Found Forever
[📘 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 late afternoon sun poured through the tall windows of the Wang estate, casting golden streaks across the marble floor.
A week had passed since his discharge.
Zhan sat comfortably on the long couch, a light blanket draped over his legs.
His shirt was loosely buttoned, parting enough to reveal the neat bandage across his chest—a stark reminder of the wound that had nearly taken him.
The pain still lingered, but it was manageable now—so long as Yibo was near.
Mr. Qiao leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
Yibo stood by the window, gazing out at the manicured lawns in silence.
“I don’t want it anymore.”
Yibo said suddenly, voice low but steady.
“Wang Corps… it was never really mine to begin with.”
Zhan turned to him.
“Then what do you plan to do?”
Yibo finally looked back at them, a small, resigned smile tugging at his lips.
“I’ll call a board meeting. I’ll step down. Walk away from it all.”
Mr. Qiao gave a small nod, unsurprised.
“If you’re serious, we can sell quietly—no press, no noise. A private equity firm, maybe even an overseas shell company, would keep it discreet.”
Yibo nodded once.
“Good.”
“And, I want the estate gone too.”
At that, Zhan’s eyes softened.
Mr. Qiao raised a brow, then simply said.
“That can be arranged too Bobo.”
He slowly walked away from the window, his steps quiet but deliberate.
When he reached the couch, Zhan looked up at him, eyes searching.
Yibo sat down beside him, and Zhan placed a hand gently over his.
“Whatever you decide… I’ll stand by it.”
Yibo didn’t answer right away—but his fingers curled around Zhan’s hand, holding on tightly.
Mr. Qiao’s tone shifted, casual but curious.
“And what about after that? What’s next for you, Bobo?”
Just then, the door creaked softly.
Mrs. Meilin stepped in, balancing a tray of coffee cups.
Her quiet presence filled the room with a warmth that had been missing for far too long.
Yibo looked up at her, a tender smile blooming on his face.
“I want to go home.”
He said softly, eyes lingering on his mother.
“To my family…”
Yibo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, emotion flooding his chest.
In that moment, the heaviness of legacy, of bloodlines and shadows, melted a little.
He looked at them—Zhan, Mrs. Meilin, Mr. Qiao.
A home he never thought he’d have.
And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to choose peace.
———————————————————————
The countryside wind carried the scent of fresh earth and ripening grain.
Birds chirped lazily under the warm sun, and the paddy fields shimmered in hues of green under the blue sky.
It had been a year since Yibo left behind the name Wang Corps.
A year since he walked away from cold boardrooms and empty legacies to choose something real.
Now, there were no headlines to chase, no empires to protect.
Just love, peace, and the quiet hum of a life he never knew he needed.
He lives with Zhan and Mrs. Meilin in her countryside home—humble, warm, and full of laughter.
The home they once feared they’d lose now stood alive with joy.
Every morning started with the aroma of fresh-brewed tea, and every night ended with a shared meal around a wooden table filled with stories.
Together, Yibo and Zhan helped rebuild the very thing Meilin once ran with quiet strength—their family’s farming business.
What was once small and simple had grown into something thriving, thanks to Yibo’s sharp mind and Zhan’s heart-led work.
Mr. Qiao, ever the guardian, had stayed by their side, guiding where needed, managing expansions, and smiling more now than he ever had in the city.
There were no suits anymore, no schedule set in stone—just rolled-up sleeves, sun-kissed skin, and muddy boots.
But in that simplicity, Yibo found a strange kind of freedom.
The boy who once stood above city skylines now stood barefoot in a rice field… and felt rich for the first time in his life.
One evening, Zhan sat under the shade of an old tree, a cup of tea in his hands, watching the fields that now held their future.
His gaze stayed fixed on one person.
Yibo stood knee-deep in the soft mud of the field, his pants rolled up, sleeves pushed past his elbows, effortlessly speaking to the farmers as if he’d done it all his life.
His hands moved as he explained something, his eyes gleaming with quiet confidence.
Zhan couldn’t help but smile.
That boy who once ruled the city with cold suits, private elevators, and boardrooms—was now more alive in this mud, under this sun, than he had ever been in those towers.
Mrs. Meilin walked over and sat beside Zhan.
“What are you staring at so hard?”
She teased.
Zhan chuckled.
“Just thinking… The boy who grew up in luxury and never even washed his own car… now stands in a paddy field like he was born here.”
Meilin followed his gaze and her face softened with pride.
“He was always meant for something real.”
Just then, Yibo walked over, drying his washed legs with a towel.
“Done for the day, Mr. CEO?”
Zhan teased, raising an eyebrow.
Yibo smirked.
“Guess I traded boardrooms for rice fields—happily! Now I’m the CFO… Chief of Farming Operations.”
They both laughed.
But before they could say more, Meilin gave them a look and asked.
“Did you two forget something?”
Zhan and Yibo exchanged a quick glance.
“What?”
They asked in unison.
She sighed, shaking her head.
“Boys…”
As if on cue, Mr. Qiao arrived, fixing his watch.
“You two aren’t ready yet?”
He looked at Meilin knowingly.
She sighed again and nodded—yes, they forgot.
