Song Yuzhang: Chapter 120 - Happy
Chapter 120: Happy
After returning home, Song Yuzhang reflected carefully on that absurd night. He realized that, in moments of impulse, one could indeed make mistakes. Yet this particular mistake was undeniably sweet—a reckless adventure that disregarded all consequences. How long had it been since he last savored such carefree joy, without needing to restrain himself in any way? He could no longer remember.
After all, though he often complained of poverty before, in this regard he had rarely ever wronged himself.
Perhaps it was precisely because he had been suppressing himself too much lately that he had grown so sentimental and melancholy.
After a long self-analysis, Song Yuzhang concluded that when it came to matters of the heart, he thought too much and did too little—hence his constant hesitation.
“Then stop overthinking,” Song Yuzhang told himself secretly. “Better to just enjoy myself first.”
At least Meng Tingjing seemed to have a tough enough fate, and moreover, Meng Tingjing knew very well “what kind of person he was.” There was no need to worry.
Meng Tingjing himself had no idea about his so-called strong destiny, but as for Song Yuzhang’s thoughts, he could already guess seven or eight parts of it.
To put it bluntly, Song Yuzhang was afraid of love.
Though he did not know what experiences Song Yuzhang had gone through in the past, from the stories involving Nie Yinbing and Chen Hanmin, it was already clear that this was a cold and unfeeling man.
Meng Tingjing did not count himself into this, because his story with Song Yuzhang was far from over.
Men like Song Yuzhang appeared free-spirited, coming and going like the wind, but in truth, he was just an awkward sort: always hoping someone would warm him up, but once someone truly fell deeply in love with him and refused to let go, he feared entanglement and dreaded the outcome.
The more Meng Tingjing thought about it, the more he felt that Nie Xueping’s death had been for the best.
Had Nie Xueping not died, Song Yuzhang would probably have gone on for several more years, living recklessly as a scoundrel. But her death had frightened him, making him wary of easily provoking anyone again.
Even so, one could not be too careless. Based on Meng Tingjing’s judgment of Song Yuzhang, at most he would behave like this for a while; after a year or so, he would surely revert to old habits.
If he truly wanted to hold on to this man, he had to seize this period and bind him tightly to himself.
Since childhood, Meng Tingjing had observed countless concubines vying for affection with cold detachment, and he had seen every trick and method women used to win a man’s heart.
Yet in the end, Old Master Meng had never truly loved any of them; his true heart was always reserved for himself.
Clearly, schemes could not buy genuine feelings. As for what could truly win Song Yuzhang’s heart, Meng Tingjing himself had no answer.
Forget it—better not to dwell on it. Just enjoy the moment first.
And so, though their thoughts diverged, they both ended up deciding the same thing: to be happy for now.
After banking hours, as Song Yuzhang stepped out of the bank, someone approached him respectfully. “President Song, Second Master Meng invites you over for dinner.”
Song Yuzhang could not help but chuckle. He got into the car and laughed all the way to the Meng residence.
Meng Tingjing had originally thought of picking Song Yuzhang up himself, but since they had only just gotten together, he decided there was no need to be overly clingy. He restrained himself and waited alone in the hall, drumming his fingers on the table, every so often glancing involuntarily at the clock on the wall.
At long last, footsteps sounded outside. Meng Tingjing immediately stood up, but then quickly sat back down, leaning back slightly in his chair, striking a leisurely pose.
Song Yuzhang entered with one hand in his pocket, a broad smile across his face.
Seeing him so delighted, Meng Tingjing’s tense expression softened, and he too smiled. “What has you so happy?”
Song Yuzhang touched his nose and smiled faintly. “Nothing.”
Meng Tingjing figured he was just being shy. In truth, he must be happy to be with him. He stood, took Song Yuzhang’s hand, and said, “Wash your hands first, let’s eat. We’ll talk after.”
The Meng family’s cook’s skill was the finest Song Yuzhang had ever tasted. His laughter along the way had actually been because, once before, the Meng family had also sent a car to fetch him with the same excuse of inviting him for dinner. But instead of a meal, he had only suffered a bellyful of anger.
“Have some lamb, to nourish yourself.”
A plate was set before him with a piece of lamb rib, skin and meat white and tender, wobbling enticingly.
