No Way Back
[📘 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.]
By evening, dark clouds had gathered above the old estate, mirroring the weight in Yibo’s chest as the black car pulled up near the front gates.
Mr. Qiao stepped out first, his expression unreadable.
Yibo followed, his posture calm but commanding, eyes scanning the perimeter.
Four guards were stationed near the main door.
Two more lingered in the shadows, watching the road.
Extra security.
Wang Zheng wasn’t taking chances anymore.
As Yibo and Mr. Qiao approached, the guards straightened and bowed slightly, acknowledging his presence.
Yibo didn’t stop walking.
His voice was low, smooth, but carried enough weight to make every man tense.
“How’s everything? How’s he behaving?”
One of the guards hesitated before responding.
“Not a problem, sir. He can barely stand now.”
Yibo’s face remained unreadable.
Not a flicker of emotion.
Not yet.
“Good.”
He said quietly.
“Dad sent me to check on him. Wants me to make sure security is airtight. I need to confirm it myself.”
The guards exchanged uneasy glances.
One of them cleared his throat.
“Sir, Chairman Wang gave strict orders… no one goes in.”
Yibo’s steps finally halted.
His eyes lifted slowly, locking onto the guard who spoke.
The air changed.
Colder.
Sharper.
“You dare to stop me?”
His voice was calm—but laced with steel.
“You want to call my father and explain that to him yourself?”
He tilted his head slightly, one brow raised.
“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
The guard immediately backed down, head low.
“N-No, sir… of course not.”
They opened the door without another word.
Two guards instinctively moved to follow them inside.
Yibo turned his head just enough to speak—his tone suddenly clipped and rough.
“Wait outside.”
“Sir, it’s dangerous—”
“I said wait here!”
The door slammed shut behind them.
The dim corridor inside smelled of rust and damp wood.
Yibo’s boots echoed against the cold concrete floor with each step.
The closer they got to the main hall, the heavier the air grew.
Yibo’s heart began to pound in his chest—fast, uneven.
He clenched his fists to steady himself.
Just a few more steps now.
And he would see Zhan again.
Zhan lay on the cold floor.
Too weak to move, but not weak enough to stop thinking.
He wondered if Yibo had truly betrayed him.
Or if there was still a shred of the man he loved hiding behind that mask.
His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps.
Heavy. Slow.
Two, maybe more.
He couldn’t tell anymore.
Then—silence.
Zhan didn’t lift his head.
Didn’t even flinch.
What was the point?
His breath was shallow.
His back pressed weakly against the cold pillar behind him.
He waited.
Waited for the usual voice.
The same insults.
The same orders.
The same pain.
But none came.
Just the quiet shuffle of shoes on the floor.
A stillness that didn’t match the others.
Until he heard it.
A voice.
Low. Familiar. Controlled.
His name—
“Zhan-ge…”
His eyes shot open.
He blinked hard, as if his mind couldn’t catch up—
Couldn’t believe the person standing in front of him.
It’s really him.
It’s Bobo!
“Don’t say anything.”
Yibo murmured, kneeling beside him.
He looked at Zhan’s face—just once.
And then quickly turned away.
He couldn’t hold it.
Not the sight of those bruises.
Not the guilt crashing behind his eyes.
He slipped a small key into Zhan’s hand, shielding the motion with his body.
“By midnight, there will be a fire.”
Yibo whispered, voice trembling but firm.
“That’s when you’ll have a small window to escape.”
He leaned in closer, his breath shaking.
“Use this key to unlock the chain on your legs. You’ll have exactly sixty seconds—no more. Uncle will guide you out.”
He paused, eyes locked on Zhan’s.
“I know… you’re barely able to stand. But I need you to gather every last ounce of strength and courage and run.”
His voice cracked.
“If not for yourself… then for me…”
He swallowed hard, trying to hold it in.
“Don’t fail, Zhan-ge. No matter what.”
When the words stopped, his eyes shimmered with tears, glassy and full.
