The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]
Chapter 182 - Humanity at its worst

Chapter 182: Chapter 182 - Humanity at its worst

Jian zipped up the bag with slow, tense fingers. His shoulders were stiff, his chest heavier than he expected. The decision was made. He was going back to Earth.

Quingya, as expected, was stuck to his back like glue—his hands clinging desperately to the fabric of Jian’s shirt. No matter how many times Jian tried to gently shake him off, the kid only whimpered and latched on tighter, clearly refusing to let go. Jian sighed, a small fond smile flickering on his lips despite the weight in his chest.

Across the room, his grandfather was moving slowly, too slowly. Jian’s smile faded. The old man’s body looked even thinner in the bright ship lights, his steps more unsteady than before. Every movement looked like it took effort. Jian couldn’t help the frown that pulled at his brow as he watched the man who raised him shuffle toward the corner to adjust something in his own bag.

This wasn’t Earth. Here, his grandpa had a bed, warmth, food, safety. Out there... Jian didn’t know. He was willingly stepping back into danger, into chaos. Could he really drag his grandfather into that mess just because he didn’t fully trust these aliens?

He hesitated.

Then slowly, he turned to the one person in the room who hadn’t stopped watching him since he entered.

Xing Yu.

The man was standing by the door, quiet, patient. As if waiting for Jian to speak. As if he knew Jian would eventually turn to him. _{f.r(e)e\webn.ovel.co\m}

Jian’s fingers clenched the strap of his bag tighter. His lips trembled before he found the strength to speak.

"C-Can you promise me something?"

Xing Yu’s expression shifted immediately. He stepped forward, eyes softer, his voice unwavering. "Anything," he said. "Anything for you."

Jian took a shaky breath and looked at his grandfather again. Then back at Xing Yu.

"Can... can you protect my grandpa here?"

There was a pause, just a heartbeat of silence. Then two pairs of eyes turned toward him.

His grandfather’s expression twisted into surprise—doubt and confusion flashing across his wrinkled face. But Xing Yu...

Xing Yu looked like someone had just handed him the most precious treasure in the universe.

His eyes sparkled with emotion as he stepped forward again, nodding eagerly. "Yes! You can trust me with all your heart," he said seriously, voice rising with passion. "I will protect him with everything in my being. He is absolutely safe here."

The words poured out of him, unstoppable.

"The Farians will never betray you. Not when you carry royal blood. Your grandpa will have access to safe food, a healthy lifestyle, and the best medical care. I will personally make sure he is treated with respect and comfort. Actually—actually, we can redesign this room! Make it look exactly like one of your human houses so he can feel at home! We have memory scans and holograms—we can even replicate furniture from Earth if it makes him more comfortable—"

"Okay, okay—slow down," Jian said, blinking up at him in stunned silence.

He wasn’t expecting this much. Not the glowing expression. Not the breathless eagerness. Not the way Xing Yu’s entire body seemed to lean toward him like he was waiting to be praised for his answer.

And definitely not the warmth building in his own chest again.

He turned away to calm the redness creeping up his neck.

His grandfather sighed and slowly walked toward him.

"Jian..." he said softly, gently. "I’ll follow anything you say."

Jian looked up quickly, startled by how calm the old man sounded.

"I just..." Jian reached for his hand, holding it tightly. "I just want you to be safe. That’s all, Grandpa." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And... I... I kind of trust these aliens."

He blushed again and looked down. "At least they’re better than humans."

While Jian was placing his trust in aliens, far away in the Wang mansion, the worst of humanity was on full display.

Bian stood in a pristine, cold operating room, arms crossed and a sick gleam in his eyes as he stared at the unconscious Farian lying on the table before him. The alien had been taken out of the containment tank hours ago and was now fully anesthetized—strapped down and monitored. His muscular chest rose and fell slowly with every drug-controlled breath. Bian couldn’t stop staring.

The man’s body was lean, strong, flawless. The deep ridges of muscle stretched across his chest and arms like something carved out of stone. Power radiated from him even while unconscious.

Bian’s lips curled upward greedily.

"Will I also become like this once I become a Farian...?" he muttered under his breath, almost in awe. "I’ll be powerful too..."

He could already feel it in his imagination—power surging through his blood, limbs pulsing with strength. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, as if tasting the future.

"Dican," he whispered, voice shaking with excitement as he turned to the silent figure near the tanks, "can you imagine it? I can be just like him..."

But Dican didn’t respond.

The Farian prince was standing silently beside one of the glass tanks. His eyes were locked onto the woman floating inside it—a golden-haired female suspended in a glowing liquid, her body still, her expression serene. His expression, however, was completely unreadable. Empty.

Bian followed his gaze and felt a flash of rage spike in his gut.

That woman. That thing. Was she the reason Dican wasn’t listening? Was she the reason he didn’t respond to Bian’s words of triumph? Bian’s eyes narrowed sharply. Was the drug wearing off?

Panic twisted inside his stomach. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t lose control now—not when he was so close.

Snatching a surgical knife from the nearby tray, Bian strode toward Dican, forcing his tone to remain sweet.

"Honey," he called out, "give me your hand."

Without hesitation, Dican lifted his hand and offered it to him, as obedient as ever. But his eyes—his damned eyes—remained on the floating woman. Never once did he glance at Bian.

The sight made Bian’s blood boil.

With a forced smile, he pressed the blade into Dican’s palm and made a long, deep cut. Golden blood welled up instantly, thick and radiant, dripping down his fingers.

Still, Dican didn’t even flinch.

Bian wasted no time. He took a thick smear of the purplish bonding substance from the container nearby and rubbed it directly into the wound, smearing it into the Farian’s golden blood with shaking fingers.

And just like that, something shifted.

The moment the substance touched his skin, Dican blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream. He turned his head and finally looked at Bian.

His gaze softened, his lips curling into that same familiar, dopey smile. "Love... what are you doing here?" he asked gently, as if he hadn’t been completely unresponsive just seconds ago.

Relief flooded Bian’s chest like a wave.

He grinned, triumphant and possessive.

The bond was still working.

He still had control.

But deep inside, a small seed of fear began to sprout—because if the medicine was starting to wear off, then he would need more.

And soon.