Vengeance Reborn
[📘 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. Strong language & violent scenes are included. Reader discretion is advised.]
A heavy, unnatural stillness sank into the warehouse like a shroud.
Dust hung in the air, mingling with the faint smell of gunpowder and blood.
The kind of silence that felt too loud.
The kind that wrapped around your lungs and squeezed.
Yibo’s eyes were shut.
He had braced for death.
For the final, merciless crack of a bullet that would end it all.
But it didn’t come.
Instead—
A thud.
The sharp, dull sound of a body hitting concrete.
Yibo slowly opened his eyes.
Two men still stood near the entrance—guns lowered, eyes alert.
They were the ones who had grabbed and restrained Mr. Qiao and Mrs. Meilin when they first arrived.
They hadn’t moved much, but the smoke curling from their pistols said enough.
They were the ones who fired the final two shots—taking down the other two of Wang Zheng’s men who had been holding Yibo back.
Traitors in disguise or rather—Qiao’s hidden cards, buried deep within Wang Zheng’s own ranks.
And then Yibo saw him too.
Wang Zheng, stumbling—arms limp, the gun dropping from his grasp—falling sideways in slow, brutal motion.
And just beyond him—
Zhan!
Standing.
Bleeding.
Alive.
Zhan’s hand outstretched, finger still trembling on the trigger of a gun.
But it wasn’t just him.
Behind Zhan, Mr. Qiao had his arms around his waist, keeping him upright.
Meilin, tears streaking down her face, was holding his hand up—making sure he never lost aim.
Yibo couldn’t breathe.
His knees buckled.
“Zha…Zhan…”
He whispered.
Disbelieving.
Shattered.
Alive.
HE’S ALIVE!
Yibo’s body moved before his mind could catch up.
He sprinted across the blood-slicked floor and caught Zhan as he slumped forward.
Qiao and Meilin released their hold.
Zhan collapsed into Yibo’s arms, boneless, broken—but breathing.
“Oh god—Zhan-ge…!”
Yibo clutched him tight, burying Zhan’s face into his shoulder.
“I thought I lost you—I thought—”
Zhan’s breath hitched, warm and shallow against Yibo’s neck.
His voice was a mere whisper—each word a struggle as pain tore through him and blood soaked the floor beneath.
“Take me to him Bobo…”
He pointed a shaky, blood-slicked hand toward Wang Zheng, who now writhed on the floor—groaning, crushed beneath the searing pain of a bullet lodged near his spine.
Yibo wrapped an arm tightly around Zhan’s waist, while Zhan rested one trembling hand on his shoulder.
Yibo holding him like Zhan was made of glass.
They walked together.
Each step was a war.
Blood dripped from Zhan’s side with every motion.
Wang Zheng looked up through gritted teeth.
His face twisted with agony and disbelief.
Zhan’s eyes were steel.
“You never learn, Wang Zheng.”
He rasped.
“You think you’re always the smartest one in the room.”
He raised the gun—shaking hands steadied by Yibo’s.
“All I had to do was push the right button… make you reckless. You’ve always been predictable.”
Wang Zheng snarled.
“You let me shoot you?! You fucking lunatic—”
Zhan’s lip curled.
“The only gamble… was where you’d shoot me. That was the risk I took.”
His breath came in sharp, stuttering gasps.
“But you never go for the heart. You never go for the kill unless you’re in full control.”
Zhan’s eyes burned.
“Just like how you shot my parents. You didn’t shoot to end them—you shot just to see them suffer in pain.”
A bitter laugh escaped him.
“But today—”
“You lost it. All of it. Just to scare Bobo.”
Zhan raised the gun, aiming it straight at Wang Zheng’s head.
The barrel hovered just inches away—steady, unwavering.
Yibo held him close—one arm tight around Zhan’s waist, the other holding Zhan’s trembling hand on the gun.
Zhan’s breath was ragged.
Warm blood still soaking through his shirt.
But his eyes…
They burned with something fierce.