But he didn’t let them fall—not yet.
Zhan stared at him.
There is pain.
Rage.
Relief.
Zhan’s fingers curled slowly around the key.
It felt heavier than it should.
His lips parted, dry and cracked, voice barely a whisper—
“You’ll… be there?”
Yibo gave a slight nod.
Eyes still avoiding the worst of Zhan’s wounds.
“I’ll be there. Right outside. Waiting.”
Zhan tried to smile, but it faltered halfway.
“I’ll run… if it’s for you.”
A pause.
A shaky breath.
“But if I fail… don’t wait.”
Yibo’s jaw tightened.
His eyes burned.
“I’ll wait. I’ll get you out of here, even if it’s the last thing I do.”
“This place won’t hold you another night. Not while I’m alive Zhan-ge.”
Zhan closed his eyes, just for a moment.
And for the first time in days, he whispered like a promise.
“Then I won’t fail.”
Zhan looked at him—quiet, broken… but still his Bobo.
But Yibo… still couldn’t meet his eyes.
He stared at the floor, fists clenched, until he felt it—
Zhan’s trembling fingers reached up, gently brushing Yibo’s cheek with what little strength he had left.
Yibo froze—then lifted his own hand, placing it over Zhan’s.
He pressed it softly against his skin, holding it there—
As if trying to absorb every bit of warmth left in Zhan’s body.
As if memorizing the touch he thought he might never feel again.
Zhan’s voice was a whisper, but every word cut through Yibo’s walls.
“It’s okay, Bobo… I know you didn’t do it intentionally.”
That was it.
The tears Yibo had been holding back finally slipped from his eyes.
That touch—after all the silence, all the bruises—
It made him weak.
But he couldn’t be weak.
Not now.
Not tonight.
He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.
He wiped his tears.
Then he said it, low and firm:
“Enough is enough, ge. You’re leaving with me tonight—alive. I promise you that.”
Mr. Qiao’s voice came from behind, urgent and low.
“Bobo, we don’t have time. We need to go—now. The CCTVs here are only down for a few more minutes.”
“We’ll come back at midnight.”
Yibo lingered, just for a moment longer.
Then he stood, still holding Zhan’s gaze for the first time.
“Don’t forget what I said, Zhan-ge.”
He said.
“Sixty seconds. From the second the fire starts.”
And then he turned, walking toward the door with Mr. Qiao.
No hesitation.
No looking back.
The door shut behind them.
Zhan sat there in the silence.
Fingers still curled where Yibo had held them.
His body was still weak.
The chains were still tight.
But something had changed.
For the first time in days, hope flickered in his chest.
Because Bobo is with him.
And just that thought alone…
Was the biggest strength he had.
——————————————-
Midnight.
Yibo and Mr. Qiao were already in place.
Hidden in the shadows near the back gate of the old estate,
A full two hours before the clock struck twelve.
They stayed low, masked by the dark, out of sight from the patrolling guards.
Mr. Qiao had made all the arrangements—
The vehicle, the route, the timing, even the signal.
Now, all they could do was wait.
Yibo sat behind the wheel, calm and still.
His fingers rested lightly on the steering wheel.
Eyes fixed ahead, jaw tight with focus.
It was Mr. Qiao who had insisted Yibo take the driver’s seat—
Said no one else had the speed, the instinct, the sheer nerve it would take to outrun armed guards if things went sideways.
Yibo didn’t argue.
He just waited.
Waited for that one signal—
For Mr. Qiao to get Zhan out.
And when that happened,
He would tear through the night if he had to.
Whatever it took—
He was getting Zhan out of this hell.
The lights inside flickered once—then died.
Total blackout.
Then—
Screams.
Shouts.
Panic.
Flashlights cut through the dark like knives.
And in the far corner of the storage wing—
A fire bloomed.
Small at first, then angry and fast, climbing metal racks with precision.
Smoke curled like a snake through the corridors, thick and blinding.
