Chosen Darkness
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. It explores deep emotional connections between two male characters and includes intense moments. This work is pure fiction. Reader discretion is advised.]
Just as the weight of that choice settled in his chest,
Wang Zheng’s voice cut through the silence.
He continued.
“Prove to him that he means nothing to you. Prove you’re mine.”
“Just hurt him enough to make it count… no need to kill him—unless you want to.”
To Yibo, it felt like Wang Zheng was handing him a toy—
As if Zhan is some broken thing Yibo can damage, destroy and discard.
As if that life didn’t matter.
And in that moment, something in Yibo snapped.
The rage shot up so fast it almost choked him.
His fingers twitched around the gun.
Not from fear.
From restraint.
Mr. Qiao’s breath catches.
Yibo stares at the gun.
His hands tremble, just once.
Then tighten.
His fury explodes behind his ribs.
It’s not Zhan he wants to shoot.
It’s the man standing beside him.
Zhan lets out a breathless, broken laugh.
There was blood in his mouth when he spoke.
“What are you waiting for, Bobo? Do it. Show him who you really belong to.”
Yibo didn’t move.
Then Mr. Qiao stepped in—quick and smooth.
“Sir.”
He said carefully.
“In my opinion, that’s not wise. He’s weak. Barely conscious. If you want him to talk, we need him alive and coherent.”
“We’ve waited this long… what’s a little more time? Let him breathe—just enough so we can tear him apart the right way.”
Wang Zheng considered it.
Yibo exhaled—quiet, controlled.
“Dad.”
He said, voice steady.
“You don’t need proof of my loyalty. I know exactly where I stand. And I know who the real enemy is.”
Zhan coughed, more blood spilling from his lips.
Yibo froze—his world narrowing to the red on Zhan’s mouth.
It wasn’t just blood.
It was panic.
It was helplessness.
It was rage clawing up his throat while his legs refused to move.
Zhan struggled to speak.
“Bobo, please don’t trust him. He’s not who you think—”
Suddenly a kick silenced him.
“Shut your damn mouth, you piece of shit.”
One of Wang Zheng’s men stepped forward and kicked Zhan in the ribs.
Zhan collapsed.
Yibo’s jaw tightened.
His fingers curled into a fist, tightly clutching the side of his suit.
His knuckles white with the effort to tolerate what he had just witnessed happened to Zhan.
A storm brewed behind his composed exterior.
His eyes narrowed on the man who had kicked Zhan—
His gaze sharp, murderous, but reined in by sheer force of will.
His chest heaved, fury pounding beneath his ribs.
Every inch of him screams to retaliate, to protect, but he knows—
This is not the moment.
Not yet.
He forces his fury down and turns to Wang Zheng.
“Dad, I’ll make the arrangements to move him.”
Yibo said.
“You don’t have to worry. He’s safe. With me.”
Wang Zheng clapped a hand on Yibo’s shoulder.
Pride in his eyes.
“That’s my son.”
They walked out of the warehouse.
Yibo’s mind begged him to look back—just once more.
But his heart couldn’t take it.
Not when Zhan looked like that.
So with trembling breath and clenched fists, he forced himself to follow Wang Zheng and Mr. Qiao.
Outside, the air tasted like iron.
As Wang Zheng steps away to take a call.
Yibo pulled Mr. Qiao aside.
His voice is low, trembling with rage.
“Uncle, that bastard—who kicked Zhan-ge—make sure I never see his face again.”
“Not here. Not anywhere. I want him gone, for good. Make the arrangements.”
Mr. Qiao nods without hesitation.
“Consider it done, Bobo.”
Yibo looks back at the warehouse.
And for the first time, allows the rage to burn in his eyes.
Because soon—it’s all going to end.
And it will start with the man who dared to lay a hand on the only person Yibo ever truly loved.
But until then—he has to keep moving.
————————————————–
Zhan’s relocation began that afternoon.
The destination was a long-abandoned estate on the outskirts of the countryside.
Remote, walled in by dense trees and heavy iron gates.
Just the kind of isolation Wang Zheng preferred.
Yibo arranged everything alongside Mr. Qiao.
The plan had to appear seamless—professional, loyal.
Because they were still being watched.
Zhan, too weak to resist, was dragged out of the warehouse.
His wrists were no longer bound, but his ankles remained chained.
Two guards shoved him into the back of a black van.
His body hit the floor with a thud.
He groaned but didn’t speak.
Yibo watched.
Rage simmered beneath his skin.
