The Dark-Skinned Bodyguard Says He Won’t Submit - Chapter 2

“When you see the Young Master, remember to greet him properly. Don’t just stand there like a fool again.”

Chen Yupo ignored the manager’s nagging, his eyes sweeping across the building, which looked more like a hanging garden than a corporate office. He had never seen anything like it; an asymmetrical atrium lush with greenery, where even the lobby was swallowed by indoor forests.

The cool, filtered air of the building was a sharp contrast to the blistering heat of the construction site. It felt like stepping into another dimension.

Rich people certainly know how to live, Yupo thought.

His reflection in the glass doors showed a towering, muscular youth with skin bronzed by years of labor, wearing a black T-shirt with a frayed collar and faded athletic pants.

The manager, seeing Yupo distracted, felt a throbbing headache. “Chen Yupo! Are you even listening to me?”

“What?” Yupo looked down at the manager, who barely reached his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Could you say it again?”

The manager sighed in exasperation. “I said, greet the Young Master. Don’t be as reckless as you were yesterday.”

“What does he want with me?”

“Is the Young Master’s mind something the likes of me can fathom? You’ll find out soon enough.”

They crossed the verdant courtyard and passed several avant-garde structures. It was beautiful scenery, but Yupo had no eye for art. They finally stopped before an arched door on the ground floor.

“Are you here for the Young Master?” a calm, gentle voice asked from the side.

Yupo turned. A handsome man in a brown overcoat stood there, holding a cup of coffee. He wore silver-rimmed glasses and exuded a refined, scholarly air, though his gaze held a distinct sense of scrutiny. A silver nameplate was pinned to his chest:

[Chief Safety Supervisor · Wen Yan]

Safety Supervisor? Yupo wondered. Is that some kind of government official?

The manager nodded respectfully. “Good morning, Supervisor Wen. Is the Young Master in his studio?”

This position was the ABO Union Government’s method of monitoring a Destroyer—protection on the surface, but a system of checks and balances in reality.

Wen Yan adjusted his glasses, momentarily masking his probing gaze before settling it on the dark-skinned youth. He offered a thin smile. “And this is…?”

No scent. Hasn’t differentiated yet? Not an Alpha, then. Wen Yan’s internal tension eased almost imperceptibly.

The manager hesitated. “Oh, this is the Young Master’s…” He trailed off. How do I even introduce him? He doesn’t exactly have a title.

Beep. The electronic lock disengaged, and the automatic door slid open.

“Why are you all gossiping at my door?”

The room’s interior was revealed in an instant.

A man was perched at the top of a ladder, a palette in one hand and a brush in the other. He wore a white silk shirt and apricot trousers; despite the giant oil painting before him, not a single drop of paint had touched his clothes.

He was looking up, adding shadows to the wings of a butterfly. As the light hit his sharp jawline, the black butterfly collar around his neck stood out vividly against his pale skin. Even the sunlight seemed to favor him; the mere profile of his face as he looked up was enough to steal one’s breath.

Duan Yanchu stopped painting and looked down at the three people at the door. “Aren’t you coming in?”

His gaze landed on Chen Yupo. A brilliant smile suddenly broke across his face. “You came.”

He set his tools aside and began to climb down. Wen Yan hurried over, setting his coffee down to steady the ladder. As Yanchu reached the bottom rungs, Wen Yan reached out to support his arm.

“Young Master, please don’t climb so high when I’m not here,” Wen Yan said softly.

Yanchu’s feet hit the floor, and he immediately pulled his arm away. His attention remained fixed on the muscular youth. “Manager Liang, Wen Yan—please leave. I have words for him.”

Wen Yan’s hand remained suspended in the air for a moment before he let it drop. “I brought your hot cocoa. Remember to drink it, or your blood sugar will drop again.”

“Mhm. Leave it.” Yanchu turned to wash his hands. “Close the door on your way out.”

“Yes, Young Master,” Wen Yan replied. He caught the lingering smile on Yanchu’s usually cold face and frowned.

The door slid shut with a soft beep, leaving only the sound of running water.

“Have you considered my offer?” Yanchu dried his hands with a paper towel and turned around. He found Chen Yupo standing there, looking at him with a mix of confusion and wariness. Yanchu smiled.

Muscle in all the right places, Yanchu thought. The clothes are hideous, though. Those will have to go.

Chen Yupo bristled under the man’s shameless gaze. It felt like being inspected like a piece of livestock. “Consider what?”

“Oh? You didn’t think about it last night?” Yanchu walked up to him, tilting his head back to meet his eyes. “I’m inviting you to be my bodyguard.”

“I have a job.” As the man approached, Yupo’s throat tightened. Despite the man only reaching his nose, Yupo felt a strange pressure and took a step back.

“I’ll give you three hundred thousand.” Yanchu took a step forward.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with manual labor. I earn my living honestly.” Yupo’s palms were sweating as the man closed the distance again.

“Five hundred thousand.”

Yupo’s brow furrowed. He backed up until his shoulders hit the door. With nowhere left to go, he braced his arms at his sides and looked down at the man standing inches away. “Why would you give me that much money? You…”

Is this guy trying to keep me as a pet?

