Song Yuzhang: Chapter 21 - Watch an Opera
Chapter 21: Watch an Opera
Song Qiyuan did not love his home. The Song household was vast yet empty—like a skeletal frame, all bare bones without flesh or blood. He preferred hiding in opera troupes, gambling dens, and dance halls, places full of people and liveliness, where a single room could hold an entire world of love and hate, real or feigned, performed or genuine.
Song Qiyuan lay resting on the bed in Xiao Yuxian’s private quarters, trying to make up for the sleep he had lost in a night of reckless gambling.
But today, someone refused to let him be. Noises from outside surged one after another, disrupting his rest. Unable to sleep, he sat up, disheveled, and pushed open the door curtain, stepping from the narrow backstage world into the front hall.
The front hall was packed with people, all members of the opera troupe who had abandoned their duties to watch the commotion. As Song Qiyuan squeezed through, those he pushed aside cursed at first, then quickly smiled in greeting when they recognized the troupe’s biggest patron. “Young Master Song, did we wake you?”
Song Qiyuan asked, “What’s all the noise about?”
“The young master of the Meng family down at the docks is here. Brought along a real beauty—absolutely stunning! Outshines everyone in our troupe. Even Xiao Yuxian won’t go on stage now!”
Baili Hall—commonly called the White Tower—was the largest opera house in Haizhou, a three-story structure with a hollowed-out center, bright lanterns lining its edges in a circular pattern. The four sides rose high, each level offering its own charm. Even those on the third floor could hear the singing below with perfect clarity.
Meng Tingjing and Song Yuzhang occupied a private booth in the middle of the third floor, seated across a small round table. As always, Meng Tingjing wore a blue long robe, one leg crossed, a closed folding fan in hand. He leaned slightly toward Song Yuzhang but looked in the opposite direction, asking coolly, “Why hasn’t the performance started yet?”
Song Yuzhang smiled faintly. “Perhaps there’s been some delay backstage. Opera is difficult—just putting on the makeup takes ages. Let’s wait a little longer.”
Meng Tingjing ran his fingers along the edge of his fan, his tone indifferent. “You seem quite knowledgeable about life in an opera troupe, Brother Song.”
“I had… some friends in the past,”
Song Yuzhang said lazily, stopping just short of further explanation. Meng Tingjing turned his sharp gaze toward him. “Friends?”
Song Yuzhang smiled mysteriously, lifting the lid of his teacup and swirling it gently, offering no reply.
That smile irritated Meng Tingjing. In fact, he was already irritated—his gums were swollen and aching. He had noticed it early that morning but kept it to himself, hastily applying medicine that left his mouth bitter and drooling. After rinsing, he had sat in the washroom, looking utterly disheveled, and admitted to himself that he had indeed developed feelings.
And yet, he still wanted to take Song Yuzhang to the opera.
Soon, he forgave himself for his moment of weakness—after all, even heroes struggled to resist a beauty, and wasn’t it Song Yuzhang who had pursued him first? Last night, it was Song Yuzhang who had taken his hand first. His fingers were slender yet firm, his flesh soft, his bones solid—like silk wrapped around jade, radiating warmth. That touch had been especially pleasant… But the moment the thought crossed his mind, Meng Tingjing forced himself to stop. His irritation flared even further.
Song Yuzhang remained silent, so Meng Tingjing ignored him.
At last, the sharp clatter of gongs marked the beginning of the show, breaking the awkward silence between them.
The opera performed was a scene from <Yutang Chun>. It was Xiao Yingtao’s signature debut performance. After leaving the troupe, Xiao Yingtao had sung it a few times at home for leisure, and Song Yuzhang had memorized it, finding it familiar and comforting. Without realizing it, he tapped his fingers to the rhythm on the table.
Meng Tingjing didn’t actually enjoy opera. He had only suggested it to avoid being led around by Song Yuzhang. But now, watching Song Yuzhang so absorbed, so at ease, he felt inexplicably annoyed again.
It was a strange thing—he found everything about Song Yuzhang irritating, but when Song Yuzhang wasn’t in his sight, he felt even worse.
Though his father had many concubines, he had never shown them any real affection. To him, they were mere playthings, which meant Meng Tingjing had little concept of what ‘love’ truly looked like.
Meng Sushan, however, adored Song Jincheng—loved him to the point of absolute devotion, to the point of servility and disgrace. She loved him even as he openly kept two separate households, turning a blind eye to his affairs.
Meng Tingjing neither understood nor respected her kind of love. Whether being flattered or doing the flattering, he disliked both. In his eyes, such love was either lowly or degrading— perhaps a fitting match, but never a good one.
When the opera scene concluded, Song Yuzhang applauded. “Bravo!”
He was well-practiced in his dandy ways, smoothly beckoning a stagehand over. "How does this place handle rewards? Flowers, silver, or money?"
The stagehand immediately recognized him as an experienced patron and replied, “Anything you wish, sir.”
Song Yuzhang chuckled. “Then let’s do all three.”
The stagehand eagerly took his money, nearly fainting with joy. “If I may ask, sir, how should I address you?”
Instead of answering, Song Yuzhang turned to look at Meng Tingjing, whose face had grown noticeably tense. Grinning, he said, “Just say it’s from Second Young Master Meng.”
As the stagehand scurried off, Meng Tingjing shot him a sharp glance. “What’s that supposed to mean? Ruining my reputation?”
“How is this ruining your reputation?” Song Yuzhang laughed. “Supporting an opera performer isn’t a bad thing.”
Meng Tingjing scoffed, snapping his fan open and shut in agitation. Suddenly, he muttered, “I have heat sickness.” He regretted speaking the moment the words left his mouth. Across from him, Song Yuzhang immediately stood up, walking around the table to his side. “Really? Let me see.”
