The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 155: Chapter 155 - Crunchy noddles

On the other side, Jian sat in the crumbling husk of a city, near a weak fire made of broken chair legs and old signs.

His eyes were hollow, dull from exhaustion. He sat cross-legged on the cracked asphalt floor of what used to be a parking garage, now their makeshift shelter for the night. The fire between them sputtered and popped, casting jittery shadows on the walls.

Across from him sat the Farian man.

He still didn’t know the guy’s name. The others had only called him ”General” in that stiff, formal way. So Jian just called him that in his head. ”General.” Cold, unreadable, tall as hell. Like a soldier sculpted out of stone and way too serious for his own good.

Currently, this towering, no-nonsense alien man was glaring down at a metal pot like it had insulted his ancestors.

Jian blinked slowly, watching in silence.

The General picked up a packet of instant noodles. Turned it over. Flipped it back. Squinted.

Then he brought it up to his face and... sniffed it?

Jian raised an eyebrow.

The General tore it open too fast, scattering bits of dry noodle like confetti across the concrete. He stared at the mess, then looked back at the pot of water, which—after twenty minutes of effort—still wasn’t properly boiling.

The fire sputtered again, and the pot tipped slightly to the side. The General reached to steady it, yelped a quiet curse in Farian under his breath, and glared at the flames like it was their fault.

”Need help?” Jian asked dryly, not moving.

The man ignored him.

Instead, the General picked up the half-empty noodle block with both hands, broke it in half again for reasons unknown, and dunked the entire thing into the pot with a splash.

Jian blinked.

”Is it supposed to go in before the water boils?” he asked, not because he cared, but because watching this was becoming its own kind of bizarre entertainment.

The General grunted.

Jian sighed and looked to his side.

Qungya was sitting beside Jian, legs pulled up under him, one small hand rubbing his stomach with a very audible whine.

”You hungry?” Jian asked.

Qungya nodded solemnly.

Jian sighed again and looked back at the pot. ”He’s taking forever.”

”I heard that,” the General muttered without looking up.

”Good,” Jian muttered right back.

The General then did something truly cursed—he opened the silver packet of seasoning and just dumped the entire contents into the pot before the noodles had even begun to soften. Then stirred it with the handle of a fork. He then proceeded to throw in some biscuits and emptied a tea sachet in it.

Jian stared.

”What the hell are you doing?” he finally asked.

”I am preparing nourishment,” the General said in that same dead-serious voice. ”For the human child. I head tea is very healthy...”

Qungya wrinkled his nose at the steam rising from the pot and leaned toward Jian. ”Is he going to poison us?”

”Probably,” Jian mumbled.

The General stood stiffly and took two cracked bowls. He very carefully began spooning out the barely-cooked noodles into the bowls with an expression of deep concentration, like this was a sacred ritual.

He handed one bowl to Jian and one to the kid.

Jian looked down at the contents. The noodles were stiff, only partly rehydrated, and floating in grayish, salty broth. Little specks of seasoning clung to the side like flakes of paint. One noodle still had the dry-crunchy texture of being halfway between edible and a dental hazard.

Quangya bravely lifted a forkful to his lips and chewed.

Then he gagged, quietly, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

”Thank you,” the kid said anyway. He gave the General a polite nod.

Jian snorted. ”What a polite little liar.”

”I can still hear you,” the General said again, calm but clearly irritated.

”Good again,” Jian muttered.

Eren stood a short distance away, arms folded across his chest, watching with furrowed brows and slightly parted lips. His gaze remained locked on the sight in front of him—his general, the great Xing Yu, a man who had won countless campaigns, subdued rebellious planets, and earned a reputation as the cold, strategic demon of Farian command... now crouched beside a tiny, smoking fire, diligently rinsing used bowls in silence.

He wasn’t even grimacing while doing it.

Instead, Xing Yu’s face held a light frown of focus as he wiped a spot off one bowl with the corner of his uniform, and then quietly stacked them together. He even adjusted the pot to a more stable position on the fire. Then, without being asked, he stirred the watery ramen again and poked it with the fork to ensure it wasn’t sticking.

