Song Yuzhang: Chapter 151 - Collapse
Chapter 151: Collapse
Song Yuzhang regained consciousness in a suffocating warmth. The ringing in his ears was deafening; his entire mind was filled with an elongated, piercing noise. He was conscious now, yet had no idea what had happened.
Gradually, he began to feel his body. His hands and feet seemed pinned down by something, unable to move. As for his torso—it was rigid. Suddenly, Song Yuzhang wanted to take a breath. Breathing was normally the most natural thing in the world, yet once he became aware of it and tried to breathe deliberately, it was nothing short of a peculiar form of torture.
He drew in a deep breath. From his throat to his chest, it hurt as though it were being torn open, enough to draw blood. The moment the thought of blood surfaced, his sense of smell returned as well—his nostrils filled with an overpowering stench of blood and gunpowder.
Then Song Yuzhang remembered.
There had been an explosion.
The thought flashed through his mind, oddly without stirring any great emotion.
He exhaled again. The breath mixed with blood; it hurt, but was still bearable. After repeating this a few times, Song Yuzhang noticed something else that felt wrong.
Silence.
Aside from the sound of his own breathing, there was nothing else.
His heart tightened. He tried to move his hands and feet, but his whole body was pressed tight from above and below, like the filling in a sandwich. Apart from breathing, he couldn’t even turn his head.
He wanted to see what was going on—and only then realized that he hadn’t opened his eyes yet.
His eyelashes felt sticky and painful. Song Yuzhang forced himself to control his eyelids, which seemed glued together, and with even greater effort than breathing, finally managed to open his eyes.
When he did, it was still pitch-black—too complete a darkness, without the faintest trace of light.
He stared blankly into the darkness, half-awake, half-asleep, most of his awareness drifting. At that moment, he finally heard a sound. It seemed like water—drip, drip—very light, very slow.
He tried again to struggle and move his limbs, but suddenly something struck his eye.
A thick, warm liquid splashed onto his eyelashes and, heavy with weight, dripped down onto his eyeball. Song Yuzhang blinked instinctively; the irritation made tears well up as his body tried to flush the foreign substance out.
With the blinking, his breathing grew a little more rapid. He didn’t know how much time passed before the stinging in his eyes eased somewhat and his mind grew clearer again.
That wasn’t the sound of water. Someone was bleeding… and the soft, oppressive mass pressing around him was human bodies.
Song Yuzhang took a forceful breath. Though he still couldn’t see anything, it felt as if he could see everything. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing himself to push the horrific images out of his mind.
Gradually, his hands and feet began to feel like his own again. He was fully awake now. He strained to move them, but still couldn’t—he was pinned too tightly. At least he could be sure his limbs were intact; he could still feel them.
He breathed lightly. The dripping “water” above continued to fall onto his face, his neck slick and sticky. All around him was warmth and a choking smell of blood. He couldn’t tell whether the people around him were alive or dead. The ringing in his ears was still intense.
The explosion seemed to have happened behind him. He couldn’t remember how it occurred—only a tremendous bang, a scalding blast wave that flung him away, the thunderous roar rolling on and on…
He struggled again. His arm still wouldn’t move, but his fingers could now twitch stiffly. He didn’t give up, mustering his will again and again, his fingertips scraping aimlessly. He didn’t know how long it took before his arm finally shifted slightly to the side.
The longer his consciousness remained, the more keenly he perceived his situation. His eyes saw nothing, but his body could feel it.
It was incredibly, unbearably cramped here, without the slightest gap. This couldn’t go on—he would suffocate, buried among these bodies whose life or death he couldn’t even tell.
With immense difficulty, Song Yuzhang inched himself along. At the same time, he realized that he likely hadn’t suffered any major injuries: his hands and feet were intact. His whole body hurt, and there was a bloody taste deep in his lungs, but he couldn’t feel any specific wound.
He didn’t know whether this was just an illusion, but he chose to believe the more hopeful possibility.
Song Yuzhang was no stranger to bombs.
When he had fled with Chun Xing, they had encountered an air raid. Bombs fell from the sky without cease, explosions rising and falling in waves. He had dragged Chun Xing into a cave and, by sheer luck, avoided the bombing—probably because the barren mountain wasn’t worth a strike. In truth, that cave was fragile; any single bomb would have been enough to blow both master and servant to pieces.
After that brush with death, Song Yuzhang hadn’t felt it was particularly perilous. He had survived—so his luck was good. There was nothing to fear.
He hadn’t died then. He could survive now, too.
