Song Yuzhang: Chapter 119 - Effort
Chapter 119: Effort
“I won’t take responsibility…”
“Who asked you to take responsibility…”
Their voices broke off in between hurried breaths and swallowing, arms locked tightly around each other’s necks, breaths tangled in a chaos that suddenly ignited.
Meng Tingjing held Song Yuzhang, stumbling toward the inner hall, kissing him while pushing him down onto the chaise longue.
Song Yuzhang fell back, face upward, clutching at his collar with one hand, his heart still pounding wildly. He felt half-crazed, but whenever the rush in his blood eased, Meng Tingjing’s kisses came again.
His tongue, his breath, his taste—everything about Meng Tingjing was so domineering, so overwhelming, that Song Yuzhang couldn’t think at all, only fall helplessly into it.
Buttons clattered to the ground, only to be covered again by Meng Tingjing’s burning lips.
“Tingjing…”
Hearing his name made Meng Tingjing all the more excited. He kissed him harder, murmuring between kisses: “Be good, I won’t let you hurt this time.”
Song Yuzhang pulled at Meng Tingjing’s hair, but whispered softly: “Even if it hurts… it doesn’t matter.”
What he wanted was something real and fierce, something that would pull him out of the abyss and drag him back to the world of the living.
Meng Tingjing was nearly driven mad by him.
Damn it—how could this man always force him to lose his composure?
Meng Tingjing straightened up, tearing off his black outer robe in one motion. Beneath it was a snow-white undershirt fastened with jade buttons. He undid two at random before impatiently lowering himself again to kiss Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang clung to his shoulders, embracing him tightly, responding with equal fervor.
……
The Meng family’s inner hall was solemn and silent. When everything finally calmed down, a cool breeze swept through the corridors. Song Yuzhang shivered lightly. Meng Tingjing quickly picked up his black robe from the side, wrapped it around Song Yuzhang, and helped him sit up.
Song Yuzhang’s face was flushed in patches of red and pale, his once-elegant features softened into a dazed expression.
Meng Tingjing held him close, kissing his forehead, then his lips. “Come back to my courtyard with me.”
Song Yuzhang slowly gave a faint “Mm.”
Meng Tingjing stood, pulled on his inner clothes and trousers, then scooped up Song Yuzhang, still wrapped in the robe.
Song Yuzhang gripped the robe, murmuring: “Let me put my clothes on and walk by myself…”
“What’s there to be afraid of?” Meng Tingjing strode forward with him in his arms. “This whole house is mine.”
Meng Tingjing didn’t care if anyone saw or knew of their relationship. As long as Song Yuzhang agreed—or even if he didn’t—it made no difference. Everyone in the Meng household was his; no one would dare gossip outside.
When they returned to the courtyard, the two of them fought through passion several more times.
Song Yuzhang didn’t know whether it was the blood that had provoked him, or some other reason, but he felt especially unrestrained, as though he might die tomorrow and so must seize joy today.
He thought of nothing, cared about nothing. At first, he tried to keep some composure, but before long, Meng Tingjing had swept him into madness, and he cast away all pretense.
It wasn’t as though he’d never been with men before, nor that he’d never been the one beneath.
So what.
What mattered was the pleasure.
If there was wine today, he would drink today. He needed to find a trace of his old carefree self. When he recalled that his first time beneath had been in this very room, Song Yuzhang nearly lost control to the clash of memory. Scenes he had once tried hard to forget came flooding back. He was back in that moment, and could no longer deny that even then, he had felt pleasure.
Held so tightly, and yet saying such estranged words—
“Tingjing… this doesn’t mean anything, do you understand?”
“Spare me the nonsense. Do you think I can’t handle it?”
“I just want you to mean it.”
“In front of you, I don’t need to pretend.”
“Good…”
Song Yuzhang turned aside in fatigue, but Meng Tingjing dragged him back, staring at him with sharp, burning eyes: “You’d better make it clear, and let me ask you plainly too.”
When passion ebbed and reason slowly returned, a dull ache throbbed in Song Yuzhang’s forehead. He knew he might be cornered again, pressed for “status.” Powerless, he said: “Ask.”
Caressing his face, Meng Tingjing asked leisurely: “This time, it wasn’t because you had no other choice—that’s why you chose me, right?”
