SATC C3

Chapter 3 – I Want Chu Yang

It was the first time Chu Yang had ever seen Ling Yibo in such a sorry state.

Lifting his gaze, he saw that the vast living room glittered with gold and jade. The TV wall was entirely clad in Hanjiang Snow luxury marble, its patterns faintly resembling the kitten he’d just been feeding.

Looking down, the man lying on the carpet was far more mature in his features than Chu Yang remembered.

Ling Yibo was dressed in sweatpants and a basketball jersey. After struggling, he was drenched in sweat, which clung to his exposed chest. His hands were pulled back and bound behind him.

There were red marks on his wrists where the rope had chafed—like a trapped beast.

When he saw Chu Yang come in, Ling Yibo’s Adam’s apple bobbed twice. His eyes were cold, as if Chu Yang were just another enemy.

That look stung a little.

Back when Chu Yang was still around, injuries like this would never have appeared on Ling Yibo.

Acting purely on ingrained professional instinct, Chu Yang didn’t have time to dwell on his expression. He took a step forward, automatically thinking of Ling Yibo as someone he needed to protect.

He scanned the environment with sharp caution.

Sure enough, in a corner near the floor-to-ceiling windows, there were several unfamiliar Western faces.

Which meant that aside from himself, Ling Feng had brought in new bodyguards for the villa.

These new men were huge—clearly hired to restrain Ling Yibo.

Chu Yang regretted that his glands had been so thoroughly removed; he couldn’t scent what rank these bodyguards were. He could only roughly guess the method they’d used to force Ling Yibo into compliance.

Still… the always-headstrong Second Young Master Ling tied up like this—there was something almost… cute about it.

For some reason, an image popped into Chu Yang’s mind: Ling Yibo’s hands bound together with a neat little bow.

Ling Feng was seated calmly on the sofa.

He wasn’t the type whose mere presence commanded fear—more like stagnant water hiding treacherous undercurrents, impossible to read.

Ling Yibo didn’t look much like him.

He resembled their mother more—like a burst of sunlight breaking through clouds, his features all angled slightly upward, his gaze carrying an indefinable brightness and unruliness.

A woman sat beside the middle-aged man.

Chu Yang had seen her a few times before—they recognized each other.

She had been with Ling Feng during his inspection trips to Southeast Asia. Chu Yang couldn’t even keep track of which mistress she was. But to appear openly now, in the middle of a father-son confrontation, she must have held some considerable status.

The woman, spotting her “savior,” spoke shrilly:

“Chu Yang—ah, finally you’re here! Please talk to Old Ling. Why can’t they just talk things out? He had to tie Xiao Zhou up to lecture him. I couldn’t stop him! The kids are grown now, they care about their pride, you can’t just—”

Ling Yibo immediately lifted his head. “Xiao Zhou? That’s what you call me?”

The woman froze and turned pleadingly to Ling Feng. “Old Ling, I—”

Ling Feng didn’t comfort her. He suddenly called Chu Yang by name, pointing:

“Go untie Second Young Master Ling.”

“Yes, sir.” Chu Yang nodded.

He strode over to Ling Yibo, squatted down, and touched the chafed skin of his wrist with cool fingertips.

There was a bleeding needle mark there—a sign of a recent, forceful inhibitor injection.

The breath against his ear was tight with pain and restraint.

The torn skin felt like thorns, embedding themselves in his fingertips.

He undid the rope, which had only tightened with struggle, then stepped back to his original position.

“Ling Er, why won’t you listen?”

Like a thunderclap, Ling Feng’s voice rose in frustration:

“The situation in the group is not as easy to control as you think. Someone has already threatened to take your life! Who knows how far they’ll go? What if someone decides to go down with us? I told you to stay home for a while, but you had to defy me. If not for last time—”

Out of breath, Ling Feng couldn’t finish, and the woman interjected softly, adjusting the blue butterfly pin in her hair:

“If your father hadn’t sent people after you, you’d be in real trouble.”

Freed from the ropes, Ling Yibo stood up. “Debts have creditors. What do I have to be afraid of?”

