Song Yuzhang: Chapter 160 - Ship’s Cabin
Chapter 160: Ship’s Cabin
The oil lamp cast a dim light that could not fully illuminate the pitch-black storeroom. Song Yuzhang lay on the soft pile of straw, feeling nothing at all inside. The cool silk slid from his body. He closed his eyes, his features gentle and calm—so serene that even if he were to die at that very moment, he could be rendered as a flawless portrait.
Fu Mian lifted his lower leg, pressing his palm against the wound on Song Yuzhang’s leg. He used great force, yet Song Yuzhang did not move, not even frowning.
“Open your eyes!”
The pressure increased, squeezing warm, fresh blood out through the thin gauze as if wringing out juice.
Song Yuzhang slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was light—one could not say it ignored others, only that it was utterly calm, without the slightest ripple.
Under that placid gaze, Fu Mian let his hand slide downward, all the way to Song Yuzhang’s knee. His palm slipped into the hollow behind the knee and suddenly folded Song Yuzhang almost double.
“Look at me.” Fu Mian bent down, staring into Song Yuzhang’s eyes, smiling as he spoke—cruelty hidden in the smile. “Watch carefully how I take you.”
Everything felt like an inverted, mistaken dream, an old reckoning coming due. Song Yuzhang kept his eyes open. Fu Mian’s affectionate phoenix eyes were cold as ice. They were clearly doing the most intimate thing between lovers, yet there was not the slightest trace of tenderness.
Inch by inch, slow as a merciless act of revenge.
Fu Mian’s face drew closer. Song Yuzhang breathed slowly, still obediently looking at him, though his eyes had begun to lose focus.
“Does it hurt?”
Warm breath brushed his ear; lips grazed it faintly.
Throbbing, as if alive, sinking into his world.
There was no sense of humiliation—Song Yuzhang only felt an overwhelming sorrow.
How had he and Fu Mian come to this? It all seemed to trace back to a single sentence Tang Jin had once said: “That young master of the Fu family just has good luck—arrogant and full of himself. He doesn’t know his place. If he ever inherits the Fu family, I’ll make them suffer a huge fall.”
After hearing that, Song Yuzhang had turned his face and smiled slightly toward where the young master was hiding in the woods.
The leaves in the forest trembled faintly. Song Yuzhang had thought idly: there was no need to wait for the future—he could make that pretty, adorable young master take a big fall right now.
Retribution. It was all retribution.
“…It hurts,” Song Yuzhang said softly.
A light laugh echoed in the dim storeroom. “I’ve heard that doing this, the one underneath will feel some pain,” Fu Mian said gently, slowly, easing him past the initial wave of pain. His tender voice filled Song Yuzhang’s ears. “I feel sorry for you, so I’d rather suffer myself.”
Song Yuzhang lightly closed his eyes.
“And you?”
Suddenly—A crack appeared in Song Yuzhang’s calm expression.
Seeing the change in his face, Fu Mian looked both hateful and vengeful. “Back then, were you secretly laughing to yourself, thinking how there could be such a stupid, such a cheap piece of trash in this world?”
Under the storm of motion, the straw rustled loudly. Chaff scraped against his skin, pricking and itching his back. Song Yuzhang wanted to reach for something to steady his violently swaying body, but all he grasped was straw—no support at all, sinking ever deeper.
Fu Mian suddenly scooped him up.
Song Yuzhang let out a low sound—half cough, half gasp—muffled in his throat. His mouth was seized hard.
Fu Mian held him without pause, his tongue pushing into Song Yuzhang’s mouth, carrying a faint, cool scent of alcohol.
Song Yuzhang groaned softly as his back slammed into the wooden wall of the storeroom. The boards were rough, full of splinters. He felt himself growing hotter and hotter, his consciousness drifting. In a haze of dizziness, his body shuddered and tightened, his head falling back against the boards as he slumped weakly to one side.
The storeroom was stifling; sweat covered his body. Song Yuzhang had completely lost his strength. He only vaguely sensed Fu Mian lowering him back to the ground. He heard Fu Mian, voice cold, telling him to open his eyes.
With effort, Song Yuzhang half-opened them. Swaying back and forth, he saw a high, straight nose, tightly pressed lips, and a sweat-dripping chin… He suddenly could not quite recognize the person before him. Was this Fu Mian? Was Fu Mian really like this?
