The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 242 - My real self

Jian woke up blinking gently. His eyelashes fluttered against the soft light above. For a moment, everything was out of focus—the ceiling blurry, the room hazy like it had been washed over with fog. But then his eyes cleared, and the ceiling came into sharp view.

That ceiling.

He blinked again.

It was familiar. The pale off-white color, the small hairline crack running from the corner to the fan mount, the slow rotation of the old ceiling fan creaking softly above him.

He knew this place.

His eyes widened slightly, confusion washing over him in slow waves. He shifted on the bed, sitting up with effort. There was no weight on his limbs, no blood drying on his hands, no grime on his skin. He looked down at his palm. His fingers were pale, long, and spotless. Clean. Almost too clean. No bruises, no bloodstains, not even a trace of the fight he remembered.

Jian stared at his hands in silence. He turned them over, palms facing him, then down again.

The last thing he remembered was the blood. Wang Bushen’s shrill scream, the way his body had gone limp. The smell of it. The red coating Jian’s hands, his arms, soaking into his boots.

Then Xing Yu’s eyes meeting his from across the room.

And after that—nothing. Just blackness.

"I must have fainted," he murmured, barely recognizing his own voice. It sounded dry and slightly hoarse.

He brought his hand up to rub his face. It felt normal enough, though his skin felt oddly smooth, like it had been scrubbed clean too many times. His fingers moved on instinct, tracing the center of his forehead—searching for that familiar spot. That small, raised bump just beneath the skin where the core used to pulse faintly when he was anxious.

His fingers searched again. And again.

It wasn’t there.

His chest tightened. He pressed harder. Nothing.

A chill ran down his spine. His breathing became shallow.

The forehead gem!!

His heart started to race. He shoved the blanket off his legs and stumbled out of bed, the coldness of the floor biting at his feet. He nearly tripped over the edge of the rug but steadied himself on the doorframe, half-running into the small bathroom connected to the side of the room.

He switched the light on. It flickered for a second before casting a yellow glow across the space.

Jian stood in front of the mirror, staring.

The person staring back was him... but wasn’t.

His breath caught.

He leaned in slowly, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

His hair—once dark brown and wavy—was now a striking blond. Not bleached or dyed, but naturally golden, like it had been spun from sunlight. It gleamed even under the dull bathroom light, catching every reflection. He ran a shaking hand through it, fingers parting the silky strands. There was no dye line. No signs of artificial change. It was his hair now.

His eyes were still brown—but around the edges, unmistakably, there was a rim of gold. A metallic sheen that shimmered faintly when he moved. Almost like light was trapped inside them.

He stepped back, heart pounding.

His face had changed too.

His cheekbones were higher, more defined. His jaw had slimmed down slightly, no longer rounded at the edges. The babyfat in his cheeks had disappeared, replaced by a clean shape that made him look older, sharper. His lips were still his, but even they looked slightly fuller now. His nose... maybe a little straighter?

His eyes were softer in shape—upturned, slightly larger, almost glassy. Ethereal.

It was still his face.

But not the one he remembered.

He looked... beautiful.

No. Not just beautiful.

He looked like a Farian.

A full one.

Jian swallowed hard.

He lifted his hand again, pressing to his forehead.

Still nothing.

"No," he muttered. "No, no, no—this isn’t..."

He leaned in again, breath fogging the mirror as he stared at himself harder, as if doing so would make the changes disappear. But the reflection stayed the same.

It wasn’t a dream.

His transformation was complete.

He was no longer a human.

He had transformed into a farian.

Jian gulped loudly, his throat dry and rough. His fingers trembled slightly as they hovered near his reflection. He leaned closer to the mirror again, studying his face, his features, the strange golden light in his eyes.

"But what happened to that gem on my forehead?" he mumbled under his breath, his fingertips brushing the center of his brow again. There was nothing there. Smooth, warm skin. Not even a trace.

Before he could think more, the bathroom door behind him opened in a rush. The sudden creak and shuffle made him jump slightly, eyes darting to the mirror.

Xing Yu stood in the doorway.

His expression was calm, composed as always, but Jian had been around him long enough to see the flicker of panic just beneath the surface. A tightness in his jaw. A slight widening of the eyes. His long fingers gripped the edge of the door frame, knuckles faintly white.