Following the lamb with his eyes, Song Yuzhang looked at Meng Tingjing, whose expression was calm and gentle. For a moment, it felt almost dreamlike. He had never imagined that, after all that had happened, he would one day be sitting at the same table, this close, with Meng Tingjing—and actually feel good about it.
When he hesitated to eat, Meng Tingjing asked, “What’s wrong, don’t like lamb?”
“No, I’m not picky.”
Song Yuzhang smiled at him, but Meng Tingjing scoffed. “Not picky? You only like—” He cut himself off abruptly, clammed up, and with a stern face served him a bowl of soup.
Under the table, Song Yuzhang nudged his knee against Meng Tingjing’s. “What do I like to eat?”
Meng Tingjing ignored him. “Eat whatever’s served. Didn’t you say you weren’t picky?”
Song Yuzhang chuckled silently for a while. “Crab stuffed with egg custard?”
Meng Tingjing couldn’t help but laugh too, but then quickly straightened his lips into a line. “No talking at the table. Hurry up and eat.”
A good meal naturally led to good things afterward. Having eaten too much lamb, Song Yuzhang’s energy burned hot, and he and Meng Tingjing battled each other through several rounds that night. Song Yuzhang suspected Meng Tingjing was deliberately provoking him. With a smile at the corner of his lips, clearly satisfied, Meng Tingjing kissed him on the eyelid. “I got a box of genuine Persian cigars the other day. Want one?”
Song Yuzhang, reflecting on himself, realized he too felt content. So he decided not to quibble over the lamb anymore. Leisurely, he said, “Bring one over.”
Meng Tingjing fetched the cigars, cut one, and lit it. But when he handed it over, Song Yuzhang, propping his forehead with one hand, waved it aside. “You first.”
Meng Tingjing was neither fond nor averse to smoking. He had kept this box only because Song Yuzhang seemed to enjoy cigars. With a moment’s thought, he gave a cold snort and said rather stiffly, “What, afraid I’ve drugged it?” He took a deep draw and slowly exhaled, then held the cigar to Song Yuzhang’s lips.
He took a deep draw and slowly exhaled, then held the cigar to Song Yuzhang’s lips. “I once saw Shen Chengduo smoke a cigar—he always had someone nearby take the first puff. I thought maybe it gave some special flavor.”
At the mention of Shen Chengduo, a man Meng Tingjing considered a petty lowlife unworthy of attention, his expression darkened. “You gave him one to smoke?”
“Of course not.” Song Yuzhang turned his head, exhaling smoke as he spoke. “It was always some group of adorable young boys.”
Meng Tingjing found it unbearable to listen to and, without thinking, said with disgust, “From now on, you mustn’t associate with him anymore.”
Song Yuzhang’s smile didn’t fade. Through the haze of smoke, he looked at Meng Tingjing, his voice soft as he said, “Tingjing, are you trying to interfere with me?”
A thought stirred in Meng Tingjing’s mind—he realized this person’s old ailment was flaring up again. Things had only just begun; he couldn’t clamp down too tightly, or he’d scare him off again.
“I’m only giving you a piece of advice. Whether you listen or not is up to you.”
Song Yuzhang smiled and shifted his head onto Meng Tingjing’s lap. “That’s better. From now on, you’d best offer fewer suggestions too—I don’t like hearing them.”
Meng Tingjing thought to himself, This bastard is getting bolder by the minute! After a few breaths, he steadied himself and replied calmly, “Fine, I won’t bring it up. Each of us minds our own business. I haven’t forgotten.”
Song Yuzhang, surrounded by the fragrance of cigar smoke, felt quite content, thinking to himself, Bodhisattva bless—Meng Tingjing’s temper is finally shifting a little closer to Meng Sushan’s. If he can keep this up, maybe the two of us really can get along for a while.
Song Yuzhang’s mood visibly improved, and those around him could tell.
Others didn’t know why. Liu Chu guessed it was thanks to the love letters, so she dutifully placed Yu Feiyu’s letters on Song Yuzhang’s desk every day, right on time.
Song Yuzhang, however, had little interest in Yu Feiyu. He left the letters aside, too lazy to read them.
