The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 129 - You!

Jian watched the man step back, but he didn’t turn to leave. That alone made his grip tighten on the sword. His body tensed.

He stayed alert, ready for anything.

In the bright moonlight, he could make out that face clearly. The man’s silver white hair shimmered ever so softly and his cold grey eyes glanced his way intently.

His features were too striking for him to ever forget it.

It was the same face from a while ago—the man he’d met at the construction site.

Back then, he had been just a anxious, love hungry boy, craving warmth from anyone. The man had seemed kind. He’d offered Jian food, smiled at him, even taken him out to play at the arcade. At the time, Jian had followed behind him like a stray animal latching onto the first bit of warmth. He hadn’t known better.

But now, he did.

He wasn’t a naive child anymore. He had learned that nothing good came without a price

Anything that looked that beautiful was always hiding something dangerous.

Just like in the wild, where the brightest colors often signaled poison, the most perfect faces were always the deadliest.

He had thought it before—a quiet, doubtful thought that he’d never voiced. The man’s flawless appearance, his graceful movements, the strange feeling Jian had gotten just from standing near him. He wasn’t normal. Jian had wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t even human.

And now, seeing him again, here in this ruined city, that thought solidified into truth.

The man was a Farian.

An alien.

Jian could feel it in every part of his being. The cold, precise stillness of the other’s presence. The faint energy in the air that didn’t belong on Earth. It was unmistakable.

This man... wasn’t human at all.

Jian glanced back again.

The man was still there—unmoving, silent, like a bronze statue etched into the ruins. Jian’s eyes traced down his form. The black suit clung tightly to his body, outlining every line of muscle, every curve of strength and precision. It was almost unnatural, sculpted as if designed to be perfect. That, paired with that face—calm, noble, and unreadable—was a dangerous combination. Too beautiful. Too silent.

Jian looked away, eyes falling to the sword in his hand. The black blade, once slick with grayling blood, now shimmered faintly. Gold.

A rim of solidified golden blood now traced along its sharp edges, staining it like it had been branded.

They were the same kind.

That thought clawed into his mind. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

The little boy beside him tugged at his pant leg, stepping closer. His small arms wrapped gently around Jian’s legs, his voice a whisper barely carried by the wind.

"Mister..."

He was peering up, uncertain, glancing between the two adults. Jian’s hand came down gently to pat the top of the boy’s head, steadying him.

"We are leaving," he whispered.

The boy nodded quickly.

They turned and began climbing down from the pile of rubble, stepping carefully over cracked concrete and shattered glass. The wind howled faintly through the hollowed streets of the broken city, carrying only dust and the echo of far-off destruction.

Jian held the boy’s hand tightly. He didn’t look back.

But he could hear it.

The subtle footsteps sounded just a few step behind them.

Jian glnaced back frowning. Suddenly the man looekd away and stodo frozen like a child was caght in te act of stealing cookie.

Frowning jian walked a few more meters before he glanced back again.

Once gaian the man behidn him froze up.

Jian glared at him intenly.

The man was following them. Not saying a word. Just walking behind like a shadow that wouldn’t fade.

Jian’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding against his ribs.

’What does he want? Does he want to kill me too?’

His grip on the boy’s hand tightened.

’Fuck. I hate this. I hate this so much.’

Jian glanced back again.

The man was still there.

But this time, he wasn’t frozen in place. He was acting—badly. Pretending to look elsewhere, to feign interest in the collapsed buildings or cracked pavement whenever he turned around. But he could feel it, the weight of that gaze trailing him, always right there behind. Watching. Tracking.

His patience finally snapped.

He spun around, eyes sharp with fury.

"What the heck do you want?"

The man startled, his golden eyes flicking wide open, like he hadn’t expected the outburst.

"Jian..." he breathed, barely audible.

"I asked you what the hell do you want with me!" Jian yelled louder this time, voice echoing across the empty street. "You want to kill me too?! Is that it?! Is that what you want?!"

The man’s face dropped. Panic bloomed in his expression.

"No, no—I would never do that," he said quickly, breath catching. "I would never even dream of hurting you."

Jian scoffed, his grip tightening on the sword. His gaze cut straight through the man.

"Then what the hell do you want?"

The moment he asked, the man visibly flinched. Words caught in his throat, twisting his features into something conflicted and desperate.

"You!" he blurted.

Jian froze.

The disgust that flashed in his expression was immediate, sharp like a blade.

"No—no, I mean..." the man stammered, stepping forward in a panic. "I meant—I want you to come with me, I—I didn’t mean it like that..."

But Jian had already raised the sword, the blade angled dangerously. His voice dropped cold.

"Come closer and your head will be dislodged from your body."

The threat was quiet. Deadly real.

The man stopped in his tracks.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes dimming. Slowly, he stepped back. His head dipped low, shoulders folding slightly like he was trying to make himself smaller.

He didn’t say another word.

Jian watched him closely, breath still uneven, the sword trembling ever so slightly in his grip.

Behind him, the boy clung to the hem of his shirt, sensing the storm brewing in the silence.

Xing yu stood there—frozen again, but this time with shame seeping into every inch of him.

’Why did I have to mess up like that...’

He wanted to hit himself.