The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]
Chapter 213 - Caught red handed

Chapter 213: Chapter 213 - Caught red handed

Xing Yu’s breath hitched quietly.

The morning light had barely begun to slip through the curtains, painting pale amber streaks across the ceiling. But he was already wide awake—not because of any noise or light, but because of the weight and warmth that now rested fully on his chest.

He slowly tilted his head downward.

Tufts of soft black hair tickled beneath his chin, and just under that was the peaceful, sleeping face of Jian—his brows relaxed, lips slightly parted, breath warm against the thin fabric of Xing’s shirt.

At some point in the night, the boy had rolled over, crawled unknowingly into his arms, and plastered himself on top of him like he belonged there.

Xing’s chest rose and fell with a deep, shaky breath.

He didn’t dare move.

He didn’t dare blink too hard.

His hand, hovering just over Jian’s back, trembled slightly. With the utmost gentleness, he finally let his fingers graze the boy’s cheek—just a featherlight touch. The skin beneath was warm, soft, and so terribly human. The feeling made his stomach twist.

Was this okay?

Would it break if he breathed too loudly?

His heart thundered in his chest. It wasn’t like in battle, when adrenaline surged and his senses were alert. No—this was far worse. This was terrifyingly gentle. Terrifyingly close.

Xing Yu swallowed hard, unsure what to do. Every inch of him screamed to stay still. Just a few more seconds like this. Just a few more seconds of this warmth.

But Jian stirred.

His brows knit, a faint groan left his throat, and he shifted a little. His hand unconsciously gripped the front of Xing’s shirt. Then his eyes blinked open—sleepy, confused, and still foggy from dreams.

Jian lifted his head slightly and stared up.

Right into Xing Yu’s stunned eyes.

"...Ah."

A full beat of silence.

Then it hit.

Jian’s face turned crimson. His whole body went stiff as a board.

"I—uh—sorry, I didn’t—!" he stammered, scrambling back, practically throwing himself to the far end of the bed. "I must have—rolled over or something—I didn’t mean to—!"

Xing didn’t say a word.

He couldn’t.

Because his brain was still trying to reboot.

Jian sat with the blanket pulled halfway up his chest, glaring at anything except the man beside him. "I swear I don’t usually sleep like that—"

"...It’s fine," Xing said at last, voice low and unsteady.

Their eyes met again.

Jian quickly looked away, hiding half his face behind the comforter. His ears were burning red.

Xing Yu stared for another second.

Then he turned his face up to the ceiling, exhaling deeply.

He was so doomed.

Xing Yu stood up so abruptly that the blanket barely moved before he was already out of it.

"I’ll... go wash up," he muttered, his voice just a bit too tight, his movements just a bit too fast. Without another glance, he spun on his heel and strode quickly out of the room.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him.

Left alone in the room, Jian slowly peeled back the comforter from over his face, revealing a flushed expression and wide, panicked eyes.

He stared at the now-closed bathroom door.

His heart wouldn’t stop thudding.

He sat up, then immediately groaned, falling back onto the bed again and rolling over like a miserable pancake. "Ughhh..." he buried his face in the pillow, voice muffled and mortified. "Why am I such a horrible sleeper?!"

He rolled again, flopping onto his back this time and covering his face with his hands.

"I swear I’ve never done that before..." he muttered to himself.

His thoughts drifted back—back to the feeling of something solid and warm pressed against his chest... no, his whole body. His face heated up all over again.

He lowered his hand and stared at it.

He could still remember exactly how it felt. The firm curve of muscle beneath Xing Yu’s shirt. The steady thump of a heartbeat underneath. The slight rise and fall of each breath. The smell of warmth and steel and something faintly clean.

"I touched that," he muttered. Correct content is on

Then groaned into the pillow again.

"Why is his chest so—why is he so—ughh!"

He kicked the blankets off in frustration and stared up at the ceiling, hands over his face. "It must’ve gotten cold or something," he tried to reason with himself, heart still pounding. "Yeah, that’s it. It got cold and I was half-asleep... I didn’t even realize..."

But even saying that didn’t help.

Because now the memory was burned into him—and no amount of embarrassment was going to erase how comforted he’d felt, curled up against that warm body, no nightmares, no fear.

Just... peace.

Jian covered his face again and whispered into the pillow.

"I’m never sleeping next to him again."

The bathroom door creaked open, and steam gently billowed out.

