SATC C7

Chapter 7 – The Past

The air conditioner purred softly in the private lounge.

On the table sat a small plum-blossom vase with a single orchid, its petals swaying lightly in the breeze.

“What are you grinning at? Reliving those moments when your sweetheart got a little too close?”

Xie Chongheng mimicked his friend’s gesture, touching his own cheek with a smirk. “Honestly, Ling Er, who would’ve guessed you were such a masochist? But you look like the kind of masochist who’d fight back.”

“And if you played the sadist, most masochists would probably complain you talk too much,” Ling Yibo said evenly, sliding him a look.

“I don’t have a kink like that!”

“Then why do you know so much about it?”

“I don’t. I’ve never done it—unlike you.” Xie Chongheng’s grin widened. “Surrounded every day by a troop of handsome, broad-shouldered bodyguards in those uniforms… Sometimes I think maybe you’re the one itching to play.”

Ling Yibo’s frown deepened. “……”

That, at least, was enough to make even him feel the man was talking too much.

Xie Chongheng sensed he’d struck near the truth. “Don’t tell me you’re still stewing over Chu Yang. Wait—didn’t he get with you at nineteen? He should be what, twenty-something now? And still hasn’t presented? That’s insane.”

“No,” Ling Yibo muttered with the same weary frustration that always accompanied the subject. “Most likely a Beta.”

“He doesn’t look like a Beta to me,” Xie Chongheng prodded, watching him closely. “I’d put money on him being an Alpha. You parade him around at any event—how many Omegas do you think he’d reel in? So, tell me, what type do you think Chu Yang actually likes?”

The words Alpha and Omega landed heavy between them, dragging Ling Yibo back into silence.

He’d pored over Chu Yang’s medical reports again and again. None of them had ever labelled him “Beta.” Instead, there were just three haunted words: status undetermined.

For two years Chu Yang had shadowed him like a phantom, only to vanish for three more. Calm, contained, always restrained—never did he once step across that invisible boundary of his own accord.

If someone asked him what Chu Yang would look like in love, Ling Yibo couldn’t even imagine it.

So instead he argued, thinly: “Don’t be fooled by his face.”

“You’re joking, right?” Xie slapped the table with a laugh. “The one who got fooled wasn’t everyone else—it was you! I still remember that eye-flirting between you two. You lost your head for one second and tried to kiss him. Didn’t even land it—and then, a few days later, he goes off abroad with your lunatic older brother. Tell me that wasn’t him playing you.”

From Xie Chongheng’s perspective, the story was simple: mid-way through a mutual flirt, the crush bolted—straight into his brother’s camp.

That wasn’t being curved—that was being shattered.

“It wasn’t mutual. It was only me,” Ling Yibo said, his voice calm but his chest pierced through. “He never accepted me.”

“Sixteen. That was your first love, wasn’t it?” Xie pressed. “And now? He’s back. You mean to tell me you feel nothing?”

But did he?

Three years ago, he’d been only a teenager, helpless against family hierarchy and circumstance. Now, things were different.

When he didn’t respond, Xie—who knew him like the back of his hand—saw straight through him. “You’re exactly the type who, if you fell into a river, would sink because you were too stubborn to call for help.”

“If you keep nagging, I’ll leave,” Ling Yibo warned, starting to rise.

But Xie yanked him back down. “When did he come back?”

“A little while ago.”

Xie remembered the hollow days after Chu Yang had left and didn’t press further. “And now he sticks to you daily. You can actually stand it?”

Ling Yibo clenched his teeth. “I can’t shake him off. Like a dog.”

To be precise—a Doberman. Loyal guardian, brutal protector. And right now, impossibly flawless.

Xie squinted through his smoke. “Problem. I think he just heard you.”

“If he heard, fine. If I dared say it, I’m not scared of him hearing it.” Ling Yibo waved Xie’s cigarette away, feigning calm though a flicker of guilt stirred under his ribs.

Under the table, Xie kicked him. “Reword that. Now.”

For once, Ling Yibo didn’t kick back.

“…Hey. Turn your head. He’s looking at you.”

Ling Yibo turned—and sure enough, through the crowded lounge, he saw Chu Yang standing straight-backed behind him.

Hands clasped neatly in front, posture erect, almost austere. His earpiece cord lay just so, concealing the slightest lift of lips curved in a smile. He had—unbelievably—one of those mouths shaped for hidden laughter.

But his gaze wasn’t roaming. It was fixed solely… on him.