Yanchu stood his ground, admiring the face so close to his own. Despite the dark tan, the youth’s features were sharp and defined, possessing a wildness that didn’t match his age. The suppressed resilience in his eyes made Yanchu’s heart race—especially the way the boy looked at him, as if he were a lunatic.

Yanchu felt a sudden surge of delight. He laughed softly and looked up. “One million a month. How about that?”

Chen Yupo stared at him, his expression screaming: You are insane.

At nineteen, Yupo was too young to hide his thoughts. Yanchu read him like an open book and chuckled. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, grabbed a pen from a nearby table, and scribbled something on the silk.

He stepped back to Yupo and tucked the handkerchief into the boy’s collar. Then, he reached up and cupped the youth’s cheek.

“You’ll come back to me,” Yanchu murmured, his voice soft and tender.

The hand on Yupo’s face was like jade—slender, soft, and slightly cool. Chen Yupo had never touched anything so delicate in his life. He took a sharp breath, staring at Duan Yanchu in shock as the reality of the situation hit him. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, then he turned, yanked the door open, and bolted.

He left at the speed of a hundred-meter sprinter.

Employees in the hallway stared as a blur streaked past. “What was that?”

Duan Yanchu walked to the window and leaned against the railing. He watched the dark-skinned youth flee across the glass skyway, those long legs moving incredibly fast.

He laughed—a genuine, joyous laugh he hadn’t felt in years. Finally, someone didn’t try to get closer. Finally, someone ran away.

That’s more like it, he thought. Only a fool would stay near me.

The blue light at the base of his butterfly collar flickered rhythmically.

*******

Chen Yupo didn’t expect to be fired. The manager gave no reason, simply handed him his back pay and told him to pack his things and leave the dorms immediately.

After two years at the site, having it end like this made his blood boil. The image of the butterfly collar and that beautiful face flashed in his mind. Rich people… they think they can just humiliate whoever they want?

He spent the next week looking for work. He had left the orphanage with only a thousand yuan; he needed a job that provided food and housing just to survive.

“Sorry, we’re not hiring.”

“No openings.”

“That’s right… no vacancies.”

Every site he went to—even the ones with ‘Help Wanted’ signs—suddenly had no work the moment he showed up. It was as if they were all reading from the same script.

He knew exactly who was behind it.

Outside a convenience store, drenched in sweat, Yupo bought a bottle of water. He felt too dirty to sit on the chairs, so he crouched in a shaded corner. He downed the water in a single go and crushed the bottle in his fist. The plastic crunched loudly as the muscles in his arm flared with tension. He threw the bottle into a nearby bin and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket.

He unfolded the soft, fragrant silk to find a phone number written in elegant script. Without a second thought, he pulled out his cracked phone and dialed.

The call was answered almost instantly. A teasing voice came through: “Chen Yupo?”

He sounded like he’d been waiting for the call.

“What do you want?” Yupo’s voice was a mix of fury and exhaustion. He was a poor man; he couldn’t win against someone like this. “You cost me my job, and now you won’t let anyone else hire me.”

“I told you. I have a job for you. Be my bodyguard.”

In his studio, Duan Yanchu sat atop his ladder, adding the final touches to his painting.

“I don’t know the first thing about being a bodyguard!”

Yupo’s shouting through the phone made Yanchu wince. He pulled the phone away slightly, frowning. “Why are you so loud? You’re scaring me.”

Silence on the other end.

“If you don’t know how, you’ll learn,” Yanchu said, returning the phone to his ear. He continued painting with his free hand. “Being my bodyguard is simple. Have a good physique, know how to fight, and protect me. That’s all.”

“I told you, I can’t do it!”

“But you can’t find another job, either.”

Hearing the Young Master decide his fate with such a casual tone, Yupo punched his ragged backpack in frustration.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” Yanchu continued. “Become my bodyguard, earn a million a month, and just… play with me.”

Yupo’s jaw dropped. It sounded more absurd by the second.

“And of course,” Yanchu added with a light chuckle, “my bed is always open to you.”

I knew it! Yupo thought.

“Call me when you’ve made up your mind,” Yanchu said, then hung up.

Duan Yanchu set his brush down, satisfied with the butterfly on the canvas. “Wen Yan, go kidnap Chen Yupo and bring him to my house.”

Wen Yan, who had been standing at the foot of the ladder, frowned deeply. “Young Master, you can’t just let anyone into your home.”

Yanchu’s tone turned cold and dismissive. “Is that any of your business?”

“I am your Safety Supervisor. Any suspicious person approaching you must be strictly vetted.” Wen Yan looked up. Yanchu was sitting at the top of the ladder, his long legs dangling, revealing a glimpse of pale, slender ankle. Wen Yan’s eyes darkened with a complicated emotion.

Yanchu ignored him, using a fingertip to smudge the edge of a watercolor wing. “Do your job or get out.”

Wen Yan’s expression shifted. “Young Master…”

“You talk too much,” Yanchu said, giving him a piercing, frigid look. “Shut up.”

The look was full of disdain, yet on that beautiful face, it was impossible to look away. It sent a jolt through Wen Yan’s nerves. He lowered his gaze, his throat bobbing.

“I understand, Young Master. I’ll be quiet.”

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