Song Yuzhang: Chapter 115 - A Man
Chapter 115: A Man
Song Yuzhang drank a great deal at Shen Chengduo’s place. He had always had a strong tolerance for alcohol—wandering the world, if one got drunk too easily, trouble was bound to follow. But now his status was different, and he could afford to let himself drink to excess.
Large amounts of vodka and brandy coursed through his body, until his very blood felt steeped in alcohol.
Song Yuzhang was drunk; Shen Chengduo could tell.
Those long, curved eyelashes fluttered weakly over his eyes, and his body slumped sideways against the sofa. His long arms and legs sprawled about carelessly, disorderly.
Shen Chengduo nudged the boy in his arms, Xiao Yue. “Go take a look, see if President Song is drunk.”
Xiao Yue answered softly, padding over barefoot, light-footed, climbing onto the sofa like a small creature. He crawled close to Song Yuzhang, even sniffed the air around him, then turned his head and nodded firmly at Shen Chengduo. Whispering, he said, “President Song is drunk.”
Shen Chengduo had smoked plenty of cigarettes, and drunk quite a bit himself, but he hadn’t let himself go as far as drunkenness. He had no desire to drown himself in wine. Waving the boy out of the room, Shen Chengduo went to sit down beside Song Yuzhang on the sofa.
Song Yuzhang was indeed drunk, utterly unconscious. His handsome face was like a painting, frozen into a kind of beauty so still it could stir dark thoughts.
Shen Chengduo was hardly surprised to feel his body react immediately.
Strange, wasn’t it—such a tall, handsome man, flawless, nothing soft or rabbit-like about him, and yet there was something in his aura that provoked others to want to break him, even to ravage him. Perhaps because, as a man, he was simply too “perfect”—and perfection sparks the desire to destroy.
This quality had only grown stronger of late.
Shen Chengduo still held half a cigar in his hand. Smoking, he spun fantasies in his mind of taking Song Yuzhang hard.
With legs like those, if he were taken sitting, they would hang down to the floor; if lying, they would be slung over the waist. However one imagined it, it fit perfectly.
The more he thought, the more excited he became—but only in thought. He didn’t dare actually lay a hand on Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang’s status made him a figure who must not be violated.
And that only made the desire more maddening.
Shen Chengduo drew deeply on his cigar, muttering inwardly: “Damn it—thirty years east of the river, thirty years west—don’t tell me I’ll never have the chance to take him? Just once would be enough!”
For now, though, he behaved himself, fetched a blanket, and covered Song Yuzhang, letting him rest in the room.
Shen Chengduo went out, thinking to find Xiao Yue to vent his fire, but was interrupted by a subordinate reporting something. Shen Chengduo’s lust dissipated, replaced with anger. “His appetite is growing bigger and bigger!” Shen Chengduo spat furiously.
The subordinate dared not make a sound.
Shen Chengduo slashed his hand through the air. “Fine, give it to him, give it to him! Once the railway is built, we’ll see if I still need his damn tobacco—”
A railway—how many hearts in Haizhou did it tug at? Yu Feiyu had gone to survey the first section of the line they had planned in the preliminary tests. He was the sort of man who, whether in scholarship or engineering, liked to tackle the hardest problems first. The first section was the most complex and the most difficult. Day and night without rest, he conducted measurements and refined the drawings, while the thirty-some strong and able young men with him were worn down by the heavy labor.
The authorities were pressing for speed, so they had to complete the most work in the shortest time.
In the makeshift wooden sheds for lodging, cotton quilts were hung as windbreaks. Covered in dust and dirt, Yu Feiyu washed his face inside, and as he washed, thoughts of Song Yuzhang rose to mind.
As a veteran of failed romances, heartbreak was practically routine for Yu Feiyu
Nearly always it was heartbreak before anything even began.
Because, before he even started, the spark inside him had already gone out.
For this he had once gone to audit psychology classes at school, suspecting he had some sort of disorder.
But as he grew older, he came to some clarity.
He simply hadn’t liked them enough.
Humans are a weave of reason and emotion. Marriage, perhaps, demands rational weighing and matching. But love—love is wholly emotional. The moment reason intrudes and snuffs out that spark of affection, it means he never liked that person enough.
Yu Feiyu finished washing. The water had already gone cold, but he didn’t mind. He used it to rinse his feet, then climbed into bed cross-legged, and began to write a letter to Song Yuzhang.
It was five days later when the letter reached Song Yuzhang.
Liu Chu brought it in with a grin. “President, that fake foreigner wrote you a letter.”
Song Yuzhang accepted it, thinking perhaps something had happened with the railway. Opening it, he found instead a plain, simple letter, recounting Yu Feiyu’s surveying work over the past days, his reflections, and thanks for the clothes Song Yuzhang had bought for him.
“…The overcoat is wonderful, though not quite suited here. The cashmere sweater is excellent, very warm. Thank you.”
After reading it, Song Yuzhang instructed Liu Chu to send over some cotton clothing.
When the clothes arrived, Yu Feiyu wrote again to thank him for his thoughtfulness.