“Tell me—how does it feel to be taken by a man?”
Song Yuzhang’s fingers dug into the cracks of the wooden boards. In a low voice, he said, “A-Mian…”
Fu Mian froze for an instant, then grabbed Song Yuzhang by the throat. “I’ll kill you! I will definitely kill you!”
Song Yuzhang seemed not to hear. His eyes were closed, his expression completely dazed.
He made no effort to dodge, nor did he have the strength. With his eyes lightly shut, his mind spun. Fu Mian’s voice drifted near and far, saying who knew what, and then Fu Mian grabbed his arm and pulled him up.
“Stop pretending you’re dead.”
Fu Mian gripped his arm tightly. “Turns out I really didn’t misjudge you at all—you’re a born piece of trash…”
Song Yuzhang made no sound. His head drooped, his burning face resting against Fu Mian’s neck. Fu Mian glanced sideways and realized Song Yuzhang’s eyes were tightly shut, his lips slightly parted—he had fainted on Fu Mian’s shoulder.
—
A rifle butt swung down, smashing a soldier’s head until blood poured. This was the Twenty-Third Division’s territory. Though low-ranking, the soldiers considered themselves half-masters here—how could they tolerate someone smashing their heads? They immediately rushed forward in fury, only to be beaten until they cried out, begging for mercy.
Meng Tingjing had no time to deal with them. He strode forward a few steps, then ran back.
The stench inside the warehouse was unbearable. Meng Tingjing examined the remaining corpses one by one, then noticed something was wrong.
All these bodies were of tall, sturdy adult men. Where was Liu Chu?
His heart pounded wildly. He went back to examine the corpse that resembled Song Yuzhang.
This time, his hands were much steadier, his mind clearer. He carefully felt over the charred body from top to bottom, then again from bottom to top.
Song Yuzhang’s body surfaced in his mind. Meng Tingjing grasped the charred hand and closed his eyes. In the darkness, memories of their tightly clasped hands flooded back… No—absolutely not…
Meng Tingjing flung the charred hand aside, frowning as he stared at the corpse.
The clothes on this body, inside and out—even the shoes and socks—were Song Yuzhang’s.
But he was not Song Yuzhang.
Four words flashed through Meng Tingjing’s mind: substitution by deceit.
—Someone had abducted Song Yuzhang.
A surge of wild joy intertwined with furious rage rushed up at once. Meng Tingjing sprang to his feet and ran out of the warehouse. Outside, a small unit of the Twenty-Third Division had already gathered.
It turned out the beaten soldier had gone to call for reinforcements.
Meng Tingjing said coldly, “Where did the incident happen? Take me there immediately!”
“First, tell us—what gives you the right to beat our men!”
Meng Tingjing snapped back sharply, “Cut the crap and stop trying to save face here. Go ask around about Commander Li of South City before you start shouting at me. Get a car ready right now, or don’t blame me if not only you—but even your Commander Sun—won’t be able to swallow the consequences!”
His attitude was so forceful that there was no room for rebuttal. The men of the Twenty-Third Division were momentarily stunned, but when they saw him striding toward them with a gun in hand, he fired a shot straight at the ground by the beaten soldier’s feet and barked coldly, “Get lost—”
Soldiers were still just soldiers—especially those who had lived too long in comfort and rarely seen the battlefield. Haizhou was a prosperous place, and Chairman Song had always been extraordinarily generous. After a moment’s hesitation, they abandoned their comrade and inexplicably became Meng Tingjing’s temporary subordinates.
“It was right around here,” one of the soldiers gestured after they arrived. “From the woods all the way to the main road over there. Looks like they rushed out of the forest to rob them, and then both sides got into a fight.”
Meng Tingjing said nothing more and plunged straight into the woods.
Bloodstains still lingered among the trees. He lifted the hem of his long coat and took a few steps, then found it cumbersome and simply rolled it up and tied it at his side. His gaze swept the forest like a hawk’s as he examined the traces, thinking as he went.
Bandits were after money—why fight to mutual ruin? And if they had taken someone, why hadn’t they demanded a ransom? Leaving behind a corpse so badly mangled it was unrecognizable—this was clearly aimed at Song Yuzhang!
