Song Yuzhang: Chapter 124 - The Moon in Water, The Flower in a Mirror
Chapter 124: The Moon in Water, The Flower in a Mirror
The sky was dark and heavy, and the road was rough. The car moved with difficulty, swaying drunkenly from side to side, bumping and jolting with force. Inside, Song Yuzhang swayed with the motion, his long legs and arms nothing but a burden in the cramped compartment, constantly knocking into things.
Suddenly, someone knocked twice on the car window.
Song Yuzhang turned his head and saw the strong chestnut-red body of a horse. He rolled the window down, and a stern, handsome face bent slightly toward him. “Uncomfortable in the car? Come out and ride a horse.”
Song Yuzhang shook his head. His inner thighs were sore; he couldn’t ride. Better to sit in the car, wobbling like a roly-poly doll.
Nie Yinbing rode alongside the car. After a while, he finally spoke the words he had long been holding back. “Go back.”
Through the window, Song Yuzhang felt the brisk winter air. “There’s nothing much at the bank right now. Year-end interest settlements are already done. It’s fine for me to be away for a while.”
Nie Yinbing’s fingers twisted around the reins, his face expressionless, though inwardly he was torn and pained.
Whatever Song Yuzhang asked of him, he complied if he could. But this—having Song Yuzhang accompany him into danger—he utterly could not accept. He just didn’t know how to refuse.
He had only once been truly harsh with Song Yuzhang, and not only had he failed to subdue him, but he had also lost more than half a year of Song Yuzhang’s company. It would have been better to simply go along with him; at least they had then shared a stretch of laughter and companionship.
Song Yuzhang knew all of Nie Yinbing’s inner conflict. But his own? No one understood. Neither Nie Yinbing nor Meng Tingjing.
He didn’t blame them.
To expect one person to fully understand another—that was perhaps the hardest thing in the world.
The Nie family could not fall. Nie Yinbing could not die. None of this was for Nie Xueping’s sake—it was for his own.
When one is alive, there are some things one must do. If he did not, then he would no longer be himself.
The winter morning mist lay heavy like fog, gray and cold, enveloping the convoy and lending the line of horses and wagons a grim, fearsome air. The convoy moved in silence. In the rocking car, Song Yuzhang drifted half into sleep, lashes half-closed.
After some time, the window was knocked again.
Nie Yinbing leaned forward over his horse, a grass-colored wool cloak cascading behind him. From beneath his brimmed hat, his clear eyes shone sharply. He didn’t even speak this time; his gaze alone carried the message—Song Yuzhang should turn back.
Song Yuzhang answered with a faint smile.
Nie Yinbing straightened in silence.
The danger of this journey was self-evident. He might not value his own life, but he could not bear to tie Song Yuzhang’s fate to his. If every bandit they encountered were like Song Yuzhang, he would be unable even to kill them.
The wind rose in light gusts, tugging at the hem of his cloak. Amid the steady rhythm of hooves and wheels, the whispering wind carried an ominous undertone. Nie Yinbing’s fingers tightened around the reins, twisting tighter and tighter. He could not continue like this. Just as he raised his hand to halt the convoy, a guard galloped up from behind.
“Second Master, someone’s chasing us from the rear.”
“From behind?”
“Looks like from the Haizhou direction.”
Nie Yinbing wheeled his horse around and rode hard to the rear of the line. Lifting a telescope, he saw it clearly—there were indeed riders pursuing them, a billowing cloud of dust at their heels, black mist surging forward. They were not far now. With the convoy burdened by heavy wagons, their pace was slow; in a few minutes, they would be overtaken.
Nie Yinbing raised his hand. “Have them all stop.”
The messenger galloped up and down the convoy, waving a flag. “Stop—stop—”
The cars slowed and halted. Inside one of them, Song Yuzhang swayed with the final jolt, his lashes still drooping half-shut.
The pursuers drew nearer—a troop of horsemen. At their head, Nie Yinbing recognized the rider at once.
Meng Tingjing. Still clad in black robe and veil, he yanked his reins fiercely to the side as he drove his horse forward at full speed. The rough road was hard on the mounts; his black stallion snorted heavily, clearly exhausted. Meng Tingjing was no better, every breath a white plume of smoke. His eyes, sharp as arrowheads, locked on Nie Yinbing. “Where is he?”
Nie Yinbing stared back in silence.
“Song Yuzhang—”
Meng Tingjing spurred closer to the convoy, shouting.
“Song Yuzhang,” Meng Tingjing called out once, and the second time was smoother, “come out to me—”
Nie Yinbing remained still, unmoving, until Meng Tingjing tried to ride into the convoy. Then, he urged his horse forward to block him.
“Get out of my way.”
Meng Tingjing’s fury was barely contained. At the mere sight of Nie Yinbing’s face, his stomach turned. Though Nie Yinbing looked nothing like Nie Xueping, right now he hated the entire Nie family enough to want to cut them all down.
Nie Yinbing did not answer, only barred his path.
The two horses, sharp and spirited, began to rear and bite at each other, neighing furiously.
The convoy lay shrouded in morning fog. Meng Tingjing’s anxiety mounted. Unwilling to waste time clashing with Nie Yinbing, he drew his pistol and fired into the air.
The long column erupted in unease at the gunshot. Nie Yinbing lifted his hand again, signaling for calm.
Meng Tingjing’s eyes swept the line like blades, as if to pierce the mist and drag Song Yuzhang out by sheer force of will.
At last, one carriage in the middle did not betray his expectation—the door was pushed open from within.
The moment a leg stepped out, even across half the convoy, Meng Tingjing instantly recognized it as Song Yuzhang.
His chest surged with emotion, and instinctively he spurred his horse forward. He moved so fast that Nie Yinbing hadn’t even reacted before he, too, had to ride after him.
By the time Song Yuzhang had fully stepped down from the carriage, Meng Tingjing had already swept up in a gust of wind, his horse’s hooves kicking up dirt, dust coating the hem of Song Yuzhang’s trousers.
Only when he saw him in the flesh did Meng Tingjing’s wildly pounding heart slowly settle back into his chest.
Song Yuzhang had once “died” before his eyes, had been dredged back from the sea by him. If he had arrived two days later, Song Yuzhang would have been fish food.
Yet the man he had saved did not hold on to gratitude toward him. Instead, his thoughts were always with someone else. The more Meng Tingjing thought of it, the less he could accept it. He, too, had saved his life. And how many times had Song Yuzhang ever shown him a kind face in return?
“Song Yuzhang, are you insane? Leaving the bank unattended, only to follow along to your death?!”
His words were harsh and cutting. He did not dismount, afraid that if he did, he would lose control. Both his hands gripped the reins tight, as though they were Song Yuzhang’s throat—he truly wished he could strangle him.
Nie Yinbing drew his horse alongside. For once, he did not reach for his gun, because deep down, he agreed with Meng Tingjing. He, too, wanted Song Yuzhang to go back—with whomever, it didn’t matter, so long as he went back.
But Song Yuzhang said calmly, “You are you. I am me. I don’t interfere with you, so don’t interfere with me.”
The words made Meng Tingjing shake with rage in the saddle. His face went pale, and his tone dropped low. “So you’re dead set on following him to your grave?”
“The road ahead is long. It may not be a dead end,” Song Yuzhang replied, turning his face toward the withered gray trees nearby. “Time is short. You should return. Yinbing, let’s go.”
“Stop—”
Before Song Yuzhang could move, Meng Tingjing’s voice rang out, sharp as a whip.
He had ridden hard to catch up, sweat soaking through his clothes, reins digging deep into his palms.
Meng Tingjing stared at Song Yuzhang as though scalded with hot oil. He could hardly believe it. Half a year of circling one another, from closeness to estrangement to open hostility, and just when there seemed a glimmer of reconciliation, Song Yuzhang had not given a shred of weight to their bond.
For the Nie brothers, he would risk fire and water. For him—he would not even spare an ear.
