The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 83 - - Peaceful morning

Jian lay on the soft bed, sinking into the plush mattress as if he were floating on a cloud. He wiggled slightly, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Wow... so this is what a good bed feels like. Even the Wang family doesn't have something this comfortable."

He let out a soft sigh, raising his hand to his face, eyes tracing over his knuckles and fingers. Any other time, his hands would have been bruised from all the punches he had thrown. But now? His skin was smooth, unmarked. His knuckles, which usually bore the evidence of every fight, were slightly pink, giving them an almost delicate look.

He flexed his fingers, pressing them against his palm. The strength in his grip was undeniable—unnatural even. He placed his hand back down, staring at the ceiling.

"I guess aliens like me are just that powerful."

In his last life, he had only heard rumors about the alien kind—whispers of their unparalleled combat abilities and monstrous strength. Unfortunately, he had never met one, never seen one in action. He had no idea just how much power his body contained.

So far, he had discovered three things:

One—his blood was golden.

Two—he had a strange gem embedded in his forehead.

Three—his strength had become superhuman.

But was that enough?

His expression darkened as he thought about the real enemy—the nasty, octopus-like creatures that would soon invade. They were disturbingly fast, their slimy bodies sometimes slippery enough to deflect bullets. That wasn't even the worst part. They had tentacles. Dozens of them. Fighting them in close combat was a nightmare, and to make things worse, they could camouflage into their surroundings almost seamlessly.

"They really are like octopuses."

Jian rolled onto his side, brows furrowing.

The invasion could happen at any time. Would the other alien races residing on Earth interfere? Would they stop the invasion before it reached humanity?

In his past life, those so-called "good aliens" had only acted on the third day—far too late for most people.

He exhaled slowly, pressing his face into the pillow.

Outside the room, Xing Yu lay uncomfortably on the sofa.

Though the cushions were soft, they weren't nearly enough to support his height. His legs hung awkwardly over the edge, one foot barely brushing the floor. He shifted slightly, trying to find a better position, but no matter how he adjusted himself, discomfort clung to him.

His gaze drifted to the closed door.

His ears, sharp and attuned to even the faintest noises, easily picked up the rustling of sheets inside. The young man was restless. Tossing, turning, sighing—one after another.

"What does a young human have so much to sigh about?"

Xing Yu didn't know the kid well. Their interactions had been brief. Yet, every time he met him, there was this strange sense of sadness surrounding him. A quiet kind of grief, so well-hidden beneath laughter and smiles that it almost felt like an illusion.

And yet, it pulled at him.

If it hadn't, he wouldn't have stopped the car to pick him up. He wouldn't have left a vial of his precious blood with a stranger.

"I just wanted that sadness to melt away."

He let out a soft breath, his gaze shifting to the ceiling.

"Why does he affect my feelings so much?"

He had been a war general for years—decades, even. He had seen suffering in its rawest form. Entire civilizations crumbling. Starving planets. People on the brink of extinction. He had witnessed desperation in all its shades, but none had ever managed to pull at his heartstrings like this young man could.

His eyes flickered back to the door.

Somewhere deep inside, a quiet longing stirred—an urge to take Jian with him, to his world. But that was a dangerous thought. The journey alone could kill a fragile human. His world was not kind, not soft. It was a battlefield of politics, of power, of survival.

Jian, with all his hidden grief and quiet strength, was not built for that life.

And yet...

Xing Yu closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

The young man's breathing slowly calmed, his sighs fading into steady, even breaths. Xing Yu listened, letting the soft rhythm lull him into sleep as well.

Morning came with the warmth of golden sunlight streaming through the window. It landed on Xing Yu's face, stirring him from slumber. His eyes snapped open, his body reacting on instinct, and he sat up quickly. A sharp prickling sensation ran down his legs—numb from the awkward position he had slept in.

Stretching them out, he glanced at the closed door.

Jian was still asleep.

Satisfied, he pushed himself up and headed toward the kitchen. His movements were fluid, precise, as he set about making a simple breakfast.

The scent of scrambled eggs and toasted bread wafted through the air, stirring Jian awake. He blinked drowsily, his body still heavy with sleep as he followed the scent. Stopping at the doorway, he leaned against the frame, watching.

Xing Yu stood by the counter, his tall frame moving smoothly through the kitchen. His muscles flexed with every movement as he cut through something with practiced ease. He wore a simple black T-shirt, the fabric hugging his form, and his long white hair was tied up loosely, a few strands falling over the side of his face.

He looked almost ethereal.

Like a forest elf—too otherworldly, too enchanting.

Jian barely realized he was staring until the man spoke.

"There are chairs here. How long are you planning to stand there?"

Xing Yu didn't even turn to look at him.

Jian jolted, caught in the act, his cheeks flushing. Clearing his throat, he quickly walked over and sat on the stool by the counter, feeling oddly embarrassed.

A plate of toast and scrambled eggs was placed in front of him.

"Eat."

Jian hesitated, sneaking another glance at the man across from him. Xing Yu ate with an effortless grace, his movements slow and refined, as if even a simple breakfast was a ritual.

Jian lowered his gaze, poking at his food before murmuring, "Your name..."

Xing Yu's fork paused.

"Hmm?"

Jian cleared his throat again, this time forcing himself to speak properly. "I still don't know your name. I just know you as 'Mister Yu.'"

Xing Yu was silent for a beat before he answered, "It's Xing Yu."

Jian smiled, a genuine one. "That sounds like a nice name. Thank you so much for taking me in."

He finished his meal, wiping his mouth neatly before looking up again.

"Can I ask for another favor?"

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Xing Yu raised a brow, curious. "What is it?"

"Can you drop me off home?"

"That's a given," the man replied without hesitation. "I'll get you a change of clothes. Take a bath and get ready. I'll drop you off."

Jian nodded, but as he stood up, a strange feeling lingered in his chest. Something about this morning—about Xing Yu—felt far too natural.