SATC C11
by berryChapter 11 – Xiao Zhou
First round.
At the start, Chu Yang still courteously yielded to him, parrying two incoming punches before steadily retreating step by step, then launching a series of rapid, straight punches.
Ling Yibo saw through his holding back and decided to press him harder.
Whatever wild trick Ling Yibo had picked up over the years, he immediately raised his leg, sweeping with a sidekick that left no room for retreat.
Chu Yang stepped back but was too slow; his heel crossed the boundary line.
To avoid a foul, he lowered himself to execute a horizontal block and grabbed Ling Yibo’s ankle. Seizing the moment as Ling Yibo balanced on one leg, Chu surged forward with fierce strength and squeezed Ling’s neck from behind—a rear naked choke!
Ling Yibo’s height was too much; no matter how fit Chu Yang was, holding a man a size larger and leaning him backward was unsustainable.
They toppled onto the mat together.
Chu Yang underneath, Ling Yibo on top.
Before Ling Yibo’s back hit the mat, Chu Yang lifted a leg, flexed, and locked onto the inside of Ling’s thigh!
Normally, this simple, quick maneuver would end the fight within five seconds as long as Chu didn’t ease his grip—
But instinctively, Chu Yang loosened his hold.
He knew too well the suffocating, near-death sensation of a choke.
In past small tournament finals, where rules were ambiguous and rivals played dirty, his neck was often bright red afterward—marked by violent chokes that left lasting damage.
That brief hesitation gave Ling Yibo a chance to turn the tide.
He struggled fiercely, freeing his leg, rolling sideways onto open space, snatching Chu’s exposed wrist with one hand, then forcing his knees down onto Chu’s.
Chu fought back but couldn’t shift the weight.
Overwhelming, crushing dominance.
“In the ring, no one goes soft.”
Ling Yibo’s breath was ragged, voice hoarse.
His Adam’s apple moved as he spoke. Just seconds ago, Chu had choked him hard—it really hurt.
Sweat dripped down his jaw, past his throat, gathering at his collarbone, before falling onto the mat.
“My muscle memory simply refuses to let you get hurt.”
The mat beneath them seemed to heat up with a stifling summer heat, pressing through Chu’s back.
His vest was thin fabric, sweat clinging to muscle, the cloth teasingly revealing his skin tone.
Ling Yibo’s dominant posture trapped him; no matter how strong he was, Chu couldn’t reverse it.
But he refused to submit.
“Refuses what?” Ling leaned down, closer than comfortable.
“Cut the crap!” Chu’s eyes reddened from heat.
“Refuses what,” Ling repeated, voice deep, as if coaxing, “…Refuses because of me?”
Chu met Ling Yibo’s pure, sincere gaze.
His own eyes, deep as the ocean, flickered with unsettling excitement—the joy of competitive sport swelling inside.
In this moment, he no longer felt trapped by some petty twenty-four-hour security mission. There was only Ling Yibo beside him, dripping sweat, equally matched in close combat—the very definition of risking death to live.
Suddenly, Chu swung one leg free, wrapping the other tightly around Ling’s solid waist.
Using that grip, he powered his upper body up and flipped them both over.
Lightning quick, their positions reversed.
Bang—
A heavy thud.
Ling Yibo fell on his back, muffled grunt escaping, the back of his head cushioned by Chu’s hand a split second before impact.
Before Ling could react, Chu wrapped a free arm around Ling’s neck in a knee-hugging triangle choke.
Pressing his cheek to Ling’s shoulder, he fully locked the hold down—a nearly inescapable arm triangle choke.
Pressure tightened, seamless, relentless.
“You don’t fight back… if you don’t struggle, I won’t use full strength.”
Chu panted lightly, sweat stinging his eyes, his arm aching but unwilling to release. “Ling Er, have you given up?”
“I admit defeat,”
Ling wheezed, staring at the ceiling, his vocal cords squeezed painfully, and smiled, “I still can’t beat you.”
The two fell silent for a few beats.
Chu turned to look at Ling; Ling closed his eyes tight, silent, sweat beading on his brow.
Chu was too exhausted to move.
Ling’s hoarse voice broke the quiet: “Are you… feeling uncomfortable anywhere?”
Being so familiar with Ling, Chu knew this was a pheromone probe.
“No.” He feigned ignorance, alarm bells ringing inside.
“Oh.” Ling acknowledged.
On closer look, Chu’s face showed no redness, no rapid heartbeat, no reaction to pheromones. For over half a month, no anti-pheromone medication had appeared, nor any patches behind his neck.
Maybe that triangular military scar was just a coincidence in that location?
Chu didn’t know what Ling was thinking.
They clung to each other as bodies heated, boundaries, distance, and hierarchy fading away.
It felt like the two little beasts he’d seen deep in Southeast Asian forests—madly biting and wrestling, then cuddling asleep, as if each contained a piece of the other, only to start fighting again in the next instant.
