Song Yuzhang: Chapter 158 - Ship
Chapter 158: Ship
After the troops of the Twenty-Third Division waited a long time for the squad to return and heard nothing, they sent men out to check the situation. Those men soon came back to report the horrific scene outside the city.
The Twenty-Third Division had always been local tyrants in Guantu, lords who ruled like emperors. That anyone would dare to offend them was unthinkable. The division’s men were furious, yet there was nowhere to vent that anger: the scene looked like mutual annihilation, and every member of the bandit gang was dead.
The only truly innocent party was the chairman of the Haizhou Chamber of Commerce, who had merely paid for an escort.
The Twenty-Third Division did not feel much guilt. They had lost several brothers themselves.
They brought back the corpse—barely recognizable as what it once had been—and calmly sent a telegram to Haizhou. The gist of it was simple: the man is dead; come collect the body at once.
“Boss—Boss—”
Meng Tingjing was prying open crates on the dock to inspect the goods when he heard the frantic shouting and turned around.
The man came running, waving a slip of paper in the sea wind.
Meng Tingjing let go of the crate and said coldly, “What are you panicking for?”
Boss. The man stopped, his legs weak. Bracing himself, he handed over the telegram. “A telegram… came in.”
“So fast.”
Meng Tingjing took it as he spoke. A softness had already risen unconsciously on his face. Song Yuzhang had landed in Guantu yesterday and sent word that he was safe. By now, he should have reached Shankang and boarded a ship.
The man kept his head down, not daring to look at Meng Tingjing’s reaction. He swallowed nervously. After an unknown stretch of time, he suddenly heard a ripping sound. He cautiously raised his head. Shreds of the telegram fluttered from between Meng Tingjing’s fingers. He couldn’t help saying, “Boss…”
Meng Tingjing lifted a hand slightly. There was not the faintest expression on his face.
“Prepare the car. We’re going to the airport.”
The voice was so cold that the man froze for two seconds before snapping back to himself. “Yes. I’ll go at once.”
The car arrived immediately. Meng Tingjing gathered his robe and got in. There was no ripple in his heart at all. To him, that telegram was a joke. He did not believe a single punctuation mark of what was written on it.
“Boss, there’s no flight to Guantu today…”
Meng Tingjing stood where he was for a moment, then went inside to borrow a telephone.
“Director Liao, yes, it’s me. Could I borrow a military plane. Yes, right now. Yes, it’s urgent. Nothing much, just business… Director Liao, it truly is urgent. Please… help me.”
Meng Tingjing took a deep breath. Waves of dizziness surged through his mind. He said in a low voice, “It really is urgent.”
“Urgent or not, there’s truly nothing I can do,” Liao Tiandong’s helpless voice came through the receiver. “There really isn’t one available. A military plane isn’t something I can decide on my own.”
“Director Liao, I hear you’ve just acquired a small residence in the South City. If you’re lacking anything, I can help furnish it.”
There was a long silence on the other end. After quite a while, Liao Tiandong said slowly, “Boss Meng is thoughtful. Please wait a moment.”
Liao Tiandong hung up. His face twisted with anger as he slammed his fist on the desk. Bastard. He’d actually investigated him.
A plane was arranged quickly. After boarding, Meng Tingjing said to the attendant, shielding his head from the wind, “Go notify Eldest Sister. Have her take charge of the matters at the docks for now.”
“Yes—Boss. Please… don’t be too grieved—”
Meng Tingjing pulled the cabin door shut and turned to the pilot. “Trouble you. Fly faster.”
—
Song Yuzhang woke amid pain that felt close to suffocation. The moment he opened his eyes, he met Fu Mian’s clear, affectionate phoenix eyes again.
Fu Mian moved the hand that had been pressed hard over Song Yuzhang’s mouth and nose and said gently, “You were sleeping so soundly.”
Song Yuzhang gulped in air. Each breath made his lungs itch, an itch that nearly drove him mad. He coughed violently for a long time before it finally eased, little by little.
Fu Mian stroked his chest and patted him lightly. “What’s going on. Tuberculosis?”
Song Yuzhang coughed until tears glimmered in his eyes. His whole face was flushed red, burning hot. He said slowly, “Yes. Tuberculosis.”
Fu Mian chuckled. “Tuberculosis ought to be kept locked up.”
Song Yuzhang smiled as well. “That makes sense.”
Fu Mian let the smile fade, lowered his head, and took a deep breath.
