SATC C12

Chapter 12 – Tequila

That night was exhausting.

Three tall men together carried one person into the elevator.

Zhou Du joked that the villa’s elevator had never been so crowded, but Chu Yang couldn’t laugh. He lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to get a good rest all night.

Chen Jiali woke up to prepare for his shift, bleary-eyed. The digital clock by his bedside showed 3 a.m. He glanced over at Chu’s bed and was startled.

Chu Yang was still sitting on his side by the window, clutching his phone screen which hadn’t gone dark. He got up and said he was going upstairs to check.

To see if Ling Yibo had vomited yet, since if he passed out from vomiting during the night, it could be life-threatening.

Only after confirming Ling was fine did Chu return to his room.

A peaceful night’s sleep followed.

The cooking auntie’s surname was Wen. Chu had arranged for her locally through contacts on the island. She was diligent and cheerful and said she had a son who resembled Chu a bit. She explained that young people often had delicate stomachs, so she urged Chu to eat his breakfasts properly every day.

As for Ling Yibo, she was always respectful. She said the young master looked like someone born with a silver spoon, surrounded by admirers. Kids like Chu and the rest were the ones who truly had no one caring for them.

Chu got up early.

He jogged along the coastal road for three kilometers, drenched in sweat, and returned home with a huge appetite for Aunt Wen’s Western-style breakfast. He devoured an egg sandwich and some chicken filling. Standing near the villa for a moment, he then noticed two or three stray kittens approaching together.

These kittens came here every day at this time, in this place.

Today Zhou Du was on a day off, so Chu sent a WeChat message to Li Guanqi, asking him to buy some cat treats and food if he passed by a pet store on his way back.

These little guys had been stray for so long they were used to eating all kinds of random stuff; Chu wondered if they could handle the fine dry food.

He even half-jokingly identified with the kittens’ plight. After drifting about outside for so long, suddenly having to focus on following one person’s orders still felt strange.

After finishing feeding the kittens, Chu comforted himself — at least he was building good “neighborly” relations.

When he stood up, the small ache in his lower back surprised him.

Ling Er’s strength was great, and he didn’t follow the rules. Always full of competitive drive, Chu had only discovered after last night’s rough session — even washing off in the shower — that his side was bruised. He couldn’t remember in which round he got hurt. Pressing lightly with his fingertips, it hurt.

The pain felt as if a wound connected to sinews and to the heart, tugging painfully at his chest.

Walking toward the villa’s entrance, he ran into Aunt Wen watering the plants.

She smiled at him, one hand holding a long, soft hose, the other wiping water from her apron. “Little Chu, it’s already ten. Isn’t it about time to wake the Second Young Master?”

Ling Yibo looked free and easy outwardly but was actually highly disciplined. He often did morning cardio, or at least got up to wash or eat before sleeping again. He rarely slept this late.

“All right,” Chu replied with a smile, “I’ll go call him.”

Going upstairs, Chu paused by Ling Yibo’s door, hesitating.

He had drunk a lot last night…

It would be tough to start the day forcibly now.

Should he go in?

Listening at the door for a few seconds, he heard no movement; Ling was probably still asleep.

Better let him rest a little longer.

Half an hour later, while Chu read in the living room, Zhou Du returned from patrolling near the villa. Hearing Ling wasn’t awake, he wondered aloud, “Is he even still in the room? Could he have climbed out the window last night?”

“No.”

I checked.

Their team was one man short; night shifts ended at 3 a.m.

Thinking of Ling’s character, Chu suddenly felt anxious. He went upstairs again, hesitated a moment, then knocked.

No answer.

Losing patience, he pressed the door handle; it opened.

The breeze stirred curtains gently, green trees shaded outside, summer sunlight spilled onto the bed.

Ling Yibo still slept, buried deep in a dark blue softness.

A sudden wave of relief washed over Chu.

“Ling Yibo?” He approached the bed edge, softly called without reply. “…Ling Yibo?”

