SATC C13
by berryChapter 13 – Facing the Danger Alone
The haircut took place in the villa’s first-floor living room.
The barber had been Ling Yibo’s trusted stylist for years, well known and reliable. Yet Li Guanqi, already off-duty, still had to take on close protection responsibilities.
He stood beside Ling Yibo, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the clipper moving steadily in the barber’s hand, unmoving.
In such a tight close-quarters space, one watcher was enough.
Chen Jiali had gone out to buy medicine and missed Aunt Wen’s lunch. Now starving, dizzy with hunger, he rubbed his sore stomach and glanced at the Second Young Master enjoying his haircut in the living room.
Walking toward the dining area, he realized Chu Yang hadn’t eaten until this late, so he swallowed his complaints and pitifully stood beside him. “Boss, sigh.”
“Tired? You look unwell,” Chu said, finishing his last bite quickly.
“Headache,” Chen mumbled, “I forgot to buy my own medicine when I went out.”
“Sit down.” Chu’s voice was firm.
Given permission, Chen quickly sat in the empty space by Chu Yang.
Chu tidied the bowls and utensils and then stood behind Chen.
Rolling up the stiff sleeves of his white shirt, strong wrists revealed, his hands pressed gently down on Chen’s shoulders. “Don’t move.”
“Don’t move.” The barber pressed lightly on Ling Yibo’s head.
“….”
Ling’s head was positioned upright.
He stole glances toward the dining room.
Chu was indeed giving Chen a massage, simple circular strokes.
Chen sighed softly with relief. Unfortunately, Ling heard every sound.
“Massage here. Rub yourself for ten minutes; you’ll feel much better.”
Chu lowered his voice to avoid disturbing Ling, speaking closely into Chen’s ear.
Ling tilted his head again, forcing the barber to follow, perspiring heavily, stealing glances at Li Guanqi, like a statuesque guard, increasing his sweat.
Short pain is better than long pain — the barber swiftly finished Ling’s haircut. The sideburns and nape were left longer; the entire forehead combed back, with barely a stray hair.
Just a glance, and Ling’s old fiery energy returned.
Chu suddenly lacked the courage to look back at Ling after the haircut.
Having finished Chen’s massage, Chu forgot to roll down his sleeves.
He stepped outside the villa, standing on the marble steps, and conjured a cigarette between his fingers as if by magic.
Recalling Ling’s query at noon, he hesitated but did not light the cigarette.
Pocketing it, Chu bumped into the barber packing his tools, nodding. “Sorry for troubling you to come here.”
“No problem, no problem.” The barber hurriedly waved him off. “Call me next time.”
“Sure.”
Chu still held the cigarette between finger and thumb, turned his head, and typed a few lines on his phone while entering the villa, sending a voice message: “Guanqi, come help escort the barber out and settle the out-of-town fee.”
Back inside the living room, Chu adjusted the air conditioning temperature. Ling, freshly cut, looked unwell, slipping back into the languid midday lethargy.
Ling half-reclined on the sofa, supporting his cheek with one hand, and slowly said, “What to do? My head still hurts.”
“Hangover headaches are normal,” Chu spoke clearly, betraying no pretense. “I’ll contact a doctor to come soon.”
True to his word, two doctors arrived within half an hour. After body searches at the villa entrance, they hurried in, finding Ling gloomily seated, fearing something serious.
They conducted a thorough post-alcohol checkup. Ling sat with his face cupped in his hands for a while as they tested.
The verdict? Drink less next time.
The doctors also warned that Ling’s sensitive period was unstable; to prevent uncontrollable situations, he should avoid going out during that time.
Before leaving, they provided several doses of suppressants — not only those used by Ling but also one for the villa’s only ordinary Alpha, Chen Jiali, due to the overwhelming strength and youth of Ling’s pheromones, needing extra safety.
Ling remained silent and, frustrated, went to sit by the huge fish tank in the basement.
He didn’t continue watching his gory, violent R18 movies depicting flying limbs and heads; instead, he quietly fed the fish all afternoon.
The few sharks temporarily housed at the Zhenjing mansion had been sent back.
They swam through grand ruins designed by Ling himself, their tails brushing over colorful coral, flat starfish clinging to thick glass walls.
Ling saw his own eyes reflected on the sharks’ elongated tube feet.
“Second, Second Young Master.”
Unfortunately, Chen Jiali lost at rock-paper-scissors again and was sent to ask how many bodyguards Ling needed for the island banquet tomorrow.