Song Yuzhang had not properly washed for days, yet there was not the slightest unpleasant odor on him. There was only the scent of skin—not perfume, but something that made one feel at ease, a soothing freshness that seeped straight into the heart. A figure like this was one in ten thousand. Fu Mian slipped his hand beneath the black robe and caressed his smooth skin, saying casually, “You’re really hot.”
“My chest hurts. I can’t catch my breath.”
“Is that so?” The hand moved upward. Fu Mian pressed on his chest. “It is beating a bit fast.”
Song Yuzhang’s face was pale with a hint of pink. “I was injured there before.”
Fu Mian pushed his hand over and gripped that muscle into a tight mass, smiling. “Want me to stop the car and take you to a hospital to have a look?”
Song Yuzhang looked at him and felt a chill in that smile.
“Why not keep talking?” Fu Mian leaned closer, smiling very gently at him. “Little cripple. Still trying to fool me.”
“I—”
Song Yuzhang let out a muffled groan. His chest felt twisted so hard it was almost being torn off.
“Trying to stall for time, waiting for someone to come save you? Or hoping to find a chance to slip away at the hospital?”
Fu Mian studied the long brows drawn tight in pain, his breath warm as he spoke. “Come. I’ll show you a way out.” His voice softened. “Just lie to me one more time. Wouldn’t that do?”
Song Yuzhang’s lips moved. “I didn’t think that far.”
Fu Mian said magnanimously, “It doesn’t matter. From now on, only your thoughts are free. So think whatever you like.”
Song Yuzhang said nothing more and slowly closed his eyes.
The situation was even more troublesome than he had imagined. This Fu Mian was a completely different person from the Fu Mian in his memory, inside and out.
The fever and the injury in his leg tormented him together. Song Yuzhang forced himself not to focus on the pain. He had to think—and think calmly.
Fu Mian hated him, but he had not killed him. As long as he was alive, there was still a chance.
Song Yuzhang laughed bitterly to himself. Fu Mian was right. If he wanted to get away, he could only return to his old trade and deceive Fu Mian one more time.
So-called deception was in fact a game between two sides: hide one’s own chips, probe the other’s limits. As long as one knew what the other wanted and seized upon their weakness and desire, taking the bait was only a matter of time.
What did Fu Mian want now?
Song Yuzhang thought about it for a moment, then let out another bitter smile in his heart.
What Fu Mian wanted was probably exactly what he himself was suffering now.
Pain and torment.
—
The plane landed.
Meng Tingjing got off the aircraft, his back and arms burning with pain. People from the Twenty-Third Division were already waiting at the airport, and Meng Tingjing got into their car.
“Ah, this whole thing is a mess. It’s been peaceful around here for ages—who would’ve thought bandits would dare block the road again?”
“These damn bandits, if they wanted money then take the money, but killing people and setting fires too—damn it! But don’t worry, our soldiers fought bravely and died together with those bandits. That counts as avenging your chairman. He can rest in peace in the afterlife!”
Meng Tingjing listened without a word, then slowly turned his head.
The man from the Twenty-Third Division saw that his eyes were bloodshot, veins webbing the whites. His lips smacked together, and he sullenly shut up.
The body was kept in an unused warehouse belonging to the Twenty-Third Division.
The weather was stifling, and after only two days, the stench of decay had already spread inside. Just standing at the doorway, the reek rushing at you was enough to make one instinctively step back.
“We’ve already dealt with our own people. Inside, it’s all your people. Go in and take a look yourself.”
Meng Tingjing stood there for several minutes. Suddenly, he could neither smell nor hear anything. Only his feet, acting on instinct, shifted one step forward.
Inside, several charred corpses lay on the ground. In the middle, one was covered with a white cloth, glaringly conspicuous.
Meng Tingjing stared straight at it. He didn’t even know how he walked over, as though he were drifting, until he reached the body.
He stood there, looking down at the long white cloth.
The figure was about his height. The cloth covered it tightly, revealing only the tip of a leather shoe.
Meng Tingjing closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression hardened. He dropped to one knee, fingers clawing into the cloth. Then, suddenly, he realized his arm had lost all strength. The cloth was cheap—thin and light—and the contours of the face beneath were already faintly visible.
His back teeth clenched hard. His fingers trembled as he lifted a corner of the cloth. A patch of dark, congealed blood came into view. Meng Tingjing drew in a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the dull pain in his chest, and with a sudden jerk of his arm, he ripped the entire cloth away.
