The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 238: Chapter 238 - Shatter something precious

The lift groaned as it reached its destination, metal grinding against metal with the sound of an old beast dying. The floor beneath them shuddered with each passing second, as if the very earth was preparing to collapse in on itself. Emergency lights bathed the corridor in a pulsating red hue, casting long shadows that danced erratically along the walls.

With a loud hiss, the lift doors slid open.

Xing Yu didn’t hesitate. He reached down, seized Wang Bushen by the collar again, and dragged him out like a sack of refuse. The man yelped as his shattered legs scraped across the cold steel floor, leaving a dark smear of blood in their wake.

The corridor outside opened into a wide underground chamber—vast, sterile, and lined with complex equipment, some of it still humming softly despite the tremors shaking the facility. Stasis tanks had shattered; broken vials lay in puddles of fluorescent liquid, their contents hissing on contact with air.

But Xing didn’t care for any of it.

Because his eyes had locked onto him.

And he stopped cold.

There, in the very center of the room—beneath a web of flickering lights and fallen data screens—stood a boy.

Not just any boy.

Jian.

But not the boy Xing had last seen.

This Jian was radiant.

His jet-black hair had transformed into a cascade of pale gold, almost glowing under the dim light. His eyes—those gentle, curious eyes—were now encircled by brilliant golden halos that shimmered faintly, vibrating with some unseen frequency.

His presence pulsed like a heartbeat, loud and clear to Xing Yu’s Farian senses.

That resonance—raw, powerful, pure—struck Xing like a crashing wave. He nearly staggered back. It wasn’t just energy—it was something deeper. A familiarity, a pull, a longing that gripped him so fiercely it made his breath catch in his throat.

For the first time in years, Xing Yu’s composure cracked.

His chest tightened.

His vision swam.

That resonance... that frequency... it’s him. It’s really him.

His heartbeat roared in his ears. His fingers went slack, and Wang Bushen collapsed in a bloodied heap behind him, forgotten like trash. Xing didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Jian was staring directly at him, eyes wide—almost glowing.

There was no fear in his gaze.

Only stillness.

Recognition.

Like he had been waiting.

Xing Yu’s lips parted slightly, breath catching. His legs moved before his mind could catch up, drawn helplessly toward that golden-haired figure standing so calmly in the heart of ruin.

All he wanted to do was rush forward and pull that boy into his arms. To feel him. To hold him. To protect him. To never let go.

His heart was trembling.

The walls shook.

But the boy—Jian—stood unmoved.

And Xing Yu... was already breaking apart inside.

Xing Yu broke into a sprint, the world around him blurring—red lights flashing, alarms wailing, the ground shaking violently beneath his feet—but all of it faded into nothing as he closed the distance between himself and the boy standing alone in that cursed room.

He didn’t stop to think.

Didn’t stop to breathe.

He threw his arms around Jian and pulled him in with such force it felt like the world itself was trying to put them back together. Their bodies collided, and in that instant it felt like two halves of one soul had been made whole again.

Xing held him tighter than he had ever held anything in his life, arms locked around the boy’s trembling frame. Jian’s breath came in ragged gasps against his chest, his small shoulders shaking with each inhale. Xing could feel the soft blonde strands of Jian’s newly grown hair tickling his forearm as he wrapped both arms around the boy’s waist.

They had melted into one—breath to breath, heart to heart, pulse to pulse.

”Jian...” Xing whispered, barely able to form the word. He pulled back just enough to see his face.

Jian’s eyes met his. The golden halos in his irises shimmered faintly, and thick tears streaked down his cheeks—golden tears, shining like molten light, trailing like rivers of sorrow down a face far too young to carry such pain.

”My mom...” Jian rasped. His voice cracked, barely a whisper. ”They... what have they done to my mom?”

His face twisted in anguish, and he raised one trembling hand to point behind Xing Yu.

Xing turned.

And froze.

There—at the far end of the chamber—was a massive cylindrical tank, taller than a man, glowing with a soft, sickly blue. Fluid churned inside, thick and unnatural, full of tiny floating specks that gave it a faint iridescent glow.

Suspended within it was a figure.

A woman.

Her long white hair floated gently in the fluid, spreading around her like strands of silk. Her eyes were closed, her limbs limp, but her beauty was unmistakable. Ethereal. Farian.

And more than that—familiar.

Xing Yu’s breath hitched.

”...No...”