A tremendous surge of strength burst from within him. That strength only managed to move him a tiny bit farther outward, and to draw from him a faint, almost imperceptible groan.
Perhaps his will to live had reached some extreme point, because suddenly Song Yuzhang felt immensely strong. He heaved his shoulders upward with all his might—He still didn’t move an inch.
Sometime after waking—he didn’t know how long—fatigue set in, and at the same time his awareness grew even clearer: The building had collapsed.
The Chamber of Commerce building had five stories. It wasn’t particularly tall, but it wasn’t short either. The explosion hadn’t taken his life, but whether the collapse of five stories would was another matter.
He sat in a daze for a moment, then once again summoned all his strength to struggle. As he did, he realized that almost all those surrounding him were already dead. Some of them weren’t even whole bodies, but severed, mangled torsos.
A shiver ran through Song Yuzhang. Pain stabbed his chest, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.
The blood was both rank and sweet, and in his dazed state it gave rise to a terrifying thought: perhaps he was gravely injured after all—he just couldn’t feel it yet.
The Chamber of Commerce building had collapsed into a towering heap of rubble. The police had cordoned off the area, forbidding entry. Outside, cries and wails rang out without end. When Nie Yinbing arrived, his status as deputy chairman allowed him through. Accustomed to mine explosions, he directed the rescue with practiced efficiency, his expression almost unnervingly calm. His composure spread to the others; they forced down their fear and worked nonstop, heads down, without speaking.
It was more than three hours after the explosion before word reached Meng Sushan. She nearly fainted on the spot. Supported by Wan Lan, her face deathly pale, she stretched out a hand and said in a thread of breath, “Go—tell all the dockworkers to drop what they’re doing and come with me.”
Meng Sushan led several hundred workers to the Chamber of Commerce. By then, many family members and curious onlookers had gathered at the entrance, blocked outside by the police. With hundreds of workers arriving in force, chaos briefly erupted at the gate. A police officer in charge shouted loudly, “Everyone, stay calm! It’s very dangerous inside—we’ve already sent people in to carry out rescue operations—”
Meng Sushan strode forward, raised her jade-like hand, and slapped the lead officer across the face on the spot.
“My younger brother is inside,” she said, her face ashen, her teeth trembling slightly, her voice soft yet resolute. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll go storm the police station right now.”
The officer was stunned—slapped senseless by such a slender woman. Just as he was about to speak, the Meng family guards in the front ranks stepped forward and surrounded Meng Sushan. All of them wore short jackets, and guns were plainly visible at their waists.
The officer naturally knew Meng Tingjing’s standing in Haizhou. Gritting his teeth, he could only say, “It’s still very dangerous inside. There could be another explosion at any moment.”
“None of your business,” Meng Sushan snapped, whipping her head around. The agate earrings on her earlobes lightly brushed her cheek. She turned to her family guards and the workers, shouting, “Come with me! Get inside and rescue him!”
When the Meng family members rushed in, Nie Yinbing barely registered it. Only when they all piled onto the rubble did he react, swinging his hand to the lower left. “Clear all the wooden beams in that area!”
Meng Sushan lifted her cheongsam to move more freely and called out, “Follow the orders of Second Master Nie!”
The debris left by the explosion was still nearly a full story high. Dozens of people climbed up and carried the rubble, looking insignificant against the vast wreckage. Meng Sushan’s eyes filled with uncontrollable tears as she surveyed the horrific scene before her. She steadied herself on her knees and suddenly let out a piercing scream.
“Tingjing—”
Meng Tingjing opened his eyes. The moment he did, a sharp, burning pain shot through his right arm, as if it had been set aflame.
Immediately, he remembered what had happened.
The explosion. An incredibly violent one, coming from more than one direction. Bright white light flashed before his eyes, and a wave of heat hit him from behind.
Meng Tingjing groaned involuntarily; every inch of his body ached.
But he was alive.
The thought of being alive flashed through his mind, leaving a momentary blankness.
“Song…”
As soon as he spoke, the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. The explosion had likely shaken his lungs. Meng Tingjing ignored it and tried desperately to move his limbs. He found himself pinned down tightly. Something blocked the area above his head and face, leaving just enough space to move slightly. Though everything was pitch black, he felt something near his face—a severed hand.
Damn it.
He cursed silently, twisting his face with difficulty.
Who had planted the bomb? What was their goal? To kill all the major merchants of Haizhou during their meeting?
A son of a bitch.
Meng Tingjing forced a few breaths through his aching throat, then summoned all his strength to shout.
