The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 208: Chapter 208 - Weapon stash

Xing Yu froze, his breath caught mid-motion.

He’d expected many things when Jian walked up to him—resentment, maybe more scorn, another angry jab at being sidelined—but not this. Not the boy standing there, chin tilted slightly up, voice calm and full of quiet desperation. And not those eyes.

Golden.

Not just a trick of the light or some post-fight adrenaline glaze—Jian’s eyes were glowing. His once-dark pupils were now a deep, molten gold, a clear shimmering halo swirling around them like a delicate flame licking the edge of his iris. It was ethereal. Unmistakable. Unnatural.

Xing Yu had seen many things in war—eyes wide in fear, dull in death, bright in battle-frenzied bloodlust—but never something like this.

And he couldn’t look away.

The boy looked up at him with that glow in his eyes, with dirt smudged across his cheeks, a tiny cut on his temple still bleeding, and lips slightly parted like he was barely holding himself together. Yet that fire—the stubborn kind that refused to be stomped out—shined so clearly through.

Xing Yu’s heart gave a traitorous lurch in his chest. Something dangerous and old inside him tried to pull forward—some instinct that screamed to pull the boy close, wrap him up, bury him in his arms and never let go.

But his body remained locked in place.

He stood there, sword half-cleaned in his hand, shoulders tense, every fiber of him screaming to move. To reach out. To do something.

But instead, he just blinked. Slowly. Once. Twice.

And gazed down at the boy who blinked up at him with that glowing fire burning in his eyes.

”...You’ve changed,” Xing Yu said softly, almost in disbelief.

But Jian didn’t seem to notice the golden glow. He only frowned faintly, confused by Xing Yu’s sudden silence.

”Will you teach me or not?” he asked again, voice steady.

Xing Yu opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Took a breath.

Then nodded. ”Yes.”

Jian couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face the second Xing Yu nodded. His cheeks warmed with something that felt suspiciously close to glee. It was the first time in days he’d actually felt something light inside his chest. Excitement. Purpose. Hope.

Without thinking, he reached out and clasped the man’s hand in both of his, giving it a short, eager shake. ”Thank you!” he said, almost breathless.

But the hand under his touch suddenly went rigid.

Jian blinked.

And the moment crashed into him.

Crap. That was probably too familiar, wasn’t it?

He let go instantly, jerking his hands back as if he’d touched fire. Clearing his throat quickly, he looked away, pretending to brush dirt off his sleeves. ”Ahem. Sorry. Uh... when can we start training? I really want to get as strong as you guys.”

Xing Yu didn’t answer right away, still watching him, unreadable. But before the silence could stretch into something awkward, Nansich popped in from behind, nearly tripping over a branch in his hurry.

”Me too!” he shouted, throwing up a hand. ”Teach me too!”

From behind him, Eren ambled over, wiping alien goop from his cheek with the back of his hand. He arched a brow at his general. ”But you’re human,” he said with mock solemnity, eyeing Nansich as he leaned in and tapped on his forehead like a melon. ”What can you do, little guy?”

”Hey, don’t underestimate me!” Nansich yelled, leaping up to swat at him.

Eren laughed, casually grabbing the flailing arms and holding them above the kid’s head with one hand. ”Okay okay, cutie humans. You’ve got guts.”

”Don’t call me cute!” Nansich barked, cheeks flushed pink in outrage as he struggled in Eren’s hold.

Meanwhile, Jian stood a little apart from them all, quietly observing. He was still feeling the weight of Xing Yu’s hand in his.

He dared a glance upward.

Xing was watching the banter, his mouth tugged slightly in what might have been the hint of a smile. His white hair was a mess, a few streaks of black tar-like blood tangled in the strands, drying against his temple and along his cheek. His long coat was battered, torn slightly at the edge, and his pale throat glistened faintly under the blood-splatter and sweat.

And yet...

Jian gulped.

He was still stupidly, ridiculously beautiful.

Damn it.

Coughing again to distract himself, Jian sharply turned his head away, pretending to be interested in a nearby bush. His ears felt hot.

Don’t stare. Don’t be weird. He’s your teacher now, not your eye candy. Definitely not eye candy...

Except he kind of was.

Darn. He is hot.

”Are all humans this cuteee” Eren grinned mischievously and spread his arms wide. ”Come on, cutie. Let big bro Eren give you a hug for bravery!”

”Don’t call me that!” Nansich shrieked, face going red again.

But Eren was already lunging forward dramatically, arms open as if about to scoop him up into a suffocating embrace.