Meng Tingjing’s gaze flicked rapidly across the scene. The joy of Song Yuzhang should still be alive grew weaker and weaker. After a few steps, as if struck by a sudden premonition, pain bloomed in his chest. He braced a hand against a nearby tree. All he saw were leaves—no sign of Song Yuzhang.
—
Song Yuzhang had been unconscious all night. When morning light came, he still hadn’t woken.
Fu Mian re-bandaged the wound on his leg, fetched warm water, crushed the anti-inflammatory and fever medicine into it, and fed it to Song Yuzhang spoon by spoon like one would a baby. Song Yuzhang swallowed reflexively, though his long brows knit slightly each time—an instinctive fear of bitterness.
Fu Mian held him and wiped the medicine from the corner of his mouth. “Afraid of bitter? Then wake up sooner.”
Three hours later, Song Yuzhang woke up—only briefly. He half-opened his eyes, murmured “A-Mian” indistinctly, and passed out again.
Fu Mian suspected he was pretending. He grabbed Song Yuzhang by the throat and forced him to speak, threatening to throw Xiao Fengxian overboard. When Song Yuzhang still didn’t respond, he released his grip, half believing, half doubting.
He had porridge made and fed Song Yuzhang a few careless mouthfuls, then more medicine. After repeating this over and over, Song Yuzhang finally woke fully at night.
“I thought I’d fucked you to death.”
Fu Mian twined a strand of hair from Song Yuzhang’s cheek around his finger and smiled. “Didn’t expect you to be this fragile.”
After waking, Song Yuzhang adopted a completely indifferent demeanor. A sickly flush still tinged his face; aside from coughing once in a while, he made no sound at all.
Fu Mian released the strand of hair, his hand slipping beneath the blanket.
Song Yuzhang lay in Fu Mian’s cabin, naked except for the blanket.
Fu Mian stroked him and suddenly said, “Tell me—do you think you’ll burn to death with fever before we even reach shore?”
Song Yuzhang said nothing, only stared at the oil lamp swaying in the distance.
“Don’t you dare die.”
Fu Mian lowered his head slightly and inhaled deeply at the hollow of his neck. When Song Yuzhang had been unconscious, Fu Mian had wiped him down to bring the fever down—it hadn’t helped at all, yet Song Yuzhang’s scent had only grown more pleasing.
“If you die, what about that actor? I don’t keep useless trash.”
“Let him go,” Song Yuzhang said quietly. “You can do whatever you want to me.”
Fu Mian chuckled. “But Zhu Qing, aren’t you already at my disposal?”
Song Yuzhang turned his face away, his expression still calm and detached. “A-Mian.”
Fu Mian smiled faintly. “You insist on going against me like this. I tell you not to call me, you insist on calling; when I want you to call, you refuse to make a sound. Looks like besides being cheap, you’re also stubborn as hell.”
“At that time, I truly thought you were despicable.”
The smile on Fu Mian’s face froze for a split second, then deepened. “Did you? But looking at you now, it seems you’re the one who’s far more despicable. I thought that would be your punishment—never imagined you’d enjoy it so much. You even passed out, yet you were still moving, biting down and refusing to let go…”
“You—this spoiled, willful rich second-generation brat who thinks so highly of himself—actually ran into my room in the middle of the night, begging me to fuck you…” Song Yuzhang said evenly. Fu Mian’s smile widened further. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed Song Yuzhang by the throat. Forced to tilt his head back, Song Yuzhang spoke through near-suffocating pain, “…it broke my heart.”
Fu Mian’s grip loosened at once.
Song Yuzhang coughed softly a couple of times, gazing at the swaying cabin ceiling above him. In a low voice, he said, “A-Mian, I love you—so I won’t have you.”
A long silence spread through the cabin. After a while, Fu Mian spoke softly, “You love me—so that’s why you won’t have me?”
“Yes.”
The hand left his neck. Fu Mian cupped Song Yuzhang’s face, their eyes meeting. Tender emotion flickered in his phoenix eyes. “Is it really because you love me?”
“Yes,” Song Yuzhang said slowly.
A soft expression appeared on Fu Mian’s face, a fierce light erupting in his eyes. He lowered his head, leaned close to Song Yuzhang’s ear, and whispered gently, “Zhu Qing—if you dare tell me that ki-d of bullshit one more time, I’ll dig up your whore mother’s grave.”