He crouched, growing anxious. Before speaking further, a blue arm suddenly shot out, yanking him close. Ling pulled him to the bed.

For that instant, Chu thought—he was alive.

Ling wore only sleep shorts, his bare upper body relaxed.

The clothes with last night’s alcohol smell he’d taken off at Chu’s hands lay casually on the bench by the bed.

Ling’s arm around him had been warmed by Chu’s hot towel. It was dry and warm, unlike Chu’s forehead, which was slowly beading with sweat.

Ling’s face was buried in the blankets, voice muffled: “Don’t move… stay with me a while.”

He seemed unwell.

Chu squatted nearby, seeing his brows knitting; the arm around him was warm, the body still partially drunk, consciousness muddled, like a man sunk in a swamp, only his top half in contact with air.

“Anything else bothering you? Tell me,” Chu unmuted his mic. “Jiali, go to the pharmacy for some hangover medicine and glucose, hurry back.”

Then Chu suddenly heard a faint question: “What if… my dad sends you out again?”

“What?” Chu didn’t catch it well, only “my dad.” He decisively cut the call.

“Nothing,” Ling Yibo groaned, head aching. “Aren’t you cutting hair today?”

Remembering the haircut settled Chu’s heart. His mind seemed intact.

Due to the nature of the job, Chu had seen many people get into trouble from drinking: dead, disabled, or burdened with debts they’d never pay off. Ling Yibo was perpetually reckless, indifferent to health.

“Aunt Wen has prepared lunch, your favorite local dish, very light.” Chu patted his hand. “Come down and eat some; you’ll feel much better.”

“Have you ever been drunk?” Ling’s Adam’s apple moved.

“Only once, you know,” Chu was used to Ling’s random questions. He paused, “I have very low tolerance.”

“I mean abroad, have you been drunk?”

“No. Life overseas was dangerous—always on duty, never sure when trouble might flare. I rarely drank, too risky. Could cost lives and fortunes.”

Only then did Ling Yibo reveal his face from the blanket, surveying Chu carefully. He concluded resolutely, “So you learned to smoke.”

“Cigarettes…” Chu admitted, “When I’m feeling really, really bad.”

“What counts as really, really bad?” Ling pressed.

“Every day,” Chu said.

Forced to half-squat by the bed, a rare crack of genuine emotion flickered on his usually stoic face—a reluctant obedience laced with subtle resistance.

The atmosphere was tangible. Ling was about to ask more but noticed Chu’s expression darken and hesitated, fearing Chu might lash out while vulnerable.

Instead, he reached up and softly ruffled Chu’s hair, which was surprisingly soft.

Why such a hard temperament?

Chu stiffened momentarily.

He met Ling’s gaze, bright-eyed. “Ling Er, don’t drink too much. You can’t lose consciousness. Drunken accidents lead to disaster.”

“Isn’t it safer with you around?” Ling scoffed.

Truth was, Ling hadn’t gotten that drunk often outside. Yesterday was an exception—Chu present, and Grandpa drinking — he’d thrown caution to the wind, not counting his consumption, downing several pots.

Chu frowned: “Don’t think you can do whatever because you’re an Alpha—”

“Do whatever?” Ling smiled softly before continuing in calm tone, “Do you think I’m the kind who abuses my Alpha status?”

Don’t you?

Chu said nothing but understood Ling’s power was indeed significant, though not the kind to bully others. Over six years of intermittent companionship, the bodyguards all knew Ling Er was a headstrong troublemaker.

But lately, Chu had seen another word in Ling matured: restraint.

Peace and peril intertwined in him, weaving a precise net to keep the prey firmly enclosed.

Suddenly, Ling pressed closer, not just an arm around but lips against Chu’s cheek. Chu’s senses instantly magnified.

“You know,” Ling’s breath lingered by his ear, “my pheromones smell like tequila.”

His tone was flirtatious, eyes frank.

Of course Chu didn’t know.

He wryly edged away.

