SATC C6

Chapter 6 – Thirsty

They say you can’t trust a man’s words.

But with Ling Er,* whose execution was lightning-fast, what he said was still worth believing at least three parts out of ten.

The afternoon sun blazed brilliantly, and the hulking off-road vehicle roared down the western coastline of Yushui.

There was nothing obstructing the view out the car window — the deep blue water shimmered with clarity, the seascape stretching on endlessly, as if the vehicle had stalled in place.

To avoid attracting too much attention, Chu Yang, ever cautious, brought only the tallest member of their group, Chen Jiali, to accompany him. The two of them escorted Ling Yibo from the underground parking garage into the mall elevator, heading straight for a high-end menswear store upstairs.

Ling Yibo selected clothing quickly — four pure white T-shirts, four pairs of light blue jeans — then crooked a finger for Chu Yang to come over, holding the clothes up against him for size.

All he said was: “Pay for them.”

After browsing for a bit longer, he picked out four pairs of beach shorts.

Three of them were patterned with coconut trees and sandy beaches; the fourth had a sunset-and-ship design. Chu Yang didn’t even need to think about it — that ship was definitely meant for him.

After all these years, Ling Yibo’s awful habit of wanting to mark him with some “claim of ownership” hadn’t changed one bit. Relying on the fact that he was a shipfootnote1 he thought he could float sideways whenever the wind blew. Chu Yang really wanted to ask him if he understood the saying “Water can carry a boat but can also capsize it,” but… he still had work to do, so he endured it.

It wasn’t until Ling Yibo had checked out that he glanced toward the nearby women’s clothing section, his eyes drifting toward Chu Yang.

Chu Yang remained as composed as ever, pretending not to notice his theatrics.

Chen Jiali’s eyes widened in shock, glancing at Chu Yang — what’s going on? Women’s clothing? Why?

Chu Yang shut his eyes for a moment and exhaled a deep breath.

At this moment, Chen Jiali was already waggling his brows: Ohhh, he didn’t actually go buy women’s clothing! Having new clothes for work is great!

A faint ripple finally showed in Chu Yang’s gaze: You seriously don’t think he’s being too much?

Chen Jiali shook his head in small, decisive movements: No. Right now, I think Second Young Master is actually a great boss!

Chu Yang: “Is it that during work hours you just have to chat with someone?”

Chen Jiali: “Because we’re outside, the working environment doesn’t let me ‘steal’ water or electricity.”footnote2

Chu Yang: “…”

As they carried the shopping bags out of the elevator, Chen Jiali slowed his steps. Taking advantage of a moment when Ling Yibo was answering a phone call, he sidled over to Chu Yang and whispered, unable to restrain himself: “Does Second Young Master have some strange themed-play hobby?”

Chu Yang was wordless. “Maybe.”

He has plenty of hobbies. You’ll find out, slowly.

“Next time he goes out, what theme do you think he’ll want us to wear?” Chen Jiali rubbed his hands together, actually looking a little excited. “I’d totally be fine disguising ourselves as food-delivery guys or as ‘shadow guards of a mafia heir’ under the cover of night…”

“Mafia is modern,” Chu Yang reminded him, “Shadow guards are ancient-era.”

“Oh, right.” Chen Jiali nodded, then in their group chat with Li Guanqi and Zhou Du, began brainstorming more theme outfits — four subordinates and one leader.

Chu Yang glanced coldly at his phone screen: “There’s also Journey to the West.”

After saying this, he pointed at Chen Jiali: “You be Zhu Wuneng.”footnote3

“That…” Chen Jiali hid his phone and his smile vanished instantly, “…Let’s not?”

“No phones during work hours — 200 yuan will be deducted.” Chu Yang shot him a glare.

“Understood, my dear Chief of Surveillance. I’d never make you keep one eye open and one eye closed; that would be too tiring.” Chen Jiali immediately stuffed his phone into his pocket.

The banter passed quickly, and once they were back in the car to head to their next destination, Chu Yang found himself wondering — did Ling Yibo dislike how he was now?