Every bruise.
Every labored breath.
He committed it to memory—fuel for what came next.
Inside the van, Zhan stirred.
He lifted his head, eyes searching.
“Bo…bo…”
He whispered.
Yibo turned his face away.
Kept his expression blank.
Cold.
Yet, a tear slipped from his eye, which he quickly wiped away, even before anyone could notice.
Because he knew eyes were on him.
And one wrong flicker of emotion could destroy everything.
The van engine roared to life, pulling away from the warehouse.
Carrying Zhan deeper into forced isolation.
And with every passing second, the ache in Yibo’s chest grew worse.
Because what he is doing now—turning his back, staying silent—was the very thing he hated most.
But he had to.
For Zhan.
—————————————————
That night.
The old warehouse where Zhan had been kept for all these days was empty now.
Dimly lit by a single flickering bulb.
Shadows stretch long and distorted across the walls.
The metallic tang of blood still lingers in the air.
A man knelt on the floor.
Hands tied behind his back.
Face swollen and bloodied.
He’s trembling, whispering apologies through cracked lips.
His voice barely audible, pleading.
Across from him, seated on a metal chair…
is Yibo.
White shirt.
Sleeves rolled up.
A baseball bat resting in his hand.
Its edge stained with blood.
And on his knuckles, blood still drying.
His eyes—cold, unreadable—watched the man without a flicker of sympathy.
There was no rage left.
Only a bone-deep silence that felt more terrifying.
Yibo didn’t speak.
He didn’t move.
He just stared, as if committing every shiver, every whimper, to memory.
Because this was the man who had dared to kick Zhan—already wounded.
And right in front of him.
And now, Yibo is simply waiting.
Not for answers.
But for the man to understand exactly how it feels to beg on broken knees.
No emotion on Yibo’s face.
Just silence.
He tapped the end of the bat against the floor, then raised it slowly—pressing it under the man’s chin until their eyes met.
Only then did he lean forward.
Silent and seething.
“You shouldn’t have dared to kick him in front of me. You thought I wouldn’t notice? You thought you could lay a hand on him and walk away unharmed?”
His voice dropped lower.
“You touched what’s mine. And now you’ll learn what that costs.”
The man sobs.
“Please… please… sir, I didn’t know… I was just following orders.”
“They told me to do it—I had no choice!”
“It was a mistake, sir—please, I’ll do anything, please don’t hurt me anymore!”
Before Yibo could respond, Mr. Qiao’s voice cut through the tension.
Calm and certain.
“No, Bobo. He’s lying.”
“He’s the one who caused the most harm to Zhan—beating him far beyond what he was told to do. It wasn’t a mistake. It was deliberate.”
He paused, stepping closer to the man.
His eyes narrowing.
“He enjoyed it, Bobo. Every second of it.”
Yibo’s gaze hardened.
Eyes narrowing as he listened to Mr. Qiao’s words.
His fingers tightened around the bat, his jaw clenched.
“Is that so?”
His voice was low, dangerously calm.
“You enjoyed it, huh?”
He leaned forward slightly, his cold eyes locking onto the man’s swollen face.
“You really thought I wouldn’t find out what you did, you son of a bitch?!”
He raised the bat just enough to make the man flinch.
A slight movement that spoke volumes.
“You’re not walking out of here. Not after what you’ve done.”
“You kicked him when he was already down—now look at you, begging like a coward.”
Yibo smirked, stepping closer.
“Now, let me enjoy this a little.”
With a swift motion, he swung the baseball bat, landing another crushing blow to the man’s side.
The man screamed, his body jerking violently as the pain shot through him.
Then, Mr. Qiao stepped forward and silently handed Yibo a gun.
Yibo placed the bat gently down beside the chair.
He raised the gun and pointed it straight at the man’s forehead.
Then, he paused.
“Uncle…”
He said, his voice deadly calm.
“Which leg did he use to kick Zhan?”
Mr. Qiao answered without hesitation.
“Right, Bobo.”
A cold smirk played at Yibo’s lips again.
“Perfect!”
He lowered the gun.
And pulled the trigger.
The man screamed as the bullet pierced through his right leg.
He collapsed, writhing, crying in pain.
Yibo stood slowly, walking over to him.
He looked down at the man.
“This…”
He said.
“…is what happens to anyone who touches him. No exceptions.”
Two more shots.
Both to his head.
The screams stopped.
The man lay still.
Motionless.
Yibo exhaled slowly.
