Into the Fire
[📘 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.]
It had been three days since they moved into the safehouse.
The days blurred into nights, spent mostly in silence and restless tension.
Zhan floated between consciousness and sleep.
The bruises on his body slowly beginning to heal, though the deeper wounds — the ones unseen — would take much longer.
Yibo never left his side.
Even when he sat motionless by the bed, even when he paced the length of the room with a storm behind his eyes, his heart remained tethered to the fragile rise and fall of Zhan’s breathing.
Across the room, Mr. Qiao remained alert, rarely sleeping, always planning.
He had contacted Mrs. Meilin once — a short, coded conversation just enough to let her know Zhan was alive — but it was too risky to reach out again.
Tonight, the air felt heavier than usual.
Mr. Qiao finally broke the silence.
“Bobo.”
He said quietly.
“We can’t stay hidden forever. What do you want to do?”
Yibo didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze was distant, lost in thoughts darker than the room itself.
Finally, his voice came low, steady.
“Uncle, I’m not after some petty revenge.”
His jaw tightened.
“I wanted to end this—completely. I wanted a life where no one has to run, where Zhan and mom don’t have to live in fear or shadows ever again.”
“I wanted to erase Wang Zheng’s hold on us, forever.”
He looked over at Zhan, sleeping weakly under layers of bandages and medication.
“And we can’t include Zhan in this fight.”
Yibo continued.
“Not in this condition.”
“And whatever we have to do, we can’t afford to fail—because this time, failure doesn’t just hurt. It kills. And I’m not risking the people I love.”
Mr. Qiao nodded grimly, agreeing.
He had known Wang Zheng for years — long enough to understand that a wounded animal was the most dangerous of all.
And Wang Zheng was not just dangerous — he was merciless.
As they spoke, a soft rustle came from the bed.
Zhan stirred, slowly waking from his fevered sleep.
Yibo immediately moved to his side.
“Zhan-ge… how are you feeling?”
Zhan blinked up at him, dazed.
His voice came out hoarse.
“I’m fine… Where are we? How’s Aunt Meilin?”
“Everything’s fine.”
Yibo said gently, brushing the hair from Zhan’s forehead.
“Don’t worry about anything.”
But Zhan’s eyes sharpened with concern.
“Wang Zheng… he must have started moving. We can’t just sit here.”
“Zhan, right now you need to rest.”
Yibo said firmly.
“The doctor strictly said you need at least a few weeks. No matter what.”
Mr. Qiao stepped forward, supporting Yibo’s words with a nod.
Zhan looked at Yibo.
“No, Bobo…”
Zhan whispered, struggling to sit up.
“Rest can wait. We have to move. Aunt Meilin… they must’ve found something at my apartment. She’s not safe.”
Yibo’s heart clenched with sudden fear.
Even though Yibo’s heart clenched with sudden fear for his mother’s safety, he knew right now his priority was Zhan — the one physically weaker and in urgent need of care.
Mr. Qiao gently placed a hand on Yibo’s shoulder.
“Bobo, let him eat something first. I’ve brought dinner.”
He said quietly.
Yibo nodded, steadying himself.
He turned back to Zhan and smiled softly.
“First you eat something, Zhan-ge. You have quite a few medicines to take too.”
Saying that, he got up and walked toward the kitchen where the food was kept.
Mr. Qiao looked at Zhan with a bittersweet smile.
“That boy hasn’t slept for three days.”
He said, his voice low.
“He’s not willing to leave your side… and from what I can sense, he’s cooking up something dangerous in that mind of his.”
He paused.
“But he’s not ready to tell me yet—like he wants to carry it all on his own, no matter how dangerous it is.”
His gaze flickered toward the kitchen, then back at Zhan.
His voice dropped further, touched with hesitation.
“And he also…”
Zhan blinked slowly, his throat dry.
“What, Uncle?”
Mr. Qiao’s jaw tightened.
“He already killed four.”
Zhan’s eyes widened.
“What?!”
Mr. Qiao nodded grimly.
