Song Yuzhang: Chapter 134 - Flower on the Stone
Chapter 134: Flower on the Stone
On the day of his inauguration, Song Yuzhang was so busy he barely touched the ground. There were many reporters there to interview him, and even more people trying to curry favor. He was almost drowned in the crowd of damp people and endless flattery.
The former chairman had also arranged a banquet in the Chamber of Commerce’s hall.
Originally, the hall was supposed to be filled with fresh flowers, but because of the torrential rain, the flowers couldn’t be delivered in time. So the hall looked a bit bare—fortunately, there was the dazzling Xiao Fengxian, whose brilliance made up for that lack.
Xiao Fengxian was now the hottest star in Haizhou. He had come to perform at this celebration entirely out of respect for Song Yuzhang.
By now, Song Yuzhang’s clothes had mostly dried, as had his hair. His naturally soft, dark hair gleamed like silk; once dry, it fell loosely across his forehead, adding a touch of youthful charm to his refined face.
The new chairman was a young and talented man—and a handsome one at that, rivaling a movie star. Whether or not the other members approved of him in their hearts, they all agreed on one thing: the new chairman certainly looked the part.
While there was a performance on stage, the “play” offstage continued as well. People came up to toast him one after another. Song Yuzhang could hold his liquor—after several rounds, he was still standing firm. But his vice chairman, Nie Yinbing, seemed to think otherwise. Without saying a word, Nie Yinbing stood up and began drinking on his behalf, taking Song Yuzhang’s glass and downing it—not as if shielding him from the drinks, but almost like snatching them away.
The man who had offered the toast froze for a second, then quickly poured another glass. “The Vice Chairman has drunk—Chairman Song, I must toast you too.”
Song Yuzhang gave Nie Yinbing a look and smiled as he reached for the cup—only for it to be intercepted once again halfway.
“What, both chairmen have drunk—what about me?”
Meng Tingjing twirled a white porcelain cup in his hand, his smile faint and unreadable as he looked at the guest.
Cold sweat instantly broke out on the man’s forehead. “Of course, of course not, Chairman Meng! I was just about to—here, let me toast you!”
He hurriedly drained his glass.
Meng Tingjing refilled it calmly with the wine pot. “This one doesn’t count. Three more as penalty.”
While they were exchanging cups and banter, Song Yuzhang turned to Nie Yinbing. “I’m stepping out for a moment.”
Nie Yinbing just replied quietly, “Mm.”
Outside, the storm had mostly died down, leaving a drenched world glistening under the dim light. Standing under the eaves, Song inhaled the scent of wet soil and greenery—
the breath of early spring.
“Chairman Song.”
He heard the voice, smiled, and turned his head.
Xiao Fengxian had come down from the stage, still dressed as Yu Ji from Farewell My Concubine. He was a willful sort—on such a festive occasion, he had chosen that tragic play to perform, simply because he sang it beautifully and wanted to.
“You look good today,” Song Yuzhang complimented his costume.
Xiao Fengxian smiled sweetly and flipped the sword in his hand for Song to see. “This was a gift from Director Liao. He said you’ve used it before—and better than I do.”
“He exaggerates. I’m nowhere near your skill.”
“Whether he’s exaggerating or not, I prefer to see for myself.” Xiao Fengxian offered him the sword hilt, his tone teasing and spoiled. “Chairman, won’t you show me a move or two?”
Song Yuzhang laughed and shook his head. “I’d rather not make a fool of myself.”
Xiao Fengxian adored Song Yuzhang—he was handsome, wealthy, and witty. Now, with the title of Chairman of the Chamber of Commerce, he carried both power and allure. Even as a man, Xiao Fengxian found himself drawn to him; of course, if Song Yuzhang could be the one to fall for him, that would be even better.
Knowing his place, he withdrew the sword with a small pout. “I’m going out of town this spring—will be gone at least a month. Chairman Song, won’t you grant me this small wish before I go?”
“Out of town? For what?”
“To pay respects to my master’s grave.”
“How filial of you,” Song said with a soft smile.
Xiao Fengxian felt like he was being teased, and his lips jutted out again. “I am filial! Every year on my master’s death day, I return to visit. He loved me dearly—I was his favorite, you know.”
Song looked at him, still smiling, voice gentle. “Was it hard, learning opera?”
