The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 119 - Backup is here

The bodies lay still, twitching slightly where they sprawled in the dirt, their long, tendril-like limbs coiled and spasming in slow death. Jian stood over them, panting, his hands slick with gore—some of it black, some of it gold.

The graylings didn’t scream when they died. They made this wet, horrible clicking sound that echoed too much in his ears. Even now, with their bodies going limp, the memory of that sound lingered in the back of his throat like bile.

He stumbled toward a crooked tree and slumped down beside its gnarled trunk. His knees ached, and his fingers cramped around the knife handle as if fused there. Only when he forced himself to look down did he notice the cut on his palm.

Thin. Shallow. Barely stung. But from it, that unmistakable liquid shimmered—bright, hot gold, like sunlight made blood. It slipped down the crease of his palm before crystallizing, solidifying into tiny flakes. They cracked and fell away like dried petals.

He stared, breathing slow and uneven. It always looked beautiful, his blood. Alien. Wrong.

He swallowed hard and looked up, past the ragged treeline and into the murky sky. Clouds rolled low and angry. Somewhere far off, a grayling screeched again.

It was the same in his last life.

That same day. That same invasion.

But he was not here, not the open forest and rusted garbage—no, they were back in that suffocating concrete maze of home.

He remembered the static of the emergency broadcasts. The car horns that never stopped. The way the ground trembled when they came. He’d hurriedly grabbed his grandparent and rushed them to the metro lines. Down, down, beneath the streets.

He’d thought they’d be safe underground.

But the graylings had followed.

He could remember the scene so vividly.. grayling taking his grandpa away... he.... he was powerless back then. But this time he was not the same jian.

He was not human in this life.

He touched his forehead slightly and sat up with difficulty. Every muscles cried in pain yet he gritted through his teeth and tolerated it.

Jian pressed his fist hard into his knee, eyes burning.

Jian took a deep breath letting it out slowly.

He wiped his hand on his pants, pushing himself up to stand. The forest tilted for a moment before steadying. Every part of him screamed to rest, but he didn’t listen.

"He’ll be okay," he muttered, jaw clenched. "Bian must’ve driven here. Something must have happened midway. So grandpa must be close."

He had to be close.

Jian didn’t give himself time to think.

He moved. Fast, frantic, his boots crunching broken glass and brittle leaves as he searched the dumping grounds.

Towering heaps of trash stretched endlessly around him—abandoned washing machines, rusted-out cars, piles of shattered computers.

"grandpa!" he shouted once. His voice cracked. No answer.

He searched anyway.

Every minute dragged like hours.

He found only more of them—more graylings, twitching and waiting, slithering out from beneath the garbage like parasites.

So he killed them.

Again and again.

They shrieked and flailed and bled, and he carved them open

As day broke in the horizon his muscles throbbed, his legs felt like stone, but the moment they got close, instinct took over.

He kept going.

But he didn’t stop.

Because grandpa might be alive. Might be hurt. Might be waiting for him.

And Jian would tear apart the whole damn earth if that’s what it took to find him.

******

On the other side of the city, Xing Yu knelt beside the old man, one hand lightly resting on his shoulder. The man had finally stopped trembling, though his hands still clutched fistfuls of dried grass like they were the only things anchoring him to this earth.

He had been shaking from the moment they arrived. Now he was crying.

"Alive," the old man kept whispering, voice hoarse and cracked. "My Jian is alive..."

Xing Yu didn’t interrupt. He simply watched him with steady eyes, letting him grieve, letting him hope.

The old man’s lips quivered as he looked up at Xing Yu, eyes wet and glistening in the dim light. "H-How do we find him?" he murmured, barely louder than the breeze.

Xing Yu’s answer was soft, firm. "We search." He took the old man’s arm gently and helped him up.

But once upright, the truth became painfully clear. The old man’s knees buckled almost instantly. His breath came too fast. His whole frame, brittle and too thin beneath his worn jacket, leaned heavily against Xing Yu’s side.

Xing Yu frowned. Bringing him along through this wasteland wasn’t just reckless—it was dangerous. If he found Jian, he’d need to fight. He couldn’t protect them both at once.

His hand moved quickly to the device strapped at his belt. He lifted it, tapping a command with practiced ease. Just as the signal began to search for a connection, the sky opened up above them.

Streaks of light—fifteen of them—tore through the clouds like molten arrows, painting golden fire across the night.

The old man gasped, stumbling back, his eyes widening with raw fear.

"W-what’s that...?" His voice cracked as he pointed up at the burning lines. "Are they bombs? Is it starting again?!"

"No," Xing Yu breathed, eyes fixed on the falling lights. "They’re ships."

He knew them well. Sleek, sharp-winged, moving in perfect formation—every vessel bore the emblem of the Gia fleet. They’d come back. Without warning. Without orders. The squadron that had left Earth had returned—just in time.

The signal connected. Xing Yu’s voice was quick and clipped. "Lieutenant Farian. Location marked. Two for pickup."

He sent the coordinates. A second later, two ships from the cluster above shifted course, dipping out of formation and angling downward. They moved fast, wind slicing in their wake, but as they approached the tree line they slowed, engines humming low, blue light pulsing from beneath them.

The forest trembled beneath their descent.

The old man stared, frozen in place.

Then he panicked.

"No—no! We have to go!" He grabbed Xing Yu’s shirt in both hands, pulling weakly at him. "They’re landing! They’re coming for us!"

"They are," Xing Yu said calmly, placing his hand over the man’s trembling ones, "but not to harm us."

The ships hovered above the clearing, thrusters burning silently, and began their final descent. The earth rippled gently with their presence. The lights bathed the clearing in a soft, otherworldly glow.

The old man’s voice dropped to a whisper. "W-what are they? Who... what are you?"

Xing Yu turned, eyes meeting the old man’s as gently as before.

"I am Farian," he said, his voice soft, but proud. "From the planet Gia."

The silence that followed was deafening.

The old man’s mouth parted, but no words came. His hands loosened their grip on Xing Yu’s shirt, falling limply to his sides. He looked at him not with fear anymore—but something deeper. Confusion. Awe. A question that wouldn’t form.

Xing Yu didn’t push him for understanding. There wasn’t time.

Instead, he stepped forward, one arm wrapping firmly around the man’s back to steady him. "They’re here to help. They’ll take you to safety."