In Song Yuzhang’s heart, was it only the Nie family who could be counted as true?
What did Meng Tingjing lack compared to them?
If a bullet came flying this instant, he too would shield him with his body!
“Song Yuzhang,” Meng Tingjing ground out, teeth clenched, “I’ll ask you one last time. Are you truly determined to go with him?”
“Yes.”
“Even knowing you may lose your life?”
“Yes.”
Meng Tingjing’s chest rose and fell, his face dark with bitter unwillingness. So last night had all been a perfunctory act. When Song Yuzhang left, what was he thinking? He himself had been thinking of how to salvage what they had. But Song Yuzhang?
Meng Tingjing refused to believe there was nothing left between them. Catching his breath, he forced his tone calm. “What if I asked you to stay—for me?”
Song Yuzhang stood silently for a moment. He did not answer. Instead, he turned and pulled open the car door.
Meng Tingjing’s eyes reddened, fixed on that hand opening the door. It felt as if a chunk of his heart had been carved out—raw pain and sharp hatred mingling together. He glared at Song Yuzhang, and as the man bent to climb back inside, words hissed from between his clenched teeth: “I agree to let the Nie family’s ore travel the Meng family’s waterways.”
Song Yuzhang froze.
His profile, pale and cold in the winter light, was detached, every curve from lash to nose sharp and chill.
Meng Tingjing stared at that elegant face, as if blood might leak from his eyes to his heart. Then, in one swift motion, he drew a short dagger from his belt.
Nie Yinbing urged his horse forward, placing himself between them.
Without so much as a glance at Nie Yinbing, Meng Tingjing slashed the dagger across his own fingers. Blood welled instantly from three of them.
He threw the bloodied dagger to the ground, twisted his reins, and galloped off without a backward look.
As the sound of hoofbeats faded, Song Yuzhang’s thunderous heartbeat slowly eased. He turned to Nie Yinbing. “Yinbing, will you agree?”
At this point, how could Nie Yinbing possibly say “no”?
Song Yuzhang knew that he could only say “yes.” He stooped to pick up the dagger from the ground, its steel stained with drops of blood still sliding down its pale blade. Catching the blood in his palm, he said to Nie Yinbing, “Let’s go back.”
He climbed into the car. Nie Yinbing remained astride outside and suddenly noticed—the clothes Song Yuzhang wore were rumpled, the same as last night. He hadn’t changed.
***
When Meng Tingjing returned home, Meng Sushan was just preparing to go out to make two new garments for the New Year.
“Tingjing…”
Her first glance took in his ashen, unsightly expression. The second fell on his bloodied hand, and her face changed. “Your hand—what happened?!”
Meng Tingjing ignored her, striding straight into the inner hall. Meng Sushan hurried after him, sending Wan Lan ahead to fetch a doctor.
Inside, Meng Tingjing paced like a trapped beast before sinking down onto the chaise longue. His legs sprawled, his black robe spilling around him, his left hand resting on his white underclothes. He stared at his own hand, chest trembling with each breath. Meng Sushan rushed in, alarmed by the strange, almost possessed look on his face. She caught at his hand in fright. “Tingjing, what happened to your hand?”
Meng Tingjing still sat there staring blankly at the bloodstains on his trousers. Panting, he said slowly, “He didn’t even change his clothes.”
Meng Sushan didn’t understand. “What? Who? Who didn’t change clothes?”
“He knew I’d chase after him. He knew…” Meng Tingjing’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke, as if his throat were unbearably parched. “He knew I couldn’t bear it… He has no feeling for me at all…”
Meng Sushan was completely confused, but Meng Tingjing suddenly yanked his hand free and slammed a clenched fist onto the table.
She was so startled she couldn’t even form words. After a long while, she laid her handkerchief over his bleeding hand and spoke softly, “Tingjing, what’s wrong with you? Don’t scare me…” But her words stopped abruptly.
A droplet of water had splashed onto the rosewood table.
She looked at the spreading water mark, then looked back at Meng Tingjing.