He handed the gun to Mr. Qiao.
“Uncle, get rid of him. And not a word to Wang Zheng.”
Mr. Qiao nodded.
“Understood.”
As Mr. Qiao walked away in silence, he had glanced once at Yibo.
There had been something different in his eyes.
Something darker.
Colder.
That hadn’t been the same boy he had once watched grow up.
That had been someone else.
Yibo noticed that glance.
As if reading the thoughts behind Mr. Qiao’s eyes.
He spoke—his voice low but steady.
He let out a bitter laugh.
Eyes still fixed on the man he had just killed.
“Uncle… I know what you’re thinking. That this isn’t me. That I’ve changed.”
He turned slowly, meeting Mr. Qiao’s gaze head-on.
“You’re right.”
His jaw clenched.
“But what choice do I have now?”
“If we don’t start hunting, we’ll be the ones left bleeding.”
A pause.
“After all… a monster raised me for twenty-seven years. I guess some of that darkness rubbed off.”
He looked away, chest rising and falling hard.
“I didn’t want any of this. I hate this.”
“But I’m done letting them get away with it.”
“I can’t just stand by anymore while Zhan’s the one bleeding for all of us.”
His voice dropped lower, deadly calm.
“I’m going to finish every last one of them who laid a hand on Zhan-ge.”
“Because I know, if it were me in his place…”
He blinked hard.
“Zhan didn’t care what it cost—he’d have destroyed everything for me.”
Yibo continued.
“And I’m not thinking about what’s right or wrong anymore…”
“Right now, it’s just about one thing—protecting Zhan-ge, and wiping out every last threat standing in my way.”
Mr. Qiao didn’t say a word.
Just gave a quiet nod.
And walked out—leaving Yibo alone with the silence and the storm still raging in his chest.
Yibo looked down at the blood.
And thought—
This is just the beginning.
The list wasn’t long.
And their fate?
Already sealed!
____________________________
In the next two days, three more of Wang Zheng’s men vanished without a trace.
Each one responsible for the warehouse where Zhan had been held.
No one heard a word from them.
And no one would.
The afternoon was heavy with silence.
Yibo sat in his study, drowning in the quiet, lost in thought.
The low hum of the city outside felt miles away, irrelevant.
He stared at the blueprint of the old estate—Zhan’s prison now—spread across his desk, lit only by a single lamp.
Every move calculated.
Every risk measured.
He stood on the edge of his plan.
One step away from setting everything into motion.
He already knew how to get Zhan out.
But ever since Zhan was moved to the new place,
Yibo hadn’t visited.
Not even once.
He couldn’t.
He couldn’t bear to see Zhan like that.
But he’d sent Mr. Qiao with Wang Zheng.
Made sure every corner was examined.
Every guard counted, every weakness noted.
He had already crossed a line—
And sealed the fate of four people.
Four lives, erased without a trace.
No hesitation.
No regret.
Only one thought burned through the silence—
Get Zhan out or burn everything down!
In his eyes burned the fire of vengeance.
And in his heart, the ache of guilt.
Mr. Qiao entered his study quietly, placing a small file on the desk.
“We have a problem.”
He said.
Yibo glanced at Mr. Qiao.
His eyes cold, a silent question in his stare.
“Go on, uncle. What happened?
“Wang Zheng wants to move Zhan again. By tomorrow. To an offshore facility.”
Yibo’s grip on the chair tightened.
His eyes flashing with anger.
“That wasn’t the plan.”
“He’s getting suspicious. He wants to make sure no one can reach Zhan.”
Mr Qiao’s eyes flicking to Yibo’s tense expression.
“His four men disappeared without a trace. He’s not suspecting you… but he’s starting to think someone might be making a move for Zhan.”
He paused.
“Bobo, if Wang Zheng shifts Zhan to that offshore facility…”
Voice dropped.
“We might not even get Zhan’s body back to—”
“No!”
Yibo’s voice rang out, sharp and raw.
He stood up abruptly, fists clenched at his sides.
“No, uncle. Don’t even finish that sentence.”
His breath trembled, but his gaze was fire.
“As long as I’m breathing, Zhan will be too.”
The clock was ticking louder now.
Yibo paced, the weight of the decision grounding his every breath.
“We do it tonight.”
Mr. Qiao nodded.
“Security is tighter Bobo. We’ll need a clean distraction.”
Yibo turned toward the window, his reflection staring back like a ghost.
“Create one. I’ll go inside. Myself.”
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 