“Of course. None of it’s easy. You were born a young master, but every trade has its hardships. For people like me, at least there’s hope of breaking through someday. But those who clean chamber pots? No matter how well they do, they’re still chamber pot cleaners.”
“You’re quite an optimist.”
“Of course! You have to laugh—otherwise what’s there to look forward to?”
The alcohol was beginning to warm Song Yuzhang’s blood. “Give it here,” he said, reaching for the sword. “Let me show you a little.”
He had indeed learned swordplay from a young age. Xiao Yingtao, disliked seeing him practice— not because he lacked talent, but because she wanted him to learn it only for self-defense, not to suffer through real performance training. Opera training was grueling; she didn’t want him to endure that.
But Song Yuzhang himself rather enjoyed it.
The sword was a weapon—it could wound, it could kill. Holding it made him feel powerful. People said “man and sword become one”—not that the man melds into the sword, but that the sword strengthens the man’s heart.
The blade flashed through the rainwater dripping from the eaves— a sweep of light like falling snow, cutting the air cleanly. Xiao Fengxian gasped, “My lord! You’re incredible!”
As a true opera performer with over a decade of experience, he could tell this was no amateur’s trick—Song’s technique was real. But he didn’t pry, only looked at him with admiration. “Director Liao was right—you handle the sword beautifully.”
Song glanced along the blade, lifting it in a smooth motion. “It’s the sword that’s good.”
Xiao Fengxian tried to gift him the sword, but Song Yuzhang declined. “In my hands, it would only go to waste. It suits Yu Ji better.”
After Xiao Fengxian left, the cool wind made Song Yuzhang shiver. The alcohol’s heat faded; he felt clear-headed again—ready to return for a few more rounds of toasts.
If he couldn’t survive his first night as chairman, he might as well follow Yu Ji’s example and cut his own throat.
Straightening his jacket, brushing off a few splashes of mud, he turned back toward the corridor. He had barely taken two steps when he saw Meng Tingjing, half leaning against the wall—apparently waiting for him.
Song Yuzhang gave him a polite nod—distant, formal.
From the moment he became Chairman and Meng Tingjing his Vice Chairman, Song Yuzhang had swept away everything—past friendship, affection, resentment. Now, they were merely rivals.
As they brushed past, Meng Tingjing suddenly said, “So you used to be an opera performer? You handle a sword quite well.”
Song Yuzhang halted for a moment, tilted his head slightly toward him, then looked away with ease. He walked on slowly, leaving only two words behind: “Killer.”
At first, Meng Tingjing didn’t understand. When he did, he let out a low, amused snort—then couldn’t help but laugh. He caught up, wanting to say, ‘Don’t tell me you think I don’t know killers? Since when do killers look like you…’
“You all right?” Nie Yinbing’s voice came from around the corner ahead.
“Why did you come out too? What could possibly happen to me?” Song Yuzhang asked.
“I saw him come out,” Nie Yinbing said calmly. “If a fight broke out, I was worried you might take the loss.”
Song Yuzhang lightly punched Nie Yinbing’s chest. “Nonsense. You think I’d lose to him?”
Nie Yinbing could tell he was a little drunk and said, “Let’s go back.”
“No.” Song Yuzhang waved his hand. “I’m going back in—but stop blocking drinks for me. It looks bad.”
Nie Yinbing watched as he went back in through the side door, then turned his gaze toward Meng Tingjing, who stood not far away under the corridor.
Meng Tingjing’s face was completely expressionless—cold and proud. Nie Yinbing glanced at him blandly, then turned and entered the door as well.
The veins on Meng Tingjing’s temples twitched twice. Nie Yinbing’s look just now had practically said he wanted to punch him, and it was a pity he hadn’t acted on it—otherwise Meng Tingjing would have happily taken the chance to beat him up. But he wouldn’t be the one to make the first move; that would look too much like he was jealous on Song Yuzhang’s behalf.
Inside, Song Yuzhang emerged victorious at the wine table, drinking everyone under the table.
He was drunk too, of course—just managing not to collapse. Perhaps it truly was man and sword as one—the more he drank, the brighter his eyes became. By the end, those who came to toast him went weak in the knees under his piercing gaze before even lifting their cups.
