SATC C15

Chapter 15 – Princess Carry

It wasn’t an alarm or sunlight that woke Chu Yang from his nap.

He was on the morning shift and had risen at six. Summer days were long and nights short; dawn came early, and the fog-covered sea seemed to slumber heavily along with him.

With the morning freed up, Chu Yang assigned no security tasks to the team. Instead, per regulations, they took a car to the nearest public beach to Mingshui Bay No. 1 for an 800-meter underwater swimming assessment.

Only Zhou Du stayed behind at the villa to guard Ling Yibo.

The performance data needed to be uploaded to the Group for records.

Which meant, if any metric failed to pass, anyone could be replaced. The Group was full of hidden talents; no one could guarantee unshakable stability.

After a lap, both Chu Yang and Chen Jiali scored “excellent,” and Li Guanqi “qualified.” Zhou Du would wait to take the test when he rotated back on duty.

After high-intensity exercise, the three returned to the villa. Chu Yang had barely sat before drowsiness hit, and he dozed for a bit, cheek propped in the dining room.

“Chief!” Chen Jiali’s shout nearly lifted the villa’s roof. “Come see what Second Young Master sent us!”

Chu Yang lifted his lids and straightened slowly from the table.

Four neatly lined aluminum cases lay open on the floor. Each was backed with black velvet and held a dozen or so sunglasses in different styles: aviators, narrow cat-eyes, motorcycle riding goggles…

And what was that heart-shaped one supposed to be?

Chu Yang rubbed his forehead. What kind of play was this? Did they truly need to wear these bizarre sunglasses on missions?

Apparently, it wasn’t enough for Second Young Master to be flashy on his own—he had to drag his subordinates into it, too.

Surprisingly, Ling Yibo had become more thoughtful.

In the past, he would have ignored everything and simply delivered a single case of assorted sunglasses, without considering anyone else.

Sleepiness gone, Chu Yang casually picked up the itinerary on the table.

The afternoon plan was an offshore fishing trip.

It was the perfect season to head out to sea. This time, Xie Chongheng took the lead, asking Ling to have a family inboard fishing boat pulled from the port. Since they’d be staying in Yushui for a while, it would be a shame not to go out and play on the water.

Since it was a Ling family boat, he organized the event and invited Ying Zhuchao as well.

June sun by the sea wasn’t too harsh.

Sky and sea fused in deep blue, and the fishing boat cleaved the waves, taking them to a prime fishing spot.

All four of Ling’s bodyguards were there.

With the two bodyguards Ying brought, there were six in total, all equipped with UV masks and sunglasses, standing with hands behind their backs.

Ling clamped an unlit cigarette in his mouth and stood with sunglasses on—black tank and white trousers, a silver watch glinting on his wrist. He didn’t look like he was out to fish so much as to negotiate the acquisition of a freighter.

Ying’s reasonable assessment of the outfit: nouveau riche.

Ling ignored him, still sulking over the last incident with Chu Yang, and shot back with a double entendre: you mind an awfully wide range of things.

Sea wind tunneled through their clothes, ballooning their backs. Having checked the gunwale, Chu Yang stood ramrod straight, feeling like a balloon about to drift far away.

Dress trousers wrapped his legs; sweat turned tacky and clingy.

Next time an offshore fishing trip came up, he’d simply veto it for Ling.

Unaware of his gentle-hearted chief’s little thoughts, Chen saw him standing so steadily—perfect posture under the full sun—and felt a surge of respect, resolving to emulate Chu’s textbook vigor.

The bodyguards wore UV masks, fabric extending down past the neck, and sunglasses that completely hid their eyes.

This time, Xie had to look for a long while to pick out which one was Chu Yang. He let out a whistle toward Chen, only to drag his gaze away and pretend to admire the view when Ling snapped, “You sick? That’s an Alpha.”

“Chief,” Li Guanqi’s brow beaded with sweat, “why are we standing so close to Second Young Master?”

“He asked for it,” Chu answered quietly.

That’s right—2.5 meters, two hundred and fifty centimeters.

“Standing this close is kind of hot,” Chen whispered.