The oil lamp cast a dim light that could not fully illuminate the pitch-black storeroom. Song Yuzhang lay on the soft pile of straw, feeling nothing at all inside. The cool silk slid from his body. He closed his eyes, his features gentle and calm—so serene that even if he were to die at that very moment, he could be rendered as a flawless portrait.
Fu Mian lifted his lower leg, pressing his palm against the wound on Song Yuzhang’s leg. He used great force, yet Song Yuzhang did not move, not even frowning.
“Open your eyes!”
The pressure increased, squeezing warm, fresh blood out through the thin gauze as if wringing out juice.
Song Yuzhang slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was light—one could not say it ignored others, only that it was utterly calm, without the slightest ripple.
Under that placid gaze, Fu Mian let his hand slide downward, all the way to Song Yuzhang’s knee. His palm slipped into the hollow behind the knee and suddenly folded Song Yuzhang almost double.
“Look at me.” Fu Mian bent down, staring into Song Yuzhang’s eyes, smiling as he spoke—cruelty hidden in the smile. “Watch carefully how I take you.”
Everything felt like an inverted, mistaken dream, an old reckoning coming due. Song Yuzhang kept his eyes open. Fu Mian’s affectionate phoenix eyes were cold as ice. They were clearly doing the most intimate thing between lovers, yet there was not the slightest trace of tenderness.
Inch by inch, slow as a merciless act of revenge.
Fu Mian’s face drew closer. Song Yuzhang breathed slowly, still obediently looking at him, though his eyes had begun to lose focus.
“Does it hurt?”
Warm breath brushed his ear; lips grazed it faintly.
Throbbing, as if alive, sinking into his world.
There was no sense of humiliation—Song Yuzhang only felt an overwhelming sorrow.
How had he and Fu Mian come to this? It all seemed to trace back to a single sentence Tang Jin had once said: “That young master of the Fu family just has good luck—arrogant and full of himself. He doesn’t know his place. If he ever inherits the Fu family, I’ll make them suffer a huge fall.”
After hearing that, Song Yuzhang had turned his face and smiled slightly toward where the young master was hiding in the woods.
The leaves in the forest trembled faintly. Song Yuzhang had thought idly: there was no need to wait for the future—he could make that pretty, adorable young master take a big fall right now.
Retribution. It was all retribution.
“…It hurts,” Song Yuzhang said softly.
A light laugh echoed in the dim storeroom. “I’ve heard that doing this, the one underneath will feel some pain,” Fu Mian said gently, slowly, easing him past the initial wave of pain. His tender voice filled Song Yuzhang’s ears. “I feel sorry for you, so I’d rather suffer myself.”
Song Yuzhang lightly closed his eyes.
“And you?”
Suddenly—A crack appeared in Song Yuzhang’s calm expression.
Seeing the change in his face, Fu Mian looked both hateful and vengeful. “Back then, were you secretly laughing to yourself, thinking how there could be such a stupid, such a cheap piece of trash in this world?”
Under the storm of motion, the straw rustled loudly. Chaff scraped against his skin, pricking and itching his back. Song Yuzhang wanted to reach for something to steady his violently swaying body, but all he grasped was straw—no support at all, sinking ever deeper.
Fu Mian suddenly scooped him up.
Song Yuzhang let out a low sound—half cough, half gasp—muffled in his throat. His mouth was seized hard.
Fu Mian held him without pause, his tongue pushing into Song Yuzhang’s mouth, carrying a faint, cool scent of alcohol.
Song Yuzhang groaned softly as his back slammed into the wooden wall of the storeroom. The boards were rough, full of splinters. He felt himself growing hotter and hotter, his consciousness drifting. In a haze of dizziness, his body shuddered and tightened, his head falling back against the boards as he slumped weakly to one side.
The storeroom was stifling; sweat covered his body. Song Yuzhang had completely lost his strength. He only vaguely sensed Fu Mian lowering him back to the ground. He heard Fu Mian, voice cold, telling him to open his eyes.
With effort, Song Yuzhang half-opened them. Swaying back and forth, he saw a high, straight nose, tightly pressed lips, and a sweat-dripping chin… He suddenly could not quite recognize the person before him. Was this Fu Mian? Was Fu Mian really like this?
