The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 114 - Digging up

Xing Yu felt his heart go still for a second. Then, an unbelievable amount of sadness filled his being. His long hair, tied up in a low ponytail, suddenly snapped free, strands fluttering wildly in the dusty air. His eyes shifted into a pale, piercing shade of silver as an overwhelming wave of emotion surged through him. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

"No... he... he couldn’t have died..." he mumbled, voice raw, as he clenched his fists tight. The muscles in his arms strained, veins bulging, making him look like a force of nature barely restrained. "I’ll find him... I’ll find him," he whispered again and again like a chant, trying to steady the whirlwind in his chest.

The old man was already ahead of him, trembling, stumbling toward the ruined city. "He must be at the plaza... I heard... I heard them..." the old man mumbled, voice distant and shaking.

Hearing that, Xing Yu’s head snapped up. Without another word, he took off.

He ran—no, he flew. His body blurred as he shot forward faster than lightning. The gem embedded in his forehead, the Jeti, shimmered with an intense yellow-white light, bright enough to slice through the dark smoke and night sky. Everything in his path crumbled—walls shattered, debris vaporized, flames parted. He was not running anymore. He was becoming wind and fury.

He reached the ruined city, or what remained of it. He stopped at the remnants of the Plaza Hotel. The once-grand building was now a mountain of crushed concrete, twisted steel, and screams buried beneath. People cried out from under rubble; others were too quiet, too still.

Xing Yu’s heart pounded violently in his chest. He could hear the agony—so many voices. Panic clutched his throat. He began to dig, throwing slabs of broken wall, lifting entire pillars like they weighed nothing. His fingers bled, dust covered his skin, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

Then—he saw it.

A pale hand.

It was sticking out from a pile of debris.

Xing Yu froze.

Trembling, he dropped to his knees and clawed at the rubble with both hands. Concrete cracked, metal groaned, and with one final desperate push, he uncovered a small body.

A young boy.

About fifteen.

His face was crushed, nearly unrecognizable. Blood had dried across his temple, his eyes closed, lips slightly parted.

Xing Yu stared.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Was this... was this Jian?

His arms moved on their own, gently lifting the boy into his lap. The body was limp. Cold. Lifeless.

And Xing Yu sat there like a statue, his mind blank.

He had no way of knowing. No way to tell.

He held the boy tighter.

Silent. Motionless.

And the gem on his forehead dimmed... just a little.

Suddenly, a woman came running up to him, her steps frantic, her cries unbearable.

"Kile! Kile!!!" she wailed, collapsing beside the crushed boy. Her hands trembled as she clutched his lifeless hand to her chest.

Xing Yu’s eyes widened, silver irises shimmering in the moonlight. "Is... is this your human?" he whispered softly, voice almost breaking.

The woman, unable to speak, nodded through her tears, pulling the limp body onto her lap. She hugged his head to her chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Oh, my dear son... ahhhhhhh!!!"

Her cries pierced the night like broken glass.

Xing Yu froze. Something inside him twisted painfully. Sadness surged in his chest—a deep, human sadness. In his kind, grief existed. But not like this. Not this raw, heart-wrenching, soul-torn cry of a mother holding her child’s corpse.

Still, a flicker of relief bloomed quietly beneath the sorrow.

This boy was not Jian.

He turned without a word and went back to digging, faster now, more desperate. He flung massive slabs of concrete like paper, unearthed bodies—some breathing, some cold, some beyond saving. Dust coated his arms. Blood smeared his palms. He dug and dug... but he didn’t find him.

He stood amid the ruins, gazing dully at a row of unrecognizable corpses laid to the side.

"Jian... are you there?" he whispered. "You’re alive, right?"

His voice was almost a prayer now.

Then—a man ran up to him and bowed low at his feet, tears streaking his soot-covered cheeks.

"Thank you, sir... thank you for saving my son. Thank God for you..." The man clutched a trembling toddler to his chest, his body shaking with joy and relief.

Xing Yu looked at them—father and child, alive in the midst of death—and a numb smile touched his lips.

"You found your loved one... I haven’t found him yet."

He lifted his gaze. Above the smoke and ruin, alien ships hovered silently, their metal bellies glowing faintly against the night sky.

Unbelievable rage bloomed inside him.

The Graylings.

They had gone too far.

They had dared... dared to touch what was his.

"S-Sir..." the man beside him spoke gently. "Who are you searching for? Maybe I’ve seen him?"

Xing Yu looked down at him, hair still fluttering in the wind. "A young boy... around seventeen. He..."

"Do you have a picture?" the toddler whispered shyly.

Xing Yu froze.

He didn’t.

He didn’t even have Jian’s picture.

A bitter, hollow laugh left his mouth. "He looks pretty and soft. He was called here by a bunch of bad people..."

The child’s eyes lit up. "Ah! That handsome man! I saw him! He beat those men up!" He pointed at two bruised and bloodied men Xing Yu had earlier pulled from the rubble. "He beat them up real bad and left. I watched it from our room!"

Xing Yu’s gaze locked on the men. They flinched hard when they saw him looking.

"Jian... he’s soft-hearted," Xing Yu whispered. "He... he wouldn’t hurt anyone."

But at his words, the men flinched even harder. Their bodies trembled, guilt rising like steam.

Suspicious.

Xing Yu walked up to them slowly, eyes narrowing. "Did you see Jian?"

The men dropped to their knees at once.

"I’m sorry, sir! We—we were greedy! We tried to hurt him! We’re so sorry!"

Xing Yu grabbed both by their collars and yanked them up like rag dolls.

"Where is he?! Was he here?!"

"Yes! Yes!" one of them cried, voice shaking. "But he went searching for his crazy brother!"

"Where?!" His voice dropped to a dangerous coldness, and his silver eyes gleamed like twin blades.

"To the outskirts! To a dumping area we all know! Its very close."

"is it in the city!" he desperately asked them.

The men shook their heads. "no no its far. Very far!"

"when did he leave?" Xing yu coldly glared down at them

"an hour and a half ago!" the men said while sobbing.

"he must have been out of the city by then...." A trace of hope bloomed in his chest.

His Jian might be alive..