“The ones who tortured you the most in that warehouse.”
Silence fell between them like a hammer.
Zhan’s heart thudded against his chest.
He didn’t know whether to be grateful… or terrified.
He could almost feel it now—the way Yibo must’ve looked.
Cold. Focused.
Like there was nothing left in the world but revenge.
Zhan’s hands trembled slightly under the blanket.
This isn’t just fury or revenge.
This is desperation.
A do-or-die kind of mindset.
Like Yibo had already decided—
If justice wouldn’t come fast enough, he would burn down everything in his way to get it.
And maybe himself too!
A ripple of worry stirred in his heart.
What exactly was Yibo planning?
Zhan feared the storm that might be brewing behind those soft eyes.
A moment later, Yibo returned with a bowl of warm soup.
“Let me feed you, Zhan-ge.”
He said softly.
He sat beside the bed.
Carefully, Yibo lifted the spoon to Zhan’s lips, feeding him warm soup in slow, gentle strokes.
Like each motion was a quiet vow to never let him starve for care again.
The sight made something tight in Mr. Qiao’s chest loosen for the first time in days.
A faint smile tugged at Mr. Qiao’s lips as an old memory surfaced—of a little Zhan, barely tall enough to reach the table, insisting on feeding a pouty little Yibo spoon by spoon.
A quiet warmth bloomed behind his tired eyes as he watched them.
Two souls hanging by threads, yet still finding their way back to each other.
“You feed him, Bobo.”
He said with a nod, forcing a faint smile.
“I’ll step out—check the surroundings, make a few calls.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving behind only silence and the fragile sound of their breathing.
Yibo dipped the spoon gently into the soup, blowing on it once before bringing it to Zhan’s lips.
Zhan accepted the sip, slow and careful, as if tasting not just soup—but safety, familiarity, and home.
A droplet escaped, trailing down his chin.
Yibo wiped it with his thumb, the pad of his finger brushing Zhan’s skin so softly it made Zhan’s heart ache.
His gaze never left Yibo—not once.
He studied every line of his face, every flicker in his lashes, every tremble in his fingers.
As if trying to memorize him all over again.
Yibo finally noticed, his lips curling into a soft, nervous smile.
“What are you looking at? Like you’re seeing me for the first time.”
Zhan’s voice was low but sure.
“Did you miss me?”
The smile on Yibo’s face vanished.
He looked down at the bowl.
His shoulders stiff.
Another spoonful.
Another drop of silence.
Zhan tried again, this time a whisper that carried years of longing.
“You still haven’t answered me, Bobo.”
Yibo’s hand froze.
The spoon trembled.
His breath caught in his throat.
When he finally spoke, his voice cracked with the weight of everything he hadn’t said.
“I can’t just say it in words… how much I missed you.”
His eyes shimmered, unshed tears turning them glassy.
“It felt like I had died… but kept breathing. Every day without you was punishment. And the guilt—Zhan, the guilt of what I did to you—I couldn’t carry it. It ate me alive.”
“And I still missed you. Every single day. And it killed me.”
His voice trembled as he added.
“And after getting to know the truth from Mom and Uncle… about the way you always loved me, protected me—I felt like I wasn’t even worthy of your love.”
He looked away, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.
“I should’ve listened to you. Just once. None of this would’ve happened. All you wanted was to bring a son back to his mother… and I didn’t even let you explain.”
Zhan’s hand, weak and trembling, reached up—his fingers grazing Yibo’s cheek, brushing away a tear that had broken free.
“I can’t blame you, Bobo.”
He whispered.
“Maybe… if I were in your place, I would’ve done the same. Betrayal from someone you love—”
His voice faltered.
“—it cuts deeper than anything. I should’ve told you sooner. I wanted to. But… I didn’t have the courage.”
Yibo closed his eyes briefly, as if steadying the storm inside.
He tried feeding again, but Zhan shook his head.
“I don’t want anymore.”
And Yibo didn’t insist.
He set the bowl aside and picked up the small tray of medicine.
Handing Zhan the pills with a glass of water, he said quietly.
