Song Yuzhang: Chapter 154 - Frontline
Chapter 154: Frontline
The investigation into the bombing dragged on for nearly a month, the leads hopelessly tangled. Haizhou had been peaceful for far too long—especially places like the Chamber of Commerce, where harmony meant profit. Who would have imagined that someone would plant explosives there? The range of victims was also far too broad. Tracing the case through the relationships of each household led to a maze of connections, impossible to sort through. In the business world, there were simply too many enemies.
Such a major bombing, with the casualties all prominent figures in Haizhou’s commercial circles, left the public in panic and put enormous pressure on those above. With no other option, the police rounded up a batch of local thugs, tortured confessions out of them, and shot them on the spot.
And just like that, the case was closed in a muddled, perfunctory way. As for who still wanted revenge or justice—none of that was their concern, nor did they wish it to be.
“I knew those useless fools were only good at taking bribes. They can’t do a damn thing right—bunch of trash!”
Meng Tingjing sat on the hospital bed, gnashing his teeth as he spoke.
To be fair, he truly lived up to Song Yuzhang’s assessment that his life was hard to take. His recovery was remarkably fast. Song Yuzhang had watched him go from pale and sickly to now sitting upright on the bed, tearing into his subordinates with ferocious energy.
Seeing Meng Tingjing so full of vigor was, in itself, a great comfort.
In front of Song Yuzhang, Meng Tingjing didn’t really lose his temper—he impatiently told the others to get out.
Once they were gone, he immediately put on a gentler expression and turned back to Song Yuzhang. “You finished the pigeon soup pretty cleanly today. Want it again tomorrow?”
Song Yuzhang’s body was in good shape, and his recovery was going well. He pressed a hand to his abdomen. His injury was to his lungs, which were healing—touching them hurt, but not touching them was uncomfortable too—so he’d developed the habit of resting a hand on his stomach. In Meng Tingjing’s eyes, it looked very much like someone craving food. He couldn’t help but smile. Seeing him smile for no reason, Song Yuzhang said, “No. Too much of it gets greasy.”
Meng Tingjing let out an “oh,” thinking he was craving it but too embarrassed to say so. Quite adorable, really.
Recovering from injuries was hardly a pleasant affair, yet Meng Tingjing was genuinely happy. During this time, he and Song Yuzhang were together day and night, eating and living side by side, often alone, talking—and rarely arguing. To Meng Tingjing, physical pain was hardly worth mentioning. He didn’t care about bodily damage; as long as his heart was at peace, everything was fine.
Watching Song Yuzhang regain his glow day by day right under his eyes filled him with deep satisfaction.
The only blemish was not knowing who had struck. The police couldn’t find anything, and the Meng family’s own investigation was just as tangled.
There had been three explosive charges planted in the hall. The podium had the most and suffered the worst blast—and the only people who went up there were him and Song Yuzhang.
Meng Tingjing knew he had plenty of enemies, but someone with the nerve to pull something like this? For the moment, no one came to mind.
The source of the explosives was another mystery. There were plenty of illicit channels to obtain them, and although the Meng family had cast a wide net, nothing had turned up yet.
As for Song Yuzhang’s enemies… after much thought, Meng Tingjing realized that the person who had opposed Song Yuzhang most fiercely in Haizhou seemed to be himself.
Song Yuzhang’s way of doing things was very different from his; he rarely offended people.
Setting aside personal grudges, if he and Song Yuzhang had died, Haizhou’s commercial market would have descended into chaos. Following that line of thinking only made the culprit even harder to pin down.
Song Yuzhang, on the other hand, was quite calm about it. He didn’t want to die, but he was never afraid of death. Still, having suffered once, he knew better—no matter where he went in the future, he would need to be extra careful.
At present, there was something more urgent than hunting down the culprit.
When the Song family’s servants came in, Meng Tingjing didn’t notice anything unusual. Only when they began helping Song Yuzhang change clothes did he react. “You’re leaving?”
Song Yuzhang gave a soft “Mm.” “There’s no need for me to stay in the hospital any longer with this injury. I asked the doctor—I can go home to recuperate. As long as everything’s properly fixed and I don’t move around too much, it’s fine.”
Meng Tingjing said anxiously, “What’s wrong with the hospital? You… you’re tired of me?”
Song Yuzhang gestured with his eyes. The servant buttoning his shirt immediately withdrew his hands. Song Yuzhang got out of bed; his shirt fluttered loosely, revealing the bandages beneath and his pale skin.
Meng Tingjing still couldn’t move well, both hands immobilized, his right hand still in a cast. His eyes held neither anger nor annoyance. Standing before his bed, Song Yuzhang bent down slightly—in front of the servants—and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m not tired of you. I just want to get out early to deal with the Chamber of Commerce matters. You be good and recuperate. I’ll come see you whenever I have time.”
