SATC C5

Chapter 5 – The Shirt Stays

He understood Ling Yibo’s sudden impulse to dash out and have some fun.

Chu Yang could relate.

As he always said, the Second Young Master was full of energy and needed an outlet for it.

But not today. Tomorrow, perhaps.

Ling Yibo’s rather pleasing face nearly scrunched up into a knot.

His complexion shifted from green to pale as he asked why.

Chu Yang gave the reason that more preparations were necessary, and that if the Second Young Master wished to go out next time, he should make a reservation twenty-four hours in advance. No disturbances after work hours.

Work hours?

Of course.

In this line of work, there was hardly any free time. Only after the 10 p.m. shift handover was there any period that truly belonged to them. Chu Yang usually arranged for the four-man team to take shifts at night — the one on duty would sit in the villa’s first-floor living room, allowed to doze lightly but not to return to their room to sleep.

Upon hearing that even going out required a prior booking, Ling Yibo grew somewhat irritable. “Can you just disappear for now?”

“Yes.”

Immediate disappearance. Wishes granted without question.

Chu Yang chose to “disappear” by heading out for a walk around the villa, making a circuit before returning. It also served to cool his head.

At twenty-something, having one’s freedom restricted naturally caused some temper — even more so for a Ling Yibo who could leap over walls and bite back.

But Ling Yibo hadn’t expected to see Chu Yang reappear at home so soon.

The Alpha stood with arms crossed in a negotiating stance: “Chu Yang, I don’t know how much your daily wage is, but I can pay you the same amount on top of it. Take your men and roam around the island — just don’t watch over me, alright?”

In short, stop following me.

Chu Yang understood exactly what he meant — which, of course, was entirely impossible.

“Not going to lie to you — I want that too.”

Without stating it directly, he reached for the calculator on the table and replied briskly, “But that would ruin our professional ethics. After that, I wouldn’t be able to do this job anymore. If you want to buy me out, calculating it based on my daily wage… Let’s say I retire at thirty-five due to ill health — you’d have to pay me this figure.”

The calculator displayed: 6,048,000.

Ling Yibo raised a brow. “You’re serious?”

“I am.” Chu Yang’s heart remained still as water.

“If I transfer the money into your account, you leave — but don’t you go back on your word,” Ling Yibo said deliberately to provoke him, knowing full well that even if he paid, Chu Yang wouldn’t leave.

“But compared to six million—”

Chu Yang put the calculator away, clasped his hands behind his back, and lowered his head. “Your safety is still more important.”

Ling Yibo paused, then turned and went upstairs.

After Ling Yibo fell asleep, Chu Yang sat down with his work laptop and finalized Ling Yibo’s schedule for the next day.

As an Alpha, Ling Yibo’s susceptible period was closely monitored by dedicated personnel. Now that his freedom was restricted, the task of recording the relevant dates naturally fell to Chu Yang.

Looking at the printed schedule with a pen in hand, Chu Yang marked the days when the susceptible period might occur, then fed the paper into the shredder.

The shredded fragments spiraled down into the trash bin, white as snow.

Enforcing the rule of drafting a travel plan twenty-four hours in advance could, to a great extent, also ensure Ling Yibo’s safety during his susceptible period.

When it came to Ling Yibo, Chu Yang was always a little more attentive.

Another day began in the blink of an eye. When Ling Yibo awoke and saw Chu Yang now working professionally enough to plan his schedule, he was rather shocked. He knew Chu Yang was highly principled and found it difficult to make choices outside of a pre-set plan. Any deviation from the original plan made Chu Yang uncomfortable.

The itinerary was written in exquisite detail.

After lunch, they would depart. The vehicle would no longer be the flashy Urus, but, thanks to one stern phone call from Chu Yang to Group headquarters, it would be replaced by a far less conspicuous Range Rover.

During the call, Chu Yang had uncharacteristically shown some irritation, saying he couldn’t understand what the people below were thinking — supplying Ling Yibo with such a car in extraordinary times. What, did they want everyone to know he was in Yushui?