His face was cold as ice, with a clear wet streak running down his cheek.
Meng Sushan was completely stunned.
She didn’t know what kind of blow could cause him such pain. Not even when Meng Huanzhang died had she seen Meng Tingjing lose control like this.
“It’s nothing,” Meng Tingjing said as he stood up, his black robe falling to hide the blood beneath. His voice was flat. “It’s all over now.”
***
The water route took over a month, but the ore was successfully delivered, and the final payment promptly arrived in the Nie family’s accounts. Nie Qingyun went to the docks with the check. She only handed over the slip, never seeing Meng Tingjing himself. Her expression was dazed as she gazed at the deep purple evening glow over the sea, murmuring, “Please tell Boss Meng, thank you for his help. The Nie family will never forget it.”
Meng Tingjing’s subordinates carried their boss’s temper wherever they went. Meek as mice before him, they were haughty as tigers toward outsiders. To Nie Qingyun, their reply was curt: “You’re too polite, Miss Nie.”
Nie Qingyun then took another check to the Song residence.
Song Yuzhang wasn’t there.
“Fifth Young Master has gone out to receive someone.”
“Receive someone? Who?”
“I think they said it was an engineer for the railway?”
Before the New Year, all the wooden stakes were set in place. Yu Feiyu was overjoyed. To celebrate, he and the other engineers, workers, and students working alongside him drank a hearty feast.
The banquet was in a drafty wooden shed, but that didn’t stop them from drinking with gusto. Yu Feiyu’s beard was soaked with wine by the end. The next morning, he woke, immediately grabbed a knife to shave, then forced himself through a cold-water wash. Shivering like a half-drowned dog, he sat down to write to Song Yuzhang.
He didn’t think of it as writing a love letter. When he wrote love letters, they were cloyingly sentimental—this was far from that standard, he thought with a laugh.
Not that Yu Feiyu didn’t want to write one, but when his pen touched the paper, plain, unadorned words naturally flowed out.
Perhaps those sugary phrases felt too frivolous for that man, almost a kind of profanation.
As he wrote, the image of Song Yuzhang floated constantly through his mind.
Handsome, elegant, aloof, tinged with quiet melancholy.
Like a broken moon in the heavens shining down on earth, its milky glow achingly beautiful.
In the days they hadn’t met, Yu Feiyu’s imagination had exalted Song Yuzhang to an unparalleled height.
It was his old habit: whenever he fell for someone, he would build them up in his mind into perfection.
But no one was perfect—so inevitably, Yu Feiyu’s love always ended in unreciprocated heartbreak.
For now, though, Song Yuzhang remained distant as the moon—not only far away, but also indifferent.
As soon as Yu Feiyu mailed the letter, he set out cheerfully on the road home.
On the way there, busy with work, he had buried himself in travel, never noticing the scenery. But on the way back, he slowed his pace, turning it into a little “winter journey,” stopping to tug at even a single blade of grass along the road.
The consequence of dawdling was that, when the agreed meeting time came, Song Yuzhang waited half an hour without seeing him.
Fortunately, it wasn’t cold in the car. Wrapped in a gray cashmere scarf, with no draft seeping in, he was fine.
The driver, seeing him bored, offered, “Fifth Young Master, want a candy?”
There was a tin of sweets in the car. The driver often took one or two for a pick-me-up. Song Yuzhang asked for one. It was a sharp peppermint flavor—sweet and fiery, enough to wake him up. He rolled the hard candy on his tongue, soon feeling his whole mouth fill with mint.
The driver thought he was restless, but in fact, Song Yuzhang’s mind was busy—banks, chamber of commerce, railroads, stocks, all the clutter of business turning in his thoughts, plus small things: with the New Year coming, he needed to prepare red envelopes for bank clerks and household servants, perhaps decorate the house… His mind was too crowded to spare a thought for anything else.
The mint candy clicked between his teeth as he bit down, thoughts deepening until he nearly forgot himself.
“Fifth Young Master, I think he’s here.”