Meng Tingjing’s face went from red to white, then from white to red—an impressive spectacle of color.
The Song family servants were worldly people; they weren’t surprised in the least.
Song Yuzhang turned away, and the servants stepped forward again to button his shirt.
With his uninjured hand hanging by the bedside, Song Yuzhang slipped it under the blanket and rested it on Meng Tingjing’s thigh. “The Chamber of Commerce is in complete chaos, and so many people died. You and I are both laid up in the hospital, and Yinbing isn’t exactly someone who can mediate things. My injuries aren’t serious, so I won’t hide here playing it safe. Yours are serious—rest properly. Don’t lose your temper and make Sister Sushan worry.”
Meng Tingjing felt his thigh being gently stroked; he lost what little temper he had left. “Your injuries may not be as bad as mine, but bones are still bones.”
“I know. I’ll work half a day and rest half a day,” Song Yuzhang said, turning his head to smile at him. “And when I rest, I’ll come see you.”
Meng Tingjing very much wanted to squeeze Song Yuzhang’s hand, but both of his were injured. “Then rest when you rest. You don’t have to come see me.”
Song Yuzhang smiled at him, gentle yet teasing. “So obedient?”
Sometimes, Meng Tingjing truly couldn’t handle Song Yuzhang. Once he recovered even a bit of energy, everything he said was either infuriating or flirtatious. Trying to wring a serious sentence out of him was only possible at critical moments.
But if those critical moments were always matters of life and death, then Meng Tingjing would rather have him this carefree. He knew exactly what kind of person Song Yuzhang was—loving him meant loving this very tone of his. Still, Meng Tingjing had no intention of simply taking it lying down. Seizing the moment, he pressed his thighs together, trapping Song Yuzhang’s hand.
Song Yuzhang raised an eyebrow. Meng Tingjing raised one back.
Song Yuzhang couldn’t help laughing. Leaning in close to his ear, he said softly, “You’ve broken so many bones—behave yourself. Once you’ve healed, we’ll talk properly.”
“Talk about what?”
Meng Tingjing lowered his voice as well.
Song Yuzhang’s hand slid away. “Reliving old dreams.” He pinched Meng Tingjing’s handsome face. “I’m really going now. Be good and wait for me to come back.”
Meng Tingjing kept smiling long after Song Yuzhang left, savoring the words “reliving old dreams.” They sounded half like a joke, half like something sincere. Either way, it was a good sign.
Turning Song Yuzhang’s farewell gesture over in his mind again and again, Meng Tingjing suddenly realized—Song Yuzhang had touched him first… then pinched his face.
Meng Tingjing’s expression darkened slightly. He wasn’t sure whether he ought to wash his face.
Haizhou’s commercial market was in utter chaos. And where there was chaos, there were always those who sought profit—making the mess even worse.
At present, besides his own forces, Song Yuzhang could also mobilize the Nie and Meng families to some extent. The Meng family’s case was temporary—Meng Sushan was in charge, and she cooperated closely with Song Yuzhang. Watching from the sidelines, Song Yuzhang couldn’t help feeling that her attitude toward him carried a bit of affection-by-association.
With such formidable power at his disposal, everything Song Yuzhang did went smoothly.
All those killed in the bombing were important figures in the commercial market. When a father died, the son took his place; when an elder brother fell, the younger stepped up. In short, someone had to move up and fill the vacancy.
As for those who took advantage of the chaos to line their pockets—if they couldn’t be dealt with openly, then subtler, harsher methods were used.
Dragging along a body that had not yet fully recovered, Song Yuzhang forcefully straightened out and reversed Haizhou’s turmoil in just ten short days.
Song Yuzhang had always projected an image of gentleness and refinement. Now, with his thunderous methods, many finally saw that when he turned ruthless, he was no less formidable than Meng Tingjing lying in the hospital.
He kept himself relentlessly busy, and the bit of weight he’d gained while recuperating in the hospital quickly fell away again. Meng Tingjing’s eyes seemed to have been tempered in fire—he could spot even the loss of an ounce or two on Song Yuzhang at a glance, and kept watching him eat more.
“Your chefs are really quite good.”
Song Yuzhang said, rubbing his stomach with a look of deep satisfaction.
Meng Tingjing came to himself as if from a dream. “Which head chef do you like? I’ll send him over to you.”
Song Yuzhang shot him an amused glance. “You’d really part with him?”
“It’s just a cook—what’s there to be reluctant about?”
In his heart, Meng Tingjing added, “I’m not the one craving.”