“Forget you—hottest one here is me,”

Ling had had enough, closing his eyes, forehead vein threatening to pop. “All of you move back—beyond five meters.”

The four stepped back in unison. Ling curled a finger, “Not you.”

Chu stepped forward and took his place about two meters behind Ling.

“Wow, anyone would think you’re at military drills,”

Xie baited a hook and gave Chu a sympathetic glance. “Ling Er, under the blazing sun, you torment such a pretty subordinate—careful he runs off with someone else.”

Ying, silent all this time, sneered and piled on: “In a family like this, being sold out by bodyguards is common.”

“Anyone mentions that again gets tossed to the fish,” Ling squinted as he threaded bait. “Ying Zhuchao, did your bodyguards pass the 800-meter underwater swim?”

Both of Ying’s guards looked over at once.

Ying, arms folded, enjoyed the sea view, refusing to dignify it with a reply.

“Alright, we know your Chu swims like lightning!”

Xie stoked the fire, flicking his wrist to yank the line back and hoisting up a strawberry grouper, its body shining bright red. Admiring it, he exclaimed, “What a beautiful color! Fish in the shallows have an audience—they’re better-looking. In the South Sea, I always catch homely deep-sea types…”

“You are the deep-sea fish,” Ying cast dryly.

“And if you can see me, what does that make you?” Xie shot back, casting in turn.

A hooked fish swung high on the line, tail thrashing, and its spray landed squarely on Ling.

He pushed his sunglasses up. “…Xie Chongheng.”

“Present!”

“I know you are,” Ling shot him a look. “At night it’s easy to catch little squid. Want to try a solo night trip?”

“If you want me dead, just say so.”

“I’m done with you.”

Ling lifted a shoulder, wiping droplets from his neck with his sleeve, then took the tissue Chu handed him to pat his face. When he looked up, Chu’s eyes were hidden, but the corners of his mouth wore a small, amused smile.

The sea blazed blue, sunlight spangling like shattered gold.

Chu smiled, and in his eyes—surely—was an endless deep blue, rippling like his name.

Five years ago at their first meeting, Ling had seen two words on Chu’s face: pure and clean.

Ling suddenly regretted gifting so many sunglasses today.

He’d have Zhou Du take them all back later.

Chu’s eyes were best left uncovered.

As for Chu, he couldn’t fathom why Ling was bent on issuing sunglasses to every one of them.

As if obstructed sight wasn’t enough, sweat made them sticky, and the frames slipped down. Li kept pushing his up.

Fortunately, Chu’s nose bridge was high enough to avoid that for now.

The boat was steady; they cast again—no life jackets.

Xie and Ying fished from the fore area, while Ling insisted on clustering with the bodyguards.

He straddled the gunwale, rod in one hand and a silver handrail in the other. It was too casual, indecorous, and he clearly wasn’t serious about fishing—only intent on showing off his thighs.

Far off, vessels traced across the coastal line, the grand seascape rare to behold.

Chu didn’t need to test—someone was definitely taking advantage of the sunglasses to daydream.

On the starboard side, Ling moved—upper body tilting out sharply!

Almost simultaneously, Chu lunged forward alone, reaching to catch him.

Before Chu could touch him, Ling righted himself, concluding, “You were watching me.”

Laughter shimmered in his eyes; the rod rebounded into a handsome arc.

The sea, blue as silk, reflected moon-like light in the sun’s gleam, brightening his youthful, unruly face. Who was he fishing—fish or people?

Chu paused, then resumed his stance. “It’s my duty.”

Picking a green grape from a fruit plate, Ling was about to say something to tease him when he saw Xie and Ying climbing down from the outer planks with their rods—and his smile died.

“Playing with you two is no fun—one silent, one playing fancy fishing tricks. Next time I’ll invite a few Omegas, topless, lounging on the sofas—way more eye-pleasing than you two.”

Xie grumbled, removing a hooked fish and tossing it into a bucket.

Aerated water splashed up in the live fish bucket.

Ying did the same, dropping his catch; it was so big it nearly flipped the bucket. His guards crouched to subdue the flopping fish, sending spray over almost everyone.

“Never seen one this big!”

“Awesome, Brother Chao!”

