Song Yuzhang: Chapter 147 - Explosive
Chapter 147: Explosive
Yu Feiyu was broad and easygoing by temperament, but meticulous in his work. He had calculated the amount of explosives in advance this time, even allowing for possible losses; it was highly unlikely they would run short.
He rubbed the back of his neck down to his shoulders, straightened up, and said, “Not enough? How much are we short?”
“About one crate.”
“That much?”
Yu Feiyu frowned deeply. “I’ll go take a look.”
The explosives depot was kept separate from the other warehouses, far from the workers’ barracks to prevent accidents. After inspecting it, Yu Feiyu immediately reached a conclusion—someone had stolen the explosives.
“Oh,” he said calmly, betraying nothing. “We used too much in the earlier blasts. I miscalculated.”
“Then what do we do? Send someone back to Haizhou to haul over two more crates?”
Yu Feiyu rubbed the grime from his fingers. “There’s no time to wait. Ask around nearby—see if there are any bandits or military units. We’ll buy two crates from them.”
The news came back quickly: there were no bandits nearby, no troops either, but there was indeed someone who could supply explosives. The price wasn’t high, but they would only accept gold bars.
Yu Feiyu had full authority over the railway project and had brought gold bars with him. Time was critical, so he agreed with a wave of his hand.
The explosives arrived that night. Yu Feiyu checked them and found that they were completely different from the ones they had brought—clearly from another source. He tested some of them; their power was impressive.
It was obvious that the thieves were not the sellers. Standing before the wisps of white smoke, Yu Feiyu’s brow relaxed slightly. He thought to himself: There’s an insider.
Yu Feiyu had little experience dealing with spies or saboteurs and relied almost entirely on instinct. He told no one of his suspicions, deliberately returned the newly purchased explosives to their original place, and waited like a hunter for his prey. But even after the two crates were used up, the thief never appeared.
He quickly changed tactics and did a full headcount of everyone. That finally revealed the problem—two of the railway workers were missing.
There was no need to investigate further. It had to be those two who had stolen the explosives.
Explosives were expensive, certainly worth stealing, but with no bandits nearby and no troops either, to whom could they sell them?
Puzzled, Yu Feiyu wrote another letter to Song Yuzhang. After finishing it, he placed it with several other unsent letters, planning to give them all to Song Yuzhang once this section of the railway was completed and he returned to Haizhou.
Zhang Changshan went back to Nancheng and spent some effort securing the permit for the arm factory for Song Yuzhang.
In return, Song Yuzhang immediately sent someone with gold bars and U.S. dollars to express his thanks, and instructed the messenger to stop by the temple to visit the two Song brothers.
Both brothers were doing well. Song Yekang even had someone bring back a hand-copied Buddhist scripture for Song Yuzhang, leaving him both amused and exasperated.
Song Qiyuan wrote to Song Yuzhang as well, saying that his mind was now at peace and that he planned to travel around in search of Song Jincheng.
Song Yuzhang folded the letter, thinking that Song Qiyuan had finally returned to his free-spirited nature. Perhaps what he was seeking was not only Song Jincheng, but also his own path in life.
Everyone has their own road to walk. They would walk theirs; he had to walk his.
The arm factory site was chosen in the outskirts of the city, occupying the former racetrack.
Nie Yinbing had kept many fine horses there. Song Yuzhang suggested moving them to the Song residence, which had a large unused lawn that no one tended—perfect for the purpose.
Nie Yinbing said there was no need; he already had other arrangements for the horses.
A few days later, trucks came to haul them away.
When Song Yuzhang heard the news and learned that the vehicles were from Nancheng, he immediately understood. That evening, he went to the arm factory under construction.
“You sent those horses to the front lines?” he asked.
“Yes.”
They were all fine horses, many seized from bandits—wild, blooded, and perfectly suited for the battlefield.
Nie Yinbing was eating from a bowl as they spoke. The meal was plain and coarse, no different from what the workers ate. Song Yuzhang stood with his hands behind his back, facing him. “Horses can go to the battlefield. Don’t get any ideas.”
Nie Yinbing was silent for a moment, then said, “I won’t. I’m worried about you.”
Song Yuzhang turned his face slightly, his gaze returning to Nie Yinbing’s bowl. “Why eat so simply? This isn’t far from home. You don’t need to live and eat here every day.”