Putting himself in the other’s shoes, he tried recalling the seventeen- or eighteen-year-old version of Ling Yibo. A face lit like flames appeared in his mind; not too different from now, but certainly cuter back then.

That afternoon, they were to drive to a club called Zhenjing Pavilion, located north of Yushui. The car ended up stuck in traffic at the entrance to a tourist resort area. Chu Yang informed Ling Yibo they might be thirty minutes late. Ling Yibo said it didn’t matter, arms folded as he gazed out at the scenery… and after a while, he nodded off.

Falling asleep right after we leave?

Chu Yang frowned. As far as he remembered, Ling Yibo didn’t nap in the afternoons. Maybe he’d woken up at seven or eight in the morning just to be ready to go out — hard to say who was acting more like the employer here.

Today Zhou Du was driving, so Chu Yang sat in the second row beside Ling Yibo. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man’s sleeping profile, his brow slightly furrowed — sharp-featured, and far from the usual brashness, he was closer to the version in memory who wasn’t so irritating.

He wore a black baseball cap, a jet-black T-shirt, and around his neck hung a silver snake-head pendant Chu Yang didn’t understand the meaning of — snakes symbolized life; shedding skin meant rebirth, healing, and immortality.

Very distinctive. Very Ling Yibo.

As if dreaming of something unpleasant, Ling Yibo’s frown deepened. The hand resting outside his blanket clenched slightly, then pulled the blanket up a bit.

Is it cold in the car?

Will the blanket be uncomfortable?

Chu Yang watched him closely. Reaching out, he touched the tip of Ling Yibo’s nose. Still warm — the AC shouldn’t need adjusting.

Only when Ling Yibo’s brow smoothed out again and his breathing became steady did Chu Yang’s tension ease.

“We’re nearly there, Chief Chu,” Zhou Du glanced at the GPS and whispered.

“Find a place to park first. I’ll wake him up once we’re stopped.”

Thinking that Ling Yibo must have slept poorly last night, Chu Yang figured it best to let him rest — being ten minutes late to meet an old buddy wasn’t a big deal.

Only after the car was parked, Li Guanqi and Chen Jiali straightening their collars and stepping onto the electric footboard, did they take position on either side of the door.

Chu Yang finally woke Ling Yibo, who opened his drowsy eyes and slowly raised one arm into the air.

Some cursed reflex took over — without thinking, Chu Yang slid his hand upward, palm up, to support it, placing it in Ling Yibo’s grasp.

But now, Ling Yibo’s hand had grown — and in an instant, he gripped Chu Yang’s wrist tightly, yanking him forward.

“Didn’t think your cold hands could double as refrigeration.”

His tone was still impatient. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and without even opening his eyes, he murmured: “In summer, you keep the AC at twenty-five and cover me with a blanket — were you trying to smother me?”

You covered yourself!

Chu Yang was pressed against his chest, elbows on his arm, not even winded.

“But with you in here, it’s already cold enough. We probably don’t need AC at all.” After this jab, Ling Yibo finally opened his eyes.

“…”

Was that… sarcasm?

Expression blank, Chu Yang wanted to ask — Ling Yibo, did you learn nothing in three years except how to talk in passive-aggressive riddles?

Bad attitude aside, Ling Yibo really was overheated — his face was inches away and Chu Yang could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead, like a fine mist.

“My mistake,” Chu Yang said quickly.

He pulled his hand back and passed over a silver tissue box, then got out of the car in one swift motion. Summer heat after the solstice burned into his shirt almost instantly, dampening a patch across his back.

As Ling Yibo bent down to exit the car, his gaze fell on Chu Yang’s back —

The damp, semi-transparent fabric revealed the elegant line of his shoulder blades.

The cropped black hair was choppily cut, not too short, leaving the back of his pale neck exposed.

His shoulders and back were straight, proud — from any angle, he carried that unyielding energy.

Ling Yibo pressed the brim of his cap down and got out of the car, inexplicably recalling the leather loop he’d felt on Chu Yang’s thigh earlier that day.

Without thinking, his Adam’s apple slid upward in a swallow.

Chu Yang turned in time to ask, “Thirsty? I can get you some water.”