It was the sign.
The moment they’d planned down to the second.
Zhan heard it all—the chaos, the heat, the cracks in the air.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
This was it.
He had already unlocked the chain on his ankle and sat still, waiting.
Every muscle tense.
His legs barely obeyed him—
But his mind screamed: Move. Now.
He pushed himself up.
Pain shot through his side.
His knees buckled—but he didn’t stop.
He ran or something close to it—
Limping, dragging himself down the hallway, gasping.
One arm clutched his side, the other guiding him along the wall.
Each step was a battle.
Each breath—war.
But he was still moving.
Still believing—
Because Bobo is waiting.
Mr. Qiao appeared at the exit door,
Pulling Zhan through just as the emergency alarms began to howl.
Gunshots rang out behind them—
But they didn’t stop.
Yibo’s eyes locked onto them—
Mr. Qiao holding Zhan by the waist.
One arm braced across his shoulder as they stumbled toward the car.
Without hesitation, Yibo started the engine.
His hands steady, eyes burning.
The side door flew open—
Mr. Qiao helped Zhan inside, guiding him gently into the back seat.
Zhan collapsed there, breath ragged, barely conscious.
But alive.
Yibo slammed the accelerator.
Tires screeching as the car tore through the dark road at full speed.
Not a single word was spoken.
Only the sound of wind, sirens fading behind, and the pounding of his heart.
His eyes stayed locked on the road.
But his mind raced elsewhere.
Maybe this was it.
Maybe there was no going back now.
No Wang Corps.
No spotless heir.
No carefully built legacy.
Only this—
A burning estate in the rear-view mirror,
And the man he nearly lost… finally safe.
———————————————–
They drove the vehicle into a quiet, secluded stretch far outside the city.
Yibo slowed down and finally pulled the car into an overgrown, abandoned side road—hidden by trees and long forgotten by traffic.
Mr. Qiao checked his phone, then looked toward Yibo.
“I need to start arranging the next steps. We don’t have much time.”
His voice is calm, but firm.
And with that, he steps out of the car, shutting the door behind him.
Leaving them alone.
For the first time, it was just them.
Yibo stepped out of the driver’s seat, boots crunching against gravel.
He walked to the back and opened the door, pausing only for a breath.
The night air cool against his skin, but nothing compared to the storm inside him.
He climbed in and sat beside Zhan.
The interior light flickered on briefly, then off—
Just enough for him to see the faint, broken smile on Zhan’s lips.
Zhan shifted, just barely, head tilting toward him.
“Bobo…”
His voice was faint, raw.
“I’m sor—”
Yibo turned his head sharply, eyes burning.
“Don’t you dare say sorry.”
Yibo’s voice broke, raw with pain and rage.
“You lived through hell for me. Don’t you dare apologize for anything. Don’t make this harder.”
His gaze softened, just a fraction.
“Not now, ge. Not after what they did to you, because of me.”
He reached out slowly, placing a firm hand over Zhan’s trembling one.
“You survived. That’s all that matters to me.”
Zhan’s eyes welled, lips parting, but no words came.
Yibo leaned forward without hesitation and wrapped his arms tightly around him.
He held Zhan close, as if trying to put all the pieces back together through the force of that embrace.
Zhan, even in pain, let out a shaky chuckle.
“Just because we’re alone in a car doesn’t mean this is the time to get touchy & handsy Bobo.”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
“So this is your rescue plan? Get me out from there, then romance me back to life?”
Yibo let out a breath between a laugh and a sob, punching Zhan lightly on the arm.
“Shut up, idiot.”
He muttered—but didn’t let go.
“I should have protected you.”
Yibo whispered, barely audible.
“You never deserved this.”
Zhan blinked slowly, the smirk fading into something softer.
“You did, Bobo.”
His voice was barely more than a breath.
“You gave me something to hold onto… even when I forgot how to breathe.”
He reached for Yibo’s hand again.