The vertigo of standing on a cliff’s edge engulfed Chu.
Eventually, he released his grip, feeling like he’d jumped off a precipice, unwilling to rise. Just pressed down on the mat, face beside Ling’s furry head.
Ling lay on his back; Chu watched his ears twitching faintly.
He glanced again at the rising and falling of Ling’s Adam’s apple.
“Chu Yang.” Ling called softly.
Chu responded with a murmur, ready for some embarrassing personal question and tensing for a preemptive punch before Ling even spoke.
Ling thoughtfully chose his words after a pause: “Why do you always seem unhappy lately? You weren’t like that before.”
“…I’m not.”
Surprised by the question, Chu turned his face into his sleeve. His voice clear, lips curled faintly unseen by Ling. “Right now, I’m very happy. Truly.”
Ling turned to look at him.
Their breaths rose and fell in sync, chests heaving like ocean waves nearby. Heartbeats pounding so close, almost audible.
The world was silent, as if nowhere else existed—just the pulse, the breath, and lips almost touching.
Just moments ago, two patches of warm skin had met then parted.
That separation felt unreal, like fine threads stretched between clear glue peeling apart, thinning with distance until they snapped—each fragment grazing skin again and again.
Ling watched Chu a while and laughed.
“Why laugh? You lost.” Chu felt soft as if boneless.
“Feels like I lost, yet somehow won it back.”
Around 7 p.m.,
Ling Feng made a sudden call: Ling Yibo’s grandfather was visiting the island to escape summer heat, staying north of Yushui near a resort. He asked Chu Yang to accompany Ling Yibo for dinner.
Ling Yibo’s grandmother died early; the old man was unwell and had been hospitalized long-term in the capital. When feeling better, he chose to leave the hospital to escape the heat.
Bohai Bay’s weather was cooler than inland this time of year, nights chilly, sea breeze muffled and dull.
Before heading out, Chu thoughtfully added a thin jacket for Ling Yibo.
Zhou Du drove, dropping Ling off at an old villa. Chu got out, scoped for security risks as usual, then stationed Chen Jiali and Zhou Du at either side of the villa’s entrance.
Chu accompanied Ling to the first-floor reception.
The decor echoed 70s-80s vintage European style. An openlaid mother-of-pearl screen blocked the entryway. The curved doorway was lacquered wood with gold leaf, red sandalwood incense merged with colored glass windows. The building was a standalone small mansion, rich in Yushui style but weathered by sea winds, showing its age.
Pouring clear liquor into one-twenty-five traditional cup, Chu stepped back near the window and stood steady.
He inhaled the mellow aroma, recalling other bodyguards’ talk.
They said the Second Young Master’s pheromones smelled faintly of alcohol.
Chu had never smelled it himself.
Although he’d been by Ling Yibo’s side for three years, his transformation into an S-rank Alpha during adolescence was carefully guarded, with dedicated watchers.
Once, when the doctor was delayed, Chu was ordered into Ling’s room, finding no trace of the overpowering scent.
He only saw Ling flushed, lying still on the bed, staring at him.
“Chu Yang, Chu Yang.”
Ling Yibo’s brows furrowed, the young Alpha’s voice filled with forceful allure; panting, he called, “It’s good you haven’t differentiated yet… at a time like this, you can still stay with me.”
Throughout dinner, Ling Yibo’s grandfather was spirited and talkative.
Ling behaved modestly, simply drinking and toasting.
Grandpa mentioned Ling’s graduation and starting work for the family; noted Ling Er was too young to worry about courting but could mention if he liked an Omega.
Afterwards, he praised Chu Yang, saying how good he was and warned Ling Feng not to show favoritism, hinting that Ling Si’an deserved a bodyguard like Chu too.
The old man had stepped back from direct management for years, rarely concerning himself with minor family affairs, unaware Chu was hiding to undergo gland removal.
“He’s not worthy,” Ling said on the spot. “Or else, let Ling Si’an stay in Yunnan. There’s mountains and water; he ought to be content there.”
“Oh, stop picking on your brother.”
“When he crashed into my classmate’s car at the school gate, he didn’t hesitate either,” Ling smirked. “If my classmate had reported him back then, could he be living so well now?”
Xie Chongheng was the unlucky victim — a sports coupe with the bumper torn off and a dented rear had him furious.
He stormed into the school security room only to see surveillance and be puzzled: “Man! Ling Yibo — isn’t that your brother?”
Ling didn’t deny it. Xie jumped up again: “Does your brother think, because you hang with me all day, that car is your secret purchase?”
Ling nodded; “Maybe. But insanity doesn’t need a reason.”
After venting, Ling calmed down and coldly said: “I never stole anything from him. I don’t care for it.”