Ling Yibo shook his head, quickened his pace toward the entrance of Zhenjing Pavilion, and as he passed, murmured lightly into Chu Yang’s ear: “No need. I’m not thirsty.”

Just-woken, his voice was lazy and husky, like a feather brushing softly across his ear.

What was that?

Feeling puzzled, Chu Yang thought — maybe he’s hungry. Better call the club manager to get him something to eat.

No time to dwell on it, he arranged the bodyguards’ positions, nodded at the doorman who came to greet them, and opened the heavy, ornate metal door for Ling Yibo.

Zhenjing Pavilion sat at a gentle curve of the coastline, owning the most beautiful beach in Bohai Bay.

Although Chu Yang had heard of it early in his career, he’d never visited. Ling Feng,footnote4 from the older generation of businessmen, had a conservative mindset and rarely conducted negotiations in clubs. Now it was only younger second-generation heirs like Ling Yibo who enjoyed doing business while having fun.

But from the itinerary, it didn’t seem like Ling Yibo was here for any serious business — he was here to see a friend.

They collected a key card from the doorman and followed Ling Yibo into the lobby.

At the center of the lobby stood a transparent fish tank twenty meters high, housing over twenty blacktip reef sharks, plus several other sea creatures Chu Yang had only ever seen on nature documentaries.

The vast, translucent glass enclosure held swirling turquoise water, its spiral currents lifting tiny air bubbles upward — on par with the aquariums in Sanya or Jiaolong Harbor.

Ling Yibo slowed his pace. The club manager, already waiting, approached to exchange a few words, then called over a staff member to scribble on a tablet.

With his back to them, Chu Yang strained his ears.

From the sound of it, Ling Yibo planned to have a few of the blacktip reef sharks returned to Ming Shui Bay No. 1 during his extended stay in Yushui.

Blacktip reef sharks were ink-black, sleek-bodied, with razor-sharp teeth and a single snow-white stripe along their sides.

Chen Jiali watched with fascination; Chu Yang, unusually, let his mind wander, his gaze following the sharks’ movements. Such sharp teeth, so ferocious — yet trapped in a confined space.

Rather like their owner.

Alphas often liked pouring their excess need-for-control into dangerous animals.

Back in Southeast Asia, Ling Si’an had been fond of playing with snakes. Sometimes he’d make Chu Yang carry them. Chu Yang would tell himself not to be afraid, accepting the jewel-toned reptile with a steady face, only for it to coil lightly around his neck. The icy, slick press of scales made him nauseous; he’d rush to the restroom to retch, earning peals of laughter from Ling Si’an: Seems Second Brother’s kept you too sheltered — so-called Chief, but that’s all you can handle?

“Schedule the shark transfer for next week. Chu Yang, make a note.”

After giving his instructions, Ling Yibo headed for the long corridor leading deeper into the club, pointing at the AC vent: “Lower the temperature. It’s hot.”

The manager nodded quickly: “Of course! What degrees do you prefer?”

By then, Ling Yibo was already walking away.

Chu Yang tossed back: “Eighteen degrees, thank you.”

Then strode after him.

That temperature was perfect for their long-sleeved shirts — for short-sleeved Ling Er, it might be an icebox. If he caught a cold, great; he’d have to stay put at the villa.

But… Chu Yang’s heart softened. He stepped back to tell the manager: “…Better make it twenty-two.”

Mingshui Bay No. 1 had no AC — temperature and humidity were kept constant year-round with low energy consumption. Given Yushui’s high latitude, summers there weren’t hot, and the villa’s indoor temperature was slightly cooler than the most comfortable twenty-five degrees. Ling Yibo liked it; Chu Yang and the others often felt cold, wearing long sleeves indoors.

Chen Jiali, however, had noticed that Chu Yang’s health seemed better lately.

Since being recruited, he’d volunteered to work as Chu Yang’s deputy overseas.

In Southeast Asia, close to the equator and the sea, conditions on the water weren’t great — rooms were kept at the lowest AC setting, yet Chu Yang would still sweat profusely at night, curling up and quietly murmuring in pain.

