The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 98 - Desperation

Xing Yu followed the trail on foot, each step heavy with dread, but burning with hope.

Just like Jian must have, he thought grimly, his eyes never straying from the faint, shimmering droplets of gold that stained the pavement. The pattern was erratic, as if his mate had stumbled. Fallen. Pushed himself forward again, again, again.

The trail curved around corners, past lamp-posts and cracked sidewalks, finally leading him to the one place he hadn’t expected—the school.

His breath caught.

He went back here? Why?

The droplets led around the empty courtyard. Then they turned... to the café just across from the school gates. freeweɓnøvel.com

The small bell above the door jingled as Xing Yu burst in, chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Jian! Jian!" he called out desperately.

Every head in the cozy café turned to look at him—students, workers, people sipping their coffee in the warm quiet. Tv was loudly playing clips of the alien ship again and again.

They stared at him, startled. But Xing Yu didn’t care.

His frantic eyes scanned the place, desperate for that familiar silhouette. But he didn’t find him.

Then—

A faint shimmer.

Gold.

Like sunlight frozen in time, a solid stain on the edge of one table.

His breath caught in his throat. He rushed over, nearly tripping on a chair.

The young barista, who had been wiping the surface, looked up, startled. She pouted at first, annoyed at being interrupted—until her gaze met his.

Her eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed with sudden pink.

"W-what can I help you with, sir?" she asked, almost breathlessly, transfixed by the man in front of her.

Xing Yu barely noticed. His fingers brushed over the dried gold—hard, metallic, still warm with a faint shimmer of energy. Jian’s blood.

He looked up, voice low and trembling. "The person who was here... Do you know where he went?"

The barista nodded slowly, still peeking shyly at his face. "Y-yes... A young man. He looked a little sick. Left with an old man. They took a cab outside the café."

Xing Yu’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

He leaned in, urgency trembling off his lips. "Was the old man wearing something like a driver’s uniform? Fancy—like the ones you see at schools or for rich families?"

The young woman blinked, her blush deepening, and shook her head. "No... no, he wasn’t dressed like that. He wore old clothes. A long coat, I think. I didn’t see properly, sorry..."

Xing Yu’s brows furrowed.

Then he exhaled, hand raking through his hair. "It must have been his grandfather," he muttered to himself. "He made it... he’s alive..."

Before the barista could speak again, he was already running.

The bell jingled again behind him, a ghost of a sound as the café door slammed shut.

The girl blinked, her hand still frozen mid-wipe. "He also made a call..." she murmured softly, remembering suddenly. "I think... he told someone he was going home..."

But the handsome man was long gone.

Pouting, she turned back to her task and pressed the rag against the hardened stain. "What kind of special effects makeup is this?" she mumbled, frowning. "It’s hard... like metal."

She scraped the chunk off carefully, holding it up to the light. It shimmered in the sunlight, catching tiny rainbows within its golden hue. It was heavier than it looked. And oddly warm.

To be honest, she thought, inspecting it more closely, this looks like real gold...

Still frowning, she tossed it into the trash can beneath the counter and sighed.

"Makeup these days is really something else."

Xing Yu stood in the middle of the sidewalk, gasping. His eyes darted left, right, across every street corner and alley.

The world felt like it was closing in.

His heart pounded like a war drum.

Panic laced every breath.

He turned, running in circles, desperate—until his gaze landed on a small black dome above the café door. Surveillance camera.

Without wasting another second, he rushed back inside.

The barista looked up from behind the counter again, startled to see him return so suddenly, eyes red-rimmed, hair in disarray. But he didn’t even glance her way this time.

Instead, he went straight to the man behind the register, a tall, slightly older guy with tired eyes and an apron that read "Shift Manager/ owner."

The man looked up from wiping a tray and froze when he saw Xing Yu’s wild, desperate expression.

"Uh... what might I help you with, sir?" he asked cautiously.

Xing Yu’s breath trembled. "The surveillance footage. Outside the café. Please—I need to see it. A friend of mine... he was here. I think he’s badly hurt. I need to find him. Please... I just... I need your help. Please."

The café owner hesitated, lips parting, but no words came out at first. He blinked, slightly overwhelmed.

"Sir, I’m sorry, but we can’t just show footage to anyone—privacy laws, and—"

Xing Yu’s knees almost buckled.

He bowed his head slightly. "Please... please, just this once. I can pay you however much you want, but I need to see it."

Tears welled in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks without shame. He didn’t care who saw. He didn’t care about pride.

Xing Yu, who had never begged in his life—not once had he lowered his head to plead.

But now he did. For Jian.

"I don’t even know if he’s okay. Just... please... help me find him."

His voice cracked at the end. His hands trembled, clenching into fists at his sides.

The young man behind the counter stared at him, stunned.

The manager exhaled slowly. "Alright," he murmured.

Xing Yu looked up, startled.

The man gave him a small, tired nod. "Alright, sir. Just this once. Come with me."

He led Xing Yu through a narrow corridor behind the counter, past stacked boxes and the hum of coffee machines, until they reached a small office with a desk and several monitors.

The screen was already displaying the current camera feed. The man clicked through a few menus and pulled up the recording from earlier in the day.

"There," he pointed. "That should be your friend."

On the screen, Xing Yu saw him. Jian.

Staggering, clutching his side. Blood trailing behind him like fire.

Then came the old man, his coat long and heavy. Jian didn’t fight it—he let the man support him. They stood there for a moment. A cab pulled up.

Jian was placed gently into the back seat. The cab drove off.

Xing Yu leaned in. "Can you zoom in on the car plate?"

The man clicked a few buttons. The image wasn’t clear, but the plate was visible enough.

Xing Yu quickly took a photo of it. His hands were shaking.

"I’ll find you," he whispered to the screen. "I swear I’ll find you."