SATC C9

Chapter 9 – The Master of Splashing Drinks

“Then let’s play a game — do you know how to shake dice?”

A sweet female voice drifted to Chu Yang’s side. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, wearing a platinum-blonde wig, a leopard-print bikini with denim hotpants, and a furry garter strapped around her thigh.

She was part of the “atmosphere team,” there specifically to smooth things over, gracefully dissolving the awkward silence for the host. She raised the cup with dice inside and shook it playfully. “If I lose, I drink a whole bottle. If I win, we go another round. How about it?”

“No.”

Abruptly, Chu Yang stood. His patience had reached its limit. He was always slightly more patient with women, so he explained, “Sorry, it’s inconvenient for me right now. Don’t worry about me.”

When it came to social interactions, Chu Yang wasn’t good at them. Years of mechanical work had dulled the instinct of expressing emotions outwardly. Unable to gauge the proper response between offending someone or appeasing them, he simply withdrew and stood rigid beside the sofa booth like a silent backdrop.

After all, he was only a bodyguard. No one cared what he said or did.

If Ling Yibo wanted him to stand here like a statue, then he would obey.

Inside a nightclub, Chu Yang’s clean aura itself was a rare sight, his height making him stand out further. Standing still where he was, he looked less like a passive extra and more like the central figure of the evening — as though at any second, someone would whistle, toss confetti, and holler for him to strip his shirt off.

Perhaps feeling their friend had been slighted, another young man on the sofa, younger still, adjusted his glasses in his tipsy state, raising a shot glass that sloshed and spilled before reaching his mouth. “A bodyguard this good-looking? I thought they were all like The Rockⁱ… How much do you cost a day?”

“You’re saying it wrong,” someone else chimed in with a laugh, “Daytime bodyguard, nighttime bed partner, huh?”

Chu Yang’s eyes were sharp — his ears sharper.

That one sentence was like the collapse of a chandelier, shards cutting straight into his hearing.

This was working hours, his boss sitting nearby practically clocking attendance. If he swung a fist now, would the pain count as workplace injury?

Chu hadn’t decided whether to act deaf when suddenly Ling Yibo, face dark and ugly, was already on his feet.

He also picked up a shot. Under the deep-blue stage lights, his profile blurred like sea fog, eyes unreadable. Just as the man who’d joked rose nervously to clink glasses—

Ling Yibo splashed the entire drink across his face.

Instantly — on pure reflex — Chu Yang moved, blocking the Second Young Master with practiced precision.

He had repeated this move so many times that it lived in his muscles now.

Chen Jiali reacted swiftly too, murmuring into his comms as he moved, closing ranks to shield Yibo at the center.

Even Xie Chongheng included himself in the protective circle.

For all Yibo’s outrageous impulses, Xie looked perfectly calm. He calculated absently how much compensation he’d demand if a bottle was smashed over his head now, then turned to Chen with a crooked smile: “Thanks. You’re really a good guy.”

Behind them, a woman gasped; someone else muttered, “Quick, grab napkins,” while the background noise grew tense and messy. Chu Yang broke out in a cold sweat from that one reckless splash.

Yibo, however, held his chin high, expression sharp enough to cut, unwilling even to maintain surface-level harmony. “Sobering up yet?”

“Wait, Second Young Master Ling — he was just running his mouth, only joking!”

The young host in charge of the night grew visibly embarrassed at Yibo’s complete disregard for saving face. He couldn’t figure out why that throwaway jest had touched a nerve. Lips pressed together, he finally forced a weak smile.

Yet Yibo had no intention of targeting the host. His gaze locked instead on the man wiping his soaked face with napkins.

For several seconds he stared, a half-smile twitching on his lips. “He shouldn’t joke like that. My bodyguard doesn’t like that sort of joke.”

The oppressive weight of an S-rank Alpha’s anger was suffocating.

Ling Yibo restrained his pheromones, forcing control. A crowded venue like this — too many eyes, too dangerous to escalate.

He angled slightly toward Chu Yang, who still stood silently guarding him. Without a word, without expression, Chu Yang radiated only two syllables: Don’t move.

When no one else dared reply, Yibo bent to retrieve the phone tossed on the sofa, pressing down gently the arm Chu Yang had raised across his chest. “It’s fine.”

The three syllables sounded equal parts coaxing and reassuring.

The blue light skimmed over his sharp nose, casting a brief shadow, then glanced against his ear, glinting off the small stud there with a sparkle like sapphire.

“No mood left to play. I’m leaving first. I’ll have someone settle the bill for the drinks.” Yibo’s voice was slow, almost casual. “That’s it for tonight.”

If he didn’t move, neither the four bodyguards nor Xie Chongheng moved.

The instant he rose, however, the four men exchanged a look, falling seamlessly into coordinated formation, closing in with skillful precision.

Yibo didn’t say another word, simply walked straight out.

Aside from once accompanying Ling Feng back to the island’s villa, Chu Yang was unfamiliar with the area. The later it got, the harder it’d be to leave. Outside the night club, he scanned discreetly, urging Yibo to get into the car quickly.

It was now past ten.

Xie knew Yibo’s “free activity” time was almost up — he wanted to smooth things over.

With Yibo’s usual restless nature, Xie grinned understandingly and waved two vouchers. “Listen — my hotel’s new spa service. Totally safe, no shady stuff. Try it?”

