CHAPTER 226: CHAPTER 226 - BIAN WAS WITH WHO?

"So what do we do...?" Jian whispered, panic creeping up his throat as he clutched the edge of the quilt tighter around Xing. "Do we like... give him human medicine? I’ve had paracetamol. It works for me." He looked toward Eren, voice hushed like he was afraid the wrong word might make it worse.

Eren paused mid-pace, blinking at him. "Umm... I think so?" His voice pitched upward, uncertain. "I don’t know. To be honest, you were raised here, on Earth. Your biology might actually be quite different from ours. You’ve had time to adapt naturally. But General Xing—he’s pure Farian. Zero atmospheric resistance. Zero exposure. His body’s not built to fight Earth’s pathogens."

Varon, arms folded, finally let out a soft sigh. "It’s worth a try," he said, quieter than usual. "Something is better than nothing. He needs to sweat this out, but if it gets worse..."

A soft sound interrupted them.

Hk’tch!

Xing let out a small sneeze, barely muffled by the folds of the quilt. His normally sharp, composed face looked flushed—high cheekbones tinged pink, that sharp, elegant nose now lightly reddened at the tip. His long lashes fluttered as he blinked dazedly up at the ceiling like he couldn’t tell where he was.

Jian’s heart did a weird little flutter.

He squinted down at the general, who sniffled and lazily tugged the edge of the blanket over his nose. Since when did cold and miserable become so... adorable? Jian blinked rapidly, confused and horrified at himself.

This was Xing Yu, the intimidating Farian general, whose mere stare could make men flinch. And now he was sitting there looking like an exhausted kitten.

Jian shook himself, cheeks burning. "Okay—yeah—I’ll go check if there are any meds here," he blurted, turning on his heel before his thoughts got any weirder.

He ran barefoot out of the room, hair still damp and sticking to his neck, muttering under his breath, "He’s sick. Not cute. Sick. what’s wrong with me?!"

Jian burst back into the room like a whirlwind, hair still dripping and sticking to his cheeks, chest bare, panic written all over his face.

Nansich, half-buried under a tangle of quilts, grunted and scratched at his tousled blond hair with one hand, his eyes squinting at the sudden movement. "You didn’t have to steal my quilt too..." he mumbled with a massive yawn, curling up into the now blanket-less mattress.

Li Wang sat cross-legged beside him, his wild hair sticking out like he’d fought a chicken in his sleep. His glasses sat crooked on his face, one side hanging by a single screw. "What happened?" he asked groggily, voice rasped and hoarse with sleep.

"Xing is sick," Jian answered quickly, already rifling through a plastic bin in the corner of the room. "Do you guys have any fever reducers here? Paracetamol? Ibuprofen? Even cough syrup?"

Nansich blinked sleepily, rubbing crusty eye boogers from the corners of his eyes. "No... we rarely get sick," he mumbled. "The old ones expired ages ago. Grandpa thought it was a waste of money restocking medicine we didn’t need."

"Of course he did," Jian hissed, slamming the bin shut in frustration.

Behind him, Varon had just entered the room, his dark eyes scanning the place with calm efficiency. "Then I’ll go find some," he said without hesitation. "There must be an abandoned pharmacy or clinic nearby."

Jian paced near the door, anxious energy rolling off him in waves. As Varon adjusted the small utility belt slung across his hip, Jian suddenly said, "I’m coming with you."

Varon paused, turning just slightly to face him. "No. You stay here. He needs you."

"I am coming," Jian repeated, more firm this time. "You don’t know what kind of medicine to look for. What if you bring back the wrong thing? I was raised here. I know what to grab. Just let me help."

Varon’s expression didn’t shift much, but the faint crease between his brows deepened. After a moment of silence, he gave a small nod. "Fine. Make it quick."

"Give me one sec," Jian said, slipping on a fresh dry shirt he snatched from the back of a chair. His hair still dripped, leaving small wet spots on the wooden floor.

From the mattress pile, Nansich suddenly shot upright, voice bright. "Me! Me too! I want to come!" His messy blond hair bounced as he scrambled to pull on his boots.

"No," Varon said bluntly, not even looking at him.

"Wha—why not? I’ve got two legs. I can run. I like medicine!"

