Face The Devil
[📘 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.]
The warehouse sat on the edge of the city.
Abandoned and forgotten by the world.
But tonight, it was very much alive.
A few guards flanked the perimeter, all armed, all alert.
Floodlights cast harsh shadows across the broken concrete.
Yibo approached alone.
No backup
No weapons.
Just rage—and a heart full of determination.
The gates opened at the sight of him.
No questions asked.
They were expecting him.
He was led inside, past stacks of rotting crates and the stink of old oil.
At the center of the warehouse, under the glare of a single hanging bulb, stood Wang Zheng.
And beside him—tied to a chair, bruised but still defiant—was Mrs. Meilin.
Yibo’s fists clenched, but he forced himself to stay calm.
“You came!”
Wang Zheng said, spreading his arms mockingly.
“How touching. I knew you’d pick this woman over the boy.”
“I chose the ones who deserved to live.”
Yibo replied coldly.
“Funny.”
Wang Zheng laughed, stepping closer.
“You never were mine by blood. But I raised you, trained you, gave you everything—”
“You stole me.”
Yibo snapped, voice sharp as glass.
“You used me as a pawn in your war. And you killed my father.”
Mrs. Meilin looked up at him with glassy eyes, lips trembling.
“Bobo…”
“Let her go.”
Yibo said, stepping forward.
Wang Zheng smirked.
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I came. You wanted me. I’m here. So let her go.”
The older man tilted his head.
“And what if I don’t? What if I want to make you watch her die first?”
Yibo didn’t blink.
“Then you’ll lose your last bargaining chip.”
That gave Wang Zheng pause.
Just a flicker of hesitation—but it was there.
“You’re bluffing.”
Yibo reached into his jacket slowly, pulled out a small flash drive.
“I have everything.”
He said calmly.
“Bank transfers. Illegal operations. The original footage of all your nasty deals and your confessions.”
He held it up.
“You kill her, and this goes live. Every media outlet in the country. Even my death won’t stop it.”
“And you’ll be hunted like a dog.”
Wang Zheng’s face darkened.
“Where did you get that?”
Yibo Smirked.
“Let’s just say… none of your bloody business!”
Wang Zheng stepped closer, fury rising.
“You ungrateful—”
Yibo said again.
“Let her go…!”
This time quieter—but deadlier.
The tension cracked like glass.
Wang Zheng signaled to one of the guards.
The man walked over and cut the ropes around Meilin’s wrists.
She collapsed forward—but Yibo rushed to her, catching her before she hit the ground.
He held her close, whispering softly.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
But behind him—Wang Zheng wasn’t done.
“You think you’ve won?”
He snarled.
“You think you can just walk out of here?”
Yibo looked over his shoulder, eyes cold as steel.
“No. I didn’t come here to win.”
He helped Meilin to her feet slowly.
His hands trembling slightly as he steadied her.
Placing her gently to the side, Yibo stepped forward.
Facing the man he had once called father.
“I came here to end this.”
He said, voice low but resolute.
Echoing through the vast, dim warehouse.
Then, calmer, more calculated—he added,
“She should walk out of this place unharmed. She’s no longer a threat to you. I’m the one who has everything you’ve been chasing all these years.”
Wang Zheng raised a brow, amused and curious.
Yibo’s jaw clenched.
“I have more than what you’re expecting. Documents. Recordings. Testimonies. Things you didn’t even know were still alive in this world. I’ve kept them hidden.”
He took a step closer.
“And I’m ready to reveal them, every last piece. But only if she walks out of here safe and untouched. And from now on… you don’t go near her again. Not her. Not Zhan. Not Uncle Qiao. No one.”
A stunned silence filled the warehouse.
Then—
“Bobo… no!”
Meilin cried out, stepping forward instinctively.
Yibo turned to her swiftly, wrapping her in a sudden, firm embrace.
He buried his face in her shoulder, his voice barely a whisper.
“Don’t worry about me, Mom. I need you to go to Zhan. He needs you more than I do right now.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched his jacket, unwilling to let go.
But Yibo gently pried her hands off, then faced Wang Zheng again.
“Deal?”
Wang Zheng chuckled darkly.
“Fair enough.”
He said with a shrug.