“It’s nothing,” Nie Yinbing said, taking another bite. “This is fine.”
Song Yuzhang understood his temperament.
Nie Yinbing didn’t care for comforts and had no real hobbies. He mostly just liked fighting bandits. The only new habit he’d picked up was sending telegrams—checking on Nie Qingyun and Nie Bonian. Even then, he didn’t send many. Nie Bonian’s illness wasn’t something that could be cured in a day or two; asking every day would be pointless.
Seeing him like a lone wolf—ragged and solitary—Song Yuzhang felt a complicated ache in his heart. He turned and sat down beside him. “I haven’t eaten either. I’ll just have a couple of bites here.”
As Song Yuzhang reached for a bowl, his wrist was pressed down.
“You won’t be used to it.”
“If you can eat it, why can’t I?”
Nie Yinbing lowered his head, his palm still pressing on Song Yuzhang’s hand. After a long moment, he set down his large sea bowl. “Go back and eat.”
Song Yuzhang wanted to argue a bit more, to make Nie Yinbing completely give up this habit of disregarding himself. But then he thought that everyone had their own disposition—why insist on changing someone else?
He withdrew his hand. “Forget it. I won’t eat. You stay here. I’m going back.”
Song Yuzhang stood up; Nie Yinbing stood as well.
“No need to see me off,” Song Yuzhang said. After taking a few steps and hearing footsteps following him closely, he turned back. An inexplicable anger welled up in his chest. “If you’re going to listen, then listen all the way.”
Having vented this oblique irritation, he immediately felt he shouldn’t have. Lowering his head, he said more gently, “Don’t see me off. It’s not like I don’t know the way.”
Nie Yinbing stood where he was, watching Song Yuzhang’s figure recede into the distance. His eyes were filled with Song Yuzhang—from large to small—until there was nothing else left in his sight.
And in Song Yuzhang’s eyes—what was he like?
Nie Yinbing returned inside. The food in the sea bowl had gone cold, unappealing and tasteless. He knew it himself—it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate things; he simply didn’t care. He lived in this world not for good food or fine comforts, nor for any enjoyment at all. Such things were too insignificant to stir even a ripple in him.
What truly mattered to him, however, was something he could not touch.
Nie Yinbing numbly lifted the large bowl, stared at the chaotic mess inside, then set it down and strode out.
The driver had only just started the car. It was dark at night, and the ground here was littered with rocks; being able to drive without jolting was a skill in itself. Slow and steady did the job, so he wasn’t driving fast. Suddenly, he glanced in the rearview mirror and seemed to see someone. Focusing his eyes, he realized the person appeared to be chasing the car.
“Fifth Young Master…”
Song Yuzhang had his eyes closed, resting. At the driver’s reminder, he turned his head to look back. In the darkness he could only make out a silhouette, but he recognized at once that it was probably Nie Yinbing. He immediately told the driver to stop.
After the car stopped, it took only two or three minutes for Nie Yinbing to catch up.
Song Yuzhang pushed open the door. Nie Yinbing ran up, stopping in front of him, breathing slightly hard.
“What’s wrong?” Song Yuzhang asked.
Nie Yinbing simply stared at him. Sensing something in that gaze, Song Yuzhang raised his voice. “Old Li, get out and go smoke for a bit.”
The driver was perceptive. He immediately got out of the car, wrapped his thin spring jacket around himself, and darted off into the night.
Before the driver’s figure had fully disappeared, Song Yuzhang was already pulled into Nie Yinbing’s arms. His back pressed against the car door; Nie Yinbing was like a wall, like a mountain—solid and towering—trapping him there.
The embrace was unbearably tight. Song Yuzhang was no fragile pretty boy, yet in Nie Yinbing’s arms he felt a suffocating urgency.
The night wind stirred softly. Song Yuzhang’s cheek rested lightly against Nie Yinbing’s shoulder, his dark hair brushing messily across his brow. He inhaled gently; his nose filled with Nie Yinbing’s scent—earth and gravel, utterly uninviting.
Song Yuzhang lightly patted Nie Yinbing’s waist. That single pat made Nie Yinbing tremble.