Something final.
“You killed innocent people.”
Zhan’s voice cracked.
“My parents… his father… You made me watch them burn alive, Wang Zheng. My whole family.”
Wang Zheng’s breathing was labored, guttural.
His pride was bleeding out faster than his body.
“You stole a boy from his mother. You turned his whole life into a lie for twenty-seven years.”
Zhan leaned in closer.
“You still think you won?”
“I swore on my life to protect Bobo. I promised his mother—I’d bring her son back.”
His finger tensed on the trigger.
“And I will. Even if it costs me everything.”
Yibo whispered beside him, voice raw:
“You destroyed everything for us… but now, we’re ending it, for good.”
“Go to hell, you bastard!”
Yibo gently raised Zhan’s hand he was holding—the one clutching the gun—and he whispered,
“Zhan-ge… let’s finish this together.”
A flash of memory hit Zhan—his parents, the night they were burned alive, their screams echoing in his ears.
The flames, the smoke, the horror.
He could still see their faces, feel the weight of that unbearable loss.
His vision blurred, chest burning, but his aim never wavered.
His hand tightened around the gun, and with a single, resolute motion, he pulled the trigger as he said in his mind…
For my father.
The shot echoed like thunder in a storm.
For my mother.
Another shot. Another piece of the weight lifted from his soul.
For Uncle Chen.
The final one.
Cold.
Precise.
Righteous.
Wang Zheng’s body jerked—then went still.
Dead.
Zhan’s breath caught.
He shut his eyes tightly—and for a brief, aching moment, he saw them.
His parents.
Their loving faces.
His mother’s smile, his father’s warm eyes.
A tear slid down his cheek.
Justice.
After all these years… they could finally rest.
Mrs. Meilin stood frozen for a moment.
Her eyes wide and fixed on the man who had caused so much pain.
Her lips trembled, but there was no sorrow in her gaze—only a quiet, resolute satisfaction.
For twenty-seven years, she had molded Zhan, shaping him for this one moment.
She had prepared him to face the darkness.
To defeat the monster who had stolen so much from them all.
Every sacrifice, every tear, every painful lesson had been for this.
And Zhan had fulfilled his promise.
He served justice.
He brought the son back to his mother.
Even in moments where life is slipping away from him.
And now, she felt it—a release, a weight lifting from her chest.
The man who had torn apart their family, who had burned their lives to the ground, was gone.
Justice had been served!
And with it, a flicker of peace, however fleeting, washed over her.
The war is over.
Beside Zhan, Yibo stood frozen.
Eyes fixed on the lifeless body on the ground.
The man who raised him.
Controlled him.
Warped his world.
Called him “son.”
Yibo didn’t cry.
Not this time.
He wasn’t grieving.
But he wasn’t untouched either.
It was the death of a monster—and the ghost of a father he never really had.
His grip around Zhan tightened, almost protectively.
He whispered, voice hoarse.
“…It’s over Zhan-ge.”
The gun slipped from Zhan’s grip.
He swayed and collapsed.
Yibo caught him in time, lowering him gently to the ground.
He cradled Zhan’s head against his chest.
His voice trembling as he whispered.
“Zhan… Zhan-ge, please… stay with me.”
Zhan’s own tears falling freely now.
Mixing with the blood staining his shirt.
“Help! We need help!”
Qiao shouted, already on the phone, barking orders with a shaking voice.
“Hurry! We need an ambulance now!”
Mrs. Meilin rushed forward.
She dropped to her knees beside Zhan.
Her hands trembling as she grasped his.
Her world narrowing down to the boy she had fought so hard to protect all these years.
“Hold on, my boy.”
She whispered, her voice breaking, raw with emotion.
“Please, Xian, stay with me. You’re strong, you’ve always been strong.”
Her fingers tightened around his hand, as though willing him to fight, to live.
Zhan’s eyes fluttered open—barely.
His smile was faint, but real.
He looked at yibo.
