Puppet Master: Chapter 6

Broken Echoes

[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. It explores deep emotional connections between the characters with intense moments. Reader discretion is advised.]

The silence in the room was thick.

Zhan’s eyes dropped for a second—to the bouquet of red roses now lying lifeless on the floor.

Petals bruised.

Stems bent.

He said nothing, but the flicker of sadness in his eyes betrayed him.

He hadn’t planned for this.

Not like this.

He thought he’d have time.

A window to ease Yibo into the truth.

A chance to explain.

To come clean—not with evidence splattered across a wall like a crime scene.

But fate never asked for permission.

Yibo stood motionless.

Still in shock.

His gaze hadn’t left Zhan—not even once.

But it wasn’t the same gaze.

Not warm. Not soft.

It was shattered. And searching.

And Zhan… Zhan felt it crack him from the inside.

He stepped forward slowly.

“BoBo…” he began softly.

“You have to listen to me. Just—give me a few minutes. And trust me.”

Yibo scoffed. Laughed.

But it wasn’t humour.

It was heartbreak.

“Trust you?!”

His voice was razor sharp.

“You want me to trust you after this?”

He gestured to the board behind him.

“After I just walked into a damn surveillance bunker starring me?!”

Zhan opened his mouth—but Yibo kept going.

“Tell me!”

Yibo snapped.

“Even the name I call you… is that real? Or was it just another part of the script you wrote for me to play into?”

Zhan flinched.

“I never lied about that name.”

He said quietly.

“Not everything here is a lie.”

But Yibo wasn’t ready to hear it.

“Stop.”

He held up a hand.

Eyes burning.

Voice low.

“Don’t you dare say anything to calm me down. Because right now—I don’t even know who you are.”

Yibo’s fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight with every muscle pulled taut.

His voice trembled—not with fear, but fury barely held in check.

“Who the hell are you?”

Zhan opened his mouth—but Yibo cut in.

“No. Don’t answer that like it’s simple. Because I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore!”

His breath caught.

He took a step closer—his body rigid, eyes burning.

“Are you a spy from our competitors?”

“A mole planted to destroy us from the inside?”

“Are you here to kill me, Zhan?!” His voice cracked.

Zhan’s eyes widened.

“What? No—God, BoBo, no—”

“Don’t call me that!”

The shout echoed.

It cracked through the silence like lightning.

“You don’t get to use that name right now. That name was mine to give—mine!”

His chest was rising and falling rapidly now.

“You don’t get to hold it like it ever meant anything to you.”

Zhan’s hands trembled at his sides, but he didn’t reach for Yibo.

He didn’t dare.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.

Yibo laughed again, breathless.

A sound full of disbelief and pain.

“You had a board, Zhan. A room. With me all over it. And you’re telling me you didn’t mean to hurt me?”

Yibo let out a short, hollow laugh—one that sounded more like a choke.

“Yeah, of course you didn’t mean to hurt me. You were just stabbing the knife in my back with a smile on your face—and you called it love.”

He looked up, eyes burning, the smile on his lips cold.

“You’re right, Zhan. This? This isn’t hurt. This is what betrayal feels like.”

Zhan stepped forward, his voice firming.

“It didn’t start this way—”

“Then what way did it start?!” Yibo’s voice broke again.

“You were watching me before I even knew your name. You planned this. Every word. Every look. Every damn touch.”

He is unraveling now, voice quieter but no less sharp.

“You said you saw me. That I wasn’t just a title or a job or a machine. And I believed you. I let you in. I….”

He stopped himself. Swallowed hard.

“And now I’m standing in a room where I realize I never knew you at all.”

Zhan’s chest ached.

He’d imagined many versions of how the truth would unfold.

But this—this shattered version of Yibo?!

He hadn’t been prepared.

“I was supposed to tell you,” Zhan said, his voice low.

Honest. Pained.

“I just thought… I’d have more time. I wanted to wait for the right moment. A moment where I could explain everything, and you’d understand. Where you’d still look at me like you used to.”

He looked away.

“But that moment never came. And now I’ve lost it.”

Yibo’s eyes burned with a mixture of disbelief and raw anger.

“If I hadn’t found this out now, you would’ve just kept playing with me—my life and even my love, wouldn’t you?”

Zhan stood there, silent—watching the storm unravel in front of him.

But inside?

His own mind was spiraling.

This was the moment he’d trained for.

The moment everything was supposed to fall into place.

And yet—he felt weak.

Helpless.

Aunt was right, he thought bitterly.

