The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 135 - Shameless

Jian stepped out of the car, wincing slightly as his muscles groaned in protest. A stiff ache spread down his legs and lower back—clearly, sleeping in a cramped vehicle wasn’t doing him any favors. He stretched, arms rising above his head until his joints popped, the cold morning air brushing over his skin.

From behind, he could feel it.

That burning gaze.

Sharp, intense, unwavering.

It prickled between his shoulder blades like a phantom hand. But he didn’t turn. He ignored it.

’Staring at me like I’m going to sprout wings or something,’ he thought dryly.

Instead, Jian made his way to the backseat, carefully opening the door. A mess of arms and legs greeted him—small limbs flung in every direction, the blanket half-kicked off and hanging by a thread.

The boy was spread out like a starfish, snoring faintly, his round face relaxed in blissful, innocent sleep.

Jian paused.

He gazed at the child’s face, his frown slowly softening.

’He really is just a kid...’

His hand reached forward and gently pulled the blanket back over the boy’s body. The fabric rustled quietly as Jian tucked it around the child’s legs and arms, taking extra care not to wake him.

His mind wandered. His journey ahead was uncertain, perhaps even deadly. Graylings could be anywhere. The closer he got to the core zones of destruction, the more perilous it would become. Taking a child along felt reckless, selfish.

But...

But he couldn’t leave him behind either.

He didn’t know why. He couldn’t explain the way his heart tightened at the thought of the boy waking up alone, scared, abandoned. A heaviness formed in his chest, like a silent vow rooted in something deeper than reason.

Jian sighed, pushing his thoughts aside as he pulled his backpack from the floor.

Unzipping it, he rummaged through the contents.

Empty.

Except for the black sword, nothing else remained inside. No food. No water. No supplies.

The boy would definitely wake up hungry. Hell, he was hungry.

His stomach gave a low, disgruntled growl as if to emphasize the point.

Then, another discomfort struck him.

’Damn it,’ Jian thought, shifting awkwardly on his feet. ’I need to use the bathroom too...’

He glanced around, lips pursed. The city around them was in ruins—crumbled concrete, collapsed buildings, streets lined with debris. Most structures were either hollowed out or melted into warped steel frames. There was no way a proper washroom had survived the carnage.

A grimace twisted his face.

"So I really have to do it out in the open..." he muttered.

In his previous life, he’d gotten used to outdoor survival. Back then, the orchard trees had provided both shelter and privacy. He’d dig a hole, do his business, and cover it properly. It was simple, natural.

But this place?

Bare. Exposed. Flattened.

He turned in place, trying to find a decent spot to go. And just as he did...

His eyes met his eyes.

That man.

Xing Yu.

Still sitting a short distance away, arms resting on his knees, back straight and posture alert. The faint rays of morning caught the silver strands of his long hair, making them gleam like moonlight. His gaze was steady, unblinking, and aimed straight at Jian.

Like he had nothing else to look at in the whole damn city.

Jian’s mouth twitched in irritation.

’Great,’ he thought bitterly. ’I don’t like having an audience when I’m doing my deed.’

He shot Xing Yu a flat look, hoping the message would be clear.

But the Farian didn’t look away.

If anything, his gaze only deepened, like he was studying something precious—or fascinating.

And Jian, flustered and full of piss, could only sigh in defeat.

"Can you not look this way for five minutes?" he grumbled under his breath.

Xing Yu tilted his head ever so slightly, as if hearing him, but said nothing.

Jian dragged a hand down his face, now more than ever determined to find a rock, a pole, anything to hide behind.

This planet might’ve been overrun by monsters, but this man?

He was the real threat to Jian’s dignity.

Jian narrowed his eyes into a fierce glare.

The man didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Didn’t so much as pretend to look away.

Instead, a faint curve lifted the corners of his lips.

"I can’t look away..." he whispered, voice so soft it seemed to ripple gently through the air.

Jian visibly winced.

That tone.

Low, almost reverent.

’What the hell is wrong with this guy?’ Jian’s mind screamed.

Flustered, he took a half step back and pointed accusingly. "Are you shameless?! I’m going to pee! Are you going to watch me do that too, huh?!"

His voice cracked slightly in embarrassment as his ears flushed red.

For a second, silence stretched between them.

Then, to Jian’s dismay, the man tilted his head and raised a brow. The expression he wore wasn’t mocking—it was serious.

Genuinely thoughtful.

"As far as I understand," the Farian began, his voice as smooth as ever, "isn’t it a fact that humans are at their weakest when defecating?"

Jian gawked, utterly unprepared for that answer.

"I’ll protect you," the man continued proudly. "If danger arises, I’ll slay it."

He even puffed up slightly like he was declaring a noble mission.

Jian’s entire body tensed. A sharp vein bulged at his temple.

"You—"

His hand reached for the hilt of his black sword.

"If you even glance my way, I’ll kill you!" he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "Do you hear me?! I’ll cut your eyes out and shove them down your throat!"

The threat was vivid enough to make even the bravest flinch.

But the Farian?

He looked...

Amused.

He blinked once, then leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand with an intrigued expression.

"You’re even more fiery when you’re embarrassed," he observed with a small, ghost of a smile. "How curious."

Jian’s patience snapped like a dry twig.

With a huff, he turned sharply on his heel and marched toward the nearest cluster of fallen walls and rubble, muttering curses under his breath.

"Damn aliens... can’t even poop in peace anymore..."

He didn’t look back—but he could feel it.

That gaze still lingered on him, fond and unwavering.

It made his skin crawl.

And it made something else stir.

Something he didn’t want to name.