Ling understood the implication: bring whoever you want, but don’t come empty-handed.
“Bring Chu Yang.”
A black-fin reef shark deftly swam above Ling’s head.
“Only one?” Chen worried.
“It’s a family event.” Ling narrowed his eyes. “Bringing a bunch of bodyguards would be like me starting a fight.”
Chen pressed on: “We can guard outside. Is that okay?”
Ling’s mood suddenly brightened. “Fine.”
Chen lingered at the stairwell a while, tempted to push further, proposing the other three guard at the banquet hall door, but quickly said goodbye after Ling threatened, “Keep pestering me and I’ll throw you to the fish.”
Because Ling stayed in the basement most of the time, Chu had moved his sparring training with Li Guanqi upstairs.
When Chen ran upstairs to report, he just caught Chu executing a high-level arm lock combined with upward elbow and knee strikes, pinning Guanqi to the wall. Chen’s jaw practically dropped.
“Being a bodyguard doesn’t mean you can hit anyone you want. Your purpose is to organize offense, intimidate others. The most important quality isn’t just skill but toughness, adaptability, and crisis awareness. At that closeness, the barber could’ve knocked Ling Er out quicker.”
Chu was speaking.
Private security relies heavily on teamwork and tacit cooperation.
“When we get paid, integrity matters. The first task is protecting the client’s safety,” Chu paused, “We can die, but we can’t make mistakes.” He released the chokehold.
“Y-yes,” Guanqi coughed nervously, “No next time, Chief.”
“What happened?” Chen inquired, rushing over.
“While guarding Ling’s haircut, I spaced out.” Guanqi scratched his head. “No nap, really tired. I lost focus. The chief caught it immediately.”
“He denied it, saying there was no problem since we were so close,” Chu smoothed his shirt collar.
Guanqi tucked in his neck. “Then the chief said, since I’m so skilled and confident, I had to choose: either salary deduction or a challenge. I lost.”
Chen stood at attention, nearly saluting. “Tomorrow I guard his training!”
“Good, huh?” Chu rolled down his sleeve, looking at him. “Ling Er wants me to come?”
Chen nodded. “You’re best suited. At a big event, you have to stay close. Bringing more guards is gaudy.”
Chu’s lips twitched at the word “gaudy.” Ling Yibo afraid of gaudy?
“Makes sense. Chief, your image fits best. Can’t have people instantly know you’re a bodyguard.” Guanqi reasoned.
Chu didn’t respond but hoped people could recognize him as a bodyguard at a glance — then no one would dare make a move.
In such situations, that would be a huge problem.
Besides, for the recent tuxedo order, Ling had actively insisted on tailoring one for Chu Yang, indicating months ago he planned to bring only him.
But attending such a grand event alone with one bodyguard was unrealistic.
If they obliged Ling this time, the small security unit from Sen Uncle and Ling Feng would have a hard time explaining.
Chu quickly figured out the discreet guard positions outside the banquet hall and refocused on the troublesome tuxedo.
That expensive tuxedo—pure white with subtle patterns, adorned with diamond dust and gold thread.
After putting it on, Chen whispered to Chu that no one could tell the master from the bodyguard. Li immediately clamped a hand over Chen’s mouth.
“Really doesn’t look like a bodyguard.”
Feeling frustrated, Chu put on a pair of sunglasses Chen had left in the temporary wardrobe.
“How about now?”
“A little better,” Guanqi stroked his chin. “But, can you see well wearing sunglasses?”
Chu was silent for two seconds and nudged the glasses up to his forehead. “Not very comfortable.”
In movies and TV, bodyguards always wore sunglasses—cool, domineering, and stylish. But Chu didn’t like them.
The lenses obstructed vision badly. The Ling family didn’t even hire near-sighted people; if they wanted mystery, a mask would do better.
“I think the biggest issue, aside from your face, is the tuxedo. Looking at it makes me want to die. Why not wear our usual work uniforms?” Chen suggested.
“This was custom-made by Ling Er.” Chu pointed at himself.
Better to submit than make the stingy Ling Yibo angry.
But the suit was too expensive and tailored too well; Chu felt it hindered his movement.
If anything happened later, throwing punches would be awkward.
He thought for a moment, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and quietly asked the two guards: “Would this seem disrespectful?”
The black collar flipped outward, revealing smooth skin.
“If you stand by him like this,” Guanqi said carefully, “I’m worried people might mistake you for a couple.”