“She’s of little use to me now, anyway.”
Then his tone sharpened like a dagger.
“But remember this son, if even a sliver of what you said turns out to be a lie, she’ll be as dead as your father. And you won’t get to die quick.”
Yibo didn’t flinch.
Instead, he turned to Meilin again and said softly.
“Once you’re safe, send me a message. I need to know you made it.”
Wang Zheng snapped his fingers, and two of his men immediately approached Meilin.
One held her by the arm—not roughly, but firmly.
She hesitated, eyes locked on her son, not wanting to leave.
“Go.”
Yibo mouthed.
She nodded faintly, swallowing the rising panic, and allowed herself to be led away.
Moments later, a car door slammed outside, tires screeched lightly, and silence swallowed the warehouse once again.
—————————————————–
Meilin reached the safe house and stumbled inside.
Her coat damp from the night air, her breathing uneven.
Her phone trembled in her hands as she opened it and typed out a message:
I’ve reached safely, Bobo.
And in the warehouse, Yibo’s phone vibrated.
He pulled it out with cautious fingers, unlocked it, and read the message.
His eyes closed.
His shoulders sagged with relief.
With trembling hands, he typed back:
Get Zhan and Uncle to a safe place as soon as possible. Anywhere—even if it means leaving the country. Please do it at the earliest. Make Zhan safe. That’s the only priority. Don’t wait for me. Love you, Mom.
He hit send.
Then slowly lowered the phone back into his pocket.
At least for now… they are safe.
All three of them.
Mom.
Zhan.
Uncle Qiao.
But his part wasn’t over yet.
Not until the fire burned out.
Or consumed him whole.
Meanwhile, at the safe house—
Zhan had woken up barely moments ago.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his voice was hoarse as he shouted at Mr. Qiao.
“You let him go alone?! How could you Uncle—how could you let him walk into that place without me?!”
“Zhan—calm down.”
Mr. Qiao tried.
But Zhan pushed against the bed frame, his strength barely enough to lift his body.
“Where is he now?! Where’s Bobo?! Tell me!”
That’s when Meilin stepped into the room.
Zhan froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
“Aunt…”
He whispered, alarm flashing in his eyes.
She was pale.
Her coat was disheveled.
Her hands were still shaking.
Zhan’s heart sank with dread.
His gaze scanned her face desperately.
His voice cracked as he asked.
“Aunt, Where’s Bobo?!”
She looked at him—but said nothing.
And that silence shattered whatever hope he was clinging to.
Terror spread across Zhan’s face like wildfire.
His lips parted to ask again, but he already knew.
Something inside him twisted violently.
He could feel it.
Bobo is still in there… with no way out.
And this time… he might not come back.
Without a word, Meilin rushed to him and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Her arms trembling.
Tears slid down her cheeks and dampened Zhan’s shoulder as she held him like he might vanish too.
“He’s with Wang Zheng… Xian.”
She whispered shakily against his neck.
“Bobo, he took it all on himself. All the risk. Just to keep the three of us safe.”
Her voice cracked.
“He said he has everything… the evidence. That he’d only reveal it if we were unharmed.”
Zhan’s eyes widened.
His chest twisted painfully.
She pulled back slightly, cupping his face with both hands.
“Tell me, Xian… when did you give him the evidence? When did you hand over everything?”
Zhan blinked, lips parting.
“What?!”
He breathed.
“I… I never gave him anything. I didn’t tell him a thing. He doesn’t have the files. He couldn’t have.”
Mr. Qiao, standing at the corner with a white-knuckled grip on the window frame, turned sharply.
“That boy…”
He muttered under his breath, his voice breaking.
“Put himself right in the mouth of death.”
He looked at Zhan with wide, alarmed eyes.
“If Wang Zheng finds out he’s bluffing… I don’t even want to imagine what he’ll do to Bobo.”
Zhan felt the world tilt.
His chest constricted, breathing shallow.
His heart pounded so loud it was all he could hear.
“No!”
He whispered, voice almost lost to panic.
“No, he’s in danger… I… I have to save him!”
He ripped the blanket off and tried to get out of bed, but his knees buckled.
Pain shot up his legs like fire.
His body too weak to support the weight of his desperation.
