Song Yuzhang: Chapter 35 - Fight
Chapter 35: Fight
Song Yuzhang took Chen Hanmin home. After dropping him off, he lit a cigarette in the car and slowly mulled over what kind of situation he had gotten himself into this time.
What did Meng Tingjing mean by all this?
It looked like they were over, so why was he still concerned about who he was sleeping with?
Cheap whore?
So what if he was? If he wanted to be cheap, that was his business. He wasn’t bothering Meng Tingjing in any way.
Song Yuzhang smoked as he furrowed his brows. Was he really going to have to leave again? But running away like this—wasn’t that just too pathetic?
He straightened up, gaze lowering, and noticed his ‘little brother’ was still half-awake. Staring at his trousers, Song Yuzhang felt deep pity for himself.
What the hell was this?!
All he’d done was spend a bit of time with Meng Tingjing—he hadn’t shortchanged the man in any way. It was Meng Tingjing who was too eccentric. Besides, what was past was past. Meng Tingjing had acknowledged that himself. So why the sudden reversal? Did he really want to drive him to the brink?!
Even a clay figurine has a temper, let alone someone like Song Yuzhang, who never saw himself as particularly mild-mannered. He’d only ever tolerated Meng Tingjing because he thought he was a pretty boy. But tonight, it was clear things needed to be said. A living person shouldn’t be forced to death by holding it in. With that, Song Yuzhang started the car and drove straight to the Meng residence.
Meng Tingjing was cooling off in the courtyard. When he heard the servant say the young master of the Song family had arrived, he thought it was either Song Jincheng or Song Yekang and casually waved them in.
He didn’t even turn his head as footsteps approached, just continued gazing at the star-filled sky.
“Brother Meng seems to be in a fine mood.”
Meng Tingjing sat up almost instantly.
Song Yuzhang stood beside his rattan chair, expression uncharacteristically cold.
Meng Tingjing’s relaxed demeanor also vanished immediately. “What are you doing here?”
Song Yuzhang got straight to the point. “I took Chen Hanmin home.”
Meng Tingjing let out a nonchalant “Oh,” lazily reclining back, folding his hands over his stomach, tone flat. “And what does that have to do with me?”
Song Yuzhang nearly kicked over the rattan chair.
Meng Tingjing was the definition of ‘difficult’—there was only one chair in the whole courtyard. Song Yuzhang didn’t even have a place to sit. “I thought we were done with each other.”
Meng Tingjing tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest, gently rocking the chair, replying lazily, “That’s right.”
This calm, casual manner was a world apart from the stormy confrontation at the restaurant.
Song Yuzhang was used to his mercurial moods, and for a moment, it almost amused him.
“Tingjing,” Song Yuzhang said helplessly, “what do you really want?”
Meng Tingjing didn’t even look at him, still stargazing. “We’re not in each other’s business anymore. Whatever you do, there’s no need to ask my permission.”
“Fine. Then tonight, I’ll go see Xiao Yuxian.”
The rocking chair stopped.
Meng Tingjing slowly turned his face. He didn’t say a word, but Song Yuzhang could see the warning in his eyes—Don’t you dare.
And truthfully, Song Yuzhang didn’t dare.
He wasn’t afraid for himself, but he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else suffering because of him.
This was ridiculous—Meng Tingjing ignored him, yet wanted to control who he slept with? On what grounds? For what reason?
Song Yuzhang had never thought he’d have such a weak spot for someone to grab hold of. It felt like running was the only option left.
Meng Tingjing, on the other hand, had never expected to see such a troubled expression on Song Yuzhang’s face. He always thought this man was untouchable, carefree, unaffected by anything. Now, seeing this, he felt a strange joy rise in his chest. Even though he warned himself not to meddle in Song Yuzhang’s business again—not to fall into the trap—he was genuinely happy. So happy he almost wanted to laugh out loud.
So he did care. He wasn’t indifferent after all. He’d even come here himself!
Meng Tingjing was gloating internally, delighted and smug, but his face remained cool and expressionless.
Song Yuzhang looked down at him—Meng Tingjing wasn’t just a thorny rose anymore. He was poisoned. Touch him and you’d be infected. Either let the poison kill you, or make the painful choice to cut it out.
But Song Yuzhang had always been tender with himself—he couldn’t bear suffering. Cutting into the bone was too painful. He couldn’t do it. His expression softened, and he slowly leaned down. In a gentle voice, he asked, “Tingjing, do you love me… or do you hate me?”
Meng Tingjing had already long ago sorted out his feelings with cold precision. He had been physically attracted to Song Yuzhang—that was all. They’d had a few confused days together. No big deal. Everyone makes mistakes. Now he was clear-headed again. The past was water under the bridge. “I have no feelings for you,” Meng Tingjing said coolly.
“If that’s the case, then why do you care?”
“I care? Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Then please enlighten me—who should I be sleeping with?”
Meng Tingjing shot him a cold, dark look. Song Yuzhang waited patiently, expression unreadable. But Meng Tingjing didn’t slap him like he had Shen Chengduo in the restaurant. Instead, he said icily, “Why can’t you just behave yourself?”
The words shook Song Yuzhang to his core.
And suddenly… he thought he might understand why Meng Tingjing was so strangely repressed. Could it be… he was like him? All pent-up and twisted inside?
Song Yuzhang said softly, “That time not long ago, when you had me tied to the bed, you didn’t seem to have this kind of moral high ground, did you?”