“I’ve been betrayed my whole life by a man I trusted. So what you did… in front of that, it’s nothing… Nothing.”
Zhan swallowed the pills slowly, his throat dry.
He looked up, voice barely audible.
“Bobo… what’s your plan?”
Yibo didn’t answer immediately.
His jaw clenched, fingers curling into fists on his lap.
The shadows outside flickered against the window, like restless ghosts.
“I don’t even know anymore, Zhan-ge.”
He finally said.
“But I know one thing. That monster can’t win. Not after everything he’s done.”
Zhan’s brows drew together, pain and dread flickering in his tired, swollen eyes.
His voice cracked as he spoke.
“And what if… we’re already doomed?”
Yibo didn’t look away.
His lips curved into a broken smile—one that trembled at the edges and never quite reached his eyes.
“Then… we fight anyway.”
His voice was quiet, but resolute.
“Till our last breath. And if we fall…”
He leaned in slightly, voice thinning to a whisper that trembled with something deeper.
“Then we fall together.”
Zhan’s chest tightened.
His breath caught.
Tears gathered but clung stubbornly to his lashes, too proud to fall.
He reached out—slow, desperate—and pulled Yibo into him.
Their foreheads touched.
Skin to skin.
Breath to breath.
Everything outside the dim space faded, like it had never mattered.
Zhan’s voice was barely audible, every syllable like glass splintering under the weight of everything he’d held in.
“There’s something I never told you…”
He swallowed, then continued, voice shaking.
“But I need you to know. Tonight. Because I don’t know if tomorrow will find us.”
He leaned forward and kissed him—tender, aching, slow.
A kiss that spoke louder than words ever could.
It was sorrow.
It was memory.
It was a vow.
When they broke apart, Zhan didn’t hesitate.
He rested his words against Yibo’s lips like a final confession.
“I love you, Bobo. I always have. From the moment you became the reason I believed in something beyond survival.”
“And whatever comes next… we face it. You and me.”
“Until death do us apart.”
Yibo’s eyes fluttered shut, his whole body trembling like he’d finally stopped holding the pain back.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
And in the silence, he whispered back—voice raw, vulnerable, open:
“Mm… Until death do us apart.”
Their eyes met, and for a brief, breath taking moment, something sparked between them that neither could ignore.
The world outside, the fear, the chaos, the pain—it all disappeared.
Zhan leaned in first, desperate, as if this was the last chance they’d ever get.
His lips found Yibo’s with a feverish urgency.
A need so deep it felt like it had always been there.
Yibo kissed him back with equal desperation.
Pulling Zhan closer as if their bodies could merge into one.
For a moment, they forgot everything—everything that had torn them apart and everything that might still come.
They were simply two souls clinging to each other, drowning in the heat of the moment.
Zhan’s hands gripped Yibo’s shirt, pushing him closer.
But in the heat of the kiss, Yibo, too eager, pressed on Zhan’s injured ribs by mistake.
Zhan gasped, pulling away with a sharp cry.
“Ouch…!”
He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound shaky and breathless.
“Bobo… try aiming for my heart, not my ribs. At least not right now.”
Yibo’s eyes widened in surprise, realizing what had happened.
“Ah, so sorry, Zhan-ge… didn’t mean to do that. So sorry…”
They both burst out laughing.
Feeling foolish but relieved to share this moment of softness, even in the midst of everything else.
Yibo shook his head with a small, amused smile.
“It’s not a good idea right now… I think you should rest. Uncle will be coming any moment.”
Zhan nodded, smiling faintly, still dazed from the kiss.
Yibo tucked the pillow behind his head gently, helping him lie down.
He pulled the blanket up, making sure Zhan was warm and comfortable.
There was a softness in his eyes that Zhan had never seen before.
As Yibo settled next to him, Zhan let out a quiet sigh, finally allowing himself to drift into a peaceful sleep.
Because of the medicine’s sedation, Zhan slipped into a deep sleep again—
or perhaps, it was the extra pill Yibo had slipped into his dose without telling him.
