The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 308: Chapter 308 - Waking up to an empty bed

Jian woke slowly.

It happened in pieces, the way it always did when his body was finally allowed to rest.

First came the awareness of warmth—heavy blankets pulled up to his shoulders, the soft weight of them pressing him down into the mattress.

Then the pillow, half crushed beneath his face, smelling faintly of something clean and floral.

The room around him was quiet in a way that felt almost unnatural, no hum of engines, no distant clatter of a ship’s hull settling, no wind rattling through broken panels.

Just stillness.

For a few long seconds, Jian didn’t move at all. His mind drifted somewhere soft and formless between sleep and waking, unwilling to surface. The strange pale light of Gia filtered through the enormous windows and spilled across the floor in long silver bands, and somewhere far off he could hear the faint, muffled rhythm of the palace beginning its day.

It was nice.

It was too nice.

And that was probably why Jian’s instincts, dulled by sleep and comfort, finally stirred.

He moved his hand across the bed.

Empty.

His eyes opened.

For a moment he just stared at the ceiling, processing. Then he turned his head, slowly, and looked at the space beside him.

Xing Yu was gone.

Jian frowned. He reached over immediately, dragging his palm across the sheets where the other man should have been.

Warm.

Still warm.

Which meant the bastard hadn’t even been gone long.

Jian lay there in the pale morning light, staring at that empty spot, and felt an entirely unreasonable amount of irritation crawl up inside his chest.

He had actually left?

After last night?

His mouth pulled into a pout before he could stop it. He had fallen asleep expecting—well, maybe expecting was the wrong word. Maybe he had just gotten a little too used to the idea while drifting off, lulled by the weight of another body beside his own, by the steady rhythm of Xing Yu’s breathing against his back. He had imagined opening his eyes and seeing that familiar face first thing, hair mussed, expression still softened by sleep.

Xing Yu always woke before him. Jian knew that. He knew it. The man was a general; he had probably been trained to rise before the sun since he could walk. So perhaps Jian should have expected this.

But still.

Couldn’t he stay in bed for one morning?

Just one?

They had finally made it back to Gia. There were no Graylings snapping at their heels, no battles waiting on the other side of the door, no broken ship to patch up before something worse found them first. For the first time in weeks, there was nothing to run from and nowhere to be.

And Xing Yu still got up and left him.

Jian pushed himself upright and glared at the empty side of the bed like it had personally offended him.

”Unbelievable.”

His hair fell messily into his face, and he shoved it back with an annoyed flick of his wrist. He swung his legs over the edge and stood—only for his body to protest the moment his bare feet touched the cold floor.

Jian froze.

The memories hit him all at once, sudden and vivid and entirely unfair.

His face heated.

For a second he just stood there, toes curled against the floor, replaying the previous night in his head with growing mortification. The quiet whispers. The hands. The way Xing Yu had looked at him in the dark, like Jian was something worth being gentle with. The way his voice had gone low and rough when he said Jian’s name.

Jian gritted his teeth.

”Xing Yu...”

Now he was even more annoyed.

He stomped off to wash, scrubbing his face with cold water until the flush faded, then dressed quickly, grabbing the first comfortable set of Farian clothes he could find. The pale fabric fell loosely over his frame, the edges embroidered with delicate green thread that matched the gem set between his brows. He didn’t bother fixing his hair properly, just combed his fingers through it and let it fall however it wanted.

The door slid open with a soft hiss.

Jian stepped into the corridor with a dark expression and started walking.

He hadn’t gone far before he noticed them.

Several warriors were coming down the hall from the opposite direction, their boots falling in quiet, practiced rhythm. There were more soldiers moving through this section of the palace than there had been yesterday—Jian was sure of it. The corridors had been relatively still when he’d first arrived, but now there was a current running through the palace, an undercurrent of activity that hadn’t been there before.

He recognized their uniforms immediately.

They weren’t ordinary palace guards. The cut was different, the insignia on their shoulders distinct.

They belonged to Xing Yu.

The moment the warriors spotted him, their low conversation died.

All three bowed at once.

”Your Highness.”

Jian stopped in front of them.

He was still getting used to that. Every time someone bowed to him or called him Your Highness, some part of him instinctively wanted to glance over his shoulder to see who they were really talking to. It never quite landed, that title, like a coat that was a size too big.

Not this morning, though.

This morning he had more important things to worry about.

”Where is your commander?”

The slight glare accompanying the question made all three warriors straighten like they’d been jabbed.