“No problem.” Chu focused on adjusting his cufflinks — a beautifully cut cornflower blue sapphire. “I’ll keep distance.”
That night, Bohai Bay, Yanhe Pavilion.
The Ying family had mainly focused on shipbuilding for years, supplying power engines and anchor chains, starting from Yushui. They later built a large hall in the villa area near the bay, named Yanhe Pavilion after the backing Yanshan mountains.
Moonlight reflected on the translucent sea, black waves met rocks with endless crashing. The silver sea surface resembled the silver-white brooch Ling Yibo wore on his chest that night —
A delicately sculpted ship embraced by waves.
But at about five meters away, Chu couldn’t appreciate the brooch up close.
Five meters—a safe but close distance, allowing a quick response if danger arose.
Chu stood inside the protection zone, following Ling Yibo’s steps, eyes scanning each person mingling socially.
He was too quiet, minimizing his presence.
Unlike walking through a crowd, it felt like the crowd was passing through him.
Looking at the table filled with small cakes, Chu surprisingly found his appetite stirring.
His gaze moved from pudding boats to sea-salt cheesecake, finishing at cookies. Seizing a moment while Ling chatted, he popped a cookie into his mouth.
Wearing sunglasses made him feel less concerned about scrutiny.
Though it made him look like a clueless poser trying to be mysterious, Chu still wore his own glasses to lower his recognizability.
His ears were too high; big round frames made them ache, so frameless ones suited him better.
He decided to ask Raymond for funds to get matching pairs for all four of them.
That would look professional!
Within the mission arranged by Ling Feng, knowing every person connected to Ling Yibo was crucial.
Chu finished his food and then quickly picked up a glass of champagne, alert to every word Ling spoke.
All were mere formalities until Chu caught a teasing tone:
“That your bodyguard?” A familiar voice asked. “That flashy tuxedo screams your style.”
It was Ying Zhuchao.
Also an S-rank Alpha, Ying and Ling had played together since Ling wore split-crotch pants.
One year older than Ling, their parents had chosen similar names — their temperaments matched in ferocity.
Yet from Chu’s experience, Ying always gave off a vibe of “I hold the advantage while you’re in the dark.”
Chu often wondered how someone as wild as Ling Yibo could be flanked by two vast icebergs: himself and Ying Zhuchao.
The clink of glasses, swirling of red wine—two equally prominent Alphas formed a center of attention, quickly gathering the eye of guests.
Ling Yibo was very flamboyant, too — strands of hair deliberately fell from his slicked-back style. He wore just the tuxedo jacket buttoned at the top, no dress shirt underneath, and a minimalist pure silver necklace around his neck.
Chu popped a mint into his mouth.
Tasting the pale green coating, Chu’s mind flashed to the frequent green jade snakehead pendant Ling wore at his chest.
That jade wasn’t mint-flavored, certainly not sweet, and definitely not cooling.
Pressed to the skin for so long, the pendant warmed like lips and tongue.
Ling Er had recently taken to collecting all sorts of necklaces.
Chu admitted, the necklace pendant hanging in the hollow of Ling’s chest was indeed visually pleasing.
Over the past few years, Ling Yibo often represented the family at banquets alone.
He was adept at handling these occasions but usually appeared in the capital, rarely returning to Yushui after his youth.
Many used their conversations with Ying Zhuchao to toast Ling Yibo.
“The clothes are my choice. Any objections?” Ling tilted his head, drinking a fiery red wine. “If you have better ideas, I hope you’ll kindly provide evening wear next time.”
“What bodyguard do you bring to my party? Pretending?” Ying glanced at Chu.
“Can’t ditch him,” Ling was honest, “There’s also an element of pretense.”
Ying closed his eyes, mocking. “I don’t get what you’re pretending.”
“There’s a lot you don’t understand,”
Ling turned away, drawing close to Ying, voice lowered, “Like maybe your eyesight is as bad as Xie Chongheng’s and you didn’t recognize that bodyguard was Chu Yang.”
“Then why did you bring him?” Ying paused, “Planning to kill someone at my family feast?”
Footnotes:
- Yanhe Pavilion — A grand hall owned by the Ying family, located near Bohai Bay, named after the nearby Yanshan mountains.
- Split-crotch pants — Traditional Chinese children’s pants with a split for toilet convenience, indicating a shared childhood between Ling and Ying.
- S-rank Alpha — An elite biological classification denoting exceptional power and status.