He was tall, radiating pressure. Standing blocked the woman’s words. Ling Feng, now recovered, shot up from the sofa:

“Walk in the dark long enough, and you’ll meet ghosts! I don’t want you to get hurt, Ling Yibo!”

“Here I am,” Ling Yibo said with a smile. “Still alive.”

“If you were dead, you wouldn’t be here talking to me!” Ling Feng roared.

Ling Yibo met his gaze, teeth clenched. “Locking me up is no different from killing me.”

“Locking you up? It’s for your safety!”

“Is it for my safety—or for your peace of mind? Just to avoid your enemies, you want to stash me away in Yushui? For how long? My whole life? Since I was a kid, you’ve always put the company before me!”

Ling Feng inhaled sharply. “Then what’s your business?”

The air was electric, like firecrackers going off one after another.

Ling Yibo lifted his eyelids, glancing at Chu Yang.

It was like a hot wind brushed Chu Yang’s cheek.

Chu Yang stared straight ahead, slowing his breath, back straight, hands clasped behind him, palms upturned, letting the night wind slip through his fingers.

Ling Feng’s family had old money, and through marriage to a Zhejiang businesswoman, he had long operated import-export shipping along the coast. His largest holding, Changfeng Shipping, once had over a hundred vessels at its peak, with business both domestic and abroad. But now, internal strife had drawn in predators from all sides.

Someone had threatened to strike at his most “precious” son.

If the danger wasn’t avoided, someone else would make sure it reached him.

Ling Yibo was not Ling Feng’s only son, and he’d never thought he was the “precious” one.

His elder brother, Ling Si’an, son of Ling Feng’s ex-wife, was an Alpha of less than S-rank. He resembled Ling Feng more closely, carried a snake-like coldness, and had once personally requested Chu Yang to fill a staff gap in his Southeast Asia project. Recently, he’d fled to Yunnan to hide.

For years, Ling Feng had solved all problems with orders, letting the brothers’ conflict fester, until Ling Yibo became the sort to resist through sheer defiance.

“Fine. If you insist, I’ll agree—but on two conditions.”

After a pause, Ling Feng exhaled. “Name them.”

Ling Yibo looked at the men present.

Including Chen Jiali at the gate, there were seven bodyguards. Six stood like pines in their suits.

And then there was…

Smaller in build and face than the others—yet always the one to strike him down in an instant.

Chu Yang didn’t notice his gaze.

He was focused on his own hands—clasped tightly behind him, palms bloodied from untying the ropes.

“I want one person,” Ling Yibo said.

Ling Feng followed his gaze warily. “Who?”

Ling Yibo’s eyes swept the room, voice landing lightly:

“I want Chu Yang.”

Ling Feng hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. Why him?”

“Because Chu Yang was mine six years ago.”

Chu Yang’s head snapped up, momentarily stunned.

His heart thudded louder than the ocean he’d heard earlier. The man before him overlapped again and again with the one in his memory, until it all turned into a drifting pile of leaves he couldn’t hold.

He’d never thought Ling Yibo would still want him back after the ‘betrayal.’

“First, he has no secondary gender—making him perfect as my personal bodyguard. Second, he’s been with me a long time. Compared to whoever you’d assign to spy on me, I trust him more.”

“Go on,” Ling Feng said.

“Third, the people you trust are all fifty-year-old nags who either lecture me about rules or report me to you. I’d rather have someone quiet—at least then I get some peace.”

The reasoning was solid; Ling Feng couldn’t refute it.

Softening slightly, he said, “Fine, I’ll give you that. What’s the second condition?”

“Haven’t thought of it yet,” Ling Yibo said casually. “I’ll tell you when I do.”

The woman chimed in: “You’ve just graduated—stay here in Yushui for a while, settle down, and prepare to take over for your father.”

“He knows nothing about settling down,” Ling Feng snorted. “If he can just stay put, it’s enough. Less time with those shady people outside.”

“Define shady,” Ling Yibo said pointedly. “Anyone you disapprove of?”

