The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]
Chapter 211 - Poison

Chapter 211: Chapter 211 - Poison

By the end of the grueling training, both Jian and Nansich were utterly wrecked. Their clothes clung to their bodies, soaked in sweat. Jian was collapsed on his back, panting loudly as he gazed up at the cloud-dusted evening sky. His chest heaved with exhaustion, every limb felt like jelly. Just beside him, Nansich was sprawled like a starfish on the grass, groaning dramatically.

"Ughhh, I hate this..." Nansich whined, barely able to lift his arm. "I think I broke my soul... it’s floating away from my body..."

Jian gave a breathless laugh, but couldn’t even find the strength to turn his head. He blinked up at the soft amber sky when, suddenly, a large shadow fell across him. Something blocked the sunlight.

He blinked again.

Above him stood Xing Yu, silent, composed... and maddeningly beautiful.

The Farian was backlit by the dimming sun, his sharp features illuminated in golden light. Strands of his snowy white hair had escaped his neatly tied ponytail, cascading softly over his shoulders. The breeze played with them gently, and for a second, he looked more like a celestial being than a soldier.

Jian stared up, dazed. His eyes locked on those curved lips—the subtle smile that tugged at the corners of Xing Yu’s mouth. His stomach did a strange little flip.

Xing Yu bent slightly, reaching out his hand.

"Can you stand?" he asked, his voice low, almost gentle.

His words held none of the commanding sharpness from earlier. Just concern. Just... warmth.

Jian’s mouth opened but no sound came. His heart thudded strangely. He stared at the offered hand, then up into those gray eyes that looked at him like he mattered.

With hesitant fingers, he took the hand. It was rough with calluses, warm, strong—and when Xing pulled him up, Jian nearly stumbled forward straight into him again. His chest brushed against Xing’s, breath caught in his throat.

Xing steadied him quietly, one arm supporting his back just a second longer than necessary.

Jian quickly stepped back, cheeks burning. "I... I’m fine," he mumbled, gaze flicking away in embarrassment.

Xing only chuckled under his breath.

Meanwhile, Nansich watched the whole thing from the ground, narrowing his eyes with a devilish grin. "So," he said with mock horror, "do I have to almost die to get that treatment too?"

Eren burst into laughter at Nansich’s melodramatic whining. "Alright, drama queen," he said, reaching down and helping him up by the arm.

Nansich groaned pitifully, slumping against Eren’s shoulder like a wet towel. "Can’t you just carry me? Be a gentleman or something... I think my soul is still not back."

Eren smirked, about to say something sarcastic when—out of nowhere—Varon swooped in like a silent shadow. Without a word, he gripped Nansich by the back of his shirt and tugged him off Eren’s shoulder, plopping the human boy unceremoniously back onto his feet.

"H-Hey—!" Nansich blinked up at him, utterly baffled. He stared between the two Farians, clutching his aching arms. "Goodness... I don’t even get humane treatment here!" he groaned dramatically before limping toward the house with his own brand of exaggerated suffering.

Eren stood there blinking, hands still mid-air where Nansich had been moments ago.

"What... the hell was that?"

His gaze flicked toward Varon, who stood still as stone, not even looking at him. "What is up with you lately?" Eren asked, tone shifting from amused to confused. "You’ve been acting strange."

Varon finally turned his head, his eyes unreadable. "Don’t get close to him."

The words landed like a stone between them.

Eren frowned, his usual playful look wiped clean off his face. "Why not? He’s just a harmless, cute human."

That made Varon freeze for a heartbeat. Then slowly, he turned, throwing a glare over his shoulder—sharp and possessive. But he didn’t say anything. He just walked away, disappearing behind the orchard trees and into the distance.

Eren stood there in stunned silence.

"What... did I say?" he mumbled to himself, genuinely baffled.

He turned to Xing Yu, who had watched the entire thing with calm disinterest. But now the general was already brushing past him toward the house.

Xing Yu only shrugged. "Ask him yourself," he said, walking away without another word.

Eren let out a confused sigh, scratching the back of his head.

Jian slumped down onto the couch, barely managing to kick off his shoes as he melted into the cushions with an exhausted groan. His limbs felt like lead, and every muscle in his body protested the slightest movement.

Nansich staggered in just a second later and flopped beside him, face-down, arms dangling off the side of the sofa. Both of them were silent for a moment... until their stomachs growled in perfect sync—long and loud.

Jian slowly turned his head. Nansich did the same. Their eyes met.

"There’s... some ramen in the kitchen," Nansich mumbled, raising a trembling hand toward the counter like a dying warrior pointing to salvation.

Jian nodded weakly. "Go get it."

Nansich turned his head and glared at him. "You go get it."

"I’m too tired..."

"I’m in a worse state than you," Nansich whined, dropping his arm dramatically across his chest.

The glaring match could’ve gone on longer if not for the door creaking open. Xing Yu and Eren stepped into the house, dusting off their hands from whatever they’d been doing outside.

"Yaa, general man!" Nansich suddenly called out with his most charming smile, his whole demeanor flipping in a second. "Can you make us some noodles, please?"

Jian rolled his eyes with a small snort.

Jian chuckled softly to himself, the low sound rumbling in his throat as he leaned back on the couch, memories swimming to the surface. The last time Xing Yu made him noodles... it had been an unforgettable experience. Mostly because it was terrible. He remembered staring down at a bowl of half-cooked crunchy noodles floating in hot, flavorless water. The look on Xing’s face had been so proud, too.

A crooked smile tugged at Jian’s lips as he sat up with a bit of effort. "His food’s really not that... palatable," he muttered, glancing toward the kitchen with playful mischief dancing in his eyes.

Xing Yu, who had just opened a packet of noodles, paused mid-motion. He glanced over his shoulder, his expression flickering just briefly—was that disheartenment? Jian felt a slight pang of guilt nudge his chest.

"Then I’ll learn too," Xing Yu said, setting the packet down with surprising resolve.

Jian blinked. "What?"

The general didn’t repeat himself, but he followed Jian into the kitchen with quiet footsteps, standing beside him as if silently asking to be guided. Jian raised an eyebrow at this unexpected humility but said nothing. Instead, he walked over to the stove and motioned for Xing to bring the pot over.

"Okay," Jian said, rolling up his sleeves. "First off... noodles actually need time to cook. Not just a hot bath."

He moved with ease, grabbing a few ingredients around the small kitchen. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Xing Yu watching attentively, focused like a soldier learning battlefield tactics.

Jian opened the small fridge and freezer. "Look, we’ve got some sausages here. Good protein. And the farm—"

He turned and pointed through the window toward the small outdoor garden.

"Fresh lettuce. Can’t go wrong with that."

Xing Yu nodded and stepped out to the back for a moment, returning with a handful of crisp green leaves. Jian washed and tore them, then tossed them into the pot with practiced ease. The sausages went in next, cut into neat diagonal slices.

Jian stirred the pot, then handed the spoon to Xing Yu. "Now... let it simmer. Don’t rush it. It’s not like a battle where you go in and finish it quick. Good food takes time."

He carefully ladled the steaming noodles into mismatched bowls, the savory aroma of broth, sausage, and stir-fried vegetables filling the small kitchen. The mix of crisp lettuce and soft noodles, of earthy greens and sizzling meat, somehow made it feel warm—almost like home. He’d made enough for everyone, thanks to the generous handful of garden greens he’d tossed in last minute.

"Alright, here," he said, balancing the bowls as he passed them around. Xing Yu took his with a quiet nod, settling beside the others at the low table. Nansich snatched his up like a starved beast.

Without waiting for anyone, Nansich dug in, slurping the noodles so loudly it echoed across the room. "Mmmm..." he hummed with closed eyes, chili oil already smudging the corners of his mouth. "This is edible heaven."

Xing Yu ate more slowly, precise as always, using the spoon with a kind of regal grace as if even noodle-eating had protocols. Varon, ever reserved, didn’t speak but gave Jian a small appreciative glance before picking up his own bowl. Jian simply settled down with a satisfied sigh, watching everyone quietly.

Eren, however, took one enthusiastic bite—and immediately froze. His eyes widened. His cheeks puffed out. Then suddenly—

"Poison!" he choked, mouth open, eyes darting around frantically. "It’s poison! Don’t eat it—Varon, drop your spoon!"

He lunged dramatically, stopping Varon’s hand mid-air like he was saving his life.

Everyone stared.

"It’s just chili," Jian deadpanned, already chewing his second bite.

"Chili?!" Eren wailed, tongue sticking out, his arms fanning himself. "You’re telling me humans eat fire for flavor?!"

Nansich burst into laughter, gripping his stomach and nearly falling off the chair. "Ha! You guys are weak to spice? This is nothing! My aunt puts chili in dessert! Man up!"

"Man up?" Eren gasped, fanning himself with both hands now. "My tongue’s melting off!"

Xing Yu calmly took another bite, lips barely parting. "It’s manageable."

"Of course it is for you," Eren grumbled, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he guzzled down some water.

Jian smirked into his bowl, quietly enjoying the moment—watching an alien soldier being absolutely wrecked by a bowl of homemade ramen was strangely satisfying.