They would arrive at a bustling area in Yushui’s urban district at 1 p.m., go shopping in the mall, and then visit friends at the club. By 8 p.m., they would head towards Lichang, to a bar called “Aranya” in a newly developed tourist resort.

Once the document was complete, Chu Yang wondered — should he forward a copy to Ling Yibo as well, besides sending it to Raymond for Ling Feng’s review?

Guarding was guarding, but human rights still had to be respected.

Like a cat with bristled fur, Ling Yibo needed to be smoothed and coaxed. Dogs were different — if ignored, they would bite at their own leash for comfort. In short, he must not be ignored; whatever he wanted, he had to be given.

Yes, perhaps one more note…

“Free time to be left to Second Young Master Ling’s own activities (security personnel to accompany at all times).”

Another parenthesis: “May be accompanied by Chu Yang alone.”

Ling Yibo’s physical fitness was excellent — should any danger occur, Chu Yang alone could guarantee his safety.

He earned the highest salary among the four, so naturally he had to shoulder the heaviest responsibility.

“Security personnel…”

Chen Jiali, flipping through the document Chu Yang posted in the work group, twitched his nose. “Why does that sound so much like a security guard to me?”

He turned to look at Li Guanqi, seeking agreement.

Li Guanqi rolled his eyes. “Why’re you looking at me? Our work’s practically the same, isn’t it? Guard the person by day, guard the house by night — if this isn’t being a security guard, what is? All we’re missing is greeting guests with a couple of pine trees in the courtyard. Every time we open the gate, we could charge two yuan — not exactly extortionate, right?”

Zhou Du chimed in: “Quiet, both of you. Chief Chu just went upstairs with the itinerary — probably to show it to Second Young Master Ling.”

“Printed on paper? Why not just send it via WeChat?”

“Guess the Chief doesn’t want to add him on WeChat.”

“Seems so.”

“…Shut it.”

The other two looked up at the ceiling.

Before knocking on Ling Yibo’s bedroom door, Chu Yang gave himself a bit of psychological prep.

Deep breath, Chu Yang. Don’t get nervous.

It’s just a job. Ling Yibo is just your employer.

He knew why Ling Yibo was always mad at him — but didn’t know how to ease the bad blood between them.

Their clashing was like an unsolvable pseudo-proposition.

If, on this trip back, they had only occasionally met at Group headquarters, that would have been fine. Even occasionally hearing his name mentioned by other bodyguards would have been fine.

But instead — they were back to how it all began.

“Who is it?” came the voice through the door.

Truly, the transition from youth to manhood can happen in no time.

But the voice — that was countless echoes stored in the years. They say scent and sound are the surest vessels of memory; Chu Yang had never smelled Ling Yibo’s scent before, so hearing his voice without seeing him now drew him abruptly back to the past.

Last year, Changfeng Shipping hosted the launch ceremony for its 66th cargo ship.

Chu Yang and his colleagues, stuck with a choppy Southeast Asian internet connection that loaded frame by frame, heard Ling Yibo speak during the live broadcast.

The video was too blurry to see well, only a faint male voice on screen saying, “I thank all our employees for their dedication.”

At the time, Chu Yang silently replied in his heart: You’re welcome.

Wow, the Second Young Master finally appeared. His voice was magnetic; word was he was also handsome. Would he return to the country? Would there be a chance to see him?

When his colleagues finished praising, one elbowed him and called, “Chief Chu?”

Chu Yang simply stared at the screen in silence.

That “thank all our employees” replaced in his mind the last sentence he had heard from Ling Yibo before leaving the capital.

He looked at the “network diagnosis error” icon, turned the phone off, and saw only his own reflection in the darkened screen — yet it felt as if Ling Yibo’s face were right there.

And now, that once-blurry face had gradually taken clear shape.

Ling Yibo was reclining on the bed, playing PS5.

He wore a black pure-silk pajama set, the first two buttons undone, revealing the hint of a groove between his pectorals. The silky cloth gleamed with every motion of his arm and slid easily with his movements. One leg bent, propped under his elbow.

If only he could keep his mouth from being so stubborn, he’d be even more handsome.

Chu Yang didn’t see exactly what game he was playing. He mechanically handed over the printed schedule for Ling Yibo’s perusal.