“If you’re trying to provoke me, I suggest you stop!” Ling Feng snapped.

“No,” Ling Yibo grinned. “I’m serious.”

“…Fine. At least it’s better than you chasing love to the death.” Ling Feng stood to leave.

The foreign bodyguards moved in to escort him. The woman packed her bag, casting a wounded look at Ling Yibo.

“That’s right,” Ling Yibo said through gritted teeth, “you never loved my mother either.”

“Ling Yibo!”

The wind picked up over the shore, rain starting to fall.

“Here,” Ling Yibo said with a long breath. “No need to shout. With all these men around me, I’m not going anywhere.”

The damp air rushed in through the windows, fogging the tall glass doors.

Chu Yang didn’t move, rubbing his palms together behind his back—he couldn’t tell if the wetness was fog or blood.

Even the strongest middle-aged man would be drained after such an argument.

Ling Feng leaned back, letting the woman massage his temples, then called: “Where’s Chu Yang? Get him over here—”

Chu Yang stepped forward. “I’m here.”

“You’re not coming back to Hucheng with me. Stay here and keep an eye on him. You’re about the same age, familiar with each other, and you’re smart. He won’t pull anything.”

“I’ll leave you Chen Jiali, plus two more professional bodyguards—your choice. Your main task is to ensure Second Young Master’s safety, twenty-four-seven, and keep his outings under eight hours a day. Also… find a tight-lipped local housekeeper—non-resident.”

“Yes.”

“Staying here for a month or two will be dull. If you want a transfer, wait until after the mission.”

“…Mr. Ling.”

Ah—old fox.

Ling Feng glanced at him, knowing exactly what he was about to say:

“Chu Yang, your pay is already top-tier. But to make up for the workload, I’ll pay you daily.”

He punched a figure into a calculator and showed him—a generous sum. “Top market rate per day, plus a minimum monthly bonus of thirty thousand. How about it?”

Chu Yang kept his eyes down.

“And I’ll add paid four-day leave each month,” Ling Feng continued.

Knowing refusal was pointless, Chu Yang replied evenly: “Thank you, Mr. Ling.”

Ling Feng understood this as acceptance, and his gaze flicked to the back of Chu Yang’s neck.

“How’s your surgical recovery? I hear it’s gone well.”

Chu Yang froze briefly, then nodded. “I’m not sure what surgery you mean, sir.”

“A smart one—you were my pick,” Ling Feng said with satisfaction. “From now on, wherever Ling Yibo goes, whomever he meets, whatever he does—you report to Raymond.”

“Understood.”

“I know you’re old acquaintances. Just don’t let your cleverness go where it shouldn’t.”

“Yes.”

Raymond? Probably the one who’d tied Ling Yibo earlier.

“I’ll be in Hucheng handling port business, then Southeast Asia. Won’t be back for a while. The elder boy’s hiding at the border—more afraid of death than anyone—so you won’t need to watch him.”

“Yes.”

“And remember—loyal men don’t serve two masters. Back at Ling Er’s side, you return to your old role.”

“I understand.”

“Then I’ll leave this to you.” Ling Feng glanced once more at the still-lit living room. “Straighten out that rebellious streak of his!”

Chu Yang stood watching him descend the stone steps.

The sky was heavy, waves roaring. Raymond held a black umbrella over Ling Feng as rain pattered heavily against it, the sound magnified in the silence.

The rhythm was almost in sync with Chu Yang’s heartbeat.

Ling Feng suddenly stopped and turned back.

“From now on, my son will also be your employer. Chu Yang—protect him as you did before. By your duty, by your training—at any cost.”

Chu Yang nodded, eyes lowered, not answering as quickly as usual.

As before.

Even if you didn’t say it, I would.

Raymond saw them into the car, then nodded respectfully at Chu Yang before getting into the passenger seat.

Chu Yang stood before the villa, watching the black sedan disappear down the coastal road—smaller and smaller, until it was no more than a speck.

“Yes.”

Only then did Chu Yang speak.

It was as if the answer came not from the bodyguard—but from himself.