And in that hard collision of their eyes across the room, neither looked away.

Fire leapt in the faux fireplace, thrashing like a golden inferno. And in that absurd moment, Ling Yibo swore it had burst into his chest.

He shot upright, yanking Xie by the collar. “Talk too damn much. We’re going.”

“Hey—what the hell—”

By the time Xie dragged himself up straight, Ling Yibo was already heading out. “Where to?”

“Aranya.”

Declining another cigarette, Ling Yibo muttered, “Don’t you ever give up trying to unload those things?”

“These are Capri Longs. Imported. Not junk!”

“If your bodyguards weren’t watching, I’d knock you flat.”

“Try it. Smoke one cigarette, suddenly you’re President? My bodyguards’ll flatten you first.”

Xie scoffed. “Fine. I’ll hire two of my own so next time I’ve got someone to cry to after being beaten.”

“My guys don’t even smoke. You light up and the car stinks for hours.”

“Don’t believe it,” Xie muttered, striding right up to them with a magician’s sweep, presenting cigarettes to each one: “Come on, brothers. For your trouble babysitting him all day.”

Three politely refused.

The fourth—Chu Yang—took one. Effortlessly. Between elegant fingers, as if it belonged there. He tucked it neatly into his pocket, composure never breaking.

Xie blinked. Oh, so that’s how it was.

“This proves it. You don’t even know your own bodyguard.” He turned sly. “So, handsome, mind letting our young master ride in my sports car later?”

Chu Yang remembered him vaguely: Alpha, a classmate of Ling Yibo’s. Jewelry heir. Drove a silver Lotus on the island. Four-seater.

He inclined his head. “I’ll sit in the back.”

Ling Yibo smiled, triumphant. Told you.

The procession snaked toward the lot. Ling Yibo stretched, bumping shoulders with Xie. “See? He’d never let me ride alone with you.”

“Got to keep the boss of the bodyguards happy,” Xie muttered.

Ling Yibo chuckled. “What, like a driving instructor bribed with cigarettes?”

“Tonight—you’re being hosted by locals, right? Can we sneak out?”

Glancing back, Ling Yibo saw Chu Yang trailing five meters behind, perfectly measured. He sighed. “Where could I even run?”

“To Yunnan. Feed elephants with that crazy brother of yours.”

Silence.

“Fine. The northwest desert then. You can bury your head like an ostrich.”

“Even if I ran to the ends of the earth, Chu Yang would follow.”

“The ends of the earth,” Xie reminded helpfully, “is a tourist spot in Hainan. Not far.”

“…Shut up.”

Ling Yibo’s patience frayed.

“How much does your dad even pay him to make him this relentless?”

“Not sure. Base was fifty thousand a month. With my assignment, paid daily—seventy-two thousand monthly, plus thirty thousand bonus. Want to guess?”

“You need more guards? I’d happily drag you in myself.”

Ling Yibo only smiled faintly. “He’s not my father’s. I requested him back.”

“Requested? After all this time?”

“Just a bodyguard now,” Ling Yibo said, tucking his cap down.

Xie studied him. “…For a second there, I thought you were still in love.”

He neither agreed nor disagreed. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps once. But youth had been shallow—the river of love dried before he could even step in.

And now? Only silence.

A stray cigarette later, flame and smoke. Outside, Yibo stared into the wind and thought only of Chu Yang.

When he came back, the manager appeared with a steak platter.

“Second Young Master Ling, your wagyu ribeye—”

He frowned. “Not mine.”

“Your bodyguard ordered it.”

Chu Yang inclined his head. “Yes. For you.”

Yibo sneered softly. “Three years ago, yes—I might have liked it. Not anymore.”

Chu Yang said nothing.

“Forget it. Box it to go.”

The manager fled, relieved.

“I thought you were hungry,” Chu Yang said at last.

“I am,” Yibo said quietly. “I’ll eat at home.”

In the car, Chu Yang immediately took the rear seat.

Xie grinned at the mirror. “Handsome, you back there makes me look like your chauffeur.”

“Then switch,” Chu Yang said simply. “I have nine years’ license. I can drive.”

Yibo burst out laughing. “See? Free chauffeur. And he’s mine.”

Mine.

The word lingered.

Xie fell silent and hit the accelerator.

And in those quiet seconds, with the road stretching ahead and Chu Yang following behind—always following—Ling Yibo suddenly felt, inexplicably, at peace.