Though he didn’t fall, by the time he got into the car, his entire body had turned to jelly. This was what people meant by “a puddle of mud”—his bones seemed to have melted, his flesh barely held together by skin. Slumped against the seat, he heard Nie Yinbing ask, “Feeling sick?”
Song Yuzhang didn’t reply. After a long pause, he murmured, “I want candy.”
Nie Yinbing had no idea where to get any. From the front seat, the driver said, “Second Master Nie, I’ve got some—peppermints.”
Nie Yinbing took the tin, opened it, picked one out, and held it up to Song Yuzhang ’s lips. Song Yuzhang’s nose twitched; his lips parted slightly. His tongue flicked out, brushing Nie Yinbing’s fingertips as he drew the mint into his mouth.
He quietly sucked on the candy; the mint clinked softly against his teeth.
Nie Yinbing didn’t look at him directly—just watched from the corner of his eye, worried Song Yuzhang might suddenly get carsick and vomit.
Haizhou was a sleepless city. It was already eleven, yet the streets still shimmered with neon—red, pink, gold, silver— a kaleidoscope of colors flashing over Song Yuzhang’s face. Nie Yinbing kept watch, his gaze growing focused— then, realizing it, he tore it away. Again and again his eyes strayed back, each time dragging them away with effort. It was an exhausting internal battle, one with a simple name: self-control.
The hard candy dissolved slowly. Song Yuzhang’s heartbeat went fast, then slow; the taste in his mouth was strange—neither sweet nor spicy, just cold. He drew in a breath; the chill deepened. After a few breaths like that, he laughed softly and turned his head. “This candy’s so cold…”
Nie Yinbing was looking at him. Their eyes met with a sharp snap, and Nie Yinbing immediately looked away. “Mm.”
Song Yuzhang still had the candy in his mouth, his gaze lively as it danced across Nie Yinbing’s face. He thought to himself, pitiful.
He reached out, cupped Nie Yinbing’s face in both hands, and pressed his forehead against his. With the mint between his teeth, he mumbled, “Yinbing, you’re pitiful.”
Nie Yinbing said nothing.
“You were born to fight out in the world,” Song Yuzhang went on softly, “but you’re trapped here instead— a hero with no battlefield. Pitiful.”
“And you—why are you pitiful? Because your brother died. And why did he die? Because he took the bullet for me.”
“Yinbing, I owe you, you know? I can’t let you live such a pitiful life…”
Their foreheads still touched; Song Yuzhang’s mouth was cool with mint, but his face and skin were hot—feverish. “The way I treat you—do you understand it?”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t. You’re just talking nonsense…” Song Yuzhang’s hands slid down, circling Nie Yinbing’s neck. He rested his face against Nie Yinbing’s shoulder. After a while, his body trembled slightly. “I need to pee.”
The driver immediately stopped the car.
Nie Yinbing helped him to the nearest lit building and found the restroom. But the moment he opened the door, he startled a pair of illicit lovers inside. They took one look at his cold, unapproachable face and fled in panic.
No sooner had they left than another laughing couple entered— and, seeing two men inside, also bolted right back out.
Nie Yinbing frowned slightly. The atmosphere here was… unsavory. Just then, he felt an elbow nudge his chest. Song Yuzhang was swaying and grinning at him.
“Idiot,” Song Yuzhang whispered conspiratorially, “you brought me to a brothel.”
Nie Yinbing thought for a moment, then his face darkened. “Let’s go.”
“Shh—”
Song Yuzhang pressed a finger to his lips. “Wait till I finish peeing. Then I want to look around.”
Nie Yinbing stared at him, speechless.
Song Yuzhang was already chuckling to himself, fumbling to undo his pants.
Nie Yinbing ended up carrying him out.
Song Yuzhang squirmed in his arms, displeased that he wasn’t being allowed to “look around.”
Nie Yinbing simply shoved him back into the car.
Once inside, Song Yuzhang suddenly quieted down.
Nie Yinbing adjusted him to sit upright, but Song Yuzhang just tilted his head and leaned on his shoulder again, his lashes half-lowered as he smiled faintly. He tapped Nie Yinbing’s nose with a finger. “Such a pure maiden.”
Nie Yinbing’s expression stayed blank—but not for long. A reluctant, fleeting smile tugged at his lips. Song Yuzhang’s smile was so radiant that even a stone, seeing it, would have blossomed.
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