Jian turned his head casually at the sound, but the moment he saw Xing Yu step out—shirtless, hair damp and tousled, a towel slung over one shoulder—his entire body went still.

His breath caught.

Eyes wide, mouth just slightly ajar, he stared, completely unable to look away.

Xing Yu’s chest glistened slightly from the steam, and his sculpted abdomen moved faintly with every breath. Muscles—defined, sleek, and godlike—trailed down into a low-slung towel around his hips, showing just enough to short-circuit Jian’s brain entirely.

Jian’s hand slowly moved to his mouth.

I touched that. My face was right there.

He was so busy being shocked he didn’t even realize he was staring like a fish until Xing Yu, completely oblivious, walked over to the tiny closet, picked out a t-shirt and a pair of what looked like... ridiculously baggy pants covered in pink-and-blue flowers.

Still mostly damp, the general calmly tugged the baggy pants on first, then the shirt—rolling the sleeves up slightly on his toned arms.

It was the pants that finally broke Jian.

A full-bellied laugh burst out of him before he could stop it.

"Those are lady’s pants!" he laughed, pointing with half a hand over his eyes like it’d save him from seeing more. "Did—did you just put on one of Nansich’s spare pajamas?!"

Xing Yu glanced down at himself.

Touched the soft, floral-printed pant legs that stopped awkwardly mid-calf.

"I like it though," he said seriously, blinking like he didn’t understand the problem.

Jian almost doubled over, his laughter echoing off the room walls. "You—you look like a grandma on vacation!"

Xing raised a brow, then looked down again, mildly.

"The fabric is nice," he added softly, deadpan.

Jian clutched his stomach, nearly rolling off the bed from laughter. "Go ask Nansich if he has something that doesn’t look like it belongs to his mom!"

Xing just stood there, calm as ever, watching Jian giggle uncontrollably.

"I will," he nodded. "But only if you stop laughing like that. Your face is turning red again."

Jian immediately stopped, blinking up at him.

"...I’m not red," he muttered, voice a touch too soft.

Xing Yu smiled slightly. "You are."

Jian pulled the blanket over his head in retaliation. "Shut up and go change."

Xing Yu quietly opened the door to the other room, the floorboards creaking slightly under his feet as he stepped inside.

The scene that greeted him was nothing short of chaos.

Nansich was sprawled out like a starfish on the floor, half-buried under a comforter, snoring lightly. Li Wang, somehow curled up on a mat next to him, had his cracked glasses still sitting crookedly on his face, looking like he’d passed out from sheer exhaustion. A bowl with some half-eaten instant noodles sat dangerously close to his head.

Xing’s brows twitched faintly, but he let his eyes shift toward the bed where he had come to borrow a change of clothes from the one most likely to have them.

What he didn’t expect was to see Eren sleeping peacefully... with Varon sitting beside him.

And then—

Varon leaned down and gently pressed his lips against Eren’s, soft and fleeting, his expression unreadable in the dark room.

Xing’s eyes widened.

The air grew still.

Varon turned his head slightly—and froze.

Their eyes locked.

For a moment, there was no sound but the soft snores and distant creak of the farmhouse walls.

Xing Yu stepped into the room, the shadows gathering faintly around him as his cold expression sharpened.

"I don’t condone these actions, Varon," he said flatly, voice like cold steel. "You know the rules."

Varon immediately jolted back like he had been burned. His face paled. Correct content is on .

"General..." he whispered and quickly slid off the bed, kneeling on the floor beside Nansich’s outstretched arm. "I—I have every intention to mate with him. I swear it. I know my actions were wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it without his awareness. It won’t happen again."

He bowed his head so low it almost touched the floor.

"But please... please don’t tell him."

Xing Yu watched him in silence.

His fists were clenched at his side—not from anger, but restraint. The weight of leadership and responsibility settled on his shoulders again.

"Get up," he said coldly after a moment. "I won’t say anything. But if I catch you violating boundaries again, Varon... mate or not... you’ll face the consequences."

Varon nodded solemnly, still kneeling. "Yes, General."

Without another word, Xing walked over to the tiny dresser in the corner and pulled open the drawer, yanking out a plain black pair of pants and another shirt. He turned and glanced once more at the silent sleeping Eren, then back at the kneeling Varon.

His gaze softened slightly—but only for a second.

Then, with a curt nod, he left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.