“I’m still here because you never really left me. The nightmare’s finally over.”
And in the silence that followed, bruised hands clung to each other, letting the darkness around them feel, for once, like shelter.
Mr. Qiao returned, his voice calm but urgent.
“I’ve arranged a secure place. Medical team’s ready too.”
He said, eyes flicking between them.
“But listen—Wang Zheng might know everything by now. It’s not safe to take him to Meilin’s house anymore.”
At the mention of ‘Meilin’, Zhan’s head turned slowly toward Yibo.
Eyes widening in quiet disbelief.
Qiao caught the exchange and added gently.
“He knows now, Zhan. Everything.”
Yibo nodded, the smallest movement—but it carried the weight of lifetimes.
A flicker of something raw, tender, lit his weary eyes.
“Ge, I met my mom.”
Even through the haze of pain, something warm spread across Zhan’s bruised face.
A smile—fragile, but full of love.
His eyes glistened.
“That’s all I ever wanted, Bobo… for you to find her. For you to know… you were always loved. Always.”
Mr. Qiao started the engine and drove further into the night.
Yibo stayed in the backseat, arms wrapped tightly around Zhan—protective, silent, unshakable.
And slowly, with his head against Yibo’s chest and the rhythm of the road beneath them, Zhan drifted into sleep.
Yibo waited a moment, then pulled out his phone with one hand and dialed.
“Mom.”
He whispered when the call connected, his voice thick with emotion.
“Zhan is safe now. I’ll update you soon.”
And with Zhan breathing softly in his arms, Yibo closed his eyes too…
For the first time in days, holding onto the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.
——————————————-
The safehouse was quiet—hidden deep in the hills, surrounded by silence and shadows.
The medical team worked swiftly under dim lights.
Zhan was laid gently onto the bed as the doctors cleaned his wounds, stitched the deeper cuts, and wrapped fresh bandages around his bruised body.
An injection for the pain.
Another to help him sleep.
Yibo and Mr. Qiao stood nearby, unmoving.
They watched in silence—one with a heavy heart, the other with a sharp gaze.
Neither said a word, but the weight in the room said everything.
As the doctors packed up their kits, one of them paused at the door.
“His injuries are serious.”
The doctor said quietly.
“It’ll take time. He needs strict bed rest for at least a few weeks. Please… take care of that.”
Mr. Qiao nodded.
Yibo didn’t speak—just kept his eyes on Zhan.
Then, the medical team left, and the door clicked softly shut behind them.
Yibo stepped closer.
And for the first time in full light, he saw it—
The horror Zhan had lived through carved into every inch of his skin.
The bruises weren’t just bruises.
They were stories of every scream, every hit, every time he was left alone in the dark.
His arm bandaged.
A soft white dressing on his forehead.
His lips were chapped.
His eyes are still swollen and face still bruised.
Yet somehow, even like this, he looked at peace.
Fragile, but still here.
Zhan was asleep—finally.
Yibo reached out, gently pulling a blanket over Zhan’s chest.
His hand lingered for a moment… then slowly moved up to his hair.
Fingers brushed gently through the strands, hesitant, tender.
A single tear slipped from Yibo’s eye.
And then—
In the quietest voice, raw and breaking,
Yibo whispered.
“You came back to me Zhan. Now it’s my turn.”
Behind him, Mr. Qiao stepped quietly into the room.
His expression grim.
“By now… Wang Zheng might know everything.”
He said softly.
“The fire, the escape—your betrayal. It won’t take long before he starts hunting again.”
Yibo didn’t look away from Zhan.
“I know.”
Qiao’s voice dropped.
“No place is truly safe. Not anymore. We bought ourselves a few hours at most. Maybe a day or two.”
Yibo finally stood, shoulders stiff, eyes burning.
“Zhan needs time. The doctor said weeks—he’s getting it. No matter what.”
Qiao sighed.
“He’ll come after Meilin too. If he hasn’t already. Zhan’s apartment was ransacked. That means he’s one step from connecting the dots.”