Pale-skinned, his smile was a totally different person from his unsmiling self; he’d often sit on deck in wind and sun, gazing at the ocean for hours.

Chen Jiali had always felt Chu Yang’s way with people was like the meeting of two rivers — separate yet flowing alongside, reserved but tenacious, capable of intimacy while keeping mystery intact.

But since coming back home, Chu Yang spoke more, his aura less dark than abroad — instead, he gained a confident edge. As senior Zhou Du put it: “There’s a reason he became Chief Bodyguard at such a young age.”

Watching Chu Yang’s upright shoulders even in a brisk stride, Chen Jiali quickened his pace, covering his mouth: “Now I get why the internet says Yushui is good for the health — your complexion’s way better these days!”

Chu Yang’s step faltered, and, out of sight, his lips quirked faintly: “Is it.”

His gaze followed the figure walking ahead.

Ling Yibo, back turned, entered the wide corridor.

Unlike a narrow hallway into a closed space, this one was broad, each step triggering the light strip along the floor.

As he walked, a blood-red ribbon of light lit up around him, forming rectangular arches.

At the end was a private reception room. To mimic a bar’s atmosphere, the lighting was dim, the spotlights a soft gold gathered in pools atop gemstone-patterned coffee tables.

Settling into the sunken lounge, Ling Yibo twisted open a bottle of soda water.

The emerald-green glass, textured, caught the light, ripples seeming to dance across the tabletop.

Ripples…

Chu Yang.

Yang.

Lifting it, he downed two-thirds in one go.

“Have your dad and your stepmom lost their minds? Sending someone smaller than you to watch over you,” Xie Chongheng lounged beside him, legs crossed, gesturing toward the door with his teacup hand. “That face of his is more dangerous than yours — you sure he can protect you?”

Ling Yibo frowned, irritated: “Don’t call her ‘stepmom.’”

“Fine, the concubine in all but name, then,” Xie sipped his tea. “You haven’t said — who is he?”

“Chu Yang,”

Ling Yibo exhaled long and deep, giving him a look as if he were an idiot: “Don’t recall reading about you having amnesia.”

“Oh — my bad, I didn’t get a clear look just now… That is Chu Yang? He still knows how to come back?”

Xie gave a short, derisive laugh, as if annoyed, then, studying Ling Yibo’s expression, grew serious: “He may be shorter than you, but I admit — as a professional bodyguard, Chu Yang could take you down with ease.”

True enough — when Chu Yang had first joined the Ling household, Ling Yibo had the fortune of getting beaten by him.

Strictly speaking, not even a beating — the moment he’d stepped into the CEO’s office, he’d been pinned to the ground.

Chu Yang’s moves were sharp and quick, completely shutting down any chance of resistance. Being blindsided from behind, Ling Yibo’s raw strength was utterly useless.

Over the next three years of employment, Chu Yang never once laid hands on him at Ling Feng’s orders — only when danger arose would he stand in front.

Except for that one time when a drunken Ling Yibo bent down to kiss Chu Yang’s forehead — earning a solid punch for his trouble.

The wind from that fist had grazed his cheek — it hurt, fiery-hot. But it hurt more in his chest, enough to blot out the sting on his face.

That punch had been delivered without the slightest mercy.

Even now he wasn’t sure if Chu Yang had tilted his head to miss his face on purpose, or if the blow had simply never been aimed there.

Now that they were both older, Chu Yang’s strength should be greater — but it seemed he still held back when it came to Ling Yibo…

Ling Yibo absently touched his cheek, suddenly itching to test it out again.

To see if Chu Yang’s punches now packed even more of a punch.

notes:

“He is a ship” — A play on words: Ling Yibo’s given name contains “bo” (舶), which means “large ship” in Chinese. The narrator teases that he behaves like a ship drifting freely.

“Steal water or electricity” — Slang for using company (or public) resources for personal purposes during work hours.

Zhu Wuneng — Pigsy, a comedic character from the Chinese classic Journey to the West, half-man, half-pig.

Ling Feng — Likely the elder patriarch of the Ling family, representing an old-school business approach.