Song Yuzhang’s tongue froze mid-roll. He lifted his gaze toward the windshield. Sure enough, vehicles and horses were approaching. He bit the last of the candy into shards, opened the door, and stepped out.
From afar, Yu Feiyu spotted him.
Months had passed, but Song Yuzhang’s bearing was as extraordinary as ever. Even at such a distance, Yu Feiyu thought him so refined and graceful it was enough to make a man bow down.
“President Song—!”
Yu Feiyu stuck his head out of the carriage window and waved vigorously at Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang saw him, smiling despite himself, though inwardly worried Yu Feiyu might tumble right out of the car.
As soon as the carriage stopped, Yu Feiyu was the first to jump out, striding over in two long steps. His whole face was glowing, full of energy, and even the cut on his chin looked rakish and carefree. Brimming with joy, he greeted, “President Song!”
Song Yuzhang couldn’t help being infected by his enthusiasm, the corners of his lips lifting. “Mr. Yu, was the journey smooth?”
Yu Feiyu’s eyes sparkled. “Sometimes smooth, sometimes rough—but all in all, I can say I lived up to my task.”
Song Yuzhang had already read in his letter that Yu Feiyu had completed all the preparatory work, but hearing it in person made it feel real. Only then did he truly breathe a sigh of relief.
“That’s wonderful. Then the railway can begin construction by spring, yes?”
“Yes. As soon as the weather warms a little. Judging from the ground, as long as it’s not frozen, there shouldn’t be a problem. But the conditions are brutal—the workers will suffer a lot. It’s inhumane. Harsh environments drag down efficiency, too. The sheds we put up this time were terribly drafty—President Song—”
Song Yuzhang, who had been listening patiently, heard his name called and replied warmly, “Go on, I’m listening.”
Yu Feiyu gave a slightly sheepish smile. His features were rugged, and when he smiled like that, it was almost boyish. “Ah, I just can’t help it, President Song. Can we hug?”
Song Yuzhang blinked, then laughed.
“It’s hardly improper. Mr. Yu’s work was so outstanding, it deserves a thankful embrace.”
He spread his arms graciously, and Yu Feiyu happily did the same. For an instant Yu Feiyu held him tightly, then quickly loosened into a lighter hug. His nose twitched, and his delight grew. He exclaimed, surprised, “President Song, you smell like mint!”
Song Yuzhang chuckled. “And you smell like cow dung.”
Yu Feiyu recoiled in horror, sprang half a step back, and sniffed frantically at his collar. “No way! I washed before coming back!”
But when he looked up and saw the faint smile tugging at Song Yuzhang’s lips, he realized he’d been teased. He laughed too.
They laughed together, Yu Feiyu’s eyes shining all the brighter.
Even after idealizing Song Yuzhang in memory and imagination to impossible perfection, seeing him in the flesh still struck him with joy and wonder.
This must be the destined one, Yu Feiyu thought with deep contentment.
“I have a gift for you.”
He pulled something from his inner pocket, keeping it balled in his palm so Song Yuzhang couldn’t see. Song Yuzhang only waited with a mild smile, as though indulging him.
“President Song, hold out your hand.”
Obligingly, Song Yuzhang extended his palm.
Yu Feiyu held his closed hand over it, then let go. A thin sliver of wood fell into Song Yuzhang’s hand.
It was pale yellow, no different from any common scrap of timber. Song Yuzhang examined it with puzzled eyes, silently asking its meaning.
Yu Feiyu grinned, showing his teeth. “It’s a shaving from the first wooden stake we drove into the railway. When I marked that spot, I suddenly thought it’d be meaningful as a keepsake—especially for you. Director Liao said the rebuilding of Haizhou’s railway was entirely thanks to you, so I wanted you to have a memento.”
Holding the thin piece of wood, Song Yuzhang smiled. “I like it very much.”
Yu Feiyu’s smile grew even brighter. “That’s great! I thought, with how wealthy you are, no expensive gift could really please you. This thing isn’t worth money, but if you like it, that makes me so happy—Oh? Isn’t that Xiao Meng over there?”
