The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 123 - The boy

The black tar-like blood splattered over Jian’s cheek, sizzling on his skin as he swung the black sword in his hand with brutal precision. His breath came out ragged, his chest rising and falling, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not when the forest behind him was filled with the grotesque hissing of more Graylings slithering over the wreckage.

Their grotesque tentacles writhed in the air, and every time he cleaved through one, another came bursting from the underbrush like a hydra’s head reborn.

They towered over him—seven-foot monstrosities with their gelatinous limbs, slick and pulsing, weaving through the air like serpents.

One lunged at him with two tentacles extended.

Jian ducked low, rolled across the blood-slick grass, and stabbed the sharpened end of the rod straight through its underbelly.

The Grayling let out a gurgling shriek before collapsing into itself, convulsing.

Jian had stopped counting how many he’d killed. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

His entire body was splattered in their black sludge.

His left arm ached, the sleeve shredded.

He didn’t know when he got cut, didn’t care. He only had one thought in his mind—Grandpa.

Another screech tore through the wind.

He turned just in time to block a swing with the flat side of a dented road sign he’d picked up earlier.

The sign snapped in half, and the force sent him crashing back into the broken hull of a car. The metal caved in beneath him.

He growled, tasting blood in his mouth.

"Get out of my way."

He gritted his teeth, lifting himself to his feet. One Grayling, its tendrils twitching like antennae sensing his intent, lunged toward him. Jian didn’t dodge this time.

He surged forward, faster than the creature expected, and wrapped his arm around one of its limbs.

With an unnatural roar, he twisted it with strength far beyond a normal human’s. The tentacle snapped with a wet pop.

The Grayling screeched and tried to retreat, but Jian was already atop it, smashing its head into the pavement until black ichor oozed from its slitted eyes.

He kept going, past their bodies, past the hollow carcasses of cars and shattered buildings that looked like giants had stomped them.

The outskirts of the ruined city loomed ahead—smoke rising, sirens long dead.

He slowed slightly, panting, the adrenaline in his veins burning like fire.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted. He had to find Grandpa.

But then—

"Help! Somebody help us!"

The voice was faint. Childlike. Jian turned his head sharply. Beyond a partially collapsed apartment complex, he could see a cluster of people—some bloodied, others crying—struggling under massive chunks of concrete.

Damn it.

He cursed, his jaw clenched. This wasn’t his mission. He didn’t have time to—

But another scream pierced the air. This one a high-pitched sob.

His feet moved before his brain could argue. Jian ran toward the sound. The ground was uneven and cracked beneath the rubble. As he approached, he saw a man trying to shift a large slab of debris off a woman’s crushed leg. Others sobbed beside him, powerless.

"I got it."

Jian grabbed the edge of the slab and heaved. His muscles screamed, but the block lifted. People gasped. The man pulled the woman free. Jian dropped the debris behind him like it was nothing.

"Thank you! Thank you!" the woman sobbed.

"Keep moving. Find shelter." Jian’s voice was curt, but his eyes scanned the wreckage. More voices. More trapped survivors. He didn’t even hesitate. He tore through what he could—lifting beams, breaking through warped steel, digging with his hands through dust and ash. His body moved on instinct, the way it always did when survival was the only option. But this wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about saving those left behind.

Then he found him.

Beneath the wreckage of what used to be a hallway ceiling, curled in a pocket of space just wide enough to shield him from the crushing collapse above, was a boy—no older than six. His arms were wrapped around a woman’s corpse—her face serene despite the blood matting her hair.

Jian knelt, his breath hitching slightly. The boy was completely still. His face was pale, ashen, dust smeared across his cheeks. But it was his eyes that stopped Jian. They were dull. Hollow. Like all the light in the world had been drained from them.

"Hey," Jian said, his voice soft, unfamiliar in his own ears. He reached out and gently touched the boy’s shoulder.

The child didn’t flinch.

Jian slowly lifted the ceiling slab off. The child didn’t move. Only when Jian gently pulled him away from the body did the boy finally turn his head.

"...Mama," the boy whispered, so quietly Jian almost missed it.

"I know," Jian said, holding him close with one arm as he cradled the back of his head. The boy buried his face into Jian’s shoulder and went silent.

Jian stood, carrying him out of the wreckage. When they were clear, he placed him down, hesitated for only a second, and turned to leave.

But the boy followed.

He stumbled over fallen bricks and twisted metal, dragging his too-small feet across the ground, his tiny hands gripping at the hem of Jian’s tattered shirt.

Jian turned, covered in ichor and soot, and glared down at him.

"I’m a scary monster," he growled, his voice ragged. "Didn’t your family ever teach you not to follow strangers?"

The boy looked up, his face expressionless, but his eyes...

They were brimming with something Jian recognized too well. Utter, soul-deep loneliness.

The child reached up and gently tugged at Jian’s pant leg. Just once.

Jian stood there. He could have pushed him away. He should have. But the boy didn’t even flinch. He just stared at him like he was the last star left in a dead sky.

"...Shit."

Jian knelt down slowly. Without another word, he took the child’s small hand into his own.

"Come on."

Jian gazed down at the boy who was silently gazing up at him.

He was no longer alone.