The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 190: Chapter 190 - A lychee plant

Nansich sobbed hard into Jian’s shirt, the sleeves of his tattered hoodie damp from tears and snot. After a long moment, he suddenly pulled away, his small hands gripping Jian’s arms.

”My grandpa... my grandpa...” he gasped, voice cracking into high-pitched desperation.

Before Jian could speak, Nansich tried to scramble to his feet. But his legs buckled the moment he stood. He stumbled forward awkwardly and collapsed against the floorboards with a thud, groaning in frustration.

”I need to go to him!” he yelled, trying again, crawling now as if the sheer force of his will would move his numbed limbs. ”He told me to hide! When that thing came in... he—he made me hide! He knocked me out—I didn’t get to say anything—I—”

His words broke down into ragged sobs.

Jian’s eyes widened. His throat closed up.

Without thinking, he wrapped his arms tightly around Nansich from behind, pulling the trembling boy back into his chest.

”Nansich—wait—” Jian whispered, his voice catching as he held him tight, bracing him from chasing something that could no longer be reached.

”Let go! I need to go to him—he needs me!” Nansich shouted, trying to twist out of Jian’s arms, beating at his hands weakly. ”He’s waiting! I didn’t even get to say goodbye—!”

Jian’s own heart ached. He felt it deep in his chest—something sharp and cruel clawing at his insides.

”Nansich...” he said, his voice quieter now, heavier. ”He’s... he’s gone.”

The struggling stopped.

Jian felt the younger boy’s entire body freeze in his arms.

Nansich didn’t say anything at first. Then slowly, his limbs went limp. The strength drained out of him like someone had unplugged him from life.

He slumped into Jian’s arms, chest heaving as the reality began to hit.

”No...” he whispered. A tiny, breathless word.

”No...” again. Louder this time.

And then— ”NO!!” Nansich screamed.

He collapsed onto the floor, face buried in his hands, and wailed. A sound so raw it scraped against Jian’s spine. It wasn’t just grief—it was devastation, panic, helplessness. The sound of a world ending.

Jian knelt beside him, arms still around his shoulders, unable to say anything. There were no words that could mend something this broken. No comfort that could erase this kind of pain.

Nansich cried until his voice cracked. Until his breath hitched with every inhale. Until his body shook so badly he could barely hold himself up.

Jian stayed with him.

He held him.

He didn’t let go.

After Nansich finally calmed down—his face blotchy, his sobs reduced to shuddering breaths—Jian helped him stand. The boy wobbled slightly on his feet, his legs still half-dead from the long time spent crammed into the wardrobe. But he didn’t complain. He just looked up at Jian once, eyes swollen and red, then silently walked toward the door.

Jian followed him, his chest still heavy.

Outside, the light had softened—sunlight filtering gently through the fruit trees, swaying with the wind. The scent of ripe lychees and early peaches filled the air, but neither of them noticed.

Nansich walked ahead until he saw the body.

The older man’s corpse lay in the grass beside the mutilated grayling, rake still clenched tightly in one hand. His balding head was tilted slightly to the side, and his expression, though still and pale, had a strange peace to it—as if in those last moments, he’d been proud.

Jian knelt down beside him, hand reaching out to gently close the old man’s eyes again, just in case they’d fluttered open. Nansich didn’t speak. He didn’t wail. But silent tears kept slipping from his eyes, even though his jaw was clenched tightly shut.

”We should bury him,” Jian murmured.

A quiet nod from Nansich.

Xing Yu stepped forward then. Without a word, he moved to the edge of the orchard, found a soft patch of earth beneath one of the younger lychee trees, and began to dig. The soil gave way easily under his strength. Each shovel of earth flew aside with graceful efficiency, no hesitation.

Nansich and Jian stood back and watched. Neither of them spoke.

When the hole was ready, Jian helped Nansich lift the body and gently carry it to the makeshift grave. They placed him down with care, straightening the collar of his faded work shirt, arranging his hands so he looked like he was simply sleeping.

As the dirt covered the old man’s body, Nansich remained quiet. His shoulders trembled, but he didn’t make a sound. He just stared.

When the mound was complete, Nansich knelt by it, reaching into the bag slung around his shoulder. He pulled out a tiny lychee seedling—one that had been sitting in a water bottle cut in half, its roots tangled with moist earth. He must’ve kept it close all this time.

”This...” he whispered, voice cracking, ”this is what he wanted...”

He placed the small plant carefully into the center of the mound, patting the soil around it.

”He said... if he ever died, he wanted a lychee tree on top. So that even if no one remembered his name, they’d eat the fruit someday... and say it was sweet.”

Nansich bowed his head and touched the earth with his forehead. His whole frame trembled.

”I... I love you, Grandpa. And I’ll miss you so much,” he mumbled, almost too quiet to hear. ”I hope... in your next birth, you’ll be born into a peaceful world.”

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, fast and harsh.

”I’m not crying. Really—I’m not,” he added in a shaky voice, barely holding together. ”I’ll be a man. You raised me to be a man.”

Another sniff. Another wipe at his tears that wouldn’t stop.

”I’ll live well. I’ll eat healthy. I won’t waste food like I always did. I’ll study harder. I’ll try not to swear too much. I’ll... I’ll live...”

His words trailed off, and the boy finally broke again.

He knelt, crying into his hands, his back hunched, his body wracked with grief. Jian knelt beside him, placing a hand gently on his back. Nansich didn’t shrug him off this time. He cried freely now, the weight of finality settling in.

And above them, the young lychee plant swayed gently in the breeze.