“Song Yuzhang—”
When the explosion occurred, Song Yuzhang hadn’t been far from him. Even if they had been thrown apart, their positions shouldn’t have been far off.
Meng Tingjing thought of nothing else and shouted again.
“Song Yuzhang—”
He didn’t realize that his loud shout was only a faint groan.
The ringing in his ears was deafening. Not receiving a response, Meng Tingjing relied on instinct, struggling toward where he believed Song Yuzhang might be.
Progress was painfully slow. The weight of bodies pressed down on him, and many obstacles blocked his path. Meng Tingjing called out “Song Yuzhang” repeatedly. Between each move, he thought he heard faint breathing below. He shouted a few more times, and finally, a vague response came from beneath.
Overjoyed, Meng Tingjing frantically crawled downward. His back burned from scraping against something—possibly cut by bloodied rubble. He didn’t know how long he moved, but when his hands finally touched the source of the sound, he realized with disappointment that it wasn’t Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang’s fingers weren’t so short and stubby.
Meng Tingjing abandoned that false hope and continued crawling through the sea of severed limbs and bodies.
The flesh was soft yet foul-smelling, and for some reason, unyieldingly firm. Every small movement felt like scraping himself along a narrow wall, peeling away a layer of skin.
“Song Yuzhang…”
He dared not think of Song Yuzhang’s life or death. Though blind in the darkness, he felt Song Yuzhang was just ahead, not far. A little farther… just a bit more… he could find him.
Such a desperate effort quickly exhausted Meng Tingjing. His back grew numb with pain, and he couldn’t touch it with his hands.
Instinct told him he was bleeding.
Blood wasn’t the worst—there were no major vessels exposed. He couldn’t die from this.
Gritting his teeth, he inched forward, calling out Song Yuzhang’s name. Suddenly, his fingers brushed something hard and angular—like stone. Another brush, and he felt human skin—smooth and sticky.
Meng Tingjing froze for a moment, then gripped the flesh like a madman. It was a hand.
His arm couldn’t bend, but he clenched it with all his strength, teeth gritted. “Song Yuzhang, speak!”
“I know it’s you—stop playing dead!
“Song Yuzhang!”
“Song Yuzhang!”
A wave of despair swept through him, yet his chest burned as if something was about to burst.
A faint groan suppressed the surge in his chest.
Meng Tingjing gripped the hand tightly. “Song Yuzhang, are you okay?”
The groan softened, then a faint voice whispered, “I’m fine.”
Meng Tingjing exhaled, still coughing up a bit of blood.
Song Yuzhang regained consciousness again. His head was dizzy, though the pain in his body had lessened. More importantly, he felt the faint but firm grip on his hand.
Meng Tingjing.
Yes—Meng Tingjing was here in the hall, right beside him.
“Tingjing…” Song Yuzhang whispered.
“I’m fine too.”
Came Meng Tingjing’s soft but resolute reply, firm and unwavering.
Song Yuzhang didn’t know why, but the corner of his eye warmed. He replied with a small “Mm,” unsure of what else to say.
“Speak.”
Meng Tingjing urged, gripping his hand tighter.
“What… should I say…”
Song Yuzhang’s mind was lucid; his speech flowed easily. Meng Tingjing’s racing heart slowly began to calm, and the stabbing pain in his back became tolerable.
“Don’t be afraid,” Meng Tingjing said. “Help is coming soon.”
Though their hands were clasped, their heads were still some distance apart. Song Yuzhang could barely hear him, unsure if it was Meng Tingjing’s voice or the lingering ringing in his ears. He mumbled an “Mm,” which Meng Tingjing didn’t hear. Frustrated, Meng Tingjing gripped his hand harder.
This time, Song Yuzhang responded: “…It hurts.”
Meng Tingjing’s fingers traced his hand, discovering a wound. Pain shot through his heart as he realized they were both in a life-or-death situation.
“Pain is a good thing,” Meng Tingjing reminded him. “Don’t sleep.”
Fatigue meant excessive blood loss. If either fell asleep, they might never wake.
After the dizziness passed, Song Yuzhang clearly understood this.
He couldn’t sleep. If he did, he might not wake again.
“I won’t sleep,” Song Yuzhang said, forcing his voice stronger, squeezing Meng Tingjing’s hand. His chest rose and fell slowly. “You don’t sleep either.”
Meng Tingjing smiled faintly, unsure how he could still smile at a moment like this. “If you don’t sleep, how could I dare?”
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