Song Yuzhang froze, then gave a weary smile. “No.”
Meng Tingjing gave a cold snort and pressed closer. “Between me and Nie Xueping, who’s better?”
Song Yuzhang groaned, his headache worsening. “Tingjing, can’t you stop asking things like this right now?”
At such a moment, he’d never encountered such questions before.
“No,” Meng Tingjing pinched his face, kissed him, and said, “Say it clearly. Otherwise, you’ll deny it later. What—should I mind being compared with a dead man, when you don’t? Or was he so worthless that you’ve already forgotten him completely?”
Song Yuzhang refused to answer, burying his face under the blanket. But Meng Tingjing wouldn’t let him hide. He pursued him, saying, “Don’t even think about leaving today unless you answer.”
Song Yuzhang was at his limit, afraid Meng Tingjing might truly go mad. He muttered under the covers: “Both… both are good.”
His head bowed, the hair at his crown sticking up a little. Meng Tingjing twisted the tuft of hair around his fingers, kissed the nape of his neck, and, satisfied enough, said: “Lie still. I’ll run some water for you to bathe.”
Exhausted, Song Yuzhang lay on the bed, mind and body hollowed out, floating in a soft, peaceful blankness tinged with satisfaction and drowsiness that tugged him into dreams.
By the time Meng Tingjing had drawn the bath, Song Yuzhang had already fallen asleep.
He brushed back his sweat-dampened hair and gently carried him in his arms.
The bathroom was warm, the water just right. Through the washing, Song Yuzhang barely stirred, only occasionally giving a soft hum when Meng Tingjing touched him somewhere sensitive, only to have his lips soothed with a kiss. For Song Yuzhang, it was all like a sweet dream.
When he truly woke, it was already three in the afternoon. In two more hours, darkness would fall again.
He sat dazed on the bed. Before long, Meng Tingjing entered, saw him staring blankly, and said: “I’ve sent word to the bank, told them you’re sick, and that you’ll be staying here with me to recuperate for a couple of days.”
He sat down at the edge of the bed and stroked Song Yuzhang’s face. “No fever, right?”
Song Yuzhang closed his eyes, exhaled lightly, and said, “I have to go.”
“Go where?” Meng Tingjing said. “I had the kitchen cook some bird’s nest porridge. Have a little first. If you leave now, it’ll be dinner time anyway. Why not just stay, finish your meal, and then I’ll send you back?” He draped an arm over Song Yuzhang’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not keeping you here against your will, President Song.”
Song Yuzhang lowered his head, burying his face in his hands.
Meng Tingjing looked down at him coldly. “What, regret already?”
“Too late for regret,” Meng Tingjing said sharply. “You said it yourself today, and you enjoyed it. No backing out.”
Song Yuzhang drew in a deep breath and looked up at Meng Tingjing. “I won’t take responsibility.”
Meng Tingjing’s face was full of cold pride. “I’m not some innocent maiden. Why would I need you to take responsibility? Besides, if you really had any conscience, you should’ve taken responsibility half a year ago.”
Song Yuzhang ran a hand through his hair. “Tingjing, I… I really can’t… I don’t want to…”
Meng Tingjing grabbed his hand. “Didn’t we say yesterday? We swore it—after this, life or death, we’re separate. Don’t worry, I won’t sleep with you and then extort you. Let me repeat it: I know what kind of person you are, and I don’t expect anything from you.” He released his hand, stood up, and looked down at him. “Your clothes are here. Are you going to change and come down to eat yourself, or do you want me to feed you?”
Song Yuzhang hurriedly lifted the blanket to dress.
As soon as he moved his legs, Meng Tingjing pressed them down. He picked up a pair of pants beside him. “Don’t move around, or a couple days from now, you’ll blame me for leg or back pain.”
The clothes were Meng Tingjing’s. From inside out, everything belonged to him. Meng Tingjing guided Song Yuzhang’s long legs into the pants, moving awkwardly but carefully. Song Yuzhang noticed this wasn’t the manner of someone used to serving others; it was clumsy, almost endearing. He considered doing it himself but feared Meng Tingjing would protest.
In such a peaceful morning, he decided to just let Second Master Meng serve him this once. After all, there weren’t many in the world who could be served by Second Master Meng. Song Yuzhang thought optimistically.