His chest rose and fell, but professionalism quickly steadied him: “I can’t smell it, so I have no clue.”

Half-kneeling by the bed, Chu had undone two top buttons of his shirt, leaving much of his shoulder and neck bare. The cold air from the wall vent cooled him.

Chu noticed Ling was too close and feared he’d see the mysterious mark on the back of his neck.

He reflexively shifted away at Ling’s approach.

Ling silently watched Chu’s lowered, fluttering lashes like tiny fans, then suddenly released him.

“The basement wine cellar has several bottles of that. Someday I’ll bring one out for you.”

Ling turned, calmly continuing, “Let me see if you really get drunk.”

He emphasized get with weight.

Chu slowly stood, studying Ling’s weak state for two seconds, checked his smart watch. “The barber will come around 3 p.m. You still have four hours’ rest before your nap.”

Ling lay motionless, fingers peeking from the blanket, tapping the air. “I don’t like being called ‘Ling Er’. Change it.”

“Good afternoon, Second Young Master Ling.”

“No.”

“…”

Chu considered. “Good afternoon, Miss Ling Er?”

Ling dropped his hand, defeated. “…Fine.”

After speaking, he paused then sat at the bed’s edge. They stared at each other across the room.

“Reluctant to leave?” Ling teased, leaning back on the bed, muscles exposed, palm pressing a deep dent into the sheets.

The wrinkling fabric showed where he clenched both hands, bunching the smooth sheet into two lumps.

“No,” Chu closed his eyes. “Legs numb from squatting.”

At 3 p.m., the barber Chu arranged arrived on time, brought by Li Guanqi from the capital’s Yushui.

Allowing Ling to sleep several more hours, Chu timed it perfectly to send someone upstairs.

Upon entering the room, he found Ling up, freshly showered, water still dripping, towel draped behind his neck, lacking any sign of hangover fatigue.

That mid-day languid look was mostly an act.

With Ling’s constitution, he could still jump around with a fever. Chu was naïve and soft-hearted once; Ling had faked illness many times to fool him.

Always with excuses to avoid school or meals.

Chu sighed and asked what he wanted. Ling wanted some attention, not just standing all day, but some talking time.

Chu was three years older, had always thought of Ling as a kid, a little boss — naturally feeling there was little they could talk about, maybe cartoons?

When Chu approached, Ling pushed all his bangs back, furrowing sharp brows. “I want the barber to give me a crew cut. Will it look greasy?”

“Kind of.”

Chu spoke honestly, seeing Ling’s sulky face.

When Ling first arrived on the island, he wore a short cropped cut — hair shaved evenly on the sides, slightly longer and rough on top and in front. It looked neat.

But his previous slicked-back style was more refined, with thick exposed eyebrows forming a precise obtuse angle with the nasal bridge, deep double eyelids, close-set eyes — a look both noble and mischievous.

“Really? I don’t think so.”

Ling said that, changed into a tank top, and strode downstairs.

The barber politely waited nearby, all preparation ready.

Ling settled on the sofa, flicked the remote to a random TV channel, and gave the thumbs-up to start.

“Crew cut.”

Ling thumbed the remote, pulled out a photo on Chu’s phone from three years ago — a quick snap Chu took in the capital during a snowy winter night.

The photo was etched in Chu’s memory.

Snow fell like cascading sand, covering shoulders in white silver.

Ling Yibo wore a pure black cashmere coat, the neckline partially exposed, his features shedding boyishness, sharpening into something wild. He smiled while raising an eyebrow at the camera —

Feigning cool, yet clearly enjoying the moment.

A single snowflake brushed the lens, softening the sharp contours of the youth.

Footnotes:

1. Silver spoon (含着金湯匙) — An idiom meaning born into privilege and wealth.

2. Crew cut — A short, neat hairstyle often shaved on the sides and back, with slightly longer hair on top.

3. Double eyelids — Refers to eyelids with a visible crease. In East Asian cultures, often considered a sign of beauty or maturity.