Ensuring he could rest longer without pain.
He held Zhan’s hand tightly, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest.
“Whatever’s going to happen… you should be safe. Mom should be safe,”
Yibo whispered, his voice rough with emotion.
“If someone has to go down with that man, it should be me… not you.”
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he forced them back.
This wasn’t the time to be weak.
Meanwhile, miles away, a convoy of black cars screeched to a halt in front of the old countryside house where Mrs. Meilin had been living.
Wang Zheng stepped out from the lead car.
His shoes crunching against the gravel as he walked toward the door.
Mrs. Meilin heard the noise and cautiously opened the door.
Her heart sinking as her eyes met the sight outside.
Wang Zheng stood there with a mocking smile.
“Mrs. Meilin… long-time no see.”
And in that moment, she understood.
This night was not going to end well.
—————————————————
By next day evening, as Yibo was talking to Mr. Qiao and Zhan was still sleeping.
He received a call… the screen flashed with the name Dad.
He first hesitated but later answered it.
Wang Zheng’s voice was cold and mocking as he spoke.
“So, I believe now I don’t have to call you my son anymore, seems like you’ve figured everything out, haven’t you?”
Yibo clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the phone.
A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes – How did he know?
Yibo steadied his voice, cold and quiet.
“You have no right to call me your son. My father was a noble man, whose life you took without a second thought. You’re nothing but a monster.”
Wang Zheng chuckled darkly.
“Ah, yes… your noble father. Well, now I have that noble man’s wife, your dear mother.”
He switched the phone to speaker and Yibo could hear Meilin’s voice faintly in the background.
“Bobo, don’t come. Wherever you guys are… just make sure you’re safe, and live… please don’t—”
The sound of a slap echoed through the phone, followed by Meilin’s scream.
Yibo’s heart stopped, the rage in him building.
But he remained silent, his fists clenched.
Mr. Qiao, noticing the shift in Yibo’s expression, stepped closer with concern.
Wang Zheng’s voice broke the silence.
“I hope you want to see your mother alive. So, my dear, dear son… wherever you and your little boyfriend are hiding, it’s time to come out. I want all of you here.”
Yibo stayed silent, his heart pounding in his chest, panic creeping in.
Wang Zheng continued.
“Don’t try to be too clever and do something stupid. If you do, you’ll only see her dead body.”
Wang Zheng smirked, adding,
“So, pretty boy, just come to the old warehouse. I know I don’t have to give you the address. Right?”
Yibo’s grip tightened around the phone.
“If you touch her one more time…”
He spat, his voice low and dangerous,
“I swear I’ll break every bone in your body.”
With a final look of pure fury, Yibo disconnected the call.
Mr. Qiao’s voice cut through the tense silence, low and filled with concern.
“Bobo… what happened?”
Yibo’s eyes were dark with emotion.
His jaw clenched tight as he spoke, his voice steady but carrying the weight of desperation.
“Uncle… they have Mom.”
Mr. Qiao’s gaze hardened immediately, the gravity of the situation settling over him.
“Then they’ll break her to get those evidences.”
Yibo nodded grimly, his hand tightening into a fist.
“I know.”
There was no hesitation in his next words.
“I have to go, Uncle. I need you to take care of Zhan while I’m gone.”
Mr. Qiao stepped forward, his brow furrowing with worry.
“Bobo, walking into this without a plan is madness. It’s like signing your own death sentence.”
Yibo’s eyes flashed with determination.
His face unreadable.
“There’s no time to plan anything, Uncle. It’s too late. I can’t let them do anything to her. I can’t lose her too.”
Mr. Qiao’s face softened, and he took a step back, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he realized the weight of the burden Yibo was carrying.
Yibo didn’t give him a chance to argue.
Without another word, he turned and strode over to Zhan’s bed.
The sight of Zhan, fragile and sleeping, broke something deep inside him.
Yibo paused there for a moment, the room silent except for Zhan’s shallow breathing.
He gently reached down and patted Zhan’s cheek.
His hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to memorize the warmth of it.