Love ruins plans. Love doesn’t listen to logic.

And now… look how it’s all crumbling down!

He should be calm.

Cold.

Ready with damage control.

Instead, his chest ached with every word Yibo hurled at him.

His silence wasn’t strategy anymore—it was fear.

Fear of losing the one thing that had started to feel real in a world full of lies.

And Yibo?

Yibo was breaking.

“SAY SOMETHING!” he shouted suddenly, voice hoarse.

“Or is that what you’re best at? Watching and recording and never actually feeling anything?”

Zhan opened his mouth—but still, no words came.

And that silence of Zhan?

It shattered something inside Yibo.

He took a step forward, eyes gleaming—not just with anger now, but something deeper.

Something torn.

“So what was it?” he asked, voice lower. Shaking.

“All those nights. All those touches. The way you looked at me like I was yours—was that all part of your plan too?”

Zhan’s face twisted.

“No. It wasn’t like that—”

“Then tell me what it was like!” Yibo snapped.

“Tell me how betrayal tastes when you coat it in kisses.”

Zhan’s breath caught.

“Please… don’t say things like that,” Zhan whispered, voice cracking.

But Yibo wasn’t finished.

“You were the only person I ever trusted,” he said, voice cracking.

“Do you get that? The one person I let in. And you—”

He cut himself off, swallowing the emotion that rose too fast, too raw.

Tears clung to his lashes, despite the fury in his gaze.

Zhan stepped forward instinctively, like he might try to reach him—but Yibo shoved him back.

Hard.

Zhan hit the wall with a thud—but didn’t flinch.

Because Yibo didn’t touch him again.

Instead, Yibo’s fist slammed into the wall right beside his head.

The sound echoed. Cracked.

Zhan barely breathed.

Yibo stood inches away, chest heaving, eyes locked on his.

“Tell me you didn’t use me,” he whispered, voice trembling now.

“Just tell me that one thing, and I swear… I’ll believe you.”

Zhan opened his mouth but all that came out was—

“BoBo…”

And somehow, that made it worse.

“Don’t dare to call me that again!” Yibo snapped, voice breaking.

“You’ve lost the right to say that name.”

Zhan’s throat tightened.

But before he could respond, his eyes dropped to Yibo’s hand—his knuckles red and already swelling from where he’d punched the wall.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispered, stepping forward without thinking.

“Let me—”

He reached out instinctively, fingers brushing for Yibo’s hand.

But Yibo yanked it away like he’d been burned.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

His voice was steel.

“You don’t get to care now.”

He stared at Zhan, eyes glassy and wet.

“You’re a lie. Every version of you. Every word. Every smile. Every touch.”

Zhan took the blow silently, but his eyes said everything he couldn’t.

“And the worst part?” Yibo continued, breath hitching.

“I believed all of it.”

He took a shaky step back.

“Do you know what that feels like?”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“To realize the only place you ever felt safe… was the same place you were being played?”

Zhan tried to speak—but still, no words.

He couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t risk saying more than he was allowed.

And even if he did… Yibo wouldn’t believe a single word of it now.

And this crushing, deafening silence from Zhan—

That broke Yibo more than any lie ever could.

He gave a hollow laugh.

Shook his head.

“I trusted you more than I trusted myself.”

A pause.

A breath that hurt going down.

“I loved you, Zhan…”

Zhan’s heart stopped.

“But now?”

Yibo’s gaze turned cold.

“Now, I don’t even know if that man ever existed.”

Yibo’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight as he stepped back, eyes dark with a mixture of pain and fury.

“Don’t come near me ever again.” He said, voice low but shaking.

“Because if I see your face again—I don’t know if I’ll lose control or tear you apart.”

“And I’m not sure which would hurt more.”

He turned without another word.

And as he stepped out the door, his foot crushed the fallen roses on the floor—petals cracking beneath his heel like bones.

Zhan felt his chest tighten—he wanted to stop him, to call out, to reach for him—but his voice crumbled before it could even form into words.

The words caught in his throat.

He just stood there, frozen.

All he could do was watch the man he loved walk away…

Carrying nothing but shattered trust and the ghost of a name he wasn’t allowed to say anymore.

Zhan didn’t move.

Not when the door slammed.

Not when the sound of fading footsteps echoed down the hall.

He just stood there.

Still.
Silent.
Alone.

His eyes stayed on the crushed roses by the floor.

Petals scattered like the pieces of something they never got to name.

Zhan knelt down, gathering the bruised roses into his arms, clutching them against his chest—as if trying to hold onto something already lost.