In the mirror, their eyes met.

For a brief second, Xing Yu froze. Jian saw it clearly—that small hitch in his breath, the way his gray eyes went just slightly rounder.

"S-sorry..." Xing Yu said, his voice unusually quiet. "I knocked. But you didn’t reply."

Jian turned his gaze away from those unreadable gray eyes. His own voice was low and tight. "It’s okay. I’m fine."

He didn’t feel fine. But he said it anyway.

He looked at his reflection again, frowning slightly.

"Where... where is the gem in my forehead?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "It’s... it’s supposed to be there, right?"

Xing Yu stepped into the bathroom, moving carefully as if not to startle him. His presence was quiet but grounding.

"It’s there," he said softly, coming to stand behind Jian, though keeping a respectable distance. "We Farians... we can conceal it. When we’re not actively using energy, or if we’re unconscious, the core recedes under the skin. But it’s still there. You just have to will it to appear. Think hard about it. Picture it."

Jian turned to look at him in the mirror again, their eyes meeting.

For some reason, his heart skipped.

Xing Yu wasn’t even looking at him directly—his eyes were focused on Jian’s forehead, calm and measured, almost clinical—but Jian could feel his pulse quicken, the way it always did when Xing was too close.

"Oh... I’ll try," he muttered quickly, looking away.

He closed his eyes, trying to focus. He took a slow breath and imagined the gem—remembered the soft warmth it used to give off when he touched it, the way it glowed faintly in dark rooms.

He focused on that feeling, pulling it forward.

And when he opened his eyes—

It was there.

Right at the center of his forehead: a luminous gem, glowing a soft golden-green.

The shape was strange—familiar, but odd to describe. It was a long, angular diamond shape, sharp at the top and bottom with softly slanted sides, hovering just above his skin like a beacon. Almost like the gem used in the Sims game—slightly elongated, upright, and tilted forward just a little, like it could pierce through space itself. It shimmered faintly in the light, refracting gold and green tones like sunlight passing through a prism.

Jian stared.

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t even feel heavy. Just... there. Warm. Alive.

His lips parted slightly in awe. "It... it worked."

Xing Yu smiled very faintly behind him. "It suits you," he said softly. Then he quickly looked away, straightening. "We’ll train you on how to control it. Your body’s undergone its final synchronization. You’re... you’re fully Farian now."

Jian’s breath hitched.

Fully Farian.

His hand trembled again, rising toward the gem but stopping just short of touching it. He stared at himself—at this new version of his face, this gleaming alien core in the center of his forehead—and didn’t know whether to feel relief or grief.

"I don’t know who I look like anymore," he whispered.

Xing Yu didn’t respond at first. Then he said, quieter, "You look like yourself."

Jian gaped softly at his reflection, lips parting slightly as he studied the face that now stared back at him.

Yes... this was it.

This was his real form.

Memories pressed gently at the edge of his mind—of being told, long ago, that his body had been altered. That to hide him on Earth, to shield him from the Farians and from dangers he couldn’t yet understand, he had been made to resemble someone else. A perfect match, down to every freckle and every hair—Bian.

He had grown up with that face.

The same upturned eyes. The same curve of the lips. The same slightly round cheeks. For years, he had looked in the mirror and seen Bian’s reflection staring back at him.

But it had never felt like his.

He leaned closer now, studying the changes—subtle but profound. His eyes, still brown, were now ringed with a golden hue that gave them a depth he didn’t recognize. His cheekbones were a touch higher, his jaw slightly more tapered. His eyes looked bigger somehow—softer, more alert. His curly brown hair had turned a lustrous blond, like sunlight woven into strands.

He touched his cheek.

Then the edge of his jaw.

Then the tip of his nose.

"This is what I really look like," he whispered, barely audible.

His fingers moved up to brush the golden-green gem again. It glowed gently, pulsing with warmth beneath his touch.

"This is my face... my real face."

For the first time in his life, he was seeing himself.

"I... I don’t look like Bian anymore," he said, almost to himself.

He smiled.

A smile that brightened his whole face.

"I’m just Jian."