Ying’s guards were full of flattery—emotional value maxed.

Refusing to be outdone, Chen led a clap and looked to his own boss. “Second Young Master, you got this too!”

“What’s with the racket,” Ling cheered up and jerked his chin at his rod. “My fish usually close the show.”

Only Xie’s face darkened; Ying was obviously set on “shaming” him. He flipped Ying the finger.

Ying set his rod down, pulled off his gloves, and took the first step toward Xie—but his guards had already stepped in front, ballooning his presence from 1.88 meters to 8.88.

Ying raised a hand to halt them. “Forget it. Third Young Master Xie is joking with me.”

“Yes.” They stepped back respectfully.

Xie wasn’t scared—Ling was right there, after all.

“All you do is throw your weight around with your bodyguards. I’ve got Chu Yang.”

Ling was purely in spectator mode, smiling and shaking his head.

The named man smiled as well.

Chu’s spine straightened like a blade, silently taking a stand.

In any extreme environment, the employer’s good friends were his good friends.

Xie had just clamped a cigarette in his teeth when Ling plucked it away and set it on a side table.

Ling tapped twice with his fingers. “Don’t smoke on my boat.”

“It was just trash talk,” Xie rolled his eyes. “When I said fair-skinned, pretty Omegas—don’t tell me you’re not into that?”

Before Ling could speak, Xie went on, “Oh, right, you’re not. I think you’re more interested in Betas.”

Ying, focused on his line, couldn’t hold back a laugh.

Ling glanced at Chu, impassive behind the shades, then pinched a bit of skin at Xie’s neck, gritting: “You’re driving the boat next time.”

Before sunset, they wrapped up three hours of fishing and headed home.

Ling and Ying, both raised by the sea, were old hands. Xie, for all his boasting, caught few fish.

Leaning on his rod by the car, Xie watched bodyguards lift a ten-kilo live fish bucket down and pointed at Chu: “Look at that one.”

If Chu remembered right, it was a small flying fish Ling had landed.

Its body was cobalt-blue, ultramarine patterned, torpedo-shaped, with a pair of small wings spread from its chest.

“I’ve heard you usually only see those at night. Ling Er got lucky today,” Xie said.

“I’ve never seen one.”

Chu crouched to look at the limp fish, wrapped in a transparent net, and touched its slick paired fins with a fingertip.

“That’s the pectoral fin, its ‘wings,’” Ling glanced. “They gather enough force underwater to break the surface and glide briefly.”

Stunned by the dreamy touch, Chu murmured, “Amazing.”

“When I went out to sea with my dad as a kid, I’d sit on deck at night unable to sleep and sometimes see little flying fish get lost and smack into our hull.”

Ling crouched too, tapping its short forked tail. “But I’ve never seen one this blue.”

Chu’s gaze stayed tethered to the little fish.

Ling pointed with surprise. “You like it that much? If you do, raise it.”

Outside, other than on a protection target, Chu almost never focused on an object for more than twenty seconds.

Raise it in your shark tank, huh.

Chu ignored him. Guessing his thought, Ling was displeased. “I meant buy a small tank and put it in your room.”

“No need—let’s set it free,” Chu’s eyes shone with pure, clear light. “Let it keep flying—higher, farther.”

At night, Aunt Wen turned their catch into a seafood feast.

Pan-fried mixed fish, soy-sauce parrotfish, Hong Kong-style steamed sea bass…

Everything was there, including a large grouper steamed with ginger and scallions.

Xie was worn out and had to drive back to the capital; he left without eating. Ling and Ying stayed in the basement for FPS and F1 races.

Bodyguards ate separately from the employer. Chu slipped into the kitchen to see if Aunt Wen had finished and whether they could get served early.

Seeing him, her eyes bridged with smiles, doting as ever. “Little Chu, the young master brought too many fish. Just those two can’t finish. He said to share with you bodyguards. Want some first? I’ll cut you the softest belly piece!”

The physical file came from the Group, with orphanage records; Chu couldn’t be entirely sure every datum was accurate.

He looked at the tantalizing steamed grouper, then waved his hand. “Forget it, I really can’t.”