“Finally… it’s done.”
He whispered.
“No more secrets, Bobo…”
Yibo pressed his forehead to Zhan’s, crying openly now.
“Stay with me… Don’t you dare leave me now—Zhan-ge…”
His voice broke.
“Please… please… don’t…”
“I— I won’t be able to live without you Zhan.”
“I tried so hard to protect you… I can’t lose you now…”
His fingers trembled as they cupped Zhan’s bloodied face.
“…So stay. Please. Just stay… Zhan…for me…”
His words blurred into sobs as he held Zhan tighter.
Zhan lifted a trembling hand, brushing it softly against Yibo’s cheek—smearing red across his skin.
“I’m tired, BoBo…”
He whispered.
“But I’m… free now.”
With a faint smile his eyes drifted shut.
His head slumped gently to one side.
Yibo screamed.
“Zhan-ge…!!”
———————————————–
Sirens pierced the still night.
Red lights flashing through the warehouse windows as the ambulance finally arrived.
Yibo didn’t wait—he and Mr. Qiao carefully lifted Zhan’s limp body, carrying him out of the room where Wang Zheng’s corpse still bled into the cracked concrete floor.
They brought him just outside to the lobby—far from the stench of blood and the weight of everything that had just ended.
Zhan stirred weakly in Yibo’s arms, eyes fluttering open for a second before closing again, barely conscious.
“Careful.”
Yibo whispered, brushing sweat-matted hair from Zhan’s forehead.
“Help is here, ge. Hold on…”
As the paramedics rushed over with a stretcher, Yibo turned to Meilin and Mr. Qiao.
“You both go with him.”
He said, voice firm but low.
“Don’t leave his side.”
Meilin looked at him, eyes glossy but steady.
“What about you Bobo?”
“I’ll be right behind.”
Yibo assured, his hand gently squeezing hers.
“I just… need to finish something before I leave this place.”
Meilin searched his face for a second longer, then nodded.
Mr. Qiao stepped forward, pulling the car keys from his pocket and placing them in Yibo’s hand.
“Be careful, Bobo.”
He said softly, his voice laced with quiet concern.
“And come back to him soon.”
And Yibo nodded.
They loaded Zhan into the ambulance.
Meilin and Mr. Qiao climbed in with him.
The doors shut with a metallic thud—and then the vehicle disappeared down the road.
Sirens fading into the distance.
Silence.
Yibo stood at the warehouse entrance, staring into the place where it had all ended.
Where everything had begun.
Then he turned and walked back inside.
His footsteps echoed softly as he moved past the blood.
Past the tools, past the ashes of secrets too heavy to ever be spoken again.
He found the kitchen—cramped, rusted, the scent of old oil and metal lingering in the air.
Without hesitation, he reached for the gas line under the sink, yanked the metal valve, and sliced the rubber pipe with a sharp blade from the counter.
A sharp hiss filled the space as gas began to spread—filling the room, snaking into every crack and crevice.
He stood there for a moment, breathing it all in.
Then he walked out calmly.
At the entrance, he pulled a silver lighter from his pocket—something Wang Zheng had once gifted him, even though Yibo didn’t smoke.
It was a symbol, not a tool. Engraved with “不惧 (Fearless)”.
He glanced around—then walked further back, away from the leaking gas line.
With steady hands, he lit the lighter…
And tossed it into the heart of the warehouse.
Watched the flame dance against the night air.
“Let it all burn!”
He murmured.
The explosion wasn’t instant—but the fire caught fast, roaring behind him like a beast awakening.
As flames surged through the warehouse, licking up the walls.
Yibo stood still for one last second—watching everything melt.
His past.
The lies.
The man who called himself father.
All of it—turned to ash.
In his mind, only one thought repeated:
“I’m going to destroy every trace of you Wang Zheng… so no one can ever come for Zhan again.”
Then he turned on his heel.
Got into the car.
And drove.
Straight to the hospital.
Straight to Zhan.
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 