Ling’s mother died early. Ling Si’an’s mother was softhearted and had raised Ling Si’an as her own before Ling Yibo was born, inadvertently fostering a competitive and resentful relationship between the brothers. Ling looked down on his brother’s petty desires, even though everyone told him to yield to his elder brother, no one understood how frequently Ling Yibo’s possessions were coveted.
“I know all that,” the old man said slowly. “Eat, eat.”
Ling frowned, remaining silent, keeping the same expression through the meal and even as his flushed cheeks connected to his neck.
Perhaps due to generational affinity, Ling Yibo’s relationship with his grandfather was noticeably healthier than with Ling Feng.
The elder retired early and hadn’t eaten long but drank quite a bit.
Before leaving, the grandfather asked Ling upstairs to discuss something.
Chu didn’t follow, waiting quietly by the stairs.
At half past ten, Ling came down.
Staggering, Ling said goodbye to the old man.
The car had barely moved when Ling asked Zhou Du to stop. He squatted by the roadside alone for a while.
Chu said nothing, silently escorting Ling back; only relaxing when the car stopped home.
“Chu Yang,” Ling slurred, sprawled across the middle row, refusing to get up. “Let them go in first.”
“Don’t want to get out?” Chu sounded like coaxing a child.
“Mm.” Ling responded heavily, fingers twitching twice.
“Okay.”
Chu waved off a flustered Chen Jiali and the habituated Zhou Du, hurriedly instructing: “Bring a few bottles of water and wet towels inside.”
They arrived swiftly.
Chu unscrewed a bottle cap and fed water to Ling. Sitting beside him, he folded the towel and pressed it to Ling’s lips. “Feeling like throwing up?”
Ling laid his head back against the seat. His back rose and fell—clearly uncomfortable, looking pitiful.
Chu realized today that tolerance to alcohol was hereditary—and worsening. Ling Feng seemed fine; Ling Yibo was close to collapse.
Ling waved off the question, no vomiting.
After a while, silence returned.
Chu tossed the towel onto the dashboard, tilted his hand to check if Ling had fallen asleep. As he reached to touch Ling’s face, Ling grabbed his hand first.
The night scene dimmed as summer rains fell richly.
A light rain began outside the car; inside, only breathing and rustling of clothing filled the cabin. The windshield wipers flicked mechanically, like heckling spectators nearby.
As Ling’s grip tightened, Chu’s nerves stretched.
He tried to pull back his hand; it barely moved. Ling’s half-hidden face peeked from his bent arm.
Looking pitiful.
Though the rain fell outside, Ling seemed soaked.
The shower grew heavier; raindrops drummed against the windows unceremoniously—pat, pat.
Finally, a familiar, plaintive voice broke the silence:
“…Why’d you leave me?”
The speaker’s face remained unseen, words trailing off, breath short and low, voice heavy—crashing into the car like raindrops.
Ling just held his hand, fingertip brushing gently. His hand was cool, comforting to touch.
He probably guessed which words from Grandpa had stung Ling Yibo so badly—to drink so much to ease the pain.
Chu wanted to say something but stopped, abandoning his refusal.
A beep from the radio signaled a call.
Zhou Du asked: “Chief Chu, are you two okay?”
“It’s nothing… He’s drunk, not himself, but quiet now—probably asleep,” Chu sighed. “Call Xiao Chen over; we’ll carry Ling Er inside.”
The line became a distorted shout: “Me? Carry him?”
“With your build, carrying a grown man is no problem,” Zhou Du backed him up.
“But this grown man isn’t much smaller than me, and he’s an S-rank Alpha!”
“You’re the youngest and strongest,” Zhou Du said again.
“Fine, I’ll try,” Chen Jiali took the compliment well. “Yang-ge, hold on — we’re coming to save you!”
Signal cut out.
Chu patted Ling’s shoulder with his other hand. “Ling Er?”
No answer. Grip firm, no matter what he said, Ling didn’t loosen.
Stypped hearing footsteps outside, sharp tapping of leather shoes on stone steps.
“Ling Yibo, listen. Go upstairs and sleep—you’ll catch a cold sleeping in the car,” Chu urged anxiously.
“Ling…”
Seeing no response, his voice softened: “Xiao Zhou?”
“Mhm…”
“Xiao Zhou.”
“Hmm.”
“Xiao Zhou!”
“Hm?”
“Xiao Zhou,” Chu called softly again, “Let go.”
The tight grip finally loosened.
Chu looked down, seeing a crimson mark on the back of his hand.
Footnotes:
- Rear naked choke — a grappling hold used to strangle an opponent.
- ‘Dog paws’ — a taunt or affectionate insult referencing rough or unskilled hands, used playfully here.
- “Xiao Zhou” — a diminutive or affectionate way to refer to Zhou Du, one of Ling’s bodyguards.
- S-rank Alpha — a rare and extremely powerful biological classification in this story’s setting, indicating exceptional strength and status.