“Little Chu, you’ve never eaten seafood?” Aunt Wen was disappointed.

“I have.”

He thought—he’d had shrimp and squid; afterward, his arms itched and broke out in small red patches. The doctor said his constitution was good; ointment would be enough.

“Then it should be fine,” she coaxed. “I heard from the young master who left that Second Young Master worked hard to catch that grouper. Just try a bite?”

Ling Er caught it, huh.

Alright then.

Just… one tiny taste?

“Okay.”

Soft-eared, he compromised, passing his plate over and grabbing the others, too. “Serve them some as well.”

Ling and Ying took nearly two hours over their meal, chatting on and off.

Ying’s bodyguards had been sent to wait in the car outside.

Figuring there was little risk, Chu told his other three to turn in early.

At the living room’s main entrance, after half an hour, Chu started to feel dizzy.

He stepped back to steady himself, drew a deep breath, and shook his head.

He only had the late shift until eleven; a little longer, and he could rest.

“What’s with your hand?”

Ling noticed something was off and put it together at once. “You ate seafood?”

Chu nodded and, by reflex, raised a hand to cover the slowly spreading red patches—itchy. He scratched once. “I’ll—I’ll have Jiali drive me to get meds. You… keep eating.”

His eyes half-lowered, the clean brow knit, he tugged his tie loosely; his throat tightened, breath turning short.

In a haze, he lost balance, bracing an arm on the chair back. The legs shrieked against wood—

“I’ll eat whatever’s left,”

Ling sprang up. The cuff rolled to his elbow fell; he shot a glance at Chen, who had run out confused, and lowered his brow. “You don’t move.”

Then he reached to support the man whose side had gone weak. “Chu Yang?”

“I’m fine—just a little dizzy. My hand itches. Meds will do.”

Chu waved him off, tight voice controlled, accepted hot water Ying offered—whether poison or not—and downed half the cup.

“Hospital,” Ling said.

Chu shook his head and felt clearer. He crooked a finger at Chen. “Jiali, with me—”

In a leader’s tone, Ling issued orders, cold as ice. “Chen Jiali, stay.”

Now Chen didn’t dare move at all.

Chu glanced at Ling and said nothing, heading straight for the garage. Without fussing over which car, he opened the Urus and got in.

He flipped the cover, hit ignition, knocked the paddle into gear, foot on the gas, glancing angrily at his hand’s rash.

Damn.

He shouldn’t have been greedy for that bite—and certainly shouldn’t take Ling to the hospital.

Medical settings differed between Southeast Asia and home; since returning, he hadn’t found time to see a doctor.

If Omega gland hormones hadn’t fully metabolized, if an experienced doctor spotted scar evidence of gland removal at a glance, if…

He’d been too hasty and forgot to lock the doors.

He turned—and saw Ling stepping on the running board, yanking the door open with his usual force. “Chu Yang, get in the passenger seat. I’m driving you to the hospital.”

“There’s rank between us. I can’t let you drive—hey!”

Chu couldn’t help the cry.

Ling leaned in; powerful arms slid behind his back and under his knees, then lifted.

Instinctively, Chu clutched the only anchor—hands fisting into the front of Ling’s shirt—

Ling lifted him directly from the driver’s seat.

Effortlessly, a full cross-body carry.

The wild growth of youth couldn’t be ignored; the arms were hard with muscle—so hard they almost jabbed.

Chu remembered well how those hands had been battered in recent weeks—scar after nasty scar—each a reminder that it was his failure to protect him.

Ling carried him around the hood and set him into the passenger seat.

His movements, driven by urgency, were almost rough.

In that breath of too-close proximity, Chu held his breath, senses widening in the dark.

Ling’s low grunt while lifting him seemed to echo.

The rebirth-marked jade snakehead pendant slid from Ling’s chest and brushed Chu’s lips, cold as ice.

“I said I’m taking you to the hospital,”

Ling bent over, upper body sheltering Chu’s head as he emphasized, “It’s Ling Yibo, taking Chu Yang to the hospital.”

Since arriving in Yushui, for the first time, Chu saw on Ling’s face a long-absent mix of impatience, unease, and a refusal to face the unknown fear.