There was a beat of silence.

One of them glanced sideways at the warrior beside him. That warrior looked at the third. The third looked at the floor.

Jian’s eyes narrowed.

Why were they looking at each other like that?

”Well?”

The oldest-looking warrior finally cleared his throat, the way a man does when he’s about to say something he hopes won’t get him in trouble.

”Commander Xing went to see His Majesty early this morning, Your Highness.”

Jian blinked.

”My father?”

”Yes.”

”For what?”

Another awkward silence.

Jian’s irritation curdled immediately into suspicion. Something about the way they were standing, the way they kept glancing at each other—it felt rehearsed. Like men who had been told not to say too much.

The warrior answered carefully. ”His Majesty is holding morning court.”

Morning court?

Jian pressed his lips together.

Xing Yu had climbed out of his bed at the crack of dawn and gone straight to see his father?

Why?

His mind started running through possibilities before he could stop it. Had something happened during the night? Was there trouble somewhere on Gia—a border incursion, a raid, some political crisis he hadn’t been told about? Had Xing Yu been summoned because of his position as General?

But if that were the case, why hadn’t he woken Jian and told him?

And more importantly—

Why did these soldiers suddenly look like they knew something he didn’t?

Jian stepped closer.

”What is he doing at morning court?”

The three men somehow became even more uncomfortable.

One lowered his eyes. The other developed a sudden, intense fascination with the wall. The third just looked vaguely pained.

That was enough.

Jian’s suspicion shot straight through the roof.

”What did he go to see my father about?”

”Your Highness...”

Jian waited.

The warrior looked as if answering that question might somehow end his entire military career. Like he’d been sworn to secrecy and was about to break under interrogation.

Jian’s eyes narrowed further.

Fine.

If nobody wanted to tell him, he would find out himself.

”Where is morning court held?”

One of the soldiers immediately pointed down the corridor, past the archway on the right, clearly relieved to be asked something simple for once.

Jian turned without another word.

At first he walked.

Then his pace quickened, boots tapping sharper against the polished floor.

Why is he seeing my father?

The question wouldn’t leave his head.

Yesterday Xing Yu had promised him.

Tomorrow.

Jian’s steps suddenly slowed. His eyes widened a fraction.

No way.

His heart gave a strange little jump, and he pressed a hand to his chest like that might quiet it.

Then he immediately shook his head. He wasn’t going to assume anything. Xing Yu could simply have been called in for military matters. He was the General—there were probably a hundred perfectly boring reasons he would attend morning court, none of which had anything to do with Jian.

But his feet were already moving faster.

The palace was still confusing enough that he took one wrong turn down a branching hallway and had to angrily double back, cursing under his breath the whole way. The closer he got to the central section, the busier the halls became. Palace guards stood at every major entrance, still and straight as statues. Officials in elaborate robes drifted through the corridors in small, murmuring clusters, their sleeves brushing the floor.

More than a few people stopped when they noticed him.

Some bowed. Some stared. A few turned to whisper to each other the moment he passed.

Jian ignored all of it.

He finally reached an enormous set of doors flanked by two rows of warriors, their hands resting near their weapons.

He didn’t need anyone to tell him he had found the right place.

The doors themselves were several times Jian’s height, carved from the same pale crystal as the rest of the palace but threaded through with veins of gold that caught the light. Intricate designs covered every inch of their surface, so fine they looked almost woven, and at the very center—set into the doors like a crown—was the symbol Jian had started seeing everywhere since arriving on Gia.

The royal crest.

Jian’s heartbeat was strangely fast.

One of the guards spotted him and immediately bowed low.

”Third Prince.”

Jian barely acknowledged him.

”Is General Xing inside?”

The guard hesitated for only a fraction of a second—just long enough to notice.

”Yes, Your Highness.”

Jian bit his lower lip.

So he really was here.

He looked at the closed doors. The light from the corridor caught the gold veins and made them glow, and behind all that carved crystal, somewhere in the hall beyond, Xing Yu was standing in front of his father.

Yesterday, Xing Yu had promised him he would speak to him.

Jian had been half teasing when he’d demanded he do it immediately. He hadn’t actually expected the man to crawl out of bed at dawn and march straight into morning court.

Something warm began creeping into Jian’s chest, slow and stubborn, despite how irritated he had been only minutes ago.

That idiot.

He really had come.

First thing in the morning.

Jian reached for the door. He wanted to know exactly what Xing Yu was saying to his father.