Eren blinked.

Was this real?

The sight was almost sacrilegious. This man was royalty-adjacent. His name alone could cause a minor planetary council to shake in their boots.

And here he was... fluttering around the prince like a handmaiden. No, worse—like a very, very eager one.

Eren opened his communicator behind the cover of his coat and quickly typed a message to the trusted group thread of his fellow elite unit.

Eren: {Guys, have you EVER seen the General cook and serve someone noodles...??}

The response was immediate chaos.

Laron: {This Eren is messing with us again.}

Kira: {Go do your damn job. If the General catches you playing on your communicator, he’ll make you retake physical training.}

Eren pouted. He never joked about this. He zoomed in on the scene, sneaking another peek.

Xing Yu was now pushing the bowl slightly closer to the human prince—Jian—with something that almost resembled care. He didn’t speak, but he had just turned the bowl’s angle a little, like he wanted the boy to notice it looked more appetizing that way.

Good grief, Eren thought. The man really was trying to feed him like it was a courtship ritual.

Eren itched to take a picture. Just one photo to back up this madness. He had a perfect angle. It wouldn’t show Jian’s face. No risk of location leaks.

So he snapped it. A quick picture of the ramen pot. But when he checked the image...

Crap.

Xing Yu’s hand was in the frame. Clear, strong, unmistakably his hand—those long fingers, the faint Farian-blue vein that ran under the wrist, the signature black command ring that no one else wore. Dammit.

He had only meant to show the noodles.

Too late.

The chat exploded.

Zae: {THAT’S MY GOD’S HAND.}

Laron: {Confirmed. I recognize it too.}

Haejin: {!!!!!}

Roka: {Wait. What?? The General is cooking???}

Nira: {For WHO?!}

Lea: {NO!! The General doesn’t have a mate. I thought... I thought I had a chance...}

Sorel: {Which Earthen vixen stole him?!}

Rael: {EVERYONE SHUT UP. The General deserves to find love.}

Nira: {BUT NOT ON EARTH! He’s supposed to find a Farian mate! This is blasphemy!!}

Eren hastily muted the thread as the chat continued spiraling.

He glanced back up and nearly dropped his communicator when Xing Yu looked directly at him. His golden eyes narrowed faintly, like he knew something. Eren straightened like a rod and saluted.

Xing Yu stared for a second too long, then slowly turned back to his fire.

Eren exhaled shakily. He was lucky he hadn’t been dragged over for immediate sparring practice.

The air had grown colder as the fire settled into glowing embers, sending flickers of orange flecks.

Jian shifted on the rough ground, pulling Qungya closer into his lap. The boy was already half asleep, tiny fingers curled into Jian’s jacket, his cheek nestled against his chest.

He was small and thin, barely warm, and Jian could feel the cold creeping in from the floor.

He curled around him tighter, tucking the child’s head under his chin, trying to conserve every bit of heat.

”You alright?” came a soft voice.

Jian blinked, looking up.

Xing Yu stood beside him, his tall frame casting a gentle shadow over them. He didn’t wait for an answer. With a smooth gesture, he pulled something from the space button clipped to his belt. A thick, dark coat shimmered into reality in his hands—standard Farian issue, sleek and insulated—and without a word, he knelt and gently draped it over Jian and Qungya both.

Warmth engulfed Jian instantly.

It was so sudden and absolute it took his breath away. His back, once aching and cold, now pressed against the inside lining of the coat that still carried the faintest trace of the man’s scent—crisp, clean, and strangely comforting.

Jian froze.

Then slowly looked up.

Xing Yu hadn’t moved back yet. He remained crouched in front of them, one hand still lingering lightly on the coat’s shoulder, like he was making sure it was positioned properly. His gray eyes caught Jian’s—and for a moment, everything else fell away.

The fire crackled softly behind him.

Jian’s breath hitched in his throat.

He quickly dicked his head into the coat hiding his slightly blushing cheeks. Now he can’t afford to trust anyone. Not afford to give his heart to anyone either...