After this exchange happened twice, the next time Song Yuzhang received a letter from Yu Feiyu, he left it unanswered.
“Brother Song, I see you enjoy being here with me. Why not go upstairs for a few rounds of gambling, or find a pretty boy to amuse yourself?”
Shen Chengduo pressed with warm enthusiasm, eager to drag Song Yuzhang down into the muck.
Song Yuzhang swirled the wine in his glass. “Drinking is fine enough.”
He took a sip, then said: “If you find this dull, you needn’t keep me company. I can manage on my own.”
“How could that be? You’re an honored guest.”
Shen Chengduo insisted on keeping him company, and Song Yuzhang didn’t object. Having someone around who could breathe was better than nothing—though Shen Chengduo was only good for breathing, at least it was something, enough to make him feel a little less lonely.
In his twenty years of life, Song Yuzhang had never felt so lonely.
Of course, he hadn’t grown old nor lost his looks—he was still attractive, still wealthy. If he wanted, he could easily find plenty of people to accompany him.
Only now, he was lost.
Lost in whether those ridiculous years of the past had been right or wrong.
As if he had been mistaken back then—yet at the time, he had truly been happy.
Why was it so difficult to feel happiness now?
Song Yuzhang raised his glass, letting the amber liquor flow past the ice cubes into his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Shen Chengduo, who was clutching a boy in his arms, looking debauched and satisfied.
How strange. Why was it so easy for Shen Chengduo to feel happy?
Noticing Song Yuzhang’s gaze, Shen Chengduo grinned. “Want Xiao Yue to keep you company too?”
Song Yuzhang shook his head. “No interest.”
Shen Chengduo frowned. What was wrong with him? Could it be that in the shooting… something had happened there???
He cast a discreet glance at Song Yuzhang’s waist and lower abdomen, afraid to look too long, lest it be noticed.
“I prefer…” Song Yuzhang lifted his glass, half-dazed with drink, speaking almost to himself, “…something with more of a man’s touch.”
Shen Chengduo froze for two seconds, then his face went hot, burning so intensely it felt like it would explode.
The boy sitting in his lap, Xiao Yue, was the first to notice. He gave a startled “ah,” and when his eyes met Shen Chengduo’s, he was met with such a vicious glare that he quickly dropped his gaze in fright.
“You, get out.”
After dismissing the boy, Shen Chengduo sat there for several minutes, eyes repeatedly flicking toward Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang leaned against the sofa with one hand, holding a crystal glass of liquor in the other. One long leg crossed over the other, the fine tailoring of his trousers outlining the tight, rounded curve of his hips.
Shen Chengduo’s body edged subtly closer toward him. “That… what exactly counts as ‘a man’s touch’?”
Turning the glass in his hand, Song Yuzhang’s gaze was cool and indifferent. “I don’t know.”
Shen Chengduo nearly blurted out, What about me then?
As far as masculinity went, he believed he had plenty. For a man, the key was strength in that area—and he was confident he was very strong.
Though he had long fantasized about Song Yuzhang, he had never imagined Song Yuzhang would actually be willing to take the lower role. Somehow, he had always felt that if he were to bed Song Yuzhang, it would have to be by force.
But this one remark instantly expanded the scope of his imagination.
“Brother Song,” Shen Chengduo probed, “whatever you like, just say the word. I’ve got everything here.”
Song Yuzhang smiled faintly, took another sip of liquor, and shook his head. “Forget it.”
Forget it? Why?!
Shen Chengduo grew anxious—but not too much. He didn’t dare rush and ruin everything. Wringing his hands, sweating, he said, “Really, anyone you can think of—I can get them for you.”
The glass lingered at Song Yuzhang’s lips, his mind hazy, unsettled. He didn’t think of Nie Xueping—things were miserable enough already without cutting himself deeper. As for Meng Tingjing, even less so; he couldn’t afford to provoke him.
Who should he think of then? Someone who could make him happy.
Yu Feiyu… that fellow was rather carefree. Wrote to him about how the fields were covered in cow dung but no cows in sight—he wondered where they’d all gone…
Noticing the half-smile on his face, Shen Chengduo thought he must be drunk again, and somehow the words slipped out of his mouth: “Maybe drink a little less.”
Even he was startled at himself after saying it.
Fortunately, Song Yuzhang paid it no mind. “It’s fine, I can handle my liquor.”
Shen Chengduo smoothly added, “Still, you can’t stay drunk all the time.”
Song Yuzhang gave a small smile, casting him a sidelong glance. “Thanks for the concern.”
Shen Chengduo’s face grew even hotter, though in the dim light of the room, it didn’t show much.
So he sat there foolishly, watching Song Yuzhang drink, hesitating to speak, unsure how to begin—until a knock at the door broke the silence.
“Come in!”
Shen Chengduo barked so loudly in fury that it startled Song Yuzhang, who froze with his glass at his lips.
The subordinate who entered didn’t dare mind his boss’s terrifying expression. Panicked, he blurted, “Bad news—the Nie family’s mine exploded again.”