His mind was blank.

But inside?

Everything hurt.

Yibo looked at him like he was a monster.

A traitor.

A stranger.

And somehow, of all the betrayals Zhan had seen, causing this one himself was the blow he couldn’t survive.

His hands trembled as he reached for his phone.

He called her.

“He found it.”

He whispered the moment the line connected.

“Everything. The board. The photos. The room.”

There was a pause on the other end.

And then her voice—measured, but shaken.

“Xian….”

She inhaled sharply.

“Are you okay? What did he say?”

Zhan didn’t respond at first.

He leaned back against the wall…sliding down, and sat down on the floor like a ghost.

“He looked at me like I never existed.”

He said quietly.

“He told me… never to show my face again.”

His voice cracked.

And on the other end of the line, her breath caught too.

“Come back.”

She said gently, but firmly.

“Come home. Right now. We’ll figure this out, Xian. We always do.”

But even she could feel it—this wasn’t like anything they’d prepared for.

Because Zhan wasn’t just broken…

He sounded like he’d lost the one part of himself that was still real.

—————————————————

Meanwhile…

Yibo didn’t know how long he’d been driving.

The streets were a blur.

The sky above him meaningless.

His hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles ached.

Cars honked.

Someone shouted.

He didn’t hear it.

Because inside him—everything had collapsed.

He barely remembered parking.

Barely remembered getting out.

Barely remembered stepping into his home.

The lights were off.

He didn’t turn them on.

He walked into his room, shutting the door like it would protect him from the memory of that room… of Zhan… of everything…

Then he walked into the bathroom, flicked on the tap, and let the water run.

The mirror above the sink caught his reflection—tired, ruined and not even angry anymore.

Just empty.

And then—finally—he let go.

Yibo slumped against the sink, head down, fists clenched.

And he cried his heart out.

Silent, shaking sobs that echoed in that hollow space.

Because he had spent a lifetime building walls no one could get through.

And Zhan?

Zhan didn’t just get through.

He lived inside those walls.

And now all of it… all of it felt like one big lie.

But somehow—

Somehow, his heart still didn’t believe it.

And that hurt the most.
————————————————–

Yibo showed up to the office like clockwork.

Suit perfect.

Expression blank.

No one would’ve guessed the storm inside him.

But as he walked into his cabin, the illusion cracked.

Because his eyes—like they’d done a dozen times already—drifted toward the desk in the corner.

Zhan’s desk.

Empty.

And had been for two days.

The chair sat tucked in. The surface spotless. Not a file out of place.

It shouldn’t have hurt.

But it did.

Because in that silence, he remembered everything.

The banter.

The glances.

That first stupid joke Zhan made on his first day.

The way he used to leave sticky notes on his coffee cup saying,

“This one has extra patience in it. You’ll need it for the 2 p.m. boardroom massacre, babe.”

Now? Nothing.

Just a ghost of laughter that no longer lived there.

A knock on his door.

Mr. Qiao stepped inside with his usual quiet presence.

“Mr. Yibo, about Mr. Zhan… he’s left the city. Family emergency, I believe.”

Yibo nodded once.

“Thanks.”

But only he knew the truth.

And it was making the office unbearable.

—————————————————

Miles away, Zhan sat in the quiet of his aunt’s house.

He hadn’t said much since he arrived.

And she didn’t force it.

His aunt—Mrs. Meilin—knew better than anyone what silence could carry.

She simply let him be.

Let him sit in the stillness and grief, waiting for him to speak when it became too heavy to carry.

And that night… it did.

It was late.

The sky outside was inked in black.

A faint breeze passed through the open window.

Zhan sat on the floor of his room, wrapping his arms around his legs, his knees drawn up to his chest.

A dim lamp casting golden shadows around him.

In his hands? That same framed photo.

Him and Yibo.

One of those rare nights where both of them had looked happy.

Untouched. Real.

Meilin lingered at the doorway for a moment, watching him.

Then finally, she stepped in.

“Xian,” she said softly.

“You’ve been quiet for too long.”

He didn’t respond.

She waited, then gently added,

“You can’t keep breaking like this.”

Still, silence.

She took a step closer. Then another.

When he didn’t move, she let out a small sigh and turned to leave—

But his hand caught hers.

Tightly.

She turned back.

And in that dim light, she saw it—his lips trembling. Eyes red.

And then—Zhan broke.

Tears fell in silence first. Then came the sound.

Guttural. Raw.

“I couldn’t say anything,” he whispered, voice cracked with pain.

