The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL] Chapter 127 - My mate

The city was dead, yet it still breathed. Smoke rose in uneven pillars between collapsed buildings and fractured roads, painting the sky in a haze of orange and gray. Rubble littered the streets as far as eyes could see.

Xing Yu stood at the edge of the city, the tal of his armor gleeming dark against the dim light. His silver eyes narrowed, scanning the ruins with a frown carved deep into his face. The destruction, the despair—it was worse than intelligence had reported.

He turned to the two Farian soldiers behind him, both standing straight and alert.

"Spread out," he commanded, voice sharp yet composed. "Search for survivors, but focus on finding a boy. Human. Around sixteen years old. Small fra. Shy deanor." His jaw tightened. "Save any boys who match that description. Save everyone you can."

"Yes, General!" they both saluted and vanished into opposite streets, their steps light and silent.

Xing Yu’s eyes lingered on the path ahead.

The sky darkened quickly as twilight fell over the ruin. The silence grew heavier, settling on his shoulders like a cloak. It was then he heard it—screams.

Not far from where he stood.

He sprinted toward the sound.

Down a crumbling alley, past an overturned bus, he found a small group of human survivors—a man, a woman, and two children—cornered by three Graylings. Their long, sli-slicked limbs wriggled in anticipation, surrounding the humans like predators playing with food.

Xing Yu didn’t hesitate.

The mont he stepped into the street, the Graylings turned to him.

And froze.

The hiss that left their mouths was high-pitched, confused. They recognized him.

The next mont, all three turned and fled, screeching into the night.

The humans stared, gasping. One of the children clung to the woman, who sank to her knees in tears.

"You’re... Are you one of them?" the man asked shakily.

Xing Yu stepped forward slowly. "I’m here to help. This area isn’t safe. Move toward the southern district—there’s a bunker there, underground. Use the green light signals to find the entry point."

The man blinked in disbelief. "Th-Thank you..."

Xing Yu didn’t wait for more gratitude. He turned and disappeared down the next alley.

But not all Graylings were so easily intimidated.

He sensed it before he saw it—sothing heavier in the air. He turned just in ti to see a black-scaled Grayling leap from a rooftop, crashing into the ground with a thunderous crack.

The superior kind.

It shrieked and charged at him, two limbs slashing forward like blades.

Xing Yu dodged with a sidestep and drew his weapon in one smooth motion. A gleaming halberd burst with Farian light in his grip.

"Wrong move," he muttered.

The black Grayling lunged again.

This ti, he didn’t dodge. He t it head-on.

There was no struggle. No hesitation. In one arc of his blade, Xing Yu cleaved through two of its limbs, twisted around, and drove the spear straight into the core of its chest. It let out a guttural, gurgling cry—and collapsed in a heap of dark, tar-like blood.

Two more black Graylings erged, their eyes glowing.

Xing Yu raised his blade again. He didn’t bother speaking.

The battle was over before it began.

Within seconds, both were dead—limbs strewn across the street, their bodies lting into the concrete like shadows dissolving in sunlight.

He stood among the carnage, breath calm, expression untouched. The blood didn’t stain him. The fear didn’t touch him. But the weight on his heart only grew heavier.

’Where are you?’ he thought, staring into the darkening city.

He didn’t know how long he walked. Hours, maybe.

He sat down slowly, resting his halberd across his knees, and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

There was no sign of the boy he was searching for.

He tilted his head back and stared at the full moon. It was bright—brighter than it had any night. A cold wind swept through the silence, brushing over his shoulders.

Then— he heard a soft laughter.

Xing Yu’s head snapped up.

A child was laughing.

It was coming from sowhere close.

He rose soundlessly and followed the sound, weaving through debris and twisted tal.

"...and if you follow the line of ants long enough, you’ll find their queen! Mommy told that. She said ants are brave. They carry food that’s bigger than their heads!"

The tiny voice carried with surprising clarity in the stillness.

Xing Yu stopped behind a collapsed wall and peered over it. His breath caught in his throat.

A little boy knelt beside a cracked tile, poking at a line of ants crawling around a biscuit crumb. His face was sared with dust, but his eyes shone with childlike wonder. Sitting beside him, back against the ruins, was a tall, slim young man.

His laughter was warm, low. The kind that made Xing Yu’s heart shudder painfully in his chest.

The moon was behind them, its silver light casting their figures in silhouette. He couldn’t see the young man’s face—only the lean curve of his shoulders, the way his head tipped when he chuckled softly at the boy’s ramblings.

A whisper in his blood stirred.

Without realizing it, Xing Yu had already stood up. His legs moved on their own, slow at first... then faster.

The rubble beneath his boots shifted.

The young man heard it. In one fluid motion, he shot up from his spot, drawing a blade that glead in the moonlight.

In an instant, the blade was at Xing Yu’s throat.

Xing Yu froze.

The young man stood over him, one foot braced on a broken stone. His body shimred faintly under the moon, hair tousled and eyes—

Those eyes.

Glowing green-blue like the ocean before a storm.

The blade didn’t tremble. His hand was steady, his posture perfect, lethal, cold.

But Xing Yu wasn’t looking at the sword.

He was staring into those eyes.

And he felt it. A low, aching throb deep in his chest. A call—not of fear, not of instinct—but of sothing ancient and inescapable.

A mating call.

His breath hitched.

This was it. This was the lost Third Prince.

This was Jian Wang.

The world dulled around him. The rubble, the cold, the sting of the blade at his neck—it all faded as he looked up into the face of the man who’d haunted his dreams since the war began.

"...I found you," Xing Yu whispered.

Jian’s eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" His voice was cautious but not entirely hostile.

The child peeked out from behind Jian’s legs, blinking at Xing Yu curiously. "Mister Jian... do you know him?"

Xing Yu swallowed hard, trying to ta the emotions crashing through him like waves.

"I’m—" he began, but his voice cracked.

He stood there, chest heaving, gazing at the man Fate had bound him to—and who looked at him now like he was just another stranger.

But Xing Yu knew. Deep in his bones, in the rush of his heart and the tug of his soul—

He had found his mate.