Lifting his eyelids to glance at the black-and-white text, Ling Yibo asked, “Are you a J-type personality?”

“…”

Chu Yang eyed him levelly. “And are you a P-type?”

“Talk properly, don’t cuss at me,” Ling Yibo retorted, without setting down the game controller. “You mean the MBTI ‘P’?”

“Yes,” Chu Yang explained briefly. “No offense intended.”

Ling Yibo chuckled. “No need to address me as ‘you’ in the formal sense — drop the act.”

“Putting on an act of politeness,” Chu Yang lowered his eyes. “Second Young Master.”

Ling Yibo’s smile vanished.

Dragging out the words, he said, “Sec-ond Young Master—are you calling me that just to disgust me?”

Chu Yang didn’t deny it. “Then what would you have me call you?”

“Just call me Ling Er — like before.”

Back then, when Uncle Sen heard Chu Yang call him that in private, he’d scold Chu Yang for being disrespectful. And Ling Yibo had immediately stepped in, pulled Chu Yang behind him, and said, “I told him to call me that. My man, I’ll discipline myself.”

Chu Yang hadn’t expected Ling Yibo to bring that up again — and to tack on a “like before.”

Memories buried in the depths floated up like a sponge in water, impossible to keep submerged.

“Alright. Ling Er.”

Chu Yang said it evenly.

Ling Yibo tossed the controller onto the bed, got out, and his gaze — intended to sweep past — halted on Chu Yang’s waist, unwilling to move on.

It wasn’t a delicate waist, but among men — or rather, among Betas — it was a textbook example of a strong, narrow waist.

Below that, the neatly pressed shirt hem sat flat against his abdomen, black trousers spotless.

Had he truly not differentiated?

Ling Yibo had done the math.

Chu Yang was nineteen when he first took the job six years ago; now twenty-five — long past the usual age of secondary gender differentiation. A company doctor had said such cases were rare but not unheard of…

If Ling Feng hadn’t assigned such a slow-reacting Alpha as Chen Jiali to their team, Ling Yibo might have suspected Chu Yang had already differentiated.

Bodyguard teams normally assigned one Alpha to several Betas when numbers were small.

But if the Group’s homegrown chief bodyguard were an Alpha — how could they keep that a secret?

As the Second Young Master, Ling Yibo had heard nothing during Chu Yang’s three-year overseas missions about any changes in his differentiation status.

Only heard from scouts that Chu Yang had protected Ling Si’an during a certain maritime incident without a scratch; that Ling Si’an seemed especially fond of Chu Yang; that Chu Yang had once punched a heckler at a night market and sent him to the hospital; that Chu Yang had taught rookie combat classes at a branch office; that Chu Yang had ended up hospitalized with a fever from overwork—

That Chu Yang had boarded the ship — and was coming home.

In three years — not long, not short — the baby fat on Chu Yang’s small face had melted away, leaving it leaner, calmer, and perfectly suited to the role of professional bodyguard.

The stubbornness in his expression was replaced by a cool reserve. Smiles were rare.

Someone who had once been so vivid in memory.

Night after night, Ling Yibo had wanted to hurl everything aside, rush down to the South Sea, stand before Chu Yang to demand an answer, to hold him and ask if life had been hard—

Now, those hands that had always been used to issuing orders hung limp at his sides. Above them, his pulse beat — proof that Chu Yang had not disappeared from the world.

Only — Chu Yang had disappeared from Ling Yibo’s world.

And now, standing so close, Ling Yibo didn’t even dare brush against him with a fingertip.

This was someone he had treasured dearly, even back then.

“If there’s nothing else, please depart according to the plan after lunch.” Chu Yang raised a leg to turn and leave.

As he did, a circular mark on his thigh bulged faintly with the movement.

“Wait. I haven’t given you permission to leave.” Ling Yibo stopped him.

Chu Yang complied, turning back. Whatever their personal dynamics, the employer’s orders must be followed.

“What is this?” Ling Yibo touched it.

Too close. The protective wall he had built crumbled abruptly. He still couldn’t resist that reckless touch.

