The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]
Chapter 174 - Talk in private

Chapter 174: Chapter 174 - Talk in private

Jian couldn’t stop.

Even when his grandfather patted his back and stroked his hair, whispering soothing things like, "It’s okay now, it’s okay... I’m here," the sobs kept coming. Deep, shaking sobs that wracked his chest and clogged his throat.

His face burned, red and hot, his eyes puffed and swollen from how much he had cried. It didn’t matter how many times he blinked, the tears kept falling.

All the fear, the nights spent wondering if his grandfather was dead, the pain of holding it all in—now it was pouring out and he had no control over it.

His grandfather tried to gently pull him back, to get him to sit down or drink something, but Jian just clung tighter, crying into the soft fabric of the old man’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.

It was ugly and raw and loud.

And Quangya—sweet little Quangya, who had been watching from Jian’s arms with big round eyes—suddenly scrunched up his face. His small fists curled against Jian’s chest, and then he, too, burst into tears.

His wails were piercing.

Jian startled a little and looked down at the boy, but he couldn’t even wipe his own eyes, let alone calm him. "I-I’m sorry," he hiccupped, not even sure who he was apologizing to anymore.

The ten-year-old Farian boy who’d been sitting at the chess table was staring wide-eyed at the crying mess in front of him. And then—just like that—his lip trembled and he let out a dramatic wail, flinging himself toward the nearest cushion and crying just as loudly.

And now the entire room was crying.

No, not just crying. Wailing. Howling. Sobbing like someone had flipped a switch on a tragedy broadcast.

Xing Yu, still standing awkwardly by the door, stared at the chaos in absolute horror. His mouth opened slightly, as if unsure whether to run, speak, or call a medic. _{fr\(e)ew(e)b.(n)o (v)(e)l.com}

"Umm..." he muttered helplessly. "Candy. Can... can candy work?"

One of his subordinates, standing behind him looking equally shell-shocked, blinked and then said, "Well, it might work on the kids..."

He dashed off and returned in seconds with something wrapped in colorful foil—clearly human candy, maybe from a supply cache. He knelt down and held it out to the Farian boy.

The boy paused in his sobbing, peeking up with tear-filled eyes. He sniffled once, then snatched the candy and slowly calmed down as he unwrapped it, hiccuping in between licks.

Success.

But Quangya was another story.

The boy clung to Jian with wet cheeks, his cries rising every time Jian tried to gently rock or hush him. He kept looking up at Jian’s swollen, red face, and it just made him cry harder. It was like seeing Jian cry was too much for his little heart to handle.

Jian wiped at his own eyes and pressed his forehead against Quangya’s soft hair, swallowing thickly. He tried to force himself to breathe slower, calmer. His arms tightened around the boy protectively.

"Shh... it’s okay, it’s okay, look—see, Grandpa’s fine..." he whispered, though his voice cracked with every word. "I’m okay now, see? Don’t cry... don’t cry, Quangya..."

The boy hiccupped, clutching a fistful of Jian’s shirt in his tiny hand. His cries became quieter, but he was still shaking.

Jian focused on steadying his own breaths, breathing in slow and letting it out. He rubbed the boy’s back gently. "I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re safe."

Eventually, the sobs began to fade into occasional sniffles. Jian’s grandfather knelt beside them both and gently patted Quangya’s back too.

Xing Yu let out a long breath from the door, like someone who’d just survived an explosion. He glanced back at his subordinate and whispered, "Next time... bring a whole bag of that stuff."

Jian just sat there, still hugging Quangya tightly. His face was hot, his eyes sore, and he felt drained.

But for the first time in a long while... his heart didn’t feel so heavy.

Jian sat down heavily, still cradling Quangya gently against his side, and gazed out at the small group lingering in the hallway just beyond the door. His voice came out rough and hoarse from crying, barely more than a whisper.

"Can I... have some privacy, please?"

His face was still damp. He rubbed at it roughly with his sleeve, trying to force down the remnants of his breakdown.

Xing Yu hesitated only a moment. Then, with a respectful nod, he answered, "Yes. Of course."

He stepped out and pulled the door closed, leaving Jian, his grandfather, and the little boy alone in the room.

Jian immediately tugged the old man down to sit beside him on the floor, Quangya now quietly nestled in his lap. It wasn’t the most dignified position, but Jian didn’t care. It was more comfortable than any fancy chair. He wanted to be close, real, and grounded.

He stared at his grandfather, eyes still puffy and voice raw with worry. "What happened?" he asked, the words tumbling out quickly. "How did you even get here? I got info that Bian was planning to take you to the garbage mounds, so I went there but I couldn’t find you anywhere, Grandpa... I was so worried."

His voice cracked. He looked down, ashamed.

"I tried searching everywhere..."

The old man reached out and gently cupped Jian’s face, his wrinkled hand soft against Jian’s cheek. His thumb brushed over a small cut that was nearly healed. Then another. Jian hadn’t even realized how many nicks and bruises he’d collected along the way.

"Did you have a hard time?" the old man asked softly, voice thick with guilt. "I’m so sorry you had to face all that..."

Jian shook his head quickly, eyes fierce. "I don’t care," he said. "Even if I had to go through hell—I would. I did. I’d do it again if it meant finding you."

His voice lowered. "Just tell me how you got here. Did they... kidnap you? Against your will? Did they imprison you or—"

The old man chuckled gently, interrupting him. "Do I look imprisoned to you?"

Jian blinked. His grandfather looked tired, yes, but unharmed. He wore clean clothes, had a bowl of snacks nearby, and seemed... oddly at peace.

"But to be fair," the old man added with a slight shrug, "they did take me without my consent."

Jian stiffened.

"I was planning to go search for you myself," the old man explained. "I’d gotten wind of what Bian was doing. I was going to leave, but then that white-haired man—the one who seems to run things around here—he showed up and told me it was safer here. That I could come up to this ’mothership’ until things calmed down."

His voice softened again. "I didn’t want to leave you behind, but... he said they’d protect you. And then... they started sending me updates. Just a few lines a day. About you. Where you were. If you were safe."

Jian’s chest tightened. "They... told you about me?"

"Every day," his grandfather said. "Your name was in every message. They didn’t say much, but it was enough to know you were alive. That you were fighting. Surviving."

Jian gritted his teeth, lowering his head. "I thought you were dead..."

The old man leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him again.