On another day, Yibo might’ve gone. But tonight for some reason, he just wanted to head home early, not deal with his bodyguards tailing him through more limited options. “Mm…”

He dragged out the syllable deliberately.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chu Yang’s Doberman-sharp ears prick immediately.

Amused, Yibo prolonged the suspense, pretending to hesitate — and not supplying an answer. “I’ll think about it.”

Hands in his pockets, he loitered at Chu’s side, watching his expression.

By logic, after stepping in so fiercely for Chu today, he deserved to ask for a little something in return. Yet faced with Chu Yang’s tacit acceptance, Yibo suddenly lost interest in exploiting his own opening.

“Let’s go home. Everyone’s worked hard today.” Yibo raised an eyebrow, his gaze loosening a fraction — then unexpectedly smiled. “Or better yet — how about I treat you to a midnight snack?”

Chen Jiali perked up instantly. He’d been starving half to death, trapped in the club all night, nibbling fruit platters and fries without daring to order more at those prices. At Yibo’s words he nearly cheered: “Hooray! Long live Second Young Master! I thought we’d have to go home and eat instant noodles—”

“Seafood?” Xie tapped his chin. “Count me in.”

Yibo looked at Chu but said nothing aloud, only glanced away before muttering, “Not seafood.”

“Why not? Come on, we’re on an island! You have to eat seafood.” Xie rubbed his nose. “I know a great spot — let’s go?”

“Not seafood,” Yibo repeated. “I’m allergic.”

Xie frowned, staring.

His expression clearly said: This young master who grew up by the sea — what the hell are you talking about? And also: Funny how during that last dinner at the underwater restaurant, you didn’t conveniently die of fish poisoning.

Truth was, Yibo had spent much of his childhood on Bohai Bay, raised among ports and lighthouses, watching countless ships pass. He knew exactly where to find authentic late-night bites. Pinning the location, he directed Zhou Du to lead the drive.

The meal they had was indeed a feast — without even a hint of seafood.

Zhou Du and Li Guanqi ate quietly. Surprisingly, Xie Chongheng and Chen Jiali managed to strike up some conversation, bantering until it grew lively.

Chu Yang, as usual, said little, entirely focused on eating. Li finally snapped at Chen: “Do you still never shut up? Chief Chu’s about to fall asleep, hurry up and eat!”

Called out, Chen sheepishly chuckled. But Chu — dizzy with fatigue — only smiled faintly, that curve of lips glittering like stars dropped into Yibo’s eyes. Yet neither spoke a word.

After dinner, when they returned to the car, Chu Yang thought carefully how to phrase it before asking: “Who was that man earlier? What will happen to you for splashing him?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter,” Yibo said lazily, as if the confrontation hadn’t happened at all.

“It matters,” Chu replied softly.

“Everyone wants me dead these days. One or two more makes no difference. I’m used to it.” Yibo propped his face in one hand, pinkie sliding idly against his lips. “Or… are you gathering background intel to file a report to my father?”

“No,” Chu looked at him, voice suddenly steady. “I’m caring about you.”

His gaze lifted, meeting straight on. “Caring about you — my way.”

Inside the car, only the console lights glowed faintly, LED screen blinking.

Chu Yang’s eyes shimmered like a sea of moonlit waves.

The unfinished food had the others still arranging boxes in the trunk. In the front sat only the two of them, windows half-open. The sea breeze wafted in, cool —

Yet somehow, because of that one sentence, the wind thickened, clinging warm and damp to the skin, like summer cloth sticking after sweat.

Yibo froze.

Astounding. Chu Yang actually said no.

God only knew what restraint he was forcing on himself.

If it were before, Yibo would’ve hauled him into his arms instantly.

Would’ve pinched those cheeks, breaking his composure, pulling his lips into a bow-shaped smile. Would’ve leaned in closer, told him:

Your concern for me outweighs even saying you like me.

Even though Chu had never said it.

A cigarette hung unlit between his teeth. Yibo tugged off the headband, running a hand through his bangs to bare his forehead, abruptly pivoting the topic. “The day after tomorrow I need a haircut.”

“Okay.”

“That counts as giving you twenty-four-hour notice, doesn’t it, Chief Chu?”

Chu responded like a pre-programmed machine, automatic: “Okay.” Then blinked, realizing, turned to look at him — confusion spread across his face. Did Ling Er take the wrong meds tonight?

“Your men all call you Chief, don’t they? I’m no different from them — everything follows your lead.” Yibo waved off his words, already dictating: “Tomorrow we stay home. That work?”

“Yes.”

Chu had only his phone on hand to jot it down, not his work laptop.

The plural “we” sat harsh in his ear.

Then Yibo’s deliberately husky tone hit like a pebble to water: “Tomorrow, wear what we bought today.”

“What?” Chu was stunned.

“Uniforms, of course.” Yibo caught his rare system-crash moment. His lips quirked up, delighted. “All of you change.”

Footnotes:

1. The Rock (Dwayne Johnson) – Used by the drunk guest as an archetype of how he imagines bodyguards should look — burly, muscular, intimidating.

2. Doberman ears – A metaphor expressing how sharp and alert Chu Yang’s instincts are, like the upright attentive ears of a Doberman guard dog.