Nie Yinbing turned his face and stared at him again. The night was too dark; Song Yuzhang’s pupils seemed to merge with the darkness, yet within them there was starlight—brilliant, soft. Nie Yinbing thought that at this moment, Song Yuzhang must be pitying him.
The two of them, if there was nothing pressing, could go ten days or half a month without seeing each other once, without exchanging a single word.
Song Yuzhang would not seek him out; he would not seek out Song Yuzhang either.
Even when they met, they could hardly manage a few sentences.
He would not speak. Song Yuzhang did not want to speak.
Nie Yinbing loosened his arms. A man usually so decisive made this simplest of actions slow and dragging. His arms gradually relaxed from around Song Yuzhang’s waist; between his skin and Song Yuzhang’s coat, there seemed to be a pull, and the separation was forced, carrying a faint pain.
Song Yuzhang stood there unmoved, his expression almost cold and unfeeling.
Nie Yinbing loved him—there was no doubt about that. If Song Yuzhang gave even the slightest response, that tiny spark would instantly become a raging wildfire.
But Song Yuzhang could not respond, did not want to respond, and was unwilling to respond.
He believed that Nie Yinbing would love him, love him with unwavering devotion, obey him in everything. He would be unable to stop himself from squandering Nie Yinbing’s love, turning Nie Yinbing completely into a dog at his side.
That would be too pitiful for Nie Yinbing.
Reason occupied most of Song Yuzhang’s mind. He did not want to ruin a fine man like Nie Yinbing for an entire lifetime just because of a moment of loneliness.
A light breeze passed between them. Song Yuzhang said, “I’m going.”
Nie Yinbing looked at him as if controlled by some invisible force. His hands lost their strength; the spark that had flared up for an instant wavered and was extinguished by Song Yuzhang’s calm.
“Old Li—”
“Yes—”
The driver seemed to materialize out of the wilderness and ran back. The car started up. As the vehicle jolted slightly, Song Yuzhang asked the driver, “Is he still chasing?”
The driver flicked his eyes casually. “No, no—he stopped.”
Song Yuzhang gave a quiet “Mm,” closed his eyes peacefully.
Nie Yinbing was straightforward to a fault. When such a person couldn’t figure something out, he became especially stubborn—but when he did figure it out, it often happened in an instant.
Song Yuzhang would wait for him to figure it out on his own.
He threw himself wholeheartedly into the construction of the arm factory. After some time passed like this, he quietly celebrated his own birthday.
In truth, he rarely celebrated birthdays.
As a con man, everything about him had to be half-hidden, half-revealed—never fully transparent.
He wouldn’t even disclose his real name, much less his date and time of birth.
What if someone took his birth data and used it for some ritual against him?
That day, Song Yuzhang behaved completely normally. He went to work and got off work as usual. Passing by a cake shop, he casually bought a small cake.
Just a single slice—one eighth of a large cake, a pointed triangular piece. But it was sweet and fragrant. Cradling the chestnut cake, Song Yuzhang took a deep breath and felt his mood lift.
At dinner, he told the kitchen to prepare noodles. Late-night noodles were often made anyway; of course, no one knew this was the longevity noodles he had prepared for himself.
After finishing the noodles, he still had plenty of room left, so he ate the chestnut cake as well. With his appetite good, he poured himself drinks and drank alone. Just as he was enjoying himself, Liu Chuanzong arrived.
Liu Chuanzong rarely came to the Song residence; his visit today was unusual.
Song Yuzhang was slightly tipsy, and since it was his birthday, he took the wine bottle and went out to greet him.
“Old Liu…” Song Yuzhang, shirt slightly disheveled, walked toward the steps with a smile. “Come, come in and drink with me.”
Liu Chuanzong looked solemn, his hands held to his sides. In a respectful, low voice he said, “Meng Tingjing is back.”
Song Yuzhang was momentarily at a loss. He didn’t pay much attention to Meng Tingjing’s whereabouts—Meng Tingjing was constantly going out to sea; even if he wanted to care, he couldn’t keep up. Not understanding Liu Chuanzong’s meaning, he simply gave an “Mm,” the sound drawn out, tinged with confusion.
But Liu Chuanzong looked tense, far from relaxed. “He went to Nancheng. It’s said he brought back an order from the higher-ups and wants to join the arm factory.”
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