“Bobo needs me—I have to go—I have to go right now—”
He gasped.
Meilin and Mr. Qiao rushed forward just in time, catching him before he hit the floor.
His fingers clutched Meilin’s shoulders as he trembled violently.
“You can’t!”
She cried, holding him close.
“Look at yourself, Xian. You can barely stand.”
She smoothed his sweat-dampened hair.
Her voice gentle but firm.
“Bobo knew that. That’s why he went alone.”
Zhan’s breath hitched.
The helplessness was suffocating.
He clenched his jaw, fists tightening as silent tears spilled down his cheeks.
“I want to save him… I can’t lose him…”
He sobbed against her shoulder.
“It’s my promise to you, Aunt… please. Please help me. I’ll do anything. I just can’t sit here and wait.”
“Not when he’s in danger, not when he could be—”
His voice broke entirely, collapsing into heart-wrenching cries.
Mrs. Meilin held him tighter, her own tears falling freely now.
Mr. Qiao turned away, his chest tight with sorrow.
The room was heavy with grief, with fear, with a love that was too big for such fragile bodies.
And somewhere far away, in the mouth of darkness—
Bobo is still in the fire.
And Zhan had never felt more powerless in his life.
—————————————————
Back at the warehouse, the atmosphere had changed.
No more cold negotiations.
No more carefully chosen words.
Just raw silence… and danger crackling in the air like a storm waiting to burst.
Two of Wang Zheng’s men grabbed Yibo by the arms, locking him in place.
Their grip was brutal—fingers digging into his skin with bone-deep pressure.
Yibo didn’t resist.
He didn’t flinch.
His gaze was locked on Wang Zheng with steady defiance.
Wang Zheng took the USB from the table and slipped it into the side of a laptop.
Everyone watched as the screen lit up… loading… loading…
Blank.
Nothing.
The files were empty.
No evidence. No names.
Just air.
A slow, creeping fury rose on Wang Zheng’s face.
Veins bulging in his neck as he processed what he was seeing.
He turned toward Yibo like a predator tasting betrayal.
Then—his palm met Yibo’s face with a force that echoed through the room.
Blood spilled instantly from the corner of Yibo’s mouth
A thin crimson line running down his chin.
But instead of collapsing, he laughed.
Low. Bitter. Defiant.
His voice was hoarse but clear.
“You thought only you knew how to deceive people?”
He spit blood to the side and raised his eyes again—mocking, furious.
“You forget—I’ve been handling Wang Corps’ negotiations since the day I joined. I know exactly what to say to make people agree to my terms… even when I’m bluffing.”
“You think I didn’t learn how to lie with a smile?”
Wang Zheng’s jaw clenched.
He didn’t reply.
Instead, he signaled with a small nod.
One of the men stepped forward.
A baseball bat slammed straight into Yibo’s stomach.
He doubled over in their grip, knees buckling, a choked sound tearing from his throat as the pain exploded through his body.
Still, he didn’t scream.
He gritted his teeth, curling into himself, panting through the agony.
Then, with broken breath, he rasped out—
“Kill me if you want…I don’t care.”
“But you’ll never find them again or the evidence you’re so desperate for.”
His eyes were glassy with pain, but still burning with something deeper.
Resolve.
Revenge.
Wang Zheng sneered.
“You really don’t understand what it means to cross me, do you?”
He gestured lazily with his hand.
The men didn’t hesitate.
Fists and bat came down again.
And again.
Yibo’s body jerked with every blow.
The sound of bone against flesh ringing out like sick music in the hollow warehouse.
Wang Zheng lit a cigarette, watching with cold amusement.
“Maybe this pain will teach you…”
He said calmly, taking a drag.
“…What it costs, to betray the man who raised you. Let this remind you—what it means to call me father.”
Yibo collapsed fully now.
Wang Zheng stepped forward, dusting off his sleeves like the filth offended him more than the blood on Yibo’s face.
Then, with a cold wave of his hand, he signaled.
“Enough. Stop for now.”
The men halted, fists pausing mid-air, panting, sweat dripping from their brows, as they looked at their boss for the next instruction.
Yibo lay curled on the ground, arms shielding his torso, blood trailing from the corner of his lips, pooling beneath his chin.
