The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 230: Chapter 230 - Mission to save the empress

Jian clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms until they hurt.

His mother... she was alive all along.

He stood there frozen, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The pieces of memory he had long dismissed as childhood dreams began to float to the surface—soft arms around him, the warmth of a gentle embrace, a lullaby hummed in a voice like starlight. A golden-haired woman with tired but loving eyes had once held him so close, so safe.

He remembered.

He had always thought those flashes were fantasy. Wishful illusions from a lonely orphaned child.

But now...

Jian shut his eyes tight, holding back the wave of emotion crawling up his throat.

All along, he had thought it was his decision to approach the Wang mansion. That he had done it just to rebel, to irritate Bian, to carve his own independence.

But no.

Wang Bushen had planned it all.

Every. Damn. Step.

He took Jian in not out of kindness, not even out of curiosity—but for a purpose.

”To breed...”

The very thought sent nausea crawling through Jian’s gut, his stomach twisting painfully as bile climbed his throat. Rage burned behind his eyes, hot and bright, but he swallowed it down. Not yet. Now was not the time to explode. Now was the time to act.

Beside him, Varon still seethed silently, his arms rigid, his expression carved from stone.

”Varon...”

The warrior turned to him instantly.

”Let’s head to the Wang mansion.”

Varon stepped forward immediately, his shadow falling across Jian’s path like a steel wall. His brows furrowed, jaw tense.

”No,” he said firmly. ”We head back to the farmhouse. We regroup with General Xing and Eren, and then—together—we strike the mansion.”

Jian’s eyes widened in disbelief, his voice rising. ”But she’s alive right now! And probably being tortured as we speak. Isn’t she your queen? Aren’t you supposed to save her, not debate tactics while she suffers?”

His voice cracked at the end, fury and desperation bleeding into each syllable.

Varon’s face remained hard, but his lips twitched ever so slightly at the word queen. There was a flicker of something deep in his gaze—shame, perhaps, or regret—but it was quickly swallowed by cold rationality.

”Yes, Your Highness,” he said, voice low and heavy, ”she is our queen. But you are the crown prince. If anything happens to you before we have a proper plan—before we understand what kind of defenses they’ve set up—we could lose you both. And the throne. And Earth.”

Jian stepped closer, trembling with tightly coiled emotion. ”I can’t just sit and do nothing. If they move her, if they kill her—”

He turned away from Jian then, his sharp eyes glancing back toward the direction of the farmhouse. ”From what it looks like, the Wang family has access to something—a device, perhaps, that can repel or distract Graylings. That’s how they’re able to move around freely when the rest of the world hides. If they have that kind of tech, who knows what else they’ve got.”

Jian’s breath caught. He hadn’t thought about that. The chopper. The ease with which it navigated the skies. No Graylings attacked. No interference. It made sense. Too much sense.

”So we go back,” Varon said, quieter this time. ”We regroup. We plan. And when we strike the mansion... we don’t fail.”

Jian stared at him, fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning—but he said nothing.

Because deep down... he knew Varon was right.

”O-okay... Let’s go back...”

They reached home before they realised it.

Jian sprinted the moment the farmhouse came into view, his boots skidding on the worn wooden floorboards as he pushed the door open. The warmth of the interior barely registered to him—his mind was a blur, his throat choked with emotion. His eyes darted around until they landed on Xing Yu, who was still bundled on the couch, a thin sheen of sweat on his pale skin.

Xing stirred at the sound, eyes snapping open. His gaze locked onto Jian immediately. He sat up fast—too fast—nearly toppling forward as his weakened body struggled to keep up.

”Jian?” he called out, alarm creeping into his voice.

Jian didn’t stop until he was kneeling beside the couch, his hands trembling, his breathing ragged. Xing instinctively reached for him—but then hesitated, his hand hovering just beside Jian’s cheek, never touching. His silver eyes searched Jian’s face, now tight with emotion.

”What happened?” Xing asked softly, his voice hoarse but steady. ”Tell me.”