“I just stood there. And he kept asking… And I—”

His breath hitched.

“He was breaking in front of me Aunt… and I just… watched.”

Meilin knelt beside him instantly, pulling him into her arms like a child.

“I hurt him…. I hurt him so badly…”

Zhan cried, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

“I broke him. And I couldn’t even tell him the truth. I don’t know how to fix this… Now he hates me so much… he doesn’t even want to see my face…”

“And I…. I don’t know how to breathe without him anymore.”

His voice sounded like a final scream for a heart that didn’t know how to break quietly anymore.

Her hands gently stroked his back.

“Shh… Xian. We’ll make it right. I promise.” She whispered.

“It’s not the end, sweetheart.”

But her own eyes shimmered too.

Because even though she had seen war, betrayal, and ruin—

She had never seen love look this lost.

“I wasn’t supposed to feel this much.” he whispered. “Why does it hurt so much, Aunt?”

“I swear…. this wasn’t part of the plan.”

“It never is,” she replied softly.

“We’ll find a way. Don’t cry, my boy… don’t cry.”

But she knew… fixing this would take more than just truth.

It would take faith.

That night, long after Zhan had finally fallen asleep, Meilin sat alone in the living room.

The house was quiet, save for the ticking of a distant clock.

She reached for her phone with a sigh and typed a message to a private number:

We have a situation. We need to fix it. Soon.

—————————————————-

And somewhere else in the city, Yibo stood beneath the shower, hot water running over him like it could wash the pain away.

But it didn’t.

Because how do you wash off betrayal?

How do you forget the only person you ever trusted was the one who broke you?

He wanted to hate Zhan.

Wanted to erase every touch, every smile, every whispered ‘Zhan-ge’ and ‘BoBo’.

But instead… he missed him badly.

Missed him like air.

After the shower, Yibo stepped into his room, towel draped loosely around his waist, drops of water still clinging to his skin.

He sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, staring into nothing, breathing slow and heavy.

Then, almost mechanically, he reached for his phone on the nightstand.

Seven missed calls from Zhan.

A few texts too—apologies, desperate requests to call back.

He stared at the notifications for a long time.

His thumb hovered over Zhan’s name.

He wanted to block him.

Wanted to erase the temptation.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

So he just locked the screen again and let the silence swallow him whole.

He tossed the phone onto the bed carelessly and went to the closet, pulling out a fresh set of clothes.

As he changed, his movements were slow, mechanical—like even that small effort weighed too much.

He needed something—anything—to numb the ache, so he walked to the small bar tucked into the corner of his room.

He poured himself a drink, the glass trembling slightly in his hand.

He took a single sip, hoping for peace, but all he found was more chaos.

Zhan!

Still there, in every corner of his mind.

Love. Hurt. Longing. Betrayal. Rage.

It all twisted inside him until he couldn’t breathe.

Hatred flared—not for Zhan, but for himself.

For missing him.

With a frustrated growl, Yibo hurled the glass against the floor, the sound of shattering cutting through the room like a scream he couldn’t voice.

A violent, helpless act—because the pain inside him was too big to contain, and too fierce to bear.

Yibo slumped back onto his bed, head dropping into his hands, his body racked with sobs he couldn’t hold back.

Tears streamed down his face—silent witnesses to a pain no one else would ever see.

He stared at the floor, his words echoing in the silence.

“Why did you stay silent, Zhan? How many times did I ask you—why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

His voice cracked, a mixture of fury and disbelief, as if pleading with the air itself, wishing it could answer him.

—————————————————

And miles away, Zhan jolted awake in the middle of the night, breathless, haunted by a nightmare he couldn’t quite remember.

The faint light from the hallway crept into his room, casting long, broken shadows.

He sat up slowly, heart pounding, and his eyes fell to the side.

There, beside him, was the broken bouquet of roses—the same he couldn’t bring himself to throw away.

With trembling hands, he picked up the frame lying next to it.

A frame that once held something pure.

Something they might never get back.

Zhan gripped the frame tighter, pressing his forehead against it.

He too wished, somehow, that his words could reach across the miles.

“I’m still yours, BoBo,” He whispered into the dark.

“My love was never fake… never a lie. I don’t know how to prove it to you now. Please… don’t hate me. Please… don’t forget what we were. I love you. I always have.”

But he knew he had broken Yibo’s trust. And his own heart in the process.

Both of them suffering.

Equally.

One aching in silence.

The other drowning in memory.

Neither knowing how to find their way back.

[To be continued…]