Song Yuzhang sobered instantly.
Shen Chengduo’s amorous thoughts evaporated just as quickly. He turned to look at Song Yuzhang, who had already stood up. Shen Chengduo hurried after him—after all, they were in the same boat now. The Nie family’s mines still had to supply the railroad!
Together, Song Yuzhang and Shen Chengduo rushed to the Nie family’s mine.
The flames on the mountain blazed into the sky, the fire from the explosion still not extinguished—it was complete chaos. Song Yuzhang got out of the car and strode rapidly toward the burning site. He grabbed someone on the way, demanding, “Where’s Nie Yinbing?”
The man stammered in panic, “Se… Second Master… I–I don’t know either…”
Song Yuzhang shoved him aside and hurried on. Shen Chengduo quickly followed.
The scene was far too chaotic. Song Yuzhang bounded up the stacked cargo crates in a few strides, scanning the crowd from above, but he didn’t see Nie Yinbing.
From below Shen Chengduo shouted, “Brother Song, what are you looking for?”
Song Yuzhang glanced down. “Get your men up there to help!”
Being ordered so sharply, Shen Chengduo didn’t hesitate. “Alright!” He turned to go, then looked back and said, “You’d better come down. It’s not safe up there!”
“Go, now!”
Song Yuzhang barked.
Shen Chengduo quickly gathered his men and charged toward the mine.
On site, Song Yuzhang took command—ordering the wounded to be carried to cars, sending Song family drivers to rush them to hospitals, then ordering for more cars to be brought. After some twenty minutes, the flames finally began to die down. From the fire’s edge, a group of people emerged, and among them, Song Yuzhang finally caught sight of a battered and bloodstained Nie Yinbing.
“Yinbing—!”
Nie Yinbing, frowning, was speaking to Shen Chengduo. At the call, he lifted his head and saw Song Yuzhang striding anxiously through the rushing crowd.
Song Yuzhang, seeing him safe, finally let out a breath of relief.
If anything had happened to Nie Yinbing, he would never be able to face Nie Xueping—even in death.
The tension left him all at once, and the alcohol in his body surged. His knees weakened, his head swayed dizzily, and he nearly stumbled—only to feel an arm catch him.
He looked up and saw the blood-smeared neck of Nie Yinbing. His eyes flashed, and he pressed his hand over it, silently asking with his gaze.
“I’m fine,” Nie Yinbing caught his hand. “Just a scratch.”
Song Yuzhang nodded. “…As long as you’re fine.”
He said it twice—“As long as you’re fine”—then, suddenly unable to restrain himself, threw his arms around Nie Yinbing.
Nie Yinbing’s body reeked of blood and smoke.
For a moment he was still, then, as if his arms acted on their own, he held Song Yuzhang tightly in return. Leaning close to his ear, his voice low and firm, he said, “It’s over. Don’t be afraid.”
“Second Brother—!”
Nie Qingyun had just gotten out of the car. Before she even stood steady, she saw, beneath the swirling smoke, Nie Yinbing and Song Yuzhang locked tightly in an unabashed embrace. Her voice caught in her throat.
Shen Chengduo too was struck dumb, his mouth agape. Watching the two cling to each other, he thought, No way… So he likes Nie Yinbing? But Nie Yinbing hasn’t even been back for long…
When Song Yuzhang calmed down, he let go, and Nie Yinbing released him as well.
Nie Qingyun rushed forward, clutching her brother’s sleeve. “Second Brother, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
She looked him over, saw only superficial wounds, and her racing heart steadied slightly. Then she turned toward Song Yuzhang. The Song family’s cars had returned, bringing several more. The Song drivers were organizing the injured onto vehicles. “Hurry, hurry, hurry—!”
Nie Qingyun pressed a hand to her chest, managing a polite, “Why did you come?”
“I heard the news…”
Song Yuzhang still felt dizzy. His step faltered, and once again Nie Yinbing caught him.
Song Yuzhang leaned on his arm. “I’m fine.”
“There’s too much smoke,” Nie Yinbing said to his sister. “You go first.” With that, he swept an arm around Song Yuzhang’s waist and lifted him up.
“Yinbing!” Song Yuzhang cried at once.
“You can’t stand steady,” Nie Yinbing replied.
“Put me down—!” Song Yuzhang protested urgently.
But Nie Yinbing didn’t. He carried him straight to the Song family car, set him inside, and said, “I’ll handle things here. You go rest.” He closed the door and, as if nothing had happened, returned to Nie Qingyun. “You go home too.”
She stared at him, unsettled.
“Go,” Nie Yinbing said, and when she still didn’t move, he added, “Or do you want me to carry you too?”
At that, Nie Qingyun bolted. She climbed into a car, glanced back at the Song family’s vehicle, her mind in turmoil. She couldn’t tell if it was her second brother who was too strange, or Song Yuzhang.
Nie Qingyun covered her face with both hands. She had just managed to convince herself that Song Yuzhang should have his own freedom. Could it be…? She dared not think further. The moment she did, she felt as if all the books she had read these past days had been fed to the dogs.
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