His knees nearly buckled as the realization struck.

That form. That aura. That unmistakable presence.

It was her.

Their Queen.

Xing Yu staggered forward a step, unable to tear his eyes away.

Golden circuits had been etched cruelly into her skin, glowing faintly beneath the surface of the liquid. Her arms had been restrained inside the tank by thick mechanical cuffs, tubing threaded into her veins, keeping her trapped in some unnatural state between life and death.

Rage. Horror. Grief.

They all surged into Xing’s chest at once, crashing over him like a tidal wave.

He stumbled back toward Jian, who was still clinging to him, silent sobs wracking his small body.

Xing Yu dropped to his knees and wrapped him tightly again, hand cradling the back of the boy’s head as if to shield him from the world.

Jian sobbed softly against Xing Yu’s chest, shoulders trembling as his small hands clenched into fists, gripping the fabric of Xing’s robes.

”I want to destroy everyone...” he whispered hoarsely, barely audible over the distant rumble of another tremor. ”I want to destroy everything...”

His voice cracked.

”Why... why do they do this to me?” he asked, almost to himself. ”Why do they keep pushing me to my breaking point? First, they took my everything... they tried to... to—” His breath hitched, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

Xing Yu held him closer, heart pounding like a war drum.

”And now this... now her... why have they done this to her...”

The words fell from Jian’s lips in anguish, muffled by sobs. The pain in his voice was no longer that of a child—it was the cry of a soul frayed by too much torment, too much betrayal.

Xing Yu went still.

Those words echoed sharply in his head.

Tried to assault you.

His fingers slowly curled into the back of Jian’s robe. A cold chill spread through his chest, a fury blooming beneath the surface like venom.

He gently cupped Jian’s face and tilted it upward, forcing their eyes to meet.

”Who,” he asked quietly, dangerously, ”Jian... who tried to assault you?”

Jian’s tear-streaked face turned toward him, eyes swollen and red. His pale cheeks were flushed a soft pink, lips trembling, bitten red from all the crying. The small gem on his forehead flickered faintly—first dim, then shining softly, as if responding to his pain.

Xing Yu’s heart broke at the sight.

He reached up, hand trembling only slightly as he brushed the tears from Jian’s cheeks with a gentleness that didn’t match the fire in his chest.

”Who hurt you...?” he whispered. ”Who touched you?”

Jian trembled in his arms.

And slowly, shakily, he lifted a single finger.

He pointed.

Xing Yu turned.

Three men lay huddled near the far wall—researchers or guards, it no longer mattered. One of them was twitching violently, foam at the corner of his mouth. Another was curled up in fear, murmuring prayers to no god that would save him now.

But the third... the third had locked eyes with Xing Yu.

He was older. His body trembled, clothes bloodied from the collapse. He wasn’t speaking, wasn’t even moving, just frozen in place like prey in the gaze of a predator.

Xing Yu stared at him.

And something inside him snapped.

His hand slowly slid away from Jian, lowering the boy gently to the floor. He stood up, eyes locked on the man, steps quiet—too quiet—as he walked forward like death incarnate.

The man scrambled backward, heels scraping on the floor, babbling now. ”I-It was just a test—orders—we didn’t mean any harm—”

Xing didn’t even raise his voice.

He reached him in seconds, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him against the wall so hard the man’s body bounced.

”No harm?” Xing whispered, silver hair falling slightly over his face, eyes burning like twin moons in the dark. ”You touched him.”

The man gasped, choking on his own tongue.

”You dared touch him.”

Xing Yu’s grip tightened. A faint glow pulsed from his palm—subtle, deadly.

”You filth.”

The trembling man tried to claw at his arm, wheezing, eyes rolling.

”You think I care about your reasoning...”

Behind him, Jian could only watch through his tears, eyes wide, breathing heavy.

”You tried to shatter something precious,” Xing murmured. ”So I’ll shatter you.”

A pulse rang out—deep and violent.

The man didn’t even scream.

There was a flash of silvery light, and then—

Crunch.

The wall behind him cracked. The body went limp. Blood trickled down in a slow stream from beneath Xing’s palm, soaking into the floor. He let go, letting the corpse crumple like discarded meat.

Silence.

Heavy.

Unmoving.

Xing turned around and walked back to Jian, his steps unhurried, composed again, but the air around him still shimmered with lingering power.

He knelt once more, wrapped the boy in his arms.