The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 130 - Innocence is gone

Jian glanced back again. The Farian was still there, a few steps behind. Always close. Always watching. It was starting to wear on him.

Every time Jian turned his head, even slightly, he caught the figure in his periphery—tall, silent, unshakable. The Farian never closed the distance, never tried to engage beyond those quiet, infuriating words of his. But he never fell back either. Just kept pace, step for step, like a shadow Jian couldn’t shake.

It grated on his nerves. Made his fingers twitch toward the sword at his side.

The city around them was silent, broken. Rubble covered the roads, chunks of concrete and twisted metal scattered like the aftermath of a bomb. Most buildings were either half-collapsed or burned out, their skeletal frames blackened by fire. Windows gaped like empty eye sockets, glass long since shattered. The air smelled of ash and something faintly sour—rotten food, maybe, or worse.

Jian kept moving, stepping over debris, scanning the ruins for threats. He didn’t let himself stop. Stopping meant thinking. Thinking meant remembering.

The boy beside him had gone quiet too. His steps were slowing, shoulders drooping. He was tired, clearly. But he never said a word. No complaints. No whining. Just kept walking, small legs struggling to match Jian’s strides.

Jian noticed him rubbing his eyes.

He crouched down a little and reached out to carry him, but the boy shook his head quickly.

"I’m a big boy," he mumbled. "I can walk."

Jian froze. He lowered his arms slowly, something tight pulling in his chest. The words were familiar—too familiar. He’d said the same thing once, years ago, when his own legs had been shaking from exhaustion. Back when someone had still cared enough to offer.

He gave a small nod and stood back up.

They walked on.

The boy stumbled once, catching himself on a chunk of broken wall. Jian slowed, watching, but didn’t offer help again. The kid was stubborn. Jian understood that.

After another hour of weaving through the ruins, Jian spotted a car lodged between two piles of rubble. It looked mostly untouched, one of the few vehicles that hadn’t been stripped for parts or reduced to a charred husk.

He checked it carefully, circling it once before opening the door. The inside was clean. No blood, no broken glass, just a thin layer of dust. The keys were gone, but the seats were intact, the upholstery only slightly cracked from age. Looked like someone had left it in a hurry and never came back.

It was safe enough.

Jian helped the boy into the back seat, pulling an old blanket over him that had been left behind. The fabric smelled musty, but it was better than nothing. The kid didn’t protest this time, just curled up under it, his breathing already evening out.

Then Jian climbed into the front seat and shut the door. The sword stayed in his grip, resting against his leg. He kept it tight, his eyes drifting to the outside.

The Farian hadn’t left.

He stood there for a moment, then quietly sat down on a chunk of debris nearby. Still watching. Always watching.

Jian scoffed and looked away, jaw tight.

His whole body ached. The kind of exhaustion that went bone-deep, settling into his muscles like lead. His head was killing him too, throbbing between his eyebrows like someone had shoved a nail into his skull. He leaned back against the seat and rubbed at the spot, letting out a slow breath.

"Sleep," a voice said.

Jian stiffened. He looked out the window to see the Farian staring at him. Same calm expression. Same steady voice.

Jian narrowed his eyes. "So you can attack me while I’m out?"

He’d met men like that before. Charming, soft-spoken. And dangerous. They’d smile to your face, wait for you to let your guard down, then sink a knife between your ribs the second you closed your eyes. He didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust him.

The Farian didn’t react, just kept his eyes on him. "You need rest."

Jian looked away. "I’m not sleeping."

Not with him nearby.

---

Xing Yu sat a short distance away, close enough to keep watch but far enough not to be seen as a threat. His eyes stayed fixed on the car where the young prince had taken shelter.

The night was getting colder, the air sharp with the bite of approaching winter. The Graylings were becoming more active as the temperature dropped—he heard their movements, low rustles through the broken streets, claws skimming over stone. But the moment they sensed him, they retreated. None dared to come near.

He stayed still, unmoving, eyes scanning the darkness.

Time passed slowly, the city around them eerily quiet except for the occasional distant howl. Then, finally, he saw something. Movement inside the car. Jian shifted slightly in the front seat, his head resting back. His grip on the sword was looser now. His eyelids dipped lower. A moment later, his head tilted to the side.

He was falling asleep.

Xing Yu let out a slow breath he didn’t know he was holding. His chest ached.

He remembered the last time he saw Jian—months ago now. Back then, the boy had looked at him with big, curious eyes. There had been a soft shyness in the way he smiled, how he asked questions, how he followed him around during those short outings. Xing had been cautious at the time, unsure. But the boy had made an impression, even then.

And now... now Jian looked so different. That warmth, that softness—gone. In its place, a cold, guarded stare. Sharp words. A sword always ready. Like he expected the world to hurt him at any moment.

Xing Yu’s hands curled tighter around the hilt of his weapon.

What had he gone through? What kind of pain twisted someone so young into this?

He looked down at his hands. He had failed him. If only he’d stayed. If only he’d pushed harder when the DNA tests came back negative. If only he had trusted his instincts instead of the results on paper.

He could have stayed in that city. Could have stayed by Jian’s side. Maybe then, the boy wouldn’t have ended up in Grayling hands. Maybe he wouldn’t be carrying so much distrust in his heart. Maybe he wouldn’t look so tired—so ready to break, even now.

Xing Yu bit the inside of his cheek, guilt clawing at him.

"It’s my fault," he whispered under his breath. "All of it... because I left."

He kept watching. Guarding from a distance.

It was the least he could do now.