Meng Tingjing sat half-turned in his chair, giving him a sidelong glare with eyes that held a trace of coldness.
Song Yuzhang boldly sat on the armrest of his chair, casually resting one arm around his shoulder. “Heat sickness? Because it’s too hot?”
Meng Tingjing placed his fan on his lap. “The soup was too sour.”
Song Yuzhang chuckled. As he looked down at Meng Tingjing, he realized that up close, Meng Tingjing’s features were striking—handsome and refined, carrying the dignified air of a scholar. A fine sight indeed. Especially now, with fury raging inside him yet his expression forced into restraint—this kind of awkward pride was particularly amusing.
Song Yuzhang reached out and pinched his chin.
Meng Tingjing's gaze flickered as he grabbed Song Yuzhang's hand that was pinching his chin.
Song Yuzhang said, “Let me take a look.”
Meng Tingjing retorted, “Take a look at what, damn it!”
Song Yuzhang couldn't help but laugh, bending over as his breath brushed against Meng Tingjing’s face. Meng Tingjing held his breath, focusing intently. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he reached out, intending to grab Song Yuzhang’s waist and teach him a lesson. But just then, a sound came from the doorway. Meng Tingjing's expression changed slightly, and instead of grabbing, he pushed. Song Yuzhang had also heard the noise and smoothly slid off the armrest of Meng Tingjing’s chair, standing up straight. When he turned his head, a charming figure in opera attire stood at the doorway—it was none other than Xiao Yuxian, who had just delivered a breathtaking performance on stage.
“Gentlemen, good day.”
Dressed in full costume, Xiao Yuxian moved gracefully, exuding an air of delicate beauty. Even her voice was clear and melodious. Her captivating eyes flickered as she said, “Young Master Meng, you’ve honored my performance with your presence today. I’m truly grateful.”
Without looking back, Meng Tingjing unfolded his fan and waved it a few times to cool his temper. “Don’t thank me.” He pointed the tip of his fan toward Song Yuzhang. “He’s the one who gave the reward.”
Xiao Yuxian had noticed Song Yuzhang from the start but had deliberately avoided his gaze. Song Yuzhang was simply too striking. Standing there without any elaborate adornments, he already made her feel self-conscious.
Xiao Yuxian finally looked at him, and he was gazing at her with a gentle smile, his eyes full of warmth. “You sang beautifully,” he said.
Xiao Yuxian’s heart trembled. “Thank you, sir. May I ask your esteemed name?”
Song Yuzhang hesitated for a moment, as was his habit, before replying, “Song Yuzhang.”
“So, it's Gentleman Song.”
“No need for formalities.”
Song Yuzhang replied. “You should go remove your makeup and rest. You must be exhausted after such a performance. The weather is hot, and those costumes are thick. Go take a break.”
Xiao Yuxian was momentarily stunned before bowing slightly. “Thank you, Gentleman Song.”
Once she left, Song Yuzhang's sleeve was tapped lightly with a fan. He turned his head to see Meng Tingjing’s displeased expression. “You seem to really like her?”
Song Yuzhang replied, “She’s beautiful, and her performance was great. Why wouldn’t I like her?”
Meng Tingjing clenched the fan in his palm, wanting nothing more than to beat him up!
But before he could act, Song Yuzhang suddenly leaned down with a teasing smile. The movement was so unexpected that Meng Tingjing was completely unprepared. A light touch landed on his forehead—dry, soft, fleeting. The sensation was so brief that he had no time to process it before his blood seemed to freeze in place.
“Sorry,” Song Yuzhang said, his voice laced with amusement. “You look beautiful when you’re angry, so I couldn't resist teasing you.” He took the fan from Meng Tingjing’s hand, opened it, and bent down to fan him gently. His eyes curved with laughter. “My fault. I’ll try to restrain myself in the future.”
The frozen blood in Meng Tingjing’s veins melted under the warm breeze. He reached out and pressed a hand against Song Yuzhang’s shoulder. Song Yuzhang’s waist dipped slightly as a sudden force pulled him in. A strong tug landed on his lips, sucking on them with surprising strength. Even the plump curve of his lower lip bounced slightly from the force. Song Yuzhang looked at Meng Tingjing in slight astonishment, thinking to himself: Damn, this pretty boy is fiery!
Meng Tingjing’s gaze remained sharp. “Song Yuzhang, I’m not just fooling around with you.”
Song Yuzhang, a seasoned flirt, showed no sign of hesitation as he responded, “Neither am I.”
That was the truth. He always devoted himself to every person he loved. It was just that the world was unpredictable, people changed, and so did love. No one could guarantee what the future would bring. But for now, at this very moment, he genuinely liked Meng Tingjing. Someone with such a stubborn, fiery temper—it was a first for him, and he found it both refreshing and intriguing.
Closing the fan, he gently cupped Meng Tingjing’s face and leaned in for a deep, deliberate kiss.
Meng Tingjing’s stiffness and inexperience surprised Song Yuzhang. Considering his volatile temperament, Song Yuzhang had expected him to be more assertive. The contrast was unexpectedly sweet—there was a unique kind of purity in it. When the kiss ended, Song Yuzhang smiled and said, “Hmm, you really are overheated. It’s quite swollen.”
Meng Tingjing’s face was neither red nor pale. His entire mouth tingled with an unfamiliar heat, a burning ache that was somehow sweet—completely different from the bitterness of the medicine he had applied earlier. The sweetness didn’t come from taste but from the warmth in his chest, from the very air he breathed. It was hot, numbing, and dangerous. Because it wasn’t just sweet; there was also an undeniable sting.
For a moment, he remained silent. Then, without warning, he wrapped his arms around Song Yuzhang’s waist, pulling him even closer, ready to savor once more the intoxicating taste of honey on the edge of a blade.
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