When Song Yuzhang said that, Meng Tingjing felt even more relieved that he had stopped himself in time that day. His judgment had been spot-on. If he had really succumbed to Song Yuzhang’s temptation, not only would he have fallen, he would have become a slave under Song Yuzhang’s control—he would have completely lost face in front of him.
Meng Tingjing said calmly, “I wasn’t in my right mind then.” He looked at Song Yuzhang, his expression nearly saintly. “Now, I am.”
Song Yuzhang always seemed to see shadows of people from his past in Meng Tingjing.
Right now, he was reminded of his first love—the one who used to sing hymns in church. That person had a hint of asceticism, always shy and timid, blushing even when glanced at. That virginal purity had captivated Song Yuzhang for a while.
But that same asceticism in Meng Tingjing felt twisted and repressed.
It was aggressive, a constant struggle against the world, against himself—and worst of all, he wanted to drag others down with him to suffer the same.
Unfortunately, Song Yuzhang was the one he had chosen to suffer with him.
Mental wounds need mental cures, but Song Yuzhang had no saintly desire to save anyone. He didn’t want to ‘heal’ Meng Tingjing. But if Meng Tingjing insisted on dragging him down, he really couldn’t take it.
Song Yuzhang said, “Tingjing, you were the one who broke the deal.”
Meng Tingjing let out a cold laugh. “What deal did I ever have with you—”
Before he could finish, Song Yuzhang cut him off with a kiss.
Song Yuzhang’s lips were soft, but his tongue was forceful. The mix of alcohol and tobacco clinging to him was entirely masculine, deeply seductive. Meng Tingjing instinctively tried to push him away—but he forgot he was sitting in a swaying rattan chair. One push, one shift, and Song Yuzhang pressed down harder. The next thing he knew, he was toppling from the chair, both of them rolling into the grass. Song Yuzhang had a grip on his collar and wasn’t letting go.
They ended up wrestling around on the lawn.
Strictly speaking, Song Yuzhang couldn’t beat Meng Tingjing in a fight—but that wasn’t what he was after. He kissed, caressed, and pressed close. Meng Tingjing shoved and dodged, furious—but never actually slapped him.
Their mouths and tongues clashed—retreating, advancing—painful, sour, raw. Tangled and unresolved. Then, suddenly, Song Yuzhang pulled away. He yanked on Meng Tingjing’s collar and laughed, breathless, eyes shining. He deliberately leaned in close and said, “Tingjing, looks like you haven’t exactly ‘stayed clean’ either.”
Meng Tingjing was nearly ready for bed when this started, dressed in nothing but a robe and soft pants—thin, light, unable to hide any changes. His face flushed, red and blue in patches. “Song Yuzhang, don’t push your luck.”
“Oh? Or what?” Song Yuzhang leaned closer, still laughing. “What are you gonna do? Ruin yourself for my sake?”
He was turning Meng Tingjing’s own logic back on him, leaving him speechless.
In Meng Tingjing’s silence, Song Yuzhang’s expression suddenly darkened. He leaned in again. Meng Tingjing didn’t dodge. Song Yuzhang’s lips brushed his ear, breathing warm and soft. “Don’t play holy with me. We’re both men. If you’ve really got the guts, go castrate yourself. If you do, I’ll play along. If not, then stop trying to control me.”
When he finished, he let go of Meng Tingjing’s collar and shoved him down, straddling him. He raised a hand high above, poised to strike.
Meng Tingjing stared back, eyes full of explosive fury. But when Song Yuzhang’s palm came down, he didn’t flinch—just stared directly into those starlit eyes. The slap never landed. Instead, Song Yuzhang grabbed his hair and kissed him fiercely again.
Meng Tingjing slowly sat up amid their tangled breath, wrapping his arms around Song Yuzhang’s waist, pinning him down on his lap.
The lawn was crushed beneath them. The scent of broken grass lingered in the night air. They kissed like wild animals, both losing control. Song Yuzhang dodged the next kiss and yanked on Meng Tingjing’s collar, his face flushed with chaotic passion. He stared at him and asked, “Do you want it?”
Meng Tingjing breathed heavily, silent.
Song Yuzhang asked again, “Do you dare?”
Meng Tingjing’s eyes and expression flickered. He said slowly, “You don’t need to provoke me…”
He was ashamed of how hoarse his voice sounded and fell silent again.
Seeing his face, Song Yuzhang let go, stood up, and dusted the grass off his clothes. He tugged down his sleeves and said casually, “I’m leaving.”
He strode forward with long steps. The Meng family’s home wasn’t like the Song estate—it was an old-style courtyard, winding and intricate. Deep courtyards, endless corridors. Red flowers and green willows on both sides, dim lanterns hanging every few steps in the corridor. It was nearly gloomy. No wonder Meng Tingjing was so strange, growing up in a place like this.
Song Yuzhang had at least vented some steam. Not bad.
Now that he knew he wasn’t completely at Meng Tingjing’s mercy, he felt better.
That fake-holy little mad rabbit—just wait. He’d tame him sooner or later.
But he hadn’t walked far when someone suddenly darted out from a corner and hugged him tightly. He jumped in fright, thinking he’d seen a ghost. But the strong scent of crushed grass told him otherwise, and his heart slowly settled. He whispered, “Tingjing?”
Meng Tingjing held him tight. Hearing his voice, he trembled slightly, then leaned down and kissed Song Yuzhang’s eyes hard—so hard it was like he wanted to devour them.
“You’re ruining me,” Meng Tingjing said bitterly. “You came here to ruin me.”
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