“Tell me—how does it feel to be taken by a man?”
Song Yuzhang’s fingers dug into the cracks of the wooden boards. In a low voice, he said, “A-Mian…”
Fu Mian froze for an instant, then grabbed Song Yuzhang by the throat. “I’ll kill you! I will definitely kill you!”
Song Yuzhang seemed not to hear. His eyes were closed, his expression completely dazed.
He made no effort to dodge, nor did he have the strength. With his eyes lightly shut, his mind spun. Fu Mian’s voice drifted near and far, saying who knew what, and then Fu Mian grabbed his arm and pulled him up.
“Stop pretending you’re dead.”
Fu Mian gripped his arm tightly. “Turns out I really didn’t misjudge you at all—you’re a born piece of trash…”
Song Yuzhang made no sound. His head drooped, his burning face resting against Fu Mian’s neck. Fu Mian glanced sideways and realized Song Yuzhang’s eyes were tightly shut, his lips slightly parted—he had fainted on Fu Mian’s shoulder.
—
A rifle butt swung down, smashing a soldier’s head until blood poured. This was the Twenty-Third Division’s territory. Though low-ranking, the soldiers considered themselves half-masters here—how could they tolerate someone smashing their heads? They immediately rushed forward in fury, only to be beaten until they cried out, begging for mercy.
Meng Tingjing had no time to deal with them. He strode forward a few steps, then ran back.
The stench inside the warehouse was unbearable. Meng Tingjing examined the remaining corpses one by one, then noticed something was wrong.
All these bodies were of tall, sturdy adult men. Where was Liu Chu?
His heart pounded wildly. He went back to examine the corpse that resembled Song Yuzhang.
This time, his hands were much steadier, his mind clearer. He carefully felt over the charred body from top to bottom, then again from bottom to top.
Song Yuzhang’s body surfaced in his mind. Meng Tingjing grasped the charred hand and closed his eyes. In the darkness, memories of their tightly clasped hands flooded back… No—absolutely not…
Meng Tingjing flung the charred hand aside, frowning as he stared at the corpse.
The clothes on this body, inside and out—even the shoes and socks—were Song Yuzhang’s.
But he was not Song Yuzhang.
Four words flashed through Meng Tingjing’s mind: substitution by deceit.
—Someone had abducted Song Yuzhang.
A surge of wild joy intertwined with furious rage rushed up at once. Meng Tingjing sprang to his feet and ran out of the warehouse. Outside, a small unit of the Twenty-Third Division had already gathered.
It turned out the beaten soldier had gone to call for reinforcements.
Meng Tingjing said coldly, “Where did the incident happen? Take me there immediately!”
“First, tell us—what gives you the right to beat our men!”
Meng Tingjing snapped back sharply, “Cut the crap and stop trying to save face here. Go ask around about Commander Li of South City before you start shouting at me. Get a car ready right now, or don’t blame me if not only you—but even your Commander Sun—won’t be able to swallow the consequences!”
His attitude was so forceful that there was no room for rebuttal. The men of the Twenty-Third Division were momentarily stunned, but when they saw him striding toward them with a gun in hand, he fired a shot straight at the ground by the beaten soldier’s feet and barked coldly, “Get lost—”
Soldiers were still just soldiers—especially those who had lived too long in comfort and rarely seen the battlefield. Haizhou was a prosperous place, and Chairman Song had always been extraordinarily generous. After a moment’s hesitation, they abandoned their comrade and inexplicably became Meng Tingjing’s temporary subordinates.
“It was right around here,” one of the soldiers gestured after they arrived. “From the woods all the way to the main road over there. Looks like they rushed out of the forest to rob them, and then both sides got into a fight.”
Meng Tingjing said nothing more and plunged straight into the woods.
Bloodstains still lingered among the trees. He lifted the hem of his long coat and took a few steps, then found it cumbersome and simply rolled it up and tied it at his side. His gaze swept the forest like a hawk’s as he examined the traces, thinking as he went.
Bandits were after money—why fight to mutual ruin? And if they had taken someone, why hadn’t they demanded a ransom? Leaving behind a corpse so badly mangled it was unrecognizable—this was clearly aimed at Song Yuzhang!