Blood dripping from his nose, lip, the side of his face.
His breathing was rough, but controlled.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t scream.
And his eyes…they still hadn’t shut.
He still had a vicious smirk on his face.
Just lay there in eerie silence, pain buried deep beneath defiance.
Wang Zheng turned, eyes narrowing as he called out to two of his men.
“Go.”
He said sharply.
“Hunt the three of them down. I want them all here before sunset—Zhan, Meilin, and that old rat Qiao. I don’t care how. No more games.”
The two men nodded and hurried out.
On the ground, Yibo heard every word.
He didn’t lift his head, didn’t react outwardly.
But inside… something twisted.
‘They’re after them.’
His jaw clenched.
‘I hope… I hope they’re long gone by now.’
His mind raced, trying to calculate the timeline.
‘They should’ve left by now. If they moved quickly… they must be far away. Mom is sharp. Uncle Qiao knows better than to take chances.’
But then, a stab of doubt pierced through his chest like a splinter.
‘Zhan…’
‘Would he have agreed to flee?’
‘Would he have let them carry him out while I was stayed behind?’
‘Even in that broken state, Zhan-ge could be stubborn to the point of destruction.’
But Yibo forced himself to believe—
‘No… no, they must’ve taken him. He’s too weak to resist. They would’ve carried him out if they had to.’
Still… the doubt remained.
A storm in the pit of his stomach.
Fear—sharp and quiet.
But on his face?
Nothing.
Not even a twitch.
In that moment, with blood on his tongue and his ribs aching with every breath, he still had to be strong.
The pain threatening to break him, but his eyes were clear with resolve.
‘Because for Twenty-seven years, they’d been the ones who loved me, protected me, and saved me in ways I could never repay.’
‘Now, it’s my turn to keep them safe… even if it costs me everything.’
————————————————————
Yibo didn’t know how much time had passed.
His body lay limp on the cold warehouse floor.
Bruises blooming like ink under his skin.
The taste of dried blood coated his tongue.
And every breath he took scraped his ribs like broken glass.
He figured it must be night now—the silence had changed.
The air had grown colder.
The world outside felt still.
But inside, chaos still simmered.
Wang Zheng was on the far end, pacing.
His voice echoed in hushed fury over a phone call, snapping orders, spitting threats.
His silhouette stretched long in the dim overhead light, like a predator waiting for the final strike.
Two men entered through the side door, panting, disheveled.
“They’re gone, sir.”
One said.
“We searched the safehouse. Nothing. We think… they might’ve left the country.”
Wang Zheng spun around.
“You useless dogs!”
He thundered, flinging his phone across the floor.
“Can’t even do this one job? Three people—just three!”
His voice was like thunder cracking through the still air.
On the floor, Yibo blinked slowly.
The pain was a dull hum now—constant and numbing—but his lips curled faintly.
They are safe.
Or at least, safer than here.
A quiet laugh escaped him—raspy, broken, but laced with defiance.
“You failed again, Wang Zheng.”
He muttered, head still down, blood trailing from his lip.
“As long as I’m alive… I’ll never let you touch them.”
Wang Zheng’s eyes burned.
He stormed over, grabbed Yibo by the collar of his torn, bloodied shirt, and hauled him upright like a rag doll.
He shoved Yibo back against the rusted metal table with a brutal clang.
Then he leaned in close, his breath hot and poisonous.
He gripped Yibo’s jaw in his palm, squeezing both cheeks hard enough to bruise.
“Oh really?”
Wang Zheng hissed, venom dripping from every syllable.
“Then what if I kill you right now? And send your corpse to them? Make sure they know what your loyalty cost you?”
Yibo didn’t even flinch.
His swollen eyes met Wang Zheng’s with quiet defiance.
“You do what you want, Zheng.”
He said, voice dry and cracked.
“I’m not afraid anymore. My people are safe now.”
Wang Zheng narrowed his gaze.
The smirk on his face twisted and cruel.
He pulled out a black pistol from behind his coat, cocked it slowly, and pressed the cold barrel to Yibo’s forehead.
“This is the price of playing hero.”
He whispered.
The room fell into a tense, deathly silence.
Then—
A sharp voice, calm and cold, cut through the air.
“Wang Zheng…!!”
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 