The corpse was burned black and utterly unrecognizable. A dark bullet hole gaped in the forehead. It was impossible to tell what the person had looked like originally—only that the cheeks were somewhat narrow, the nose high and straight, the eyes deep-set. The outline bore a resemblance to Song Yuzhang.
But a powerful sense of rejection surged up from Meng Tingjing’s chest. In his heart, a voice insisted: ‘No. This isn’t him. This isn’t Song Yuzhang.’
Strength suddenly flooded back into his arm. He reached out and tore open the tattered, burned clothing, his fingers rapidly searching over the corpse’s shoulder—then he touched a raised scar.
His fingers recoiled as if pricked by needles. Meng Tingjing fixed his gaze on that half-familiar face, the voice in his heart growing ever more forceful and stubborn: ‘No. It’s not him. No—’
His fingers went back again.
It was a gunshot wound.
Darkness swam before Meng Tingjing’s eyes. The knee on the ground felt solid and painfully real. No—this wasn’t Song Yuzhang. Song Yuzhang wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. It was impossible…
Suddenly, Meng Tingjing erupted in fury. He sprang to his feet, yanked a gun from his waist, and fired two shots into the corpse with two loud bangs.
The soldiers outside, startled by the noise, thought something had happened and hurried into the reeking warehouse—only to see Meng Tingjing stride out with the gun in hand, his face icy as he said, “That’s not him.”
The soldier said, bewildered, “How could it not be?”
“When we got there, the body wasn’t burned this badly. That was him. Look at that high nose bridge—no mistake. It’s your chairman’s remains. Even the clothes—”
Meng Tingjing swung his arm, smashing the gun butt hard into the soldier’s head. The soldier cried out and fell. Meng Tingjing turned back, his expression terrifying, enunciating each word: “Don’t curse him.”
—
Song Yuzhang had a black hood pulled over his head. In the darkness, he felt himself being lifted out of the car in Fu Mian’s arms.
Sunlight seeped faintly through the seams of the cloth. Song Yuzhang coughed and asked, “Where are you taking me?”
Fu Mian laughed cheerfully. “Guess.”
Song Yuzhang’s heart pounded as he swayed slightly in Fu Mian’s embrace. He said softly, “Ye City?”
Fu Mian laughed again. “You think I’d take some made-up place you tossed out casually and keep it that close to heart? Zhu Qing, think carefully. Don’t treat me like a fool.”
Song Yuzhang was silent for a moment, then said, “Anjin?”
“No.”
“East City.”
“Still no.”
Fu Mian carried him lightly onto a boat. In the rocking motion, Song Yuzhang was suddenly thrown down, landing in a prickly softness. The black hood was removed. After adjusting a little to the light outside and blinking a few times, Song Yuzhang realized he was lying in a pile of straw, surrounded by tightly nailed wooden boards—it looked like a ship’s hold.
“You can take your time guessing,” Fu Mian said, holding the hood and brushing bits of straw from Song Yuzhang’s hair. “In the past, I was always guessing what you were thinking. It’s your turn now.”
“The journey’s long. Afraid you’d get bored, I specially found someone to keep you company.”
Fu Mian clapped his hands.
Someone outside dragged a person in.
The man wore a white robe, now soaked with blood and torn to shreds. He was tossed down beside Song Yuzhang, not even a groan escaping him.
Song Yuzhang stared fixedly at that deathly pale face, a suffocating pressure swelling in his chest.
“This one’s bones aren’t very hard,” Fu Mian bent down, grabbing Song Yuzhang by the hair and pulling his face close to the unconscious man. “I only tormented him for a few days, and he confessed everything. Zhu Qing, just look at your taste—truly a matched pair of trash.”
Song Yuzhang only stared at Xiao Fengxian, unable to say a word.
Fu Mian lifted his face, speaking gently. “I was afraid you’d lose your appetite, so I even left him a presentable face. Am I not very considerate?” He lowered his head and kissed Song Yuzhang at the temple. “Zhu Qing, tonight I want to see how you do him. Can you manage?” Song Yuzhang slowly turned his head to look at Fu Mian.
“If you can’t, I’ll arrange someone else,” Fu Mian said softly. “You just need to watch. It won’t tire you out.”
Song Yuzhang remained silent for a long time, only staring at Fu Mian.
