The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]
Chapter 181 - Kicked puppy

Chapter 181: Chapter 181 - Kicked puppy

Xing Yu left the communication room with his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. His footsteps echoed harshly against the polished corridor floors as he walked, head low, the weight of Cealus’s words still pressing down on him like a lead blanket. The initial joy of finding his mate—of discovering Jian was real, alive, and tangible—had overwhelmed everything else. But now...

Now he remembered.

He remembered the first time he saw Jian on Earth.

Alone. Thin. Tired. Covered in bruises. Staring at the ground like he had no hope left to hold on to.

Xing Yu’s jaw tightened.

He had been so ecstatic, so overcome with relief at finally finding him, that he had overlooked what state Jian was in. What had been done to him. Who knows how long Jian had suffered before they met? Who knows how much pain he endured before Xing Yu ever arrived?

His fists trembled. A growl sat low in his throat.

’I’ll make sure he feels safe again...’ he promised silently. ’I’ll protect him properly this time. I won’t let anyone ever hurt him again. Not humans. Not anyone.’

He reached the corridor outside the room Jian was resting in. He paused, took a breath, and stepped closer to the slightly ajar doorway.

Inside, Jian sat cross-legged on the couch with his grandfather. There was a bowl of warm food in his lap, and his face was relaxed—lighter than Xing Yu had ever seen it. The older man said something, and Jian suddenly let out a soft laugh, throwing his head back slightly.

And Xing Yu froze in place.

That laugh... that smile...

It was beautiful.

So heartbreakingly beautiful that it knocked the air out of his lungs.

Jian had never smiled at him like that.

Not once.

Xing Yu felt like the air had turned thick around him, as if something was clawing in his chest. He wanted to rush in and hold Jian close. But at the same time, he wanted to retreat, hide, punish himself for not being the person who had made Jian smile like that.

’Maybe I’ve never made him feel safe enough... or happy enough,’ Xing Yu thought bitterly. ’Maybe I failed as a mate without even realizing it.’

He watched silently.

And then Jian’s gaze lifted.

Their eyes met.

Jian still had that faint smile lingering on his lips. His cheeks were slightly flushed from laughing. And when his gaze met Xing Yu’s across the room, something in the air changed.

Everything around them—the soft hum of the ship, the flickering lights, the faint sound of conversation—faded into the background.

In that one second, it was like nothing else existed. Nothing except Jian.

Jian, with soft eyes and a real smile.

His mate.

Xing Yu didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

All he could see was him. The warmth in Jian’s expression. The life in his eyes. The gentle curve of his lips.

And for that one suspended moment, Xing Yu forgot the guilt. Forgot the shame. Forgot the words from the prince, the pain from rejection, the judgment of his subordinates.

There was only Jian.

And the fragile, fluttering hope that maybe, just maybe... he still had a chance to earn that smile for himself someday.

Jian’s eyes met Xing Yu’s stunned grey ones, and for a second—just one suspended second—his whole world paused.

The look on that man’s face...

It wasn’t just surprise or affection. It was adoration. Pure and unguarded. The kind that couldn’t be faked or mimicked. Xing Yu stared at him like he was the only thing in the universe worth looking at, like Jian was something sacred—something beloved.

And Jian’s heart thudded painfully loud in his chest.

He blinked, the force of that gaze breaking something inside him, and quickly looked down at the steaming bowl in his lap. His fingers tightened around it, as if the warmth from the ceramic could ground him, could distract his suddenly uncooperative body.

But it didn’t.

His skin felt hot. His neck. His ears. His chest. Everything was warming up as if something inside was reacting—responding—to that look.

’What the hell is wrong with me...’ Jian thought, forcing himself to clear his throat. The sudden fluttering in his chest made no sense. This wasn’t love. He couldn’t be—

He swallowed hard.

"Grandpa..." he said, voice lower than usual. "I decided to go back to Earth."

The old man’s hand froze mid-motion, spoon halfway to his mouth. His wrinkled face scrunched slightly, brows knitting together in concern. "If that’s your decision," he said, carefully placing the spoon down, "then let’s go. We can’t stay here as guests longer than necessary."

Before Jian could reply, another voice broke in—firm, steady, but also... desperate.

"You are not our guests," Xing Yu said suddenly, stepping fully into the room. "You are family." His expression was serious, even pleading. "You’re allowed to stay as long as you want. In fact... this ship, this fleet—" he motioned around with a slow sweep of his hand "—it all belongs to your grandson. No one can hurt you here. You’re absolutely safe."

Jian froze.

So did his grandfather.

The old man slowly turned to look at him, eyes narrowing with a dawning expression of confusion. "What does he mean by that?" he asked cautiously. "What’s he talking about, Jian?"

Jian let out a deep breath, almost a sigh, and stared down at the floor. "Grandpa... I didn’t want to tell you like this, but... apparently, I’m their prince." His voice dropped to a soft, almost reluctant whisper. "That’s what they say, at least."

He looked up, locking eyes with his grandfather. "But that doesn’t change anything. I don’t care about that. I’m still your grandson. I’m still human. I want to go back to Earth. That’s my home."

He turned then, almost slowly, to look at Xing Yu.

The man’s face had changed. The light in his eyes dimmed. His mouth parted just slightly, a quiet breath escaping like he’d just been struck in the chest. He looked like a kicked puppy—hurt, shocked, betrayed—but trying not to show it.

Something twisted in Jian’s gut.

He hadn’t meant to make him look like that. He didn’t want to hurt him. For one wild second, he had the urge to stand up, walk to him, and say, "I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want to leave you."

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he looked away, forcing the feeling down, pressing it deep beneath a wall of resolve. ’Why am I feeling like this?’ he thought, frustrated.

His hand hovered for a second over his chest. His heart—it was still beating fast. Restless. Unruly.

He pressed his palm flat against it.

’Why do you keep reacting like this around him... what are you trying to tell me?’

But his heart, traitorous and wild, gave no answers—only pounded harder, like it wanted to leap toward the man he’d just turned away from.