Chapter 137: Extra 1 – Chronicles of Ping An Island (Part Three)
Negotiations with Ping An Island paused for now.
Ping An’s goal was to transform the islet into an automated chicken farm, a marine ranch, and an island prairie.
The main island sent loads of grass seeds and trees, aiming to create an emerald-like island by next spring.
They also delivered 100 live broiler chickens for the crew to raise and eat, to get their feet wet.
The day the chickens arrived, “Haina” and “Panqiao” ex-mercenaries gathered to gawk.
In Silver Hammer, they ate synthetic meat. Real chicken was rare—either black-market dead birds or scraps from odd jobs for the rich.
Most of these guys had never seen a live chicken.
They huddled, debating how many chickens’ feathers made a duster.
Silver Hammer’s magic seemed to skip their youth, forcing maturity early—immaturity meant death.
Now, free from that eerie spell, they caught a collective childishness, finding everything novel and fun.
Even Tang Kaichang couldn’t resist, sneaking out in daylight to nab a fluffy chick.
Everyone noticed but ignored him.
Smug, thinking his stealth was elite, Tang Kaichang gleefully slipped away along the wall.
Ning Zhuo wasn’t fussed about chickens.
Along with the 100 chickens came three sheep and two horses.
These were the future ranch’s first members.
By next year, with a lush green carpet, the island would brim with new life.
The horses’ breed was unclear but uniformly majestic. One was black-and-white, like splashed ink, with long fur flowing ethereally when running.
The other was jet-black, flawless, its muscles gleaming under sunlight, almost metallic. Tapping its bones echoed like bronze.
Its aloof demeanor won Ning Zhuo’s heart.
He led them to a temporary stable, cleaned them, and geared up the black horse, testing a ride.
The black horse, selectively bred, was less tame than the ink horse, restlessly twisting, hooves stamping, snorting hot air.
The horse trainer, who’d delivered them, saw Ning Zhuo silently mount and broke into a cold sweat.
He’d chatted with Ning Zhuo, knowing he’d never ridden—only seen horses in books.
Publicly, Ning Zhuo clearly held sway here. A fall would be disastrous.
Privately, Ning Zhuo’s striking, fragile beauty made a fall seem heartbreaking.
Rushing from the stable’s far end, the trainer reached out: “Hey, get down, careful! This horse is young, wild—”
But, as if jinxed, the horse neighed, bolting at his words.
The trainer’s vision blurred, sensing doom, blowing his whistle to rein it in.
The horse, stunning but fiery, was already unsettled from the sea crossing. Freshly landed, with someone on its back, it went wild, vanishing in a flash.
The trainer, cursing his luck, mounted the slower ink horse, urging it to trot after them.
…
Shan Feibai was sent by Ning Zhuo to check the chicken farm’s incubators and production line.
The task was light. Done, he leaned back, watching the crew fuss over chickens, musing whether to ask the main island for a cat or dog.
Jealousy crept in—he could be everything to Ning-ge, filling his eyes and heart.
Lost in thought, his ear twitched.
As a sniper, his senses were sharp, catching odd sounds from a hundred meters, almost a sixth sense.
With Ning Zhuo, long days together bred an unspoken bond.
Right now, Shan Feibai knew, without reason, it was him.
He turned, peering through the chicken farm’s window.
Far off, he saw Ning Zhuo.
Ning Zhuo’s curly hair was whipped wild by the wind, messy but gripping Shan Feibai’s heart, making it race.
Golden sunlight poured down, blurring Ning Zhuo’s face.
He wore a tight riding outfit, highlighting his slim waist and long legs, snug in tall black boots.
Ning Zhuo had never ridden but raced cars on Silver Hammer’s cliffs. Fearless, he mounted first, figuring it out.
As he rode, the black horse eased, syncing with Ning Zhuo for a thrilling gallop.
Drenched in sweat, Ning Zhuo exhaled under the blazing sun.
His mind was blank, no burdens, just instinct driving him to Shan Feibai, wanting to be seen.
Others heard the hooves too.
Min Min peeked, chuckling: “Hey, whose Ning-ning is that? Looking sharp.”
Shan Feibai, silent, bolted out.
Like the day Ning Zhuo gave him glasses, he rushed to him, single-minded.
He reached Ning Zhuo, panting.
Ning Zhuo came just for him, waiting calmly until Shan Feibai caught his breath. Then, he tapped Shan Feibai’s shoulder with the unused riding crop: “What’re you looking at?”
The tap sent a tingle through Shan Feibai, spreading from spine to limbs, sparking a stream of desire.
He grabbed Ning Zhuo’s leg, chirping: “My wife!”
Ning Zhuo jolted, gripping the crop, aiming a light swat to chide but not landing it: “What’re you doing in front of everyone?”
Oblivious to his own public antics on the ship, Ning Zhuo glared, righteous.
Shan Feibai just grinned, dimples deep, begging a poke.
The trainer finally arrived, sweating buckets.
Seeing Ning Zhuo steady atop the horse, unscathed, he genuinely admired his skill.
Wiping his face, he asked: “Mr. Ning, ridden before?”
Ning Zhuo: “No. First time.”
The trainer mopped more sweat, thinking: What a beast.
Ning Zhuo leaned down, stroking the black horse’s sleek neck.