Under his gaze, Fu Mian burst out laughing, released him, straightened up, and called out loudly, “Set sail—”
After the troops of the Twenty-Third Division waited a long time for the squad to return and heard nothing, they sent men out to check the situation. Those men soon came back to report the horrific scene outside the city.
The Twenty-Third Division had always been local tyrants in Guantu, lords who ruled like emperors. That anyone would dare to offend them was unthinkable. The division’s men were furious, yet there was nowhere to vent that anger: the scene looked like mutual annihilation, and every member of the bandit gang was dead.
The only truly innocent party was the chairman of the Haizhou Chamber of Commerce, who had merely paid for an escort.
The Twenty-Third Division did not feel much guilt. They had lost several brothers themselves.
They brought back the corpse—barely recognizable as what it once had been—and calmly sent a telegram to Haizhou. The gist of it was simple: the man is dead; come collect the body at once.
“Boss—Boss—”
Meng Tingjing was prying open crates on the dock to inspect the goods when he heard the frantic shouting and turned around.
The man came running, waving a slip of paper in the sea wind.
Meng Tingjing let go of the crate and said coldly, “What are you panicking for?”
Boss. The man stopped, his legs weak. Bracing himself, he handed over the telegram. “A telegram… came in.”
“So fast.”
Meng Tingjing took it as he spoke. A softness had already risen unconsciously on his face. Song Yuzhang had landed in Guantu yesterday and sent word that he was safe. By now, he should have reached Shankang and boarded a ship.
The man kept his head down, not daring to look at Meng Tingjing’s reaction. He swallowed nervously. After an unknown stretch of time, he suddenly heard a ripping sound. He cautiously raised his head. Shreds of the telegram fluttered from between Meng Tingjing’s fingers. He couldn’t help saying, “Boss…”
Meng Tingjing lifted a hand slightly. There was not the faintest expression on his face.
“Prepare the car. We’re going to the airport.”
The voice was so cold that the man froze for two seconds before snapping back to himself. “Yes. I’ll go at once.”
The car arrived immediately. Meng Tingjing gathered his robe and got in. There was no ripple in his heart at all. To him, that telegram was a joke. He did not believe a single punctuation mark of what was written on it.
“Boss, there’s no flight to Guantu today…”
Meng Tingjing stood where he was for a moment, then went inside to borrow a telephone.
“Director Liao, yes, it’s me. Could I borrow a military plane. Yes, right now. Yes, it’s urgent. Nothing much, just business… Director Liao, it truly is urgent. Please… help me.”
Meng Tingjing took a deep breath. Waves of dizziness surged through his mind. He said in a low voice, “It really is urgent.”
“Urgent or not, there’s truly nothing I can do,” Liao Tiandong’s helpless voice came through the receiver. “There really isn’t one available. A military plane isn’t something I can decide on my own.”
“Director Liao, I hear you’ve just acquired a small residence in the South City. If you’re lacking anything, I can help furnish it.”
There was a long silence on the other end. After quite a while, Liao Tiandong said slowly, “Boss Meng is thoughtful. Please wait a moment.”
Liao Tiandong hung up. His face twisted with anger as he slammed his fist on the desk. Bastard. He’d actually investigated him.
A plane was arranged quickly. After boarding, Meng Tingjing said to the attendant, shielding his head from the wind, “Go notify Eldest Sister. Have her take charge of the matters at the docks for now.”
“Yes—Boss. Please… don’t be too grieved—”
Meng Tingjing pulled the cabin door shut and turned to the pilot. “Trouble you. Fly faster.”
—
Song Yuzhang woke amid pain that felt close to suffocation. The moment he opened his eyes, he met Fu Mian’s clear, affectionate phoenix eyes again.
Fu Mian moved the hand that had been pressed hard over Song Yuzhang’s mouth and nose and said gently, “You were sleeping so soundly.”
Song Yuzhang gulped in air. Each breath made his lungs itch, an itch that nearly drove him mad. He coughed violently for a long time before it finally eased, little by little.
Fu Mian stroked his chest and patted him lightly. “What’s going on. Tuberculosis?”
Song Yuzhang coughed until tears glimmered in his eyes. His whole face was flushed red, burning hot. He said slowly, “Yes. Tuberculosis.”
Fu Mian chuckled. “Tuberculosis ought to be kept locked up.”
Song Yuzhang smiled as well. “That makes sense.”
Fu Mian let the smile fade, lowered his head, and took a deep breath.
