Song Yuzhang: Chapter 163 - Don’t Blame Me
Chapter 163: Don’t Blame Me
The cabin fell into dead silence. Then Fu Mian suddenly laughed, light and brisk. “Zhuqing, are you trying to trick me again?”
Song Yuzhang said nothing.
When he didn’t speak, Fu Mian laughed for a while, then stopped. He grabbed Song Yuzhang by the collar again and yanked him up hard, his eyes fixing on Song Yuzhang’s like a judge passing sentence. The tears in Song Yuzhang’s eyes had yet to fade; they looked tender and affectionate, though that was only the surface.
“What you said—was it true?” Fu Mian asked coldly.
Song Yuzhang didn’t look at him, his gaze slanting toward the corner of the bed where the quilt edge curled upward.
Fu Mian forcibly twisted his face back. His expression was clearly slipping out of control. “Answer me.”
Song Yuzhang still didn’t make a sound. At once, a surge of vicious fire rose in Fu Mian’s gut; even his palm trembled. He enunciated each word through clenched teeth: “Cheap trash—”
Song Yuzhang suddenly smiled, his expression gentle as he looked at Fu Mian. “What a coincidence. He likes to call me that, too.”
The anger shot straight to Fu Mian’s head. He swung his arm without thinking, about to slap Song Yuzhang across the face—when Song Yuzhang suddenly lunged forward as well.
For days now Song Yuzhang had been ill, appearing frail—and in truth he was. Injured and poorly tended, short of food and drink, he truly had little strength left. But his soul, his willpower, had never been stronger.
Meng Tingjing was still looking for him. Xiao Fengxian was still waiting for him. The arms factory, the bank, the chamber of commerce… everything he had so painstakingly obtained—he couldn’t let it all be destroyed like this!
Song Yuzhang lunged, his target Fu Mian’s throat. Fu Mian had once been a fair, delicate young master; now he had long since shed that skin, his body lean and solid. The two instantly tangled together.
Song Yuzhang’s wrists had been hung for an entire night; he had little strength to speak of. He wasn’t trying to strangle Fu Mian anyway—his hands barely closed around Fu Mian’s neck as he lowered his head and kissed him instead.
Fu Mian froze for a split second. His lips had already been wetly enclosed by Song Yuzhang.
“Get lost—”
As if deeply insulted, Fu Mian tore Song Yuzhang off him and flung him aside.
Song Yuzhang pressed a hand to his aching chest, leaning back against the wall, breathing lightly. “A-Mian, don’t you think he looks very much like you did back then?”
Fu Mian was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Hearing this, he paused, then swept a sharp gaze over.
Their eyes met. Neither could read the meaning in the other’s gaze. Song Yuzhang suddenly lowered his eyes and began coughing again, his face flushing red, nearly coughing himself breathless. Fu Mian watched coldly for a moment, then got off the bed and turned to leave.
Only after the cabin door closed did Song Yuzhang’s coughing gradually stop.
He coughed so often now that it had become a new skill—something he could summon at will, fake enough to pass for real.
Leaning against the cabin wall, eyes closed, Song Yuzhang finally had a moment of quiet and comfort to think.
There was no other choice. He had to lie one more time.
Song Yuzhang gave a light cough.
A-Mian, don’t blame me.
To the south, Meng Tingjing intercepted two more cargo ships. On the return trip, he finally collapsed. The soldiers were overjoyed and quickly had the original captain turn the ship back.
Meng Tingjing was unconscious for two hours before waking. When he learned the ship was returning, he didn’t lose his temper.
They hadn’t found Song Yuzhang at the optimal time. Continuing to wander aimlessly on so-called intuition had already lost its meaning.
It was time to calm down.
In the wind blowing across the water, Meng Tingjing gradually shifted from agitation to calm—though the fingers of his bent left hand still twitched unconsciously.
Back in Guantu, the men from the Twenty-Third Division who had been patrolling the side roads reported new leads: several usually deserted paths bore traces of convoys passing through.
The moment Meng Tingjing heard this, his mind fell into turmoil again.
Anyone who could prepare in advance a corpse so closely resembling Song Yuzhang was no ordinary person; this had been a long-planned abduction.