Meng Tingjing dressed him like handling a large doll, tidied him up, then lifted him to sit on the soft couch in the room.
The bird’s nest porridge had cooled to the perfect temperature. Meng Tingjing brought it to Song Yuzhang. Starving after what felt like a whole day and night without food, Song Yuzhang ate two spoonfuls before Meng Tingjing asked, “Good?”
Song Yuzhang nodded slightly.
“Then feed me a bite too.”
Song Yuzhang turned to look at him. Meng Tingjing looked perfectly self-righteous. “I’m hungry too.”
Smiling helplessly, Song Yuzhang spooned a bit for him. Meng Tingjing opened his mouth and ate. “Not bad.”
When Song Yuzhang tried to reclaim his bowl, Meng Tingjing snatched it, taking the spoon as well. “Tit for tat. I’ll feed you a bite too.”
Song Yuzhang held his hands in the air, expression still helpless. “Tingjing…”
Meng Tingjing brought the spoon to his lips. Song Yuzhang lowered his gaze. “Tingjing, don’t…”
The spoon stubbornly touched his lips. “I’m feeding you, not for your sake, but because I like it. It makes me happy. Just eat obediently. There’s more if this isn’t enough.”
Knowing he couldn’t argue, Song Yuzhang opened his mouth. After Meng Tingjing fed him the entire bowl of porridge, he rubbed Song Yuzhang’s stomach. “Want more?”
Song Yuzhang shook his head. “Not now… no appetite.”
Meng Tingjing stroked his stomach. “Then lie down a bit, rest. The bed’s messy…” He gently lowered him, resting his head on his thigh. “Just rest here.”
Song Yuzhang looked up at his elegant jawline, realizing Meng Tingjing’s intentions were all kind. Now he understood: Meng Tingjing simply didn’t know how to love someone properly, just like him.
“Tingjing.”
“Speak.”
“Tomorrow, if I sleep with another man… would you be angry?”
Meng Tingjing was silent for a moment, then looked down. His eyes were sharp enough to seem like they could carve into Song Yuzhang. “With whom?”
“I don’t know. Whoever I fancy.”
“So last night you fancied me?”
Song Yuzhang blinked, calm: “Mm.”
“And tomorrow, you’ll fancy me too.”
“But one day, I’ll fancy someone else.”
“Then we’ll deal with that day when it comes.”
“And if that day is tomorrow?”
Meng Tingjing lightly pinched his neck. “Be honest. You fancy Nie Yinbing, don’t you? Don’t think I don’t know about you and him cuddling. I didn’t want to mention it, but you insisted.”
“It’s not Yinbing…” Song Yuzhang said. “I wouldn’t harm Yinbing.”
He thought a moment, then assumed a thoroughly decadent expression. “Not necessarily.”
Meng Tingjing, half-angry, half-amused, said, “I knew it.” He bent down and kissed Song Yuzhang’s eyelashes. “Close your eyes, rest a bit. Thinking about men all day—you’re exhausted enough already.”
Song Yuzhang closed his eyes. After a while, he said, “Tingjing, you still haven’t answered my question.”
Meng Tingjing raised his hand above him, long over Song Yuzhang’s face, and slapped two big, sharp slaps in the air. “I don’t care who I fancy, and you don’t care who you fancy. Let’s just each handle our own.”
Song Yuzhang quietly “mm”ed in acknowledgment.
After a while, he asked, “Tingjing, your skills have improved. Who taught you?”
Meng Tingjing’s lips curved slightly. He wanted to tease Song Yuzhang but worried if he didn’t care, he’d just anger himself.
“Do I need lessons?” Meng Tingjing stroked his temples. “Do you think you’re the only one capable?”
Song Yuzhang smiled softly.
“Smiling at what?”
“Smiling at how impressive you are.”
Meng Tingjing snorted, fingers threading through his short hair. “You’re not crying for your mother yet. That just means my skills aren’t perfected. Next time, you wait.”
Song Yuzhang’s lips curved faintly. “Not necessarily a next time.”
Meng Tingjing covered his mouth. “Shut up, rest. If you speak again, I’ll show you what next time means.”
Song Yuzhang closed his mouth, and soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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