The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 134 - Gorgeous

Jian was no longer in the ruined city.

The cold air, the blood-soaked roads, and the sound of Graylings shrieking somewhere in the distance—gone.

Instead, he was standing on something soft and strange. Beneath his boots, the surface rippled gently, like stepping on spongy clouds. The sky was a pale lavender, and everything shimmered faintly, as if dusted in stardust. He glanced around slowly. The space around him was vast and weightless, filled with silence so deep that it seemed to press against his ears.

It took him a few seconds to realize—this wasn’t real. It was a dream.

A soft light pulsed ahead, drawing him forward. His body moved on its own, as if it knew where to go. The clouds gave beneath his steps but supported him just enough, bouncing gently with every movement. As he walked toward the glowing spot, he spotted a figure sitting far off, her form barely outlined in the golden light.

A woman.

Her back was to him. Her long, curly blond hair fell in waves all the way down to her knees, glowing softly under the sky’s pastel hues. She looked serene, still, as though she had been waiting for centuries. Jian’s brows drew together slightly.

She felt familiar.

His pace slowed as he approached. The closer he got, the more ethereal she seemed—skin pale and soft, shoulders delicate, head slightly bowed. She sat gracefully on the edge of a cloud like a being carved from starlight itself.

Just as Jian was about to call out, to ask who she was—

She turned.

Pale green eyes met his. They shimmered softly, not with power, but with something gentler—sorrow, maybe. Hope. Her face was round, framed by delicate curls that fluttered slightly in the windless air. She smiled. It was a small, serene smile.

And then she spoke.

But the name that fell from her lips was not "Jian."

It was something unfamiliar, something foreign.

Jian blinked. Confused.

And then—

He gasped, his eyes snapping open.

The dream dissolved, and reality rushed back in. He was no longer in the clouds. The sharp ache in his limbs, the faint sound of shifting rubble outside, and the still, heavy air of the car reminded him exactly where he was.

He’d fallen asleep.

Carefully, he sat up and looked around, muscles stiff from the awkward position. The boy beside him was still curled up, asleep in the back seat, breathing softly. Jian pulled the blanket up a little higher over the child’s shoulders before letting his gaze shift outside the car.

There, a few meters away in the faint moonlight, sat the man. Xing Yu.

He was hunched slightly, seated on a broken slab of concrete. A sword rested in his hand, gleaming faintly. His long silver hair had partly come undone, some strands falling over his face and shoulders, making him look strangely... human.

Jian narrowed his eyes. The man hadn’t moved. He was still in the same place he had last seen him. It looked like he hadn’t even blinked.

A strange feeling stirred in Jian’s chest.

He didn’t do anything.

No creeping into the car. No attack in the dark. No betrayal.

He had just sat there. Guarding. Watching.

Why?

Jian’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword instinctively. He didn’t trust him—he couldn’t. But it was hard to ignore the growing sense of confusion in his chest. He had expected to wake up with a blade at his throat or worse, especially from someone like Xing Yu. Someone that handsome. That dangerous.

But instead, he had been allowed to rest.

Jian looked at him for a long time, unsure what to feel.

His dream still lingered in the corners of his mind. The woman. Her smile. That name she called.

Who was she?

And why did it feel like she was calling him... home?

He glanced at the child again, then back at the silent figure outside. He wouldn’t let his guard down. Not yet.

Outside, Xing Yu shifted slightly when he noticed movement from the car.

His gaze instinctively drifted toward the window—and sure enough, the young prince was waking up. Jian sat still, dazed, his brows faintly furrowed like he wasn’t entirely back yet. His head had tilted to one side while sleeping, leaving one half of his face a light, flushed pink from pressing against the seat. The other side remained pale as porcelain, untouched by warmth. His dark lashes blinked slowly as he took in the surroundings, still halfway caught in whatever dream he’d just escaped from.

His eyes looked a bit swollen too. Maybe from sleep. Or maybe—

Xing Yu’s breath caught in his throat.

So beautiful. Even tired and disheveled.

His lips parted before he could stop himself. In his native tongue, soft and instinctive, he whispered,

"G’orenzia."

The word hung in the air, quiet and reverent.

Jian’s eyes snapped over toward him sharply. A deep frown followed. "What did you say?"

Xing Yu blinked, caught. His mind scrambled for the common tongue.

He said it again. "G’orenzia."

Jian stared at him, brow twitching suspiciously. "What does that mean?"

Xing Yu hesitated for only a second, then gave a small, rare smile. It was brief but honest.

"It means... gorgeous."

Jian blinked slowly, visibly processing that. His face slightly turned a shade pink before he looked away.

His expression shifted—confusion flickering in, and then immediate distrust.

"You’re a weirdo," he muttered under his breath and looked away, eyes narrowing. But he didn’t reach for the sword again. Not this time.

Xing Yu’s smile faded, but the warmth in his eyes lingered as he continued to watch. The prince was a storm waiting to break. Even his quietest expressions were tightly coiled, never at rest. Xing Yu knew better than to think his compliment would change anything. Jian didn’t trust easily. He probably didn’t trust compliments at all.

Still...

He couldn’t lie to himself.

Even broken, the boy was still the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.