Still confused, Yibo tilted his head.
“Ready for what?”
Qiao stared at them for a beat, then raised an eyebrow.
“Boys… Suit trial? Black/Red/Blue? Wedding?!”
“Ring any bell?”
There was a pause.
Then both Zhan and Yibo gasped in realization.
“Oh shit—”
Zhan muttered.
He turned to Yibo with a grin, raising a brow.
“Don’t tell me you forgot, Mr. ‘I Never Miss a Detail’?”
Yibo gasped dramatically.
“Me? Forget? I was being considerate—giving you a chance to remember first.”
“Oh please.”
Zhan chuckled, crossing his arms.
“I had it marked in three calendars. You’re the one who looked lost.”
Yibo leaned closer, smirking.
“Liar. You were two seconds away from asking what day it was.”
Zhan crossed his arms, a frown forming on his face as he looked at Yibo.
“Black. It’s classic, timeless. A wedding suit has to be black.”
Yibo shook his head, his tone firm.
“No, blue looks better. It’s more vibrant, more me. Black is too… predictable.”
Zhan raised an eyebrow, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Predictable? You’re the one who always goes for blue.”
A smirk tugged at Yibo’s lips.
“Exactly. That’s why it’s perfect. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Excuse me! I understand perfectly.”
Zhan replied, his arms still crossed.
“It’s just that you think you’re always right.”
“Of course, I am.”
Yibo teased, looking at Zhan with a playful glint in his eyes
“But it’s cute that you’re trying to argue.”
The conversation was about to continue when Mrs. Meilin, who had been watching the exchange with growing amusement, cleared her throat.
Both men paused and turned toward her, waiting for her input.
She smiled knowingly, her gaze shifting between the two of them.
“You know, some couples wear two outfits for the wedding. A traditional red Changshan for the tea ceremony or photos and then a modern suit for the banquet or vows.”
The suggestion made Zhan and Yibo stop bickering momentarily.
They exchanged glances, considering the idea.
Zhan shrugged slightly, giving in a little.
“Alright, that’s… actually a good idea.”
Mrs. Meilin chuckled softly at their playful back-and-forth, clearly amused by the never-ending debates between them.
She watched as they immediately dove back into their discussion, with Zhan asserting once more.
“Still, black looks more elegant.”
Yibo laughed, shaking his head.
“Not for me…nope!”
Mrs. Meilin & Mr. Qiao smiled fondly, knowing that their argument would likely never be resolved, but the warmth and affection between them was clear.
Love was loud, chaotic, messy—and this was theirs.
All four of them headed toward the car, talking about color palettes, guest lists, and flower arrangements for the big day.
And as they walked away, the wind rustled gently through the golden fields behind them.
Mrs. Meilin and Mr. Qiao walked a few steps ahead, lightly bickering over who forgot the flowers list, their laughter floating in the warm evening air.
Behind them, Zhan slipped his arm around Yibo’s waist, pulling him close as they walked in quiet sync.
Their shoulders brushed, steps in rhythm, hearts steady.
Zhan tilted his head, glanced up at Yibo, and smiled with that boyish sparkle he’d never lost.
Then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed him—softly, fully, as if sealing a promise they’d waited lifetimes to fulfill.
A kiss that felt like coming home.
“You have no idea…”
Zhan whispered against his lips, the smile in his voice unmistakable.
“How long I’ve waited to call you mine… without hiding, without fear.”
He smiled again, voice trembling just enough to show the truth.
“We’re getting married, Bobo. For real this time.”
Yibo let out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a sigh, his eyes shining as he cupped Zhan’s face.
“You’ve always been mine Zhan-ge.”
He murmured, thumb brushing over Zhan’s cheek.
“But now the world gets to know it too.”
He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to Zhan’s temple.
“Yeah.”
Zhan said, his voice barely holding steady.
“We made it, Zhan. And I’m never letting you go again.”
Yibo’s eyes shone with everything they’d been through, soft and unguarded.
Zhan let out a quiet laugh, eyes misted but warm.
“Then hold on Mr. Wang…”
He whispered, leaning in closer.
“Because I’m not letting you go either…”
Two hearts—bruised, scarred, but never broken.
Two souls who never stopped loving, who never stopped protecting each other—
Had finally, fully found their way back.
Once and for all.
————————————————
But as peace settles and the story closes, one question still lingers…
Who was the real Puppet Master?
Was it Wang Yibo, who pulled the strings to shatter legacies… just to rewrite his fate?
Or Wang Zheng, who clung so tightly to power, the strings he held ended up strangling him?
Was it Xiao Zhan, who pulled the strings of silence and sacrifice—protecting the truth, enduring every cut, just to shield the one he loved?
Or Mrs. Meilin, who quietly stayed in the shadows for years—waiting, watching—for her son… and for justice?
Or perhaps Mr. Qiao, the ever-watchful hand behind the curtain, the one who never stopped believing in the boy he once swore to protect?
Or maybe…
It was all of them.
Because sometimes, fate isn’t moved by one hand alone.
It’s woven together—by love, by pain, by loyalty, and by loss.
And every string pulled… brought them here.
To this moment.
To this ending.
To this beginning.
[The End]
The Red Ribbon 