Jian bit his lip, the weight of everything pressing down on his chest. His mouth opened, but for a second, no sound came out. The tears were threatening, rising quickly—he hadn’t cried like this in years, and now it clawed its way out of him.

”They...” he whispered, his voice cracking. ”They might have my mother...”

Xing’s hand finally landed on his cheek then—gently, reverently. His thumb brushed beneath Jian’s eye, catching the tear that spilled over.

For a moment, the world quieted.

And Jian leaned forward, his head against Xing’s chest, sobbing softly as the others behind him quietly filed in, their expressions grim.

Varon exchanged a heavy look with Eren, and both of them instinctively began readying their gear—knowing the next move would be the dangerous.

Xing gently held Jian for a few moments longer, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other stroking along his spine in slow, grounding movements. The younger man’s tears soaked through his shirt, but Xing said nothing—he simply let him cry. Only when Jian’s trembling began to still did Xing speak again, voice still raw but calm.

”Let’s talk. All of us,” he said softly, his silver eyes meeting Varon’s across the room.

Varon gave a curt nod, and Eren silently closed the door behind them to shut out the morning wind. The farmhouse interior had never felt so tense. Jian sat back on his heels beside Xing, sniffling and wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, his eyes still glassy but focused now.

Eren leaned against the wall, arms crossed tightly across his chest, while Varon pulled out a weathered map and unrolled it on the wooden table between them. Xing sat down slowly, still not fully recovered but looking far more alert now that he had something to plan.

”Wang Mansion is within the outer sector of the northern city,” Varon began, voice low and clipped. ”According to Li Wang, it has a subterranean complex, possibly reinforced to withstand high-pressure attacks. They’ve been hiding their experiments down there.”

”And using something to keep the Graylings out,” Eren added, fingers tapping restlessly. ”That explains how they were able to operate for this long without being attacked.”

Jian sat silently, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, listening to every word.

Xing exhaled slowly, then straightened. ”We need recon first. I want the mansion scouted from a distance. I don’t care how stealthy we have to be, no one moves in without knowing exactly what’s inside.”

Varon nodded in agreement. ”We’ll take the perimeter by night. Eren and I will move through the forest line. If we can access the roof or back entrance, maybe we can plant signal disruptors. Anything to counter what tech they’re using.”

”What about Jian?” Eren asked quietly, glancing toward the young prince.

Jian looked up at them, his tear-streaked face firm now. ”I’m going with you.”

”No,” Varon said instantly, his voice sharp. ”You’ve done more than enough. This is a military operation now. You’re not a soldier.”

”My mother is in there,” Jian said through clenched teeth. ”I won’t just sit here and wait while someone else decides if she lives or dies.”

Xing held up a hand gently, calming both sides. ”We’ll bring you close—but not inside,” he said firmly. ”You’ll stay at the edge of the zone with me. Once we confirm she’s there, I’ll give the order.”

Jian opened his mouth to protest again, but when he looked at Xing—truly looked—he saw the exhaustion in his face, the quiet plea in his gaze. He closed his mouth, jaw clenched.

”...Fine,” he muttered, his voice raw. ”But if something goes wrong, I’m going in.”

Xing gave a quiet nod. He didn’t argue.

Because deep down, he knew Jian would go in anyway.

The tense air in the farmhouse was suddenly pierced by the sound of hurried footsteps thundering down the hallway.

”Wait—wait for me!” Li Wang burst through the door, nearly tripping over the threshold. His hair was tousled, glasses askew, and there was a sheen of sweat over his brow. Just behind him, Nansich skidded to a stop, his oversized sweater bouncing around his knees. He looked determined, despite the sleep still clinging to his face.

”I’m coming too,” Nansich said quickly, chin raised in defiance. ”If Jian’s going, I’m going.”

Jian blinked in surprise, rising slightly from where he sat beside Xing.

Li Wang, still panting, added breathlessly, ”You’ll need someone who knows the layout of the mansion. I’ve been there a lot. I can guide you.”