The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 108 - Jian’s grandpa

The wheels of Xing Yu’s car screeched as they tore past the last stretch of twisted road, bumping and groaning over fractured asphalt. The outskirts were quieter—no screaming, no blasts—just a haunting silence as nature began reclaiming the earth with wind and overgrowth. But even this quiet didn’t ease the storm inside him.

He was scanning for the orchard—any orchard—when he caught something odd on the side of the road.

A silver car, slid halfway into the ditch, its front door wide open. Behind it, an old man was crouched down, fumbling with the rear wheel. His movements were slow, trembling. A few meters behind him, partially camouflaged in dust and low fog, was something else—gray, slick, moving.

Grayling.

Xing Yu’s heart thudded violently. His instincts screamed at him to look away, to keep driving.

And for a second, he did.

But something in him tugged at his gut, hard. A voice, quiet but firm, echoed in his head—"Look again."

He glanced into the rearview mirror.

One look was all it took.

The old man had turned his head slightly, just enough to expose his profile—and in that fleeting second, something in his face struck deep, violent recognition.

Xing Yu slammed the brakes.

The tires screamed against gravel as the car jerked to a stop. He flung the door open and bolted, wind clawing at his clothes as he drew his blade mid-sprint.

The Grayling turned.

Its grotesque, half-hardened tentacle was already stretching toward the old man like a noose.

With a sharp cry, Xing Yu sliced.

The blade cut clean through the slick appendage, ichor splattering across the ground. The creature let out a shriek that reverberated into the earth, before thrashing its massive body backward and vanishing into the thicket.

Panting, Xing Yu turned and dropped to his knees beside the old man.

The elder was shivering, his pale fingers stained with dirt and bruises. His face was bloodless but familiar.

Xing Yu’s breath caught.

"...Grandfather?" he whispered, recognizing the man Bian had always mentioned but rarely seen in public.

He gently grasped the man’s arm, helping him to his feet.

"jian.. where is jian? Is he with you? Here..." Xing Yu’s voice trembled. His eyes darted frantically around the area, hoping to see the familiar figure of the thin young man.

The old man’s vision blurred briefly, but it wasn’t from the dust or pain. It was from fear.

As he leaned into the support of the young stranger, his cloudy eyes took in the stark white hair shimmering like snow under the afternoon sun. The man’s face—striking, elegant, eyes burning with urgency—was almost too perfect, too composed for the chaos around them.

"Do you know where Jian is?" the young man asked again, his voice barely restrained from breaking.

But the old man didn’t answer. His chest heaved, panic rising like bile in his throat.

White hair... why is he asking for Jian...

His mind reeled. Somewhere deep in his still-foggy memory, muffled voices echoed—men speaking when they thought he was unconscious, their low tones laced with cruelty.

Bian’s voice—his grandson’s—was the loudest among them. The old man had tried to move, to fight, but he had been too drugged, too helpless.

"You better have the money. I told you—he’s young, healthy, and is worth his weight in gold! He is literally made of gold!" Bian exclaimed.

"yeah yeah our buyer is very much interested in this gold laying goose."

Grandpa heard Bian walk away talking to his wife. The two other men chatted among themselves.

"can that white haired old man even get it up? Why is he spending so much on a young boy? Tsk waste of money."

"you don’t know old men are the most lecherous."

Jian’s grandpa tried to get a hold of those men. ’don’t touch my Jian.. no... I wont..’

*"You drugged the old man?" another voice had asked.

"He won’t wake till long after this is over."

Just remembering that discussion made him tremble violently in rage.

And now... now this man was asking about Jian?

he couldn’t help but match this man’s white hair with the random chatter.

Is this the buyer?

His frail fingers clenched tightly into a fist, knuckles trembling. Though his body was weak and the drugs still dulled his limbs, the old man’s protectiveness surged through the haze.

"He is not here," the old man whispered, his hand trembling as he clenched a fistful of dry sand.

Xing Yu stood still, his silver-white hair catching the fading light, face unreadable. "Where is he?" he asked, his tone flat, but urgency coiled tightly beneath the words.

He walked forward, gaze sharp, scanning the ground. "There is another footprint here," he said, eyes narrowing. "Who was with you."

The old man didn’t answer.

Xing Yu turned back, eyes cold. "Answer me."

Without warning, the old man lifted his hand and slapped a fistful of dirt across Xing Yu’s face.

For a split second, Xing Yu froze. The coarse sand scraped his skin, clouded his sight, and irritated his senses in ways he hadn’t expected. He didn’t move, only reached up with slow precision and wiped the debris from his face. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

When his vision cleared, the old man was limping away, dragging one foot behind the other with stubborn desperation.

Xing Yu walked forward, silent and swift, and caught the old man gently by the arm. He didn’t grip hard.

"Let go! Let go of me!" the old man shouted, struggling weakly.

Xing Yu didn’t let go.

"You scoundrel! Don’t you dare think about my Jian! Do you think you’re worth it, you old turd!"

Xing Yu blinked once.

Old?

The words didn’t offend him. But they did confuse him.

He tilted his head slightly. This human was older. Visibly aged. Xing Yu remained silent.

Still, his heart beat once—hard.

He rejects me being with Jian?!

The thought struck him sharply. But he didn’t speak it aloud.

"Tell me where he is," Xing Yu said. His voice was calm, low, and steady. "I need to know."

"Never! Never!" the old man barked.

Xing Yu exhaled once through his nose. Negotiation was clearly ineffective. So he could use the only trick he knew worked with humans.

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his phone and opened his banking app.

"I’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars," he said. "Give me him."

The old man’s eyes widened for a moment—then twisted in disgust. Without hesitation, he stomped on Xing Yu’s foot.

Xing Yu’s expression barely shifted, though a quiet breath escaped him. He stepped back slowly, his eyes fixed on the old man.

"Tuetue, get lost you lecherous fool! Who wants your money!"

Xing Yu said nothing.

He looked at the older man, his face blank, but something in his chest ached. This man didn’t trust him.