Who knew whether these traces were deliberately planted as a feint? But what if false was true and true was false—what if that person really had taken Song Yuzhang away along those side roads, and he missed it? If he missed it once, then across this vast land, where would he go to find a Song Yuzhang who was already “dead”?
What Meng Tingjing didn’t know was that while he was out searching, the Twenty-Third Division had already sent several telegrams back to Haizhou, one after another, reporting Song Yuzhang’s death.
This was the chief of staff’s doing. The division commander had pocketed the gold bars; the chief of staff was jealous, resentful of others having what he lacked, and wanted to get rid of Meng Tingjing—the pest—as quickly as possible.
When the news reached Haizhou, it spread explosively.
Meng Tingjing had left in haste, only instructing Meng Sushan to manage affairs. Meng Sushan didn’t know why Meng Tingjing had suddenly departed; she vaguely sensed something might have happened to Song Yuzhang, but she never imagined what she would receive was news of his death.
Meng Sushan nearly fainted on the spot. Immediately after, she sent several telegrams in succession to Guantu, all addressed to Meng Tingjing, with a single message: the dead cannot be brought back to life—hurry back with Song Yuzhang, don’t do anything foolish.
Receiving Meng Sushan’s telegrams left Meng Tingjing even more torn apart inside, yet he couldn’t truly vent his anger on the officers of the Twenty-Third Division.
A strong dragon does not crush the local snake—those were words he himself had once impressed upon Song Yuzhang.
Meng Tingjing folded the telegram. An indescribable pain welled up in his chest; it felt as though he had sunk into the deep sea, endless fog ahead, great waves surging. One misstep and he would sink to the seabed—wanting to reach shore, yet not knowing where the shore lay.
—
Song Yuzhang was thrown back into the warehouse again.
The warehouse was a mess beyond measure—dry grass carpeting the floor, haystacks knocked over every which way. Song Yuzhang picked up a stalk of hay and examined it for a moment, then put it into his mouth and chewed it, smiling faintly. He thought the place must be in such disarray because Meng Tingjing had searched it.
When the warehouse sank into darkness, Fu Mian came. He came alone, bringing porridge and medicine. He didn’t say a word to Song Yuzhang, just set the things down.
The porridge was plain white porridge. Song Yuzhang had always had a good appetite and ate heartily; after days without proper food, he drank down a whole bowl with evident relish.
Fu Mian stood with arms folded, leaning against one side of the warehouse, his entire figure almost swallowed by the darkness.
After finishing the porridge, Song Yuzhang took the medicine as well.
Anti-inflammatory medicine and fever reducers were worth more than gold, and they also helped his recovery—there was no reason not to take them.
After finishing them, he sat there in a daze for a while, then turned over and buried himself back into the haystack.
The warehouse was stifling and cramped, the smells drifting through the air, seeping into every corner and invading the senses. Fu Mian lowered his hands and walked over. After squatting down, he lifted Song Yuzhang’s injured leg.
Song Yuzhang lay on his side, motionless, as though asleep.
Fu Mian undid the bandage on his leg.
The process hurt. Song Yuzhang’s foot tensed; Fu Mian’s palm brushed over his toes and pinched his big toe. Song Yuzhang’s foot trembled slightly and drew back.
The medicinal powder sprinkled onto his leg—hot and sharp, yet cool at the same time. Song Yuzhang’s calf quivered faintly in Fu Mian’s palm. He knew it was good medicine.
“How did you meet him?”
Fu Mian asked. His voice was calm and gentle.
With his hands tucked under his face, Song Yuzhang gazed casually at a point in the darkness. “I ran into a storm at sea. He saved me and mistook me for the Fifth Young Master of the Song family. That’s how, by a twist of fate, we met.”
As fresh gauze was placed over the wound, Fu Mian wrapped it neatly and continued, “And then?”
“When I woke from unconsciousness, the first person I saw was him. He looked a lot like you—fair and clean-cut. I liked him right away.”
Song Yuzhang spoke plainly, without emotion, as if merely recalling an old memory.
Fu Mian’s movements as he bandaged were just as steady, his voice equally cool and even. “Go on.”
“Go on about what?”