Relaxed and content, the horse nuzzled his palm, shedding its wild edge for a touch of affection.
Abu, unnoticed, had rolled up, parking nearby. Seeing this bond, it honked loudly, asserting itself.
Ning Zhuo glanced back, spotting Abu.
He raised a brow, irrationally feeling like it came to “catch him cheating.”
Shaking his head, Ning Zhuo scoffed at himself—good days were making him silly.
—
With major matters settled, Ning Zhuo finally had time to focus on the hundred-person team he’d brought.
In peaceful days, he noticed the odd looks everyone gave him.
He nabbed Kuang Hexuan, the worst liar, to get answers.
Kuang Hexuan, blunt and defenseless before Ning Zhuo, caved in three rounds, mumbling with shifty eyes: “Uh, Ning-ge, you and the boss having a wedding? Let us know when. Wishing you and the boss a hundred years of bliss, early… uh…”
Through his garbled explanation, Ning Zhuo pieced together what he’d done drunk.
And Shan Feibai? Tight-lipped, not a word!
Furious, Ning Zhuo chased him for a reckoning.
Shan Feibai dodged, sprinting out and scrambling onto a container roof.
Ning Zhuo, refusing this childish chase, stood below, icily ordering: “Get down.”
Shan Feibai peeked over: “Why hit me? You pulled me in for that kiss!”
The thought of their affair being public made Ning Zhuo grind his teeth: “Your mouth welded shut? Couldn’t tell me?!”
Shan Feibai, aggrieved: “When I bit you the other day, you didn’t mind my mouth.”
Ning Zhuo’s cheeks flushed, roaring: “Jerk, get down!”
“Ning-ge, you suck at cursing. Mad, and it’s just ‘jerk’?” Shan Feibai grinned. “I’ll teach you better curses for me someday.”
Mid-sentence, his shoulder was grabbed.
Kuang Hexuan, coerced by Ning Zhuo, had sneaked up, restraining him. Licking dry lips nervously, he called: “Ning-ge, got him.”
Shan Feibai, Ning Zhuo’s first “apprentice,” was a sloppy student but agile. With a twist, he sent Kuang Hexuan—barely trying—tumbling off.
Rubbing his shoulder, Shan Feibai griped: “You’re a traitor now?”
Kuang Hexuan, sprawled and wincing, looked up: “…Aren’t our crews one family already?”
The sharp-tongued Shan Feibai was stumped by Kuang Hexuan’s earnest jab, groping for a retort when Ning Zhuo, like a sleek leopard, vaulted up, set on teaching him a lesson.
Pinned to the ground, Shan Feibai knew escape was futile. So, he didn’t try, hugging Ning Zhuo and chuckling: “Murdering your husband, huh?”
Ning Zhuo’s lips curved at his shamelessness.
The smile drained his fierceness.
Leaning back, he lay shoulder-to-shoulder with Shan Feibai on the sun-warmed container roof: “You’ll be the death of me.”
Shan Feibai: “Better I screw you to death.”
As Ning Zhuo bristled, Shan Feibai grabbed his fingers first: “Tonight, we ride horses together?”
…
At first, they did ride.
Shan Feibai claimed he’d never ridden. Ning Zhuo was fine risking himself, but if Shan Feibai got hurt fumbling, it’d be a hassle—and a pang.
Luckily, the black horse, young and sturdy, carried them both.
Shan Feibai, behind, was restless, kissing Ning Zhuo’s neck, hot and itchy.
Ning Zhuo tsked, warning him.
He didn’t quit.
Starlight from ancient times dusted their shoulders, the air thick with grass and mint.
Grass from nature, mint from Ning Zhuo.
Pushing Ning Zhuo down on the horse felt natural.
Shan Feibai whispered: “I’ve ridden. My family had a small stable.”
Ning Zhuo unbuttoned him, slipping off his tie, tucking it in his pocket, panting: “I know. I saw it when you mounted.”
Still, they spoke in sync, words unspoken, every moment like a duel.
Even now.
Shan Feibai nuzzled him with his ear, canine-like affection.
Ning Zhuo ignored him, one hand dangling off the horse, holding a mint Kiss cigarette, smoke curling as he gazed at the stars, finding it all amusing.
But Shan Feibai had to stir trouble, jolting Ning Zhuo into a cough as he lifted the cigarette.
Before Ning Zhuo could swing, Shan Feibai leaned close, lifting his thigh, bending his lithe leg: “Baby, don’t be mad.”
Ning Zhuo, balance lost, clung with core strength, a sweat drop sliding from his hair onto dew-laden grass, biting his lip against the electric sparks climbing his spine.
The horse ambled under stars, pausing to graze.
They tangled on the prairie all night, finally tethering the horse under a tree.
Wind rustled grass, clouds drifted.
They slept.
At dawn, Shan Feibai woke first.
He turned to study Ning Zhuo.
Ning Zhuo’s natural curls parted down the middle, seaside sun gilding his lashes a striking pale gold, like a figure from a painting.
To reach this painted man, Shan Feibai had lied, clung, fought, schemed, learning the best way wasn’t to tame him but to love him.
He leaned in, twirling Ning Zhuo’s hair tips.
In sleep, Ning Zhuo “mm”ed, grabbing his mischievous hand—not tossing it but holding it, annoyed, in his palm.
