his jaw tightening against the lump rising in his throat.

In a world so broken and cruel, something small and precious had found its way into his hands.

Jian adjusted his grip around the boy’s shoulders and smiled as he felt the child’s heartbeat begin to settle. The boy pulled back just enough to wipe his eyes with his sleeves, cheeks still wet but glowing with warmth.

”So,” Jian said softly, brushing a strand of hair from the boy’s forehead, ”what’s your name?”

The boy sniffled once and then grinned. ”Qungya,” he said proudly. ”That’s my name.”

Jian smiled, the sound of it settling into his memory like a soft lullaby. ”Qungya, huh? That’s a nice name.”

Qungya let out a bell-like laugh, the pure kind that echoed softly through the ruined building like a wind chime caught in a gentle breeze. It was light, joyous, and entirely untainted by the chaos of the world they were in.

From several paces away, Xing Yu stood watching them with arms folded loosely across his chest, a subtle smile playing on his lips. The sun filtered weakly through the cracks in the ceiling, casting streaks of gold over the Farian’s sharp features.

Farians were a social species by nature. Isolation was poison to their kind, and though they adapted well to Earth, it had taken a toll on his little prince. Jian, though he would never say it aloud, had been wilting—slowly, quietly. Left adrift, detached from his kind, the brilliant heat that once radiated from him had dimmed.

But now, with Qungya pressed against his side, Jian’s aura seemed warmer—more radiant.

Even if the child was human, that didn’t matter. Jian had accepted him. His choice was made, and Xing Yu would honor it.

Qungya was now a part of their tribe.

Still, Xing Yu’s mind was already calculating—how to arrange accommodations in Gia, how to integrate both the boy and the old man they still needed to find. Human bodies required slightly different nutrients, and the boy’s small frame would need monitoring during growth. Special food rations might need to be arranged. Sheltering the child would not be difficult; emotional security was the true task.

A sudden rustling broke through the warm atmosphere, jarring them all back to the present.

Jian immediately shifted, rising smoothly to his feet. His arm instinctively moved to block Qungya, who clutched his leg and looked around with wide eyes.

Two massive figures emerged from the shadow of the corridor. The sound of metal softly sliding against itself filled the air as they stepped forward, their black armor gleaming faintly beneath a layer of dust and ash.

Their bodies were powerfully built—shoulders broad, chests thick, and limbs wrapped in sleek, fluid armor that clung to them like a second skin. Each step they took left faint impressions in the cracked concrete.

Jian’s fingers closed around the hilt of his sword.

He tensed, legs braced protectively in front of the boy, eyes narrowing as the strangers came closer. His voice was low, sharp with warning. ”Don’t move another step.”

The two figures paused.

A subtle hum escaped one of their suits—a vibration like a low frequency rumble, neither threatening nor retreating. They lifted their hands slowly, palms outward to show they were unarmed.

One of them finally spoke, voice slightly modulated behind the helmet.

”We come in peace??”

Jian’s brows tightened.

He glanced toward Xing Yu, who nodded in confirmation. ”They’re mine. Subordinates of mine. I called them ahead to prepare a route back to Gia.”