Nansich scrambled back, hands waving wildly. ”Get away from me, you alien freak!”

”I’m an elite Farian, thank you very much,” Eren said with a pout, though he didn’t stop. ”Come onnn, just one cuddle for surviving the giant squid monster.”

Just as Eren was about to grab him, a gloved hand clamped down on his shoulder. Varon, silent as ever, had appeared beside them, his expression unreadable.

”Don’t bully the weak,” he said, voice low but firm.

That single line made Eren stiffen in place. ”Hey, who’s bullying? I was showing appreciation!” he said, raising both hands as if in surrender. He stepped back, only half pretending to pout.

But Nansich was seething now.

”I’m not weak!” he snapped, glaring between them.

Before either of them could respond, Nansich bent down, grabbed the closest weapon he had — the bloodied garden rake from earlier — and brandished it like a sword.

”Let me show you what I’ve got!” he yelled.

With a war cry, he charged forward, aiming straight at Eren. ”I’ll teach you to call me weak!”

Eren yelped and took off at a sprint, laughing his lungs out. ”Hey! That’s an actual weapon, you crazy little punk!”

Nansich chased after him, swinging the rake with reckless enthusiasm.

Jian blinked at the absurd scene, watching as the two darted between trees, the rake whooshing dangerously through the air.

Varon remained standing, gaze following them silently. His expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. Something quiet. Maybe thoughtful.

He didn’t move to stop Nansich. Nor did he help Eren.

He just... watched.

The trees thinned as they returned to the clearing, the smoldering wreck of the grayling ship looming like the carcass of some massive beast. Twisted black metal glinted in the fading light, and faint, acrid smoke curled upward from punctured vents.

Varon silently stepped forward and knelt beside the amplifier they had set up earlier. His fingers moved with quick precision, flipping switches and detaching small nodes embedded into the ground. With a final press, the soft humming tone that had been vibrating faintly in the air ceased. The amplifier was off.

Xing Yu didn’t waste a moment. Without a word, he leapt up onto the ship’s hull and disappeared inside through one of the jagged breaches in its side. A few muffled sounds echoed from within—metal being torn, crates being dragged, something heavy being wrenched from its mount.

Moments later, he emerged with his arms full. Weapons—sleek, alien-looking blasters and curved blades with veins of violet energy running through their spines. He dropped them to the ground with a loud clang, then dove back in to grab more.

Jian stood at the edge of the breach, watching the others gather around the pile.

His eyes, however, weren’t focused on the weapons.

They were fixed on the ship.

He knew this ship.

Or rather, he knew one just like it.

Same sleek black interior walls, with organic ridges like muscle fibers. Same narrow, winding corridors and low ceilings that felt like a beast swallowing you whole. His chest tightened. His hand clenched the hilt of his sword even tighter.

He stepped forward slowly, crossing the boundary into the ship’s interior.

It was quieter inside. The sound of the forest dulled, replaced with a faint buzzing—power conduits still faintly alive. The dark walls reflected nothing, swallowing light rather than giving it back.

Jian’s steps echoed faintly.

He walked past a metal slab smeared with old blood, and his hand twitched. His gaze swept over the curved ceiling, the narrow cage-like doors on either side, the dried patches of ichor across the floor.

He had been in one of these.

Strapped down.

Surrounded by graylings with gleaming limbs and those horrible clicking sounds. He remembered their tentacles pulling, stretching, trying to peel him apart. The agony of his head torn into. The searing pain as something tried to sink into his skin. He had screamed. He remembered screaming until his throat went hoarse.

He’d barely gotten out. Crawling. Bleeding.

He should’ve died.

He almost had.

And yet—

His fingers brushed the black blade strapped to his side.

This sword.

He raised it now, letting the edge catch what little light the ship’s walls reflected.

This thing... this was the reason he was even standing here. Why he hadn’t been shredded apart and thrown out like bone waste.

It had appeared to him then, when he’d reached for anything. It had cut through the air like it had known what to do. And somehow, the grayling had staggered back.

”I was lucky,” he whispered under his breath.

He gritted his teeth.

”No, I was weak. And lucky.”

His grip on the sword tightened until his knuckles ached.

Never again.

He would never again be that boy trapped in the dark, screaming with no one to hear him. Never again be powerless on a slab, praying for death or rescue.

Not when he had a weapon.

Not when he had this.

With a sharp inhale, Jian stepped further into the ship, his spine straight. The sword in his hand didn’t tremble anymore.