Song Yuzhang: Chapter 165 - To Publish in a Newspaper
Chapter 165: To Publish in a Newspaper
Song Jincheng had been a pampered young master for more than thirty years, always living in comfort and privilege. Even though he had often been disciplined and beaten by his father when he was young, that was merely paternal punishment and could hardly be called real suffering. It was only when Meng Tingjing kicked and broke his rib that he had experienced pain that lingered for a long time. He had once thought that pain already counted as agony to the bone—but only after falling into Fu Mian’s hands did Song Jincheng finally understand what true living hell was.
The attendants struck with great enthusiasm. Before long, the whip snapped in two. Song Jincheng had already gone completely still. Only after several ladles of salt water were splashed over him did he spring back to life like a fish, yet he still couldn’t break free of the ropes. Like a turtle trapped in a jar, he dodged in vain, pitiful and miserable.
He no longer dared make a sound. The moment he cried out, another beating would follow. He clenched his teeth so hard they were nearly crushed, blood seeping bit by bit from between his lips, making it look as though he had bitten off his tongue to kill himself.
Song Yuzhang was forced to watch this plain yet brutal punishment.
Fu Mian pinched his face, not allowing him to turn away.
Afterward, Song Yuzhang said, “Why bother tormenting him in such a piecemeal way?”
Fu Mian smiled and openly kissed Song Yuzhang on the cheek. “I need to vent.”
Song Yuzhang smiled as well. “Killing the chicken to warn the monkeys? When will it be my turn?”
“It won’t be you,” Fu Mian said, stroking his arm. “You’re too pretty. How could I bear it?”
As the sun sank and the evening clouds blazed across the sky, Fu Mian picked up Song Yuzhang and even weighed him lightly in his arms. It was as if he had taken Song Yuzhang to watch an impromptu performance. Wearing a gentle smile, he said cheerfully, “Come on, let’s go back and eat. Can’t have my precious Zhuqing going hungry.”
Compared to the furious and volatile Fu Mian at their first reunion, this current Fu Mian—chatty and at ease—felt far more difficult for Song Yuzhang to deal with.
Song Yuzhang turned his head away. The attendants still hadn’t untied Song Jincheng. Another ladle of salt water was scooped up and thrown over him—it looked like they meant to “handle” Song Jincheng for the entire night.
“Scared?” Fu Mian adjusted Song Yuzhang in his arms, his tone gentle but cold. “Don’t worry. I said I couldn’t bear—”
—
Meng Tingjing had never been a hesitant person, yet he truly lingered in Guantu, uncertain whether he should leave.
In his heart, he was convinced that Song Yuzhang was not dead. He refused to acknowledge that charred corpse as Song Yuzhang. And yet, he couldn’t find any clues at all. While in Guantu, he developed a new ailment—insomnia.
Night after night, Meng Tingjing couldn’t close his eyes. Only when exhaustion overwhelmed him would he sleep, and once asleep, he would dream. In his dreams, there was either endless water or layers upon layers of fog. He walked and chased through them endlessly, never once finding Song Yuzhang’s figure.
That day, another side road had been searched—still no clues. Meng Tingjing returned to the Twenty-Third Division and collapsed into sleep. When he woke, he saw Meng Sushan.
For a moment, Meng Tingjing almost suspected he was dreaming.
“Eldest Sister?”
Meng Sushan looked worried and haggard. “Tingjing, come back with me.”
Meng Tingjing froze for a moment, then said, “Yuzhang isn’t dead. He was taken.”
Meng Sushan slowly nodded. “I know.”
Meng Tingjing was sharp enough to catch it. “You don’t believe me?”
“No, I believe you,” Meng Sushan said, pressing his hand, her voice tightening. “But let’s go back to Haizhou first and discuss everything carefully. Before Yuzhang left, he entrusted the Chamber of Commerce to you. Things are chaotic now—without someone to hold the reins, it won’t do. Don’t you think so?”
Listening to her gentle words, Meng Tingjing’s expression remained dark. “Eldest Sister, you’re placating me.”
Meng Sushan took a deep breath, her eyes faintly reddening. She only said, “Tingjing, go back.”
Meng Tingjing stopped arguing. Staying in Guantu any longer truly served little purpose. Whoever could put in such effort to abduct Song Yuzhang—and with so much time having passed—had surely taken him far away by now.
“Fine. I’ll go back.”
Meng Tingjing rose with a sweep of his sleeve.
Meng Sushan had arrived by plane, determined to take Meng Tingjing back to Haizhou and prepared not to give up unless she succeeded. The plane was waiting at the Twenty-Third Division’s airfield.
She had already arranged for all the bodies to be loaded onto the plane.
In the heat, the bodies had begun to smell and could only be placed in the cargo hold. Only Song Yuzhang’s was different—Meng Sushan had people buy a coffin, lined it with boards and ice, and placed it in the cabin.
Seeing the coffin, Meng Tingjing nearly erupted on the spot. He said coldly, “This is not Song Yuzhang.”
“I know,” Meng Sushan said quietly. She had already seen the body. After so many days, it looked even worse, though the outline faintly resembled Song Yuzhang. “But it’s still a human life. It should be laid to rest.”
Meng Tingjing said nothing more. He thought perhaps Meng Sushan had taken him for a madman who refused to accept reality.
He wasn’t mad. He simply knew exactly what the person he loved looked like.
After landing in Haizhou, the Meng siblings were immediately surrounded as soon as they disembarked.
Somehow, word had leaked out. The news that Song Yuzhang’s body had been transported back once again ignited Haizhou.
With the body in a coffin, the target was far too conspicuous. For a moment, Meng Sushan didn’t know whether she should have someone carry it down.
In the crowd, Meng Tingjing put an arm around her shoulders and said coldly, “Leave it.”
Meng Sushan hurriedly said, “How can we?”
Meng Tingