The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 115 - The dumping grounds

Jian and Nansich walked in silence along the broken road. Dust curled around their shoes, and the only sounds were their footsteps and the occasional distant rumble of falling rubble.

Behind them, an engine sputtered, then roared weakly to life.

"Hey! Wait!" the driver called out, his voice hoarse and shaken.

They turned. The same man who had crashed the vehicle earlier had somehow pulled it back together enough to move. He waved at them from the window, urgency in his voice. "Get in—it’s dark, kids!"

Jian hesitated. His brows furrowed.

the cab drove up beside them and the man opened the door for them.

"Aren’t you too shocked to drive?"

The driver gave a weak smile, one corner of his lip trembling. "Well, I’ve got to take you to your destination, don’t I? Come on—get in."

Jian shrugged and opened the door. Nansich followed closely, clambering into the back seat. The car rattled as it started forward, rolling slowly down the broken road.

For a while, nothing was said.

Then Jian noticed it.

Nansich kept staring at him—intensely, unblinkingly.

Jian snapped, "Why do you keep doing that? Stop it."

The boy quickly looked away, but a few seconds later, his eyes drifted back to Jian’s forehead.

"I saw something," he said quietly.

"What?"

"On your forehead. At first, I thought it was debris... but it wasn’t. It was a stone."

Instantly, Jian’s hand flew to his forehead, fingertips brushing over smooth skin. His heart lurched.

"That stone...!"

His fingers trembled slightly as he pressed harder, searching. There was nothing there, not now. Just flesh. But Nansich’s eyes hadn’t lied—there had been something.

"You playing with me?" Jian growled, his voice sharp with sudden nerves.

"No," Nansich replied seriously. "It was there for one second and then—boom—it disappeared. It was green... and it glowed a bit."

Jian’s breath caught.

Green. Glowing. A stone buried in the skin.

The memory slammed into him like a blade through the chest.

A dim, cold room. Chains. The taste of metal in his mouth. His wrists limp and drained. His blood soaking the floor. And his brother—his own brother—kneeling over him with a scalpel and hungry eyes, prying that very stone from his forehead like a prize.

He flinched.

His hand clenched into a fist, still resting against his brow.

’Is it coming out again?’ The pain that had haunted him lately—those sharp, stabbing headaches just above his eyes—it all made sense now.

’That’s why I’ve been hurting...’ but he did not time to think of it deeper.

Soon the car rattled to a stop at the edge of the dumping ground.

The dumping ground was an expanse of forgotten filth and metal—twisted, rusted beams, shredded wires, mountains of plastic, rotting waste half-covered in soot. The air stank of decay and smoke. It was a place where the city dumped what it didn’t want to see anymore.

Nansich pointed out the window, his voice uncertain. "It was here. This is where I saw him go..."

Jian threw the door open before the car had fully stopped.

His boots sank slightly into the muck as he sprinted forward, slipping past broken crates, skirting heaps of rusted trash. "Grandpa!" he called, his voice cracking with strain. "Grandpa!!"

No answer.

Only the low moan of the wind pushing through trash piles.

His eyes darted, desperate for any trace of movement. "Grandpa, it’s me! It’s Jian!"

Still nothing. Just the soft creaking of metal, the gentle hum of electric towers far off in the distance.

He pressed forward, weaving through the labyrinth of garbage, until his legs gave way and he dropped to his knees with a harsh thud.

His palms pressed against the cold ground, trembling.

He wanted to scream, but his voice was locked in his throat.

Where are you?

His hand frantically took the phone form Nansich’s pocket, clumsy and frantic, heart pounding in his ears. He tapped Bian’s number again. It rang... once. Then again.

Busy tone.

Again.

Still no answer.

No one picked up.

Jian’s face twisted. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to bite back the fear creeping into his chest. But the thought came anyway making him tremble in fear.

What if Bian buried him?

His heart stopped at the image. Of Bian, standing alone with a shovel. Of his grandfather’s face pale in the dirt.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head violently. "No... he wouldn’t..."

But doubt had already taken root.

Frantic now, Jian began clawing at the ground with his bare hands. His fingers bled as he dug through mud, gravel, and broken glass. He tore into the earth like a madman, lips murmuring pleas.

"Please don’t be here... please don’t be here..."

He dug until his arms ached, until his lungs burned and his tears blurred his sight.

Nansich ran up to him. "Jian stop! What are you doing!"

"Bian could have buried him!" he shouted as he clawed at the ground.

Nansich froze up. "he is his grandpa too..."

Jian let out a bitter laugh. "he is....but he was willing to hurt him for his own gain." Tears started to trickle down his face.

The ground under him was barren. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

No trace of his grandfather.

No shallow grave.

No footprints.

Only Jian, crumpled in the dirt, soaked in sweat and grief, shaking as he stared at the blackening sky.

"Where did you go...?" he whispered, voice hoarse. Jian let out a soft sob. "I just want my grandpa... I don’t want anything else... just this! why god, why wont you give me this.. why..." he wailed.

Nansich hugged him form behind. "we’ll find him.. we’ll find him for sure..."

Jian leaned against the trembling shoulders of the young man gazing up at the moonlit sky. The world was coming to an end... his plans to stay hidden with his grandpa also came to a abrupt stop.

He was thrown directly into the chaos and he had to deal with it now.

Because next... the graylings will descend.

They will bring chaos in their way.