Song Yuzhang: Chapter 162 - To Chase
Chapter 162: To Chase
Meng Tingjing had long been accustomed to life at sea. He handled boats far more deftly than cars. Finding the captain’s pace too slow and obstructive, he took the helm himself and sped ahead at full throttle, stopping any vessel he caught up to for interrogation and search.
He had brought enough troops with him. The boats coming and going along Shankang’s waterways were all ordinary passenger vessels. When they saw soldiers with guns aboard, they assumed these brute soldiers had come to extort money even on the water routes, and could only submit to the search with long faces. Once Meng Tingjing confirmed that Song Yuzhang was not on board and that they were merely ordinary merchants, he immediately let them go, then continued onward in the direction indicated by those merchants toward other vessels. He went without sleep for days and nights, yet stood as steady as iron, his eyes blazing with sharp light—far more spirited than the soldiers who had to rotate shifts.
Fu Mian held a pair of binoculars. After observing carefully, he discovered that the ship chasing them from behind actually carried soldiers, who were clinging to the railings and retching loudly.
He tossed the binoculars to a subordinate beside him and rushed back into the cabin. He took an outer robe and draped it over Song Yuzhang, then grabbed a hemp rope and bound him so tightly there wasn’t the slightest gap.
As Fu Mian handled him, Song Yuzhang suddenly realized something, and his heart began to race.
Fu Mian took a handkerchief, rolled it into a wad, and brought it to Song Yuzhang’s mouth. Their eyes met, both glinting with light. Fu Mian paused for a moment, then smiled. “So you still have plenty of spirit,” he said in a lowered voice. “The Twenty-Third Division is here. You can try to make some noise—but then that opera singer’s life won’t be spared. Decide for yourself.”
Fu Mian stuffed the handkerchief into Song Yuzhang’s mouth, then pried up several floorboards. Beneath this cabin was a hidden compartment, just large enough for Song Yuzhang to lie inside.
After finishing this, Fu Mian glanced at the blanket on the bed, yanked it off, and tossed it onto the floor.
Ahead was another cargo ship of middling size. Meng Tingjing ordered a signal to be given, telling it to stop.
The cargo ship quickly came to a halt.
Meng Tingjing emerged from the cabin. It had just been raining outside; after a summer downpour, the sun burned even more fiercely. The moment he stepped out, his vision swam. He kept a grim face and forced himself to appear composed.
The soldiers boarded first; Meng Tingjing followed.
The cargo ship’s owner was a fairly handsome young man, dressed in a black robe and long gown. He wore a faint smile and was polite and courteous. “Gentlemen, may I ask what this is about?”
“Search,” Meng Tingjing replied curtly, not bothering to explain.
“Very well, please come inside, sir.”
The cargo ship was not large. Meng Tingjing asked, “Where is this ship from, and where is it headed?”
The owner followed slightly behind him and answered calmly, “We’re from Yecheng, transporting some grain to Jiannan.”
“Grain? Grain is quite valuable these days,” Meng Tingjing said. “Where’s the hold?”
“In the back.”
There were three holds on the ship. Meng Tingjing inspected the first: it was stacked full of grain sacks, nothing at a glance that could hide a person or seemed suspicious. He came out and entered the second hold. It too was filled with sacks, except near the exit where a large chest had been placed. The chest was big—wide and tall enough to hold a person.
Meng Tingjing’s heart jolted. “What’s this?”
The owner lowered his voice, as if embarrassed. “Someone on board had sticky fingers. We gave him a small lesson.”
“Open it,” Meng Tingjing said in a low voice, tilting his chin toward a soldier. The soldier immediately stepped forward and opened the chest.
Meng Tingjing’s gaze shot inside. Indeed, there was a badly whipped, battered person inside, head-down, hair disheveled, a dirty cloth tied over the mouth, hands and feet bound behind the back. With a single glance, Meng Tingjing knew it was not Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang was much taller than this man.
He had no time to waste. Since it wasn’t Song Yuzhang, he quickly withdrew his gaze.