From the return convoy, someone was already heading toward Meng Tingjing.
Yu Feiyu suddenly remembered. Of course—several of the engineers he’d brought were lent by Meng Tingjing. Ha, not just that, he himself was under Meng Tingjing’s employ.
Realizing whose payroll he was on, Yu Feiyu quickly said to Song Yuzhang, “President Song, I’ll go say hello to Xiao Meng. Don’t leave, I’ve still got loads to tell you.”
And off he dashed.
Song Yuzhang slipped the wooden shaving into his pocket.
Meng Tingjing, surrounded by attendants like a star among moons, wore an utterly expressionless face.
Yu Feiyu was unfazed. From his first days at Cambridge, this junior schoolmate had been notorious for his gloom, never giving anyone a pleasant expression. Even real princes at school had been met with the same arrogant disregard, as if no one alive deserved his smile.
Yu Feiyu’s relations with him were nothing special, but being naturally broad-hearted and good at keeping himself cheerful, he took no offense. Carelessly, he said, “Boss Meng, I’m back! I’ve still got things to do, so I’ll report to you later.”
He waved, then promptly spun around and sprinted back to Song Yuzhang.
There stood Song Yuzhang, tall and refined; Yu Feiyu, equally tall and upright, gestured and spoke animatedly beside him. Song Yuzhang didn’t seem indifferent—his hair swayed with his quiet laughter.
After three to five minutes of such lively talk, the two headed together toward Song Yuzhang’s car.
As they did, Song Yuzhang felt as though a gaze was fixed on their backs. Once in the car, he sat still for a moment, not yet telling the driver to start the engine.
Yu Feiyu asked, “What’s wrong? Is the car broken?”
Song Yuzhang turned his face slightly and, through the right front side mirror, saw Meng Tingjing—standing out like a crane among chickens in the crowd.
Meng Tingjing was looking in the direction of their car. In the rearview mirror, his figure appeared stretched and distorted.
It had been more than a month since Song Yuzhang had last seen him.
Though Haizhou was vast, given both his and Meng Tingjing’s positions and their working relationship, there was no reason they shouldn’t have crossed paths even once in over a month.
He hadn’t been deliberately avoiding Meng Tingjing—so that meant it was Meng Tingjing who had been deliberately avoiding him.
All the better. The moon in the water, the flower in the mirror—after all, only dreams. He had awakened, and so had Meng Tingjing. Each would walk their own road; there was no need to force things any further.
“The car isn’t broken,” Song Yuzhang lifted his voice toward the front. “Let’s go, to the International Hotel.”
By the time Nie Qingyun saw him again, it was already seven or eight that evening. Song Yuzhang returned with a strange man, the two stepping down from the car. They spoke face-to-face about something, both smiling, and then exchanged a brief embrace before the man waved and walked off toward the street.
As Song Yuzhang turned back and mounted the steps, after only two strides, he caught sight of Nie Qingyun in the darkness. Startled, he said, “Sister Qingyun?”
Nie Qingyun came back to herself quickly and held out a check. “Thank you. If not for your mediation this time, our family would have been in serious trouble.”
Song Yuzhang clasped his hands behind his back, making no move to take it. “No need—we’re in the same boat.”
Uneasy, Nie Qingyun held onto the check, not yet withdrawing it.
“Keep it,” said Song Yuzhang. “You’ll still need a great deal of money to keep things moving. The bank has plenty of cash at hand now. Of the thirty million U.S. dollars you borrowed, I’ll repay part after the new year. If you must give it, then let this check go toward deducting that debt.”
Nie Qingyun could only pull the check back. She clicked down the steps in her heels, took two paces, then turned her head. The night was ink-black against the pure white archway; beneath the towering arch, Song Yuzhang stood, evoking four words in her mind—alone in the world.
She suddenly quickened her steps, “da-da-da” across the stone, and ran back toward him. Breath catching slightly, she looked at him and asked, “Would you… would you like to have a few drinks together?”
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