"You’re loud," Varon replied simply, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "We’re going to move fast and quiet."

Nansich slumped, exaggerated and dramatic. "You guys suck."

Li Wang, who had been quietly sitting off to the side, cleared his throat. "I’ll come."

Jian turned to him, surprised. "You?"

"Yeah," Li Wang said, standing up and brushing lint off his rumpled clothes. "I’ve been... getting headaches lately. I want to see if I can find something for myself."

He avoided Jian’s eyes as he said it, gaze shifting toward the door instead. His fingers twitched at his side, and then, when no one seemed to be watching, he raised one hand to his mouth and bit at a torn nail nervously, chewing a little too hard before realizing Jian had noticed.

"You okay?" Jian asked, tilting his head slightly.

"I’m fine," Li Wang mumbled quickly. "Let’s go?"

Jian gave Varon a small nod.

Varon’s eyes lingered on Li Wang for a beat too long. He said nothing, but his grip on the old metal doorframe tightened.

Then, without another word, the three of them stepped outside—into the quiet morning mist and the unknown shadows of the forest beyond.

The cracked concrete path crunched under their boots as Jian, Varon, and Li Wang walked in tense silence. Mist curled low along the sides of the road like breath from a sleeping beast, veiling the familiar and making the town feel foreign. But Jian knew this path. Every tree, every bend, even the uneven dip just before the old vending machine—it was home. Or at least, it used to be.

Jian’s eyes swept over the ruins of the construction site up ahead. The skeletons of cranes and half-finished buildings loomed like forgotten giants. Tarps fluttered in the morning breeze. Rust had begun to eat into the exposed beams. Tools lay scattered, untouched, as if their owners had dropped everything and fled. Not a soul in sight.

"Looks abandoned," Jian muttered.

"No, it was recent," Varon said quietly, eyes scanning the structure. "Still smells of fuel and metal. They left in a hurry."

Jian nodded absently and turned his gaze down the street. As they passed a narrow alley, the rusting sign of the noodle shop he used to work in creaked overhead.

And then he saw it.

A flicker of movement inside.

He froze. "Wait."

"What?" Varon asked, pausing mid-step.

"There’s someone in there."

Without thinking, Jian jogged forward, his hand reaching for the door as the bell above jingled sharply. The inside of the shop was dark, shadows cast over upturned chairs and dusty countertops. A faint smell of soy and old broth still lingered in the air.

Suddenly—a sharp movement.

A figure lunged at him from the dark, swinging a metal ladle like a weapon.

"Whoa! Whoa, it’s me—!" Jian ducked, stumbling back as the figure stepped into the light.

It was her.

The shop owner. The stern-faced woman with cropped black hair and flour-dusted hands who used to yell at him for taking too many breaks. Her eyes were wild at first—then widened in stunned recognition.

"Jian...?" she breathed.

Jian straightened, a shaky grin pulling at his lips. "You guys are alive."

The woman stared at him like a ghost had just spoken. "You’re back again," she said, her voice laced with disbelief. "You’re actually here."

Jian smiled, just a little. "It’s... been a while."

But her expression twisted into confusion, then concern. "Where’s the blond guy?"

Jian blinked, confused. "Blond? You mean Nansich?"

She shook her head. "No. That’s not his name... Umm what was his name.. it was di something.." Her eyes narrowed in thought. "Yeah. Dican."

Jian’s smile vanished. His breath hitched in his throat.

His heart began to pound.

"...What did you say?"

She stepped closer, studying his pale face. "Dican. You came by here with him, didn’t you? Just a few days ago. You two looked like you were in a rush. You were both dressed strange, too. He didn’t say much—barely looked at me. But he had that same blond hair. Jian, are you okay?"

Jian’s eyes were wide, his face drained of color.

Dican. Blond. A few days ago.

He staggered back a step, mind racing. Because that was the name of his farian brother.

’Dican... he was here? In town? And with Bian?’

But that wasn’t possible.

No.

No, that wasn’t possible.

Unless—

The woman took a step forward, clearly worried. "Jian, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me."

He could barely hear her.

Because right now, everything in Jian’s head had gone quiet—save for one deafening realization that rang like thunder between his ears.

Dican had been here with his treacherous brother Bian posing as him.