Song Yuzhang had not properly washed for days, yet there was not the slightest unpleasant odor on him. There was only the scent of skin—not perfume, but something that made one feel at ease, a soothing freshness that seeped straight into the heart. A figure like this was one in ten thousand. Fu Mian slipped his hand beneath the black robe and caressed his smooth skin, saying casually, “You’re really hot.”
“My chest hurts. I can’t catch my breath.”
“Is that so?” The hand moved upward. Fu Mian pressed on his chest. “It is beating a bit fast.”
Song Yuzhang’s face was pale with a hint of pink. “I was injured there before.”
Fu Mian pushed his hand over and gripped that muscle into a tight mass, smiling. “Want me to stop the car and take you to a hospital to have a look?”
Song Yuzhang looked at him and felt a chill in that smile.
“Why not keep talking?” Fu Mian leaned closer, smiling very gently at him. “Little cripple. Still trying to fool me.”
“I—”
Song Yuzhang let out a muffled groan. His chest felt twisted so hard it was almost being torn off.
“Trying to stall for time, waiting for someone to come save you? Or hoping to find a chance to slip away at the hospital?”
Fu Mian studied the long brows drawn tight in pain, his breath warm as he spoke. “Come. I’ll show you a way out.” His voice softened. “Just lie to me one more time. Wouldn’t that do?”
Song Yuzhang’s lips moved. “I didn’t think that far.”
Fu Mian said magnanimously, “It doesn’t matter. From now on, only your thoughts are free. So think whatever you like.”
Song Yuzhang said nothing more and slowly closed his eyes.
The situation was even more troublesome than he had imagined. This Fu Mian was a completely different person from the Fu Mian in his memory, inside and out.
The fever and the injury in his leg tormented him together. Song Yuzhang forced himself not to focus on the pain. He had to think—and think calmly.
Fu Mian hated him, but he had not killed him. As long as he was alive, there was still a chance.
Song Yuzhang laughed bitterly to himself. Fu Mian was right. If he wanted to get away, he could only return to his old trade and deceive Fu Mian one more time.
So-called deception was in fact a game between two sides: hide one’s own chips, probe the other’s limits. As long as one knew what the other wanted and seized upon their weakness and desire, taking the bait was only a matter of time.
What did Fu Mian want now?
Song Yuzhang thought about it for a moment, then let out another bitter smile in his heart.
What Fu Mian wanted was probably exactly what he himself was suffering now.
Pain and torment.
—
The plane landed.
Meng Tingjing got off the aircraft, his back and arms burning with pain. People from the Twenty-Third Division were already waiting at the airport, and Meng Tingjing got into their car.
“Ah, this whole thing is a mess. It’s been peaceful around here for ages—who would’ve thought bandits would dare block the road again?”
“These damn bandits, if they wanted money then take the money, but killing people and setting fires too—damn it! But don’t worry, our soldiers fought bravely and died together with those bandits. That counts as avenging your chairman. He can rest in peace in the afterlife!”
Meng Tingjing listened without a word, then slowly turned his head.
The man from the Twenty-Third Division saw that his eyes were bloodshot, veins webbing the whites. His lips smacked together, and he sullenly shut up.
The body was kept in an unused warehouse belonging to the Twenty-Third Division.
The weather was stifling, and after only two days, the stench of decay had already spread inside. Just standing at the doorway, the reek rushing at you was enough to make one instinctively step back.
“We’ve already dealt with our own people. Inside, it’s all your people. Go in and take a look yourself.”
Meng Tingjing stood there for several minutes. Suddenly, he could neither smell nor hear anything. Only his feet, acting on instinct, shifted one step forward.
Inside, several charred corpses lay on the ground. In the middle, one was covered with a white cloth, glaringly conspicuous.
Meng Tingjing stared straight at it. He didn’t even know how he walked over, as though he were drifting, until he reached the body.
He stood there, looking down at the long white cloth.
The figure was about his height. The cloth covered it tightly, revealing only the tip of a leather shoe.
Meng Tingjing closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression hardened. He dropped to one knee, fingers clawing into the cloth. Then, suddenly, he realized his arm had lost all strength. The cloth was cheap—thin and light—and the contours of the face beneath were already faintly visible.
His back teeth clenched hard. His fingers trembled as he lifted a corner of the cloth. A patch of dark, congealed blood came into view. Meng Tingjing drew in a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the dull pain in his chest, and with a sudden jerk of his arm, he ripped the entire cloth away.