“Third hold.”
“Yes.”
As the soldiers were about to close the chest, the person inside seemed to wake up and let out muffled cries.
The sound was strange enough to startle the soldiers into freezing for a moment.
Meng Tingjing had already stepped out and barked, “Keep up!”
That shout seemed to further agitate the man inside. The soldiers hurried to shut the chest.
In the brief glimpse they caught, they saw that the man was actually quite delicate-looking, just frighteningly thin. They quickly closed it.
Meng Tingjing entered the third hold.
This hold was different from the first two. It was piled with haystacks, hay scattered all over the floor, looking very messy. It was oppressively hot inside. In the center lay a toppled oil lamp that had burned out. Perhaps because it had been knocked over, the air carried a strange smell.
Meng Tingjing walked in and lifted two haystacks; beneath them were still more haystacks. “Search everything.”
The soldiers could only go in and flip over the haystacks one by one.
Meng Tingjing scanned the hold twice more. Suddenly he noticed dark red stains on the ground. He bent down and lightly touched them, then raised his head to look at the cargo ship’s owner.
The owner said, “We didn’t take in enough grain, so this hold was left empty. That unruly one was taught a lesson here earlier.”
“There’s nothing here—just hay, nothing else.”
The soldiers brushed hay off themselves, feeling that this man was a bit deranged, stubbornly insisting their chairman wasn’t dead and refusing to accept the corpse, dragging them across the water at breakneck speed until every one of them had vomited several times.
Meng Tingjing stood up, rubbed the blood off his fingers, and frowned. “The cabins need to be checked one by one as well.”
“Of course, no problem,” the owner said pleasantly, cupping his hands. “Please come inside, sir.”
Meng Tingjing led his men to search cabin after cabin. It wasn’t a careful search—they ransacked the place like bandits. The cargo ship’s owner followed along with his people, remaining calm the entire time.
From the moment Meng Tingjing received the telegram and rushed to Guantu, concluded that Song Yuzhang was not dead, and mobilized troops to search by water. Several days had passed. He had scarcely slept, forcing himself onward with sheer will, always feeling that Song Yuzhang might be waiting somewhere for him to come and save him.
The cargo ship was heavily laden and slow, but they themselves had made good speed. Still, the farther south they went, the more uneasy Meng Tingjing became, suspecting that his judgment might have been wrong.
He had always been deeply self-confident and rarely doubted his own decisions. Now, whether from physical exhaustion or excessive mental strain, after searching cabin after cabin without finding any trace of Song Yuzhang, uncertainty began to creep into his heart.
The soldiers, dragged along in what felt like madness, were utterly exhausted as well. When they came to the last room, they kicked the door open outright. In their eyes, the merchants on the ship weren’t even people; they barged in and vented their frustration by overturning and rifling through everything.
This cabin was the largest—likely the main cabin—set deepest in the ship. The furnishings were simple: aside from the bed, there was only a table, a chair, and a large wardrobe.
The soldiers opened the wardrobe. Although it was plainly visible that there were only clothes inside, they still threw all the clothes out, because their temporarily unhinged commander had ordered that every place capable of hiding a person be completely cleared.
Meng Tingjing stepped on the floorboards, his heart pounding tight and painful in his chest. If Song Yuzhang wasn’t on this ship either, there were only three possibilities: either the people who took him hadn’t gone by water; or he had gone the wrong direction; or Song Yuzhang might be just ahead.
The Shankang waterway wasn’t busy, with few ships. He had checked every vessel from near to far—this was the fourth. Farther on, unless the ship ahead was even faster than this one, there shouldn’t be many left.
Clattering sounds filled the air. Meng Tingjing walked to the wardrobe. It was empty, save for one or two silk robes strewn messily on the wooden boards. Unless Song Yuzhang were made of paper, he couldn’t be hiding there. Meng Tingjing turned to survey the room—and felt as though he caught the scent of Song Yuzhang.
Days without sleep had dulled his senses. The uncertainty in his heart deepened.