Meng Tingjing’s gaze flicked rapidly across the scene. The joy of Song Yuzhang should still be alive grew weaker and weaker. After a few steps, as if struck by a sudden premonition, pain bloomed in his chest. He braced a hand against a nearby tree. All he saw were leaves—no sign of Song Yuzhang.
—
Song Yuzhang had been unconscious all night. When morning light came, he still hadn’t woken.
Fu Mian re-bandaged the wound on his leg, fetched warm water, crushed the anti-inflammatory and fever medicine into it, and fed it to Song Yuzhang spoon by spoon like one would a baby. Song Yuzhang swallowed reflexively, though his long brows knit slightly each time—an instinctive fear of bitterness.
Fu Mian held him and wiped the medicine from the corner of his mouth. “Afraid of bitter? Then wake up sooner.”
Three hours later, Song Yuzhang woke up—only briefly. He half-opened his eyes, murmured “A-Mian” indistinctly, and passed out again.
Fu Mian suspected he was pretending. He grabbed Song Yuzhang by the throat and forced him to speak, threatening to throw Xiao Fengxian overboard. When Song Yuzhang still didn’t respond, he released his grip, half believing, half doubting.
He had porridge made and fed Song Yuzhang a few careless mouthfuls, then more medicine. After repeating this over and over, Song Yuzhang finally woke fully at night.
“I thought I’d fucked you to death.”
Fu Mian twined a strand of hair from Song Yuzhang’s cheek around his finger and smiled. “Didn’t expect you to be this fragile.”
After waking, Song Yuzhang adopted a completely indifferent demeanor. A sickly flush still tinged his face; aside from coughing once in a while, he made no sound at all.
Fu Mian released the strand of hair, his hand slipping beneath the blanket.
Song Yuzhang lay in Fu Mian’s cabin, naked except for the blanket.
Fu Mian stroked him and suddenly said, “Tell me—do you think you’ll burn to death with fever before we even reach shore?”
Song Yuzhang said nothing, only stared at the oil lamp swaying in the distance.
“Don’t you dare die.”
Fu Mian lowered his head slightly and inhaled deeply at the hollow of his neck. When Song Yuzhang had been unconscious, Fu Mian had wiped him down to bring the fever down—it hadn’t helped at all, yet Song Yuzhang’s scent had only grown more pleasing.
“If you die, what about that actor? I don’t keep useless trash.”
“Let him go,” Song Yuzhang said quietly. “You can do whatever you want to me.”
Fu Mian chuckled. “But Zhu Qing, aren’t you already at my disposal?”
Song Yuzhang turned his face away, his expression still calm and detached. “A-Mian.”
Fu Mian smiled faintly. “You insist on going against me like this. I tell you not to call me, you insist on calling; when I want you to call, you refuse to make a sound. Looks like besides being cheap, you’re also stubborn as hell.”
“At that time, I truly thought you were despicable.”
The smile on Fu Mian’s face froze for a split second, then deepened. “Did you? But looking at you now, it seems you’re the one who’s far more despicable. I thought that would be your punishment—never imagined you’d enjoy it so much. You even passed out, yet you were still moving, biting down and refusing to let go…”
“You—this spoiled, willful rich second-generation brat who thinks so highly of himself—actually ran into my room in the middle of the night, begging me to fuck you…” Song Yuzhang said evenly. Fu Mian’s smile widened further. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed Song Yuzhang by the throat. Forced to tilt his head back, Song Yuzhang spoke through near-suffocating pain, “…it broke my heart.”
Fu Mian’s grip loosened at once.
Song Yuzhang coughed softly a couple of times, gazing at the swaying cabin ceiling above him. In a low voice, he said, “A-Mian, I love you—so I won’t have you.”
A long silence spread through the cabin. After a while, Fu Mian spoke softly, “You love me—so that’s why you won’t have me?”
“Yes.”
The hand left his neck. Fu Mian cupped Song Yuzhang’s face, their eyes meeting. Tender emotion flickered in his phoenix eyes. “Is it really because you love me?”
“Yes,” Song Yuzhang said slowly.
A soft expression appeared on Fu Mian’s face, a fierce light erupting in his eyes. He lowered his head, leaned close to Song Yuzhang’s ear, and whispered gently, “Zhu Qing—if you dare tell me that ki-d of bullshit one more time, I’ll dig up your whore mother’s grave.”
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