Fu Mian finished bandaging his leg and suddenly lay down as well.
He lay facing Song Yuzhang amid the hay.
He hadn’t brought a lamp. The warehouse was pitch-dark; only their pairs of eyes faced each other, reflecting faint glimmers of light.
“About how you two got together.”
Fu Mian’s breath brushed over him, unexpectedly warm and gentle.
Song Yuzhang chuckled softly. “I’m that kind of person—I fall for one person after another. There’s nothing to say. I like someone, then I get them. That’s all.”
Fu Mian smiled too. “Just like you did with me back then.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you get me?”
Song Yuzhang fell silent for a long time before slowly saying, “I’ve already told you why. You just didn’t believe me.”
Fu Mian said nothing either. He reached out and wrapped an arm around Song Yuzhang’s waist, drawing him gently into his embrace. “Zhuqing.”
“Mm.”
“I’ll give you a chance to prove that what you said is true. All right?”
“All right.”
Fu Mian stroked Song Yuzhang’s hair and said softly, “Go kill that actor with your own hands, and I’ll believe you.”
Song Yuzhang didn’t move.
“If you love me, why won’t you even do such a small thing? It’s just killing an actor—enough to clear up the misunderstanding between us. That shouldn’t be hard for you, should it?” Fu Mian slowly twined Song Yuzhang’s sideburns around his fingers, lowered his head, and brushed his lips across Song Yuzhang’s face in the dark. “Or is an actor more important to you than I am?”
“He’s innocent.”
“I know.” Fu Mian’s hand slid down to grasp Song Yuzhang’s hand. It was neither soft nor hard, the joints well defined, carrying a low warmth, like a piece of warm jade. “But I want you to kill him with your own hands—just to please me. Is that not allowed? Zhuqing…”
Fu Mian’s voice was soft and sweet, reminding Song Yuzhang of the boy he once was, like a flower—coaxing Ye Zhuqing to accompany him on a stroll through the park. Only now, what he was asking for was a man’s life.
Song Yuzhang felt neither surprise nor disappointment. He understood very clearly that Fu Mian was no longer the Fu Mian of the past. Trying to deceive him again would never be accomplished with just a few sweet words.
“I can’t do that,” Song Yuzhang said.
Fu Mian laughed softly by his ear. “I knew it—your mouth is full of worthless lies.”
As soon as the words fell, he reached out and clamped his hand around Song Yuzhang’s throat.
Song Yuzhang’s head sank completely into the soft haystack.
Dry grass rustled down, burying his entire face. In the agony of suffocation, he heard Fu Mian say coldly, “The first time I was fooled by you, that was because I was stupid. I’ve already paid the price for my stupidity and shallowness. Now it’s time to set things right.”
Labored breaths came from within the hay. Judging the timing, Fu Mian withdrew his hand. He stood up and looked down at the figure buried in dry grass, a fierce light flashing in his eyes, then grabbed him and dragged him out.
Nose to nose, eyes to eyes, Fu Mian stared into Song Yuzhang’s shimmering, moist eyes and said evenly, “My father is dead. I angered him to death.”
Song Yuzhang’s breath caught; his eyes flickered slightly.
“I don’t blame you,” Fu Mian even smiled. “I was the one who was stupid, who was despicable. That was all my retribution.”
Song Yuzhang coughed softly, his voice hoarse. “I’m the one who wronged you…”
“No, no, don’t say things like that.” Fu Mian turned his face, fitting the bridge of his nose against Song Yuzhang’s and rubbing it lightly. “My debts are mine to collect. I don’t need your hypocritical words. If you hadn’t fallen into my hands today, would you ever have thought to come say ‘I’m sorry’ to me? Wouldn’t you still be enjoying yourself, sitting high and mighty as chairman of the chamber of commerce? Zhuqing, I know exactly what kind of thing you are. There’s no need to put on an act in front of me.”
Fu Mian brushed his lips lightly against Song Yuzhang’s. “So from now on, don’t say those high-sounding words to me again—liking me, being like me, being sorry. All those words…” Fu Mian pressed his lips to Song Yuzhang’s, transmitting the trembling from his own lips bit by bit. “They make me sick.”
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