Song Yuzhang: Chapter 148 - A Full Action Sequence Returns
Chapter 148: A Full Action Sequence Returns
The anger boiling in Meng Tingjing’s gut was practically burning up into his chest. “Do you think I’m short of just one arm factory, is that it?”
Song Yuzhang wiped the smile from his face. He tipped his head back and took another swig of liquor. When he lowered his head again, there was no trace of a smile left. “Short of just one arm factory?”
“Bang—”
The bottle smashed onto the steps, liquor and shards of glass scattering everywhere.
Song Yuzhang grabbed Meng Tingjing by the collar with both hands and shoved him hard. “Bastard—do you have any idea how much trouble it took me to set all this up? ‘Just one armfactory’? Get the hell out of here—!”
Meng Tingjing staggered back a few steps and steadied himself. “If an arm factory were really that great, why didn’t anyone in Haizhou build one when Shen City did? The Nie family only sells ore, and even then, there are explosions every few days. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to run an arm factory?!”
“Dangerous or not, I’ll bear it myself. Since when is it your place to meddle?”
Meng Tingjing’s chest heaved, his face flushed hot. He held it in again and again, but in the end he couldn’t. “Song Yuzhang, you said you wanted to live. I want you to live. Is that wrong too? Is everything I do wrong in your eyes?”
The alcohol had gone to Song Yuzhang’s head; his breathing grew slightly ragged. “Then tell me—why do you insist on being an eyesore to me? I’ve already pointed out a clear road for you. Don’t worry about me. Get lost—”
“You ungrateful thing!”
“Damn dog sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!”
“Fine. If that’s how it is, then just treat it as me competing with you. If you’ve got the ability, kick me out of the arm factory!”
“Yes, Meng Tingjing, that’s more like it. Why bother putting on an act? Don’t say it’s for my own good—I don’t want to hear it. I’m sick of it!”
Meng Tingjing’s eyes reddened. “You’re drunk. I’m not talking to you. We’ll talk when you’re sober.”
He turned to leave, but Song Yuzhang stepped forward and grabbed his collar again. Smelling the alcohol on him, Meng Tingjing warned himself over and over not to argue with a drunk—but Song Yuzhang’s eyes were unnaturally bright. “There are some things I can’t say unless I’m drunk,” Song Yuzhang said. “Meng Tingjing, there’s no possibility of us starting over. Give it up. Stop clinging to me!”
He stared straight into Meng Tingjing’s eyes. Those eyes were usually pitch-black and gleaming, sharp and clear, filled with unmatched pride. Now they were dark shot with red, just as sharp, but trembling violently. Song Yuzhang’s wrist was seized. Meng Tingjing’s palm was scorching, damp with sweat. His words were forced out through clenched teeth. “If you’re drunk, go to sleep. Don’t make a scene.”
Song Yuzhang laughed and nodded. “Very good. Even a bad-tempered bastard like you knows how to play the good guy in front of me now.”
He swung his fist and punched Meng Tingjing in the face.
Color instantly bloomed on Meng Tingjing’s pale cheek. He stared at Song Yuzhang in disbelief.
Song Yuzhang smiled. “Hit me back. If you don’t, you’re something I keep.”
Meng Tingjing’s gaze flickered, his anger clearly surging. “Song Yuzhang, you’d better stop while you can!”
Song Yuzhang didn’t waste words. He swung again. Meng Tingjing raised an arm to block it. “Throwing a drunken fit like this—let’s see how you face me when you sober up tomorrow!”
“You think I want to talk to you? Get lost—”
Song Yuzhang shoved him hard again.
Meng Tingjing steadied himself, but Song Yuzhang kept advancing, pushing him step by step. As he retreated, Meng Tingjing glanced at the shimmering lake behind him, then fixed his gaze on Song Yuzhang. He neither fought back nor stopped, letting himself be pushed all the way to the water’s edge.
The cold breath of the lake rose behind him like mist. Gritting his teeth, Meng Tingjing said, “Push me. If you’ve got the guts, then push—”
Before he finished speaking, Song Yuzhang heaved him straight into the lake.
A huge splash broke the calm surface. Meng Tingjing had grown up by the docks and was an excellent swimmer. Once in the water, anger and urgency surged together. Through the dark, clear water, he saw Song Yuzhang’s figure on the shore swaying with the ripples. A resolute thought suddenly took hold of him. He held his breath and remained motionless underwater.