He’d had a similar illusion earlier in the hay-filled hold.
As if Song Yuzhang had been there.
His gaze moved inch by inch around the room, until it suddenly fixed on the blanket on the floor.
The blanket’s pattern was vivid, its texture and size not at all like something meant to be spread on the floor. Meng Tingjing’s heart clenched. He crossed the distance in a few quick strides and flipped it up.
Beneath was dull yellow wood. Meng Tingjing’s knowledge of ships was second to none; a flash of insight struck him. He immediately barked an order, “Pry this board open!”
In the hidden compartment, Song Yuzhang, eyes closed, suddenly opened them.
Tingjing?
It was Meng Tingjing’s voice!
Song Yuzhang’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He scarcely dared believe his ears and instinctively tried to struggle.
“Go,” Fu Mian’s voice sounded as well. “Keep an eye on that sticky-fingered one. It’s chaotic on the ship—don’t let him slip away in the confusion.”
“Yes.”
Song Yuzhang’s motion to strike upward froze.
Xiao Fengxian.
Fu Mian still had Xiao Fengxian in his grasp.
After all, he had already suffered for his sake—was someone else to die for him as well?
Song Yuzhang stared quietly at the thin slivers of light seeping through the gaps in the boards.
Xiao Fengxian… Xiao Fengxian…
The soldiers used bayonets to pry at the edges of the board. Meng Tingjing watched without blinking. As soon as the edge lifted, he bent down to pull it open.
Song Yuzhang gently closed his eyes, warmth and moisture welling in their corners.
Tingjing.
After a long silence, movement slowly resumed above.
“Sir, are you steady? Are you all right?” Fu Mian’s voice—polite and respectful.
“I’m fine. Sorry for the disturbance.” Meng Tingjing’s voice, hoarse and unpleasant.
Soon, hurried footsteps receded into the distance.
Song Yuzhang lay motionless with eyes closed, not making a sound.
After an unknown stretch of time, the board above was pulled open. Light poured in. Song Yuzhang still kept his eyes shut.
His collar was grabbed, and he was yanked out of the compartment with brute force, then lifted and thrown back onto the bed.
Fu Mian untied the hemp ropes from him and removed the handkerchief from his mouth, then sat by the bed and patted Song Yuzhang’s face with interest.
“They’re gone. You can make noise now.”
Song Yuzhang slowly opened his lashes.
Fu Mian’s expression was playful. “You cried?”
Song Yuzhang’s eyes looked as though they had been soaked, showing a faint amber sheen.
Fu Mian reached out and smoothed his hair. “There are rumors in Haizhou that you and he are very close,” he said with a slight lift of his eyes and a smile. “True?”
Song Yuzhang looked at him quietly. After a moment, he said softly, “Do you want the truth, or a lie?”
Fu Mian’s smile faded bit by bit like a receding tide. Suddenly, he seized Song Yuzhang’s hair, yanked his face up, and stared at him with mocking eyes. “You’re quite something, you cheap thing—raised by a whore, thrown on a human skin and you turn into someone important. What do you think his reaction would be if he knew what kind of thing he’s devoted himself to?”
Song Yuzhang lowered his lashes and smiled faintly, indistinctly.
Fu Mian tugged his hair again. “What are you laughing at?”
Song Yuzhang squinted slightly in pain. “I think it’s better you don’t know.”
“Stop playing tricks with me, Zhu Qing. You need to understand—here, you’re not some chamber-of-commerce chairman or big-shot banker.” Fu Mian’s hand slid over the smooth skin of his waist. “Speak.”
Song Yuzhang lay on his back, gazing calmly at the cabin ceiling, and said lightly, “I’m laughing because you said it wrong.”
“I said it wrong?”
“First, he knows I’m not of noble birth.”
“Second—” Song Yuzhang paused. As if finding it ridiculous, he let out a laugh from his chest, then continued evenly, “It wasn’t that he devoted himself to me. It was that I devoted myself to him.”
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