Song Yuzhang rubbed Meng Tingjing’s face with both hands. Meng Tingjing was practically immobile now, which made it all too easy for Song Yuzhang to toy with him. “Tingjing, don’t you think that after cheating death this time, you’ve become quite a bit cuter?”
Meng Tingjing didn’t even know how to respond and simply stayed silent.
Cute? What kind of description was that for him? If anything, watching Song Yuzhang keep him company at meals these days—now that was pretty cute.
As they were talking, someone came in from outside the ward. It was Nie Mao.
“Fifth Young Master, sorry to disturb you again.”
Song Yuzhang withdrew his hands and straightened up.
Nie Mao, the old steward, had never married or had children in his entire life. A household-born servant, he regarded the Nie children as his own. Nie Qingyun had taken Nie Bonian abroad for treatment; the reports were that things were going well, and surgery could be considered once Nie Bonian was a bit older. At home, there remained only the Second Master, who kept all his thoughts locked away in his heart. Nie Mao could only guess little by little, think little by little. He had no other wish—only that the Second Master might live safely and well.
Song Yuzhang walked into Nie Yinbing’s room. It was extremely neat, and by the doorway sat a small black leather case.
Song Yuzhang pressed a hand to his abdomen—his chest hurt.
Taking a few steps forward, he saw Nie Yinbing.
Familiar, yet at the same time utterly unfamiliar.
He wore a grass-green uniform, a brown military belt already fastened at his waist, a sidearm, and riding boots in place. Holding a cap in his hands, he was just about to put it on.
He looked every inch a military officer—young, spirited, and with limitless prospects ahead.
Nie Yinbing also saw Song Yuzhang. Calm and unsurprised, he said, “You’re here.”
For reasons unknown, Song Yuzhang felt an unusual calm settle over him. “Nie Mao said you’re going to the front line?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“There’s nothing here for me to do.”
“Nothing for you to do?”
Nie Yinbing gave a quiet “Mm,” repeating, “Nothing for me to do.”
Song Yuzhang strode forward in a few quick steps, pointing off to the side. “Then who’s in charge of the mines?”
Nie Yinbing said nothing. “And who’s running the arm factory?” Song Yuzhang pressed.
Still, Nie Yinbing remained silent.
“Say something!” Song Yuzhang said. “If you don’t make it clear today, you’re not going anywhere!”
Nie Yinbing gazed at Song Yuzhang, still without a word. Only a faint light shone in his eyes. In them, Song Yuzhang saw a silent question in return—You’re keeping me here just to have me do these things?
In truth, Song Yuzhang knew it very well. Nie Yinbing had no interest in any of this; he did it only because he had to. Fighting bandits was something he enjoyed, but even that was a compromise. He had been top of his class at the military academy—what he truly wanted to do, could it really be unclear?
Last time, when Nie Yinbing was going to escort the ore shipment, Song Yuzhang had stopped him. This time—should he stop him again? And with what? Or perhaps more importantly—should he even stop him at all?
Song Yuzhang turned his face away, avoiding Nie Yinbing’s gaze. “Where are you going?”
“Yeyang.”
“Yeyang?” Song Yuzhang turned back and pressed a hand to his abdomen again. “That place has already been fought to what state, and you’re going to Yeyang?”
Nie Yinbing answered tersely, “Zhang Changyuan has gone to Yeyang.”
Song Yuzhang paused slightly.
Nie Yinbing continued matter-of-factly, “Zhang Changshan sent me three telegrams. As long as I agree, I go over as division commander.”
“Division commander?” Song Yuzhang said. “What use is a division commander? If you die, what does it matter what kind of ‘commander’ you are! Even the Chairman would be useless!”
“The dead are useless. The living are useful.”
“You think you’ll definitely live?”
Nie Yinbing said indifferently, “I’m not afraid of death.” He stared at Song Yuzhang. “I’m afraid of living without meaning.”
Song Yuzhang found himself at a loss for words. He lowered his head slightly, countless thoughts flashing through his mind. Nie Yinbing had rarely come to see him lately—he’d had a vague premonition… or maybe not. He and Nie Yinbing had never met often to begin with. To trap Nie Yinbing in Haizhou like this, keeping him alive but bound at his side—was that truly for Nie Yinbing’s good, or for his own? Who could take responsibility for whose life? Who could give meaning to whose existence? Even if he forced Nie Yinbing to stay, what meaning would that have?
Slowly, Song Yuzhang’s thoughts calmed. He had already stopped Nie Yinbing once. He should not do it again.
He had his own road to walk, and Nie Yinbing had his.
“All right,” Song Yuzhang said. “Then go.”
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