Though spring had begun, the lake was still icy. Water splashed over Song Yuzhang’s head and face. He shivered, the alcohol receding slightly, and stared at the lake as the ripples spread and slowly subsided. His mind went blank for a few seconds.
Those few seconds nearly drove the submerged Meng Tingjing to despair.
So Song Yuzhang really hated him this much—so much that even watching him die right in front of him would leave him unmoved…
Yes, he had his faults. If he examined himself carefully, he seemed to be wrong everywhere. But did he truly have nothing good about him at all? Was his love really so worthless to Song Yuzhang? He didn’t want to see Song Yuzhang sink deeper and deeper; he had even given up trying to persuade him, willing instead to accompany him—did none of that have even the slightest value in Song Yuzhang’s eyes?
Song Yuzhang said he knew he loved him.
Did he really know?
Meng Tingjing clenched his teeth. His head and face ached from holding his breath; his eyes burned and reddened, as though heat were surging out—when suddenly, the shadow on the water’s surface wavered.
Song Yuzhang jumped in.
The breath trapped in Meng Tingjing’s chest instantly burst free.
Water rushed into his mouth and nose. Through the water, Meng Tingjing watched Song Yuzhang swim toward him, and suddenly thought, Have I ever actually told him that I love him?
Song Yuzhang grabbed his hand. Then, slightly startled, he was pulled into a tight embrace. He thought Meng Tingjing was drowning—but Meng Tingjing was floating steadily in the water.
“You’re not hurt?” Song Yuzhang gasped.
Meng Tingjing’s heart was pounding wildly. He didn’t say a word. He turned his head and forcefully kissed Song Yuzhang on the lips.
Song Yuzhang tried to push him away, but the man who looked like he was drowning was far stronger underwater than on land. His tongue was pried loose and seized.
Song Yuzhang bit down. The tongue stirring wildly in his mouth retreated for an instant; the taste of blood spread, followed immediately by a fiercer advance.
A heavy rush of breath crashed over him. Song Yuzhang tilted his head back slightly, forced to endure the near-mad kiss—then, unwilling to yield, kissed him back just as fiercely.
In the icy lake, the two of them kissed like they were fighting.
Their noses pressed together, hot breaths spilling over each other’s faces. Meng Tingjing’s face was drenched, his arms locked tightly around Song Yuzhang’s waist. “Song Yuzhang,” he said, “I love you. I love you. No matter what, I will love you.”
Song Yuzhang stood in silence, his shirt soaked and clinging coldly to his body. His thoughts were in disarray; he remained motionless in the water for a moment before Meng Tingjing suddenly pulled him into a firm embrace and powerfully hauled him up onto the shore.
Both of them, dripping wet, crawled onto the grass. Meng Tingjing’s stone-blue long robe had darkened to a deep indigo. Supporting Song Yuzhang, he helped him to his feet and guided him into the house, grabbing a blanket from the sofa and wrapping it around him. Then he called out on his own initiative, “Someone—”
The Song residence servants appeared like ghosts. Meng Tingjing ordered, “Go boil a bowl of ginger soup for your Fifth Young Master.”
The servant acknowledged and left. Meng Tingjing supported Song Yuzhang upstairs. After only a few steps, Song Yuzhang seemed to come back to his senses.
“Leave.”
“I’ll take you upstairs, then I’ll go.”
“No need. I can walk on my own.”
Meng Tingjing ignored him and kept moving forward with an arm around him.
“Can’t you understand human speech?” Song Yuzhang said.
“Say whatever you like.”
The icy lake water had sobered Song Yuzhang up somewhat. He truly didn’t have the energy to argue or fight with Meng Tingjing again, so he simply quickened his pace, intending to send him away once they reached the room.
Once inside, Meng Tingjing pushed him toward the bathroom again. Song Yuzhang restrained himself from lashing out. Inside the bathroom, he said, “Can you leave now?”
Meng Tingjing turned and left.
As the sound of footsteps faded, the tension in Song Yuzhang’s hands finally eased. The blanket slipped to the floor. Soaked through, Song Yuzhang sat on the edge of the bathtub. His lips and tongue were still numb and aching. He touched his lips with his fingers and thought, What a mess. Drinking really causes trouble.