Yibo kept his eyes fixed on Zhan’s sleeping face, his voice—thick with pain.
“Zhan-ge should be safe… I can’t risk him getting caught up in this. Not again. I won’t let him. Never again.”
Yibo leaned down slowly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on Zhan’s forehead.
His lips trembling as he whispered.
“I have to go Zhan. I’m not sure I’ll come back, but you… you have to live. You have to survive.”
His heart was tearing in two.
He took a shaky breath, brushing a lock of hair away from Zhan’s eyes, voice catching in his throat.
“You always said I was your flame… but you, Zhan-ge… you were the fire that kept me alive all these days.”
His hand trembled as it dropped to Zhan’s fingers, intertwining them one last time.
For a second, he stayed frozen there, like time itself had stopped.
Like he could pause fate if he just held on tight enough.
“But if I don’t make it back…”
He whispered.
“Promise me you’ll live.”
His voice cracked, then steadied.
“And promise me—you’ll finish what we started. No matter what.”
A silent tear fell onto Zhan’s hand, unnoticed by the sleeping boy.
Yibo wiped his tears, every movement stiff like it cost him everything.
Every part of him wanted to stay with him, to protect him.
But he couldn’t.
Not this time.
His hand brushing the side of Zhan’s face one last time before he walked over to Mr. Qiao.
Yibo’s eyes were filled with unshed tears as he pulled Mr. Qiao into a tight hug.
The embrace was desperate, as if it was his last chance to hold onto someone who understood the gravity of the situation.
“Uncle… if something happens to me…”
Yibo’s voice cracked, his emotions threatening to overtake him.
“Then I’m sure Wang Zheng won’t last long. Zhan will never let him live. He’ll finish what he and Mom started. I know that. So… one of us has to make sure he pays.”
“One of us has to survive to end this.”
Mr. Qiao’s eyes filled with tears, but he couldn’t say anything.
His throat closed up, the weight of the moment choking him.
Yibo’s heart ached with the knowledge that he might not make it out alive.
But even worse, he was leaving Zhan behind — the man he loves — with no guarantee that they’d ever have a future together.
Yibo pulled away from the hug and turned back toward Zhan’s bed.
His heart hurt so badly he couldn’t breathe.
He looked at Zhan one last time, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I thought we had more time…”
He wiped away a tear that fell unbidden, then steeled himself.
He couldn’t fall apart. Not yet.
He took a deep breath.
His heart was breaking, but his mind was set.
He had to face whatever was coming.
He had no choice.
He turned to Mr. Qiao, his expression unreadable.
“Don’t tell Zhan anything until it’s over. Either way.”
“You expect me to lie to him?”
Mr. Qiao asked.
“I expect you to protect him.”
Yibo said.
Mr. Qiao swallowed hard, nodding once.
He is watching, reading the signs in Yibo’s body language.
The quiet resolve.
The finality in his tone.
“Bobo…”
He said quietly.
“You’re going to walk into hell.”
Yibo looked at him, eyes burning with something fierce.
“I’ve lived in hell, Uncle. I just never knew whose hands lit the fire.”
Mr. Qiao stared at him for a long moment, then spoke—his voice rough, trembling at the edges.
“Tell me, Bobo… this was your plan from the beginning, wasn’t it? To face Wang Zheng alone?”
“You’ve been ready to die since the moment you saved Zhan… That’s what this is, isn’t it? Not a plan. But a goodbye.”
Yibo didn’t answer—but the look in his eyes said everything Mr. Qiao feared.
There was no convincing him now.
Yibo looked away, the ghost of a smile flickering on his lips.
“I don’t care what happens to me. As long as he’s safe… I can live with the rest. Or die with it.”
He exhaled a shaky breath, voice just a whisper.
“Some goodbyes… are worth dying for.”
He looked back Zhan one last time, a lingering sadness in his eyes—then stepped out the door.
His future uncertain.
His heart heavy with love… and fear.
Without looking back, he vanished into the dark.
Into the unknown.
Into the fire.
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 