Chu Yang, conditioned to obedience, didn’t have time to dodge, standing still.

Though the other’s request was to inspect the trousers, it felt as though Ling Yibo’s warmth was burning straight through to the skin underneath.

The air thickened. Ling Yibo’s heated fingertips seemed about to scorch a hole right through, making Chu Yang’s breathing stumble several beats.

The ever-calm, quiet gaze in his eyes finally wavered — for the first time, he couldn’t quite meet Ling Yibo’s.

Eye contact would betray the guilty.

And no matter how composed, he was no exception.

“Shirt stays. Used to keep the shirt tucked so it doesn’t wrinkle.” The hand he’d had behind his back clenched, then loosened. A thin sheen of sweat coated his palm.

“I’ve never seen you use something like this before.” Ling Yibo’s unwavering gaze did shift slightly — but his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“When I was younger, my frame wasn’t filled out — couldn’t wear them.” Chu Yang’s reply was true.

Six years ago, though strong enough, his nineteen-year-old face and build hadn’t yet matured fully. Shirt stays like these, which had an auxiliary effect, would easily come loose. His features were still too youthful and delicate; suited up behind Ling Yibo, he looked like a boy. No matter how he wore a suit, it didn’t quite match; the work uniform tended more toward loose dress shirts, with the occasional polo shirt for a pretence of maturity — a completely different style from his current image.

“I want them too.”

On the huge hundred-inch gaming screen, bullets and explosions raged.

Several enemy grenades blazed across the field. Ling Yibo neither paused the game nor glanced at the screen.

He had always been casual about looking at people — head tilted slightly back. Rarely did he lower his head like this to regard something. His nose bridge was sharp; from Chu Yang’s angle, the ridge connected to the line of his chest, exposed slightly by his partial turn — a line of strong visual pull.

It was hard to say he hadn’t leaned that way intentionally.

Chu Yang looked away, uncomfortable.

“Alright. When you attend an event in a suit, I’ll prepare a set for you.” Chu Yang softened his tone.

Why was it that — when he addressed him as “you” in the formal sense, he never felt there was anything wrong with doing things like this — but when the address was changed, forced into equality, it felt as though they stood in the same place again, equally dependent, inseparable?

Seeing Ling Yibo’s gaze still fixed on his thigh, Chu Yang reached into his pocket, took out a spare pair of shirt stays, tossed them into Ling Yibo’s arms, and said, “Here — these are mine.”

Ling Yibo caught them easily. “You’re just giving these to me?”

“Mm,” Chu Yang nodded. “You can try the size first; I’ll prepare your own later.”

Ling Yibo looked at them briefly, then casually set them on the bed’s edge. “Aren’t you curious what I’m going to the mall to buy?”

I don’t care.

Even if I did — you wouldn’t listen.

Chu Yang met his gaze silently; his double eyelids folded into a deep crease, a line dividing the lid.

Finally, Ling Yibo looked away, thumb moving the joystick, lifting the on-screen gun with composure. “I’m going to buy clothes for you.”

Chu Yang looked puzzled.

Ling Yibo’s tone was light. “At home, you don’t need to be so formal — change into something more fun.”

He fired several rapid shots, explosions booming; an unlucky enemy dropped dead, teammates immediately firing a rocket from cover.

Chu Yang: “…”

He felt that rocket was headed straight for his head.

He dearly wanted to catch it midair, stuff it into Ling Yibo’s brain, and see what was inside.

Their uniforms were already plenty varied — summer uniforms, winter uniforms, black shirts, white shirts, even beach shorts.

Parenthesis: For when accompanying Second Young Master Ling to the nearby beach for sunbathing.

More clothes? Was this going to be some sort of role-playing?

Full of question marks.

: Pseudo-proposition – a statement or “problem” framed such that it cannot be logically resolved due to its contradictory or undefined nature.

: J-type / P-type – Refers to Judging (J) and Perceiving (P) types in the MBTI personality classification.

: Ling Er (淩二) – Literally “Ling Two” or “Second Ling,” an informal nickname indicating “Second Young Master Ling” in a familiar, even intimate way.