Before long, footsteps came back. Song Yuzhang looked up to see Meng Tingjing—soaked from head to toe, looking like a handsome water ghost—carrying a bowl of ginger soup.
“What are you spacing out for? Drinking and getting chilled—are you not afraid of dying?”
“Aren’t you gone?” Song Yuzhang asked.
“I left,” Meng Tingjing said as he walked up to him. “I never said I wouldn’t come back.”
“Take off your clothes. I’ll run the bath. Soak in hot water while you drink the ginger soup.”
He set the bowl aside and rolled up his sleeves to turn on the water.
“I have servants here. I don’t need you. Leave now—I don’t want to see you.”
Hot water rushed noisily from the tap. Meng Tingjing turned his head. “If you hadn’t jumped in just now, wouldn’t you really never have to see me again?”
“You think I didn’t know you could swim?”
“Then since you knew, why did you jump?”
Song Yuzhang shot him a baffled glance. He really was cold. As he took off his shirt, he said, “I didn’t want to carry a murder charge.”
The moment his shirt came off, Meng Tingjing hugged him again from behind. Song Yuzhang raised an elbow, about to strike back, when a blue velvet box appeared in front of him.
“Good thing I kept it on me. Otherwise, it definitely would’ve sunk to the bottom.”
With one hand, Meng Tingjing opened the box. Inside was a stunningly vivid piece of jadeite, its color astonishingly pure, still gleaming brilliantly even under the dim bathroom light.
“Happy birthday,” Meng Tingjing said softly near his ear. “Don’t set it into a tabletop again. This thing is fragile.”
With a snap, Song Yuzhang shut the box and turned toward him warily. “How did you know today—”
“There’s a cake box downstairs.”
Song Yuzhang tossed the velvet box back to him, then efficiently stripped off his trousers and stepped into the bathtub.
The warm water made him shiver slightly. He sank down until the water covered his shoulders.
Meng Tingjing sat down by the tub, holding the velvet box.
For a while, neither spoke. Then Meng Tingjing suddenly sighed.
“Just now, I really thought you wanted me dead.”
Song Yuzhang turned his head. Water was still dripping from Meng Tingjing’s hair, his whole face wet, with faint bluish bruises on half of it. Song Yuzhang said calmly, “I don’t have a hobby of killing people.”
“Aren’t you an assassin?”
Song Yuzhang flicked his hand, splashing water onto Meng Tingjing’s face.
Meng Tingjing smiled faintly. “When you jumped in, I was really happy.”
“Nonsense,” Song Yuzhang said. “I pushed you in—of course I had to jump in and save you. It’d be the same no matter who it was!”
“That’s good,” Meng Tingjing replied. “You still haven’t made me your enemy.”
Song Yuzhang fell silent again. Then he suddenly said, “If I hadn’t jumped in, would you really have suffocated yourself?”
“I’m not that stupid.”
Song Yuzhang’s breath caught. He nearly wanted to splash him again.
Meng Tingjing turned to look at him. “I won’t die—especially not for you. Don’t worry.”
Song Yuzhang slowly turned his head away, presenting the back of his head. “Leave already. We’ll talk about the arm factory tomorrow.”
“The arm factory can wait until tomorrow. But your birthday—I have to stay with you until it’s over.”
“With you here, I won’t have a good birthday.”
Meng Tingjing stood up, fetched the ginger soup, and brought it back. “Spending your birthday alone doesn’t feel good. Since you haven’t made me your enemy, then treat me as if… we’re still back then,” he said, scooping up a spoonful and bringing it to Song Yuzhang’s lips. “Have a sip?”
“You don’t need to do this,” Song Yuzhang said, turning his head. “Give it to me. I’ll drink it myself.”
Meng Tingjing handed him the bowl. Song Yuzhang took it and drank the ginger soup in large, decisive gulps.
Meng Tingjing took the bowl back. His wet hand reached into the tub and grasped Song Yuzhang’s dangling hand.
Song Yuzhang didn’t move. After a moment, he shook Meng Tingjing’s hand off. “Go wash up and change in the guest room. Don’t catch a cold and pin it on me.”
Meng Tingjing wasn’t cold at all. That bit of warmth he’d grasped from Song Yuzhang in the water would be enough to keep him warm—no matter how much cold he faced afterward.
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