“I already assumed that.”
Yibo said coldly.
“There’s no hiding anymore.”
Qiao looked at him, really looked—and for the first time in days, he saw the boy beneath the resolve.
The one who once trusted blindly.
The one who once believed Wang Corps was his legacy.
“You really believed in it, didn’t you?”
Qiao said quietly.
“In all of it. The company. The name. Him.”
Yibo laughed bitterly.
“I thought it was mine. All of it. Turns out it was just another cage. And I was the fool dancing inside.”
Qiao didn’t speak.
There was nothing left to say.
“I’m not worried about myself anymore.”
Yibo murmured, glancing back toward the bed.
“Right now, I have only two priorities—Zhan-ge… and mom.”
Something about those words made Qiao froze.
Just for a second—his mind pulled back to a quiet night not too long ago.
Zhan, eyes fierce with determination, had once said to him:
“Uncle… right now, my priority is bringing Bobo back. And keeping Aunt Meilin safe.”
And now, here stood the other half of that vow—just as broken, just as brave.
“These boys… they really are the same.”
Qiao thought.
That was when Yibo’s phone buzzed sharply.
Yibo’s phone lit up.
The name on the screen made his breath hitch for a second.
Dad.
The word looked like a stain.
Familiar. Foreign. Rotten.
Yibo stared for a beat, jaw clenched.
Then he answered.
“Hello …Dad.”
Wang Zheng’s voice came through, smooth and sharp.
“Wang Yibo.”
Came Wang Zheng’s voice, thick with cold amusement.
“I suppose congratulations are in order. You’ve managed quite a show.”
Yibo said nothing, his eyes fixed on Zhan’s sleeping form.
“You think you’ve won something?”
Wang Zheng continued, voice dipping into a low, dangerous growl.
“You think hiding in a rat hole with thatboyfriend I kept locked like a dog and you dared to steal from me… will save you?”
Yibo’s jaw tightened, but still he stayed silent.
“You think rescuing your precious lover from my hands changes anything? You think you’ve saved him?”
A pause.
“My own son, lighting a fire in my house like some petty rebel.”
Yibo finally spoke.
His voice calm, lethal.
“You built your empire on lies, manipulation, and blood.”
He said.
“And now it’s going to fall—right in front of your eyes. And you’ll go down with it.”
Wang Zheng chuckled darkly.
“You think this is a game you can win? You have no power, no protection, and no place to hide.”
“Without the name ‘Wang’ behind you, you’re nothing. Just a reckless boy playing with fire.”
“All you’ve done is bought yourself a front-row seat to your own downfall.”
Yibo’s eyes flicked toward Zhan—sleeping, bruised and peaceful.
And then his voice dropped.
Cold and steady.
“You hurt everything I ever cared about.”
“So now I’ll return the favor—piece by piece, brick by brick. I’m not here to win. I’m here to end you.”
A beat of silence.
Wang Zheng spoke, slower now, every word dipped in venom.
“Big words, for someone living off scraps of my empire. Without me, you’re just another stray dog biting the hand that fed you.”
His voice slithered through the phone.
“You think I won’t kill you my dear son?”
Yibo’s grip on the phone tightened.
He spoke, slow and razor-sharp.
“I think you’ll try.”
“But you should know by now—I don’t scare easy.”
And before Wang Zheng could say more, Yibo ended the call.
He tucked the phone away.
His mind already moving to the next step.
It wasn’t just about revenge anymore.
It was about protecting what mattered.
And this time —he would not lose.
The room fell quiet again.
But the air felt heavier—like a storm had just stepped through the door.
Mr. Qiao looked at him.
“So… what now?”
Yibo slid the phone into his pocket and walked back to Zhan’s bedside.
He gently adjusted the blanket again, brushing Zhan’s hair from his face.
His voice was a whisper—but it carried weight like thunder.
“Now… we fight back!”
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 