After work, someone from the Meng family came again to pick him up. Song Yuzhang was about to get into the car but changed his mind. “I’ve got something on today. I’m not going.”
The Meng family’s people had no choice but to drive the empty car back and report.
“Something on? What business does he have?” asked Meng Tingjing.
“The bank president said he’s going to Vienna to drink.”
Meng Tingjing was silent for a while before replying, “I see.”
Only after the others left did his face darken.
He knew full well how sensitive Song Yuzhang was now—at the slightest stir, he would bolt. Last night he had already stepped on a taboo. These days, Song Yuzhang feared everything—fear of love, fear of being controlled, fear of loneliness… A man once so free and dandy had been utterly shaken by the weight of two lives.
Good that he’s afraid. The more afraid he is, the greater my chances.
Meng Tingjing calmed his heart, sat quietly for a while, then suddenly slammed the table and cursed bitterly, “Drink if you must, but why the hell do you have to hang around with such riffraff!”
Meanwhile, Song Yuzhang was lounging in Shen Chengduo’s smoking room, drinking and smoking. Shen Chengduo, as always, kept him company, but he keenly noticed that something about Song Yuzhang was different from before.
How to put it? It was hard to describe. Crudely speaking, in the past, every movement Song Yuzhang made carried a kind of languid, flirtatious allure, as if he were deliberately enticing others. But today, that air was gone—he seemed more restrained, as if he had tucked that energy away.
Shen Chengduo took a drag on his cigarette, wondering, Who could have suppressed that side of him?
Could it be Nie Yinbing?
But Nie Yinbing, with that cold, frosty manner of his—could he really keep Song Yuzhang in check?
Hard to say. Maybe Nie Yinbing was wild in bed?
Shen Chengduo himself didn’t know when it had started, but whenever he saw Song Yuzhang now, his thoughts instinctively drifted below the belt. As if Song Yuzhang seduced every man he saw, yet remained chaste and proper only with him. Shen Chengduo simmered with resentment—he considered himself quite masculine, yet Song Yuzhang treated him as if he were invisible.
After finishing the cigar Shen Chengduo had given him, Song Yuzhang said sincerely, “This cigar isn’t as good as the Persian ones.”
Shen Chengduo gave an awkward smile, a bit ashamed that he hadn’t been able to procure Persian cigars. “This one’s domestically made. It’s true, not as good as those.”
“Is that so?” Song Yuzhang adjusted his standard and said, “Then this is already quite good.”
“Right? Maybe not as fine as Persian, but not bad either. And it’s not easy to get one these days—tobacco’s expensive everywhere.”
“Once the railway opens, things should get better.”
“Yes, I’m counting on that railway. When do you think it’ll be ready?”
“Depends. Need on-site surveys to know for sure.”
Shen Chengduo grunted twice. Taking another puff, he chuckled, “No hurry.”
Song Yuzhang wasn’t in a hurry either. With the issuance of railway bonds, the pressure on his end had eased considerably. Still, he was thinking—banks were never secure enough. It was better to have some industry in hand, like the Meng family. He already had an eye on one line of business. Risky, yes, but the profits would be handsome—though it would require government backing.
Treasury bonds were his token of loyalty. The money wouldn’t be wasted; Liao Tiandong would remember his favor, and his name should be passed around higher up too. When the time came, he might well have his chance. If not, as a fallback, even starting an ordinary factory wouldn’t be bad.
As he thought, he laughed to himself. In the past, when he was all alone, his mind ran shallow and small—just scheming to swindle a little money for fine food and decent clothes. But now, he was daring to think bigger, and the more he thought, the larger his ambitions grew.
Song Yuzhang stayed at Shen Chengduo’s place until after ten before leaving, further convincing Shen Chengduo that someone must have tamed him recently.
After all, in the past, he used to spend the night here.
Shen Chengduo’s curiosity burned—he longed to know who had gotten close to Song Yuzhang.
A man like him was far beyond what most could reach. In all of Haizhou, you could count them on one hand. Shen Chengduo thought, it had to be Nie Yinbing. Looking around, no one else fit the bill.
As for Meng Tingjing, he never considered him at all—he looked like nothing more than a pretty boy, nowhere near as manly as himself.
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