The corpse was burned black and utterly unrecognizable. A dark bullet hole gaped in the forehead. It was impossible to tell what the person had looked like originally—only that the cheeks were somewhat narrow, the nose high and straight, the eyes deep-set. The outline bore a resemblance to Song Yuzhang.
But a powerful sense of rejection surged up from Meng Tingjing’s chest. In his heart, a voice insisted: ‘No. This isn’t him. This isn’t Song Yuzhang.’
Strength suddenly flooded back into his arm. He reached out and tore open the tattered, burned clothing, his fingers rapidly searching over the corpse’s shoulder—then he touched a raised scar.
His fingers recoiled as if pricked by needles. Meng Tingjing fixed his gaze on that half-familiar face, the voice in his heart growing ever more forceful and stubborn: ‘No. It’s not him. No—’
His fingers went back again.
It was a gunshot wound.
Darkness swam before Meng Tingjing’s eyes. The knee on the ground felt solid and painfully real. No—this wasn’t Song Yuzhang. Song Yuzhang wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. It was impossible…
Suddenly, Meng Tingjing erupted in fury. He sprang to his feet, yanked a gun from his waist, and fired two shots into the corpse with two loud bangs.
The soldiers outside, startled by the noise, thought something had happened and hurried into the reeking warehouse—only to see Meng Tingjing stride out with the gun in hand, his face icy as he said, “That’s not him.”
The soldier said, bewildered, “How could it not be?”
“When we got there, the body wasn’t burned this badly. That was him. Look at that high nose bridge—no mistake. It’s your chairman’s remains. Even the clothes—”
Meng Tingjing swung his arm, smashing the gun butt hard into the soldier’s head. The soldier cried out and fell. Meng Tingjing turned back, his expression terrifying, enunciating each word: “Don’t curse him.”
—
Song Yuzhang had a black hood pulled over his head. In the darkness, he felt himself being lifted out of the car in Fu Mian’s arms.
Sunlight seeped faintly through the seams of the cloth. Song Yuzhang coughed and asked, “Where are you taking me?”
Fu Mian laughed cheerfully. “Guess.”
Song Yuzhang’s heart pounded as he swayed slightly in Fu Mian’s embrace. He said softly, “Ye City?”
Fu Mian laughed again. “You think I’d take some made-up place you tossed out casually and keep it that close to heart? Zhu Qing, think carefully. Don’t treat me like a fool.”
Song Yuzhang was silent for a moment, then said, “Anjin?”
“No.”
“East City.”
“Still no.”
Fu Mian carried him lightly onto a boat. In the rocking motion, Song Yuzhang was suddenly thrown down, landing in a prickly softness. The black hood was removed. After adjusting a little to the light outside and blinking a few times, Song Yuzhang realized he was lying in a pile of straw, surrounded by tightly nailed wooden boards—it looked like a ship’s hold.
“You can take your time guessing,” Fu Mian said, holding the hood and brushing bits of straw from Song Yuzhang’s hair. “In the past, I was always guessing what you were thinking. It’s your turn now.”
“The journey’s long. Afraid you’d get bored, I specially found someone to keep you company.”
Fu Mian clapped his hands.
Someone outside dragged a person in.
The man wore a white robe, now soaked with blood and torn to shreds. He was tossed down beside Song Yuzhang, not even a groan escaping him.
Song Yuzhang stared fixedly at that deathly pale face, a suffocating pressure swelling in his chest.
“This one’s bones aren’t very hard,” Fu Mian bent down, grabbing Song Yuzhang by the hair and pulling his face close to the unconscious man. “I only tormented him for a few days, and he confessed everything. Zhu Qing, just look at your taste—truly a matched pair of trash.”
Song Yuzhang only stared at Xiao Fengxian, unable to say a word.
Fu Mian lifted his face, speaking gently. “I was afraid you’d lose your appetite, so I even left him a presentable face. Am I not very considerate?” He lowered his head and kissed Song Yuzhang at the temple. “Zhu Qing, tonight I want to see how you do him. Can you manage?” Song Yuzhang slowly turned his head to look at Fu Mian.
“If you can’t, I’ll arrange someone else,” Fu Mian said softly. “You just need to watch. It won’t tire you out.”
Song Yuzhang remained silent for a long time, only staring at Fu Mian.
Under his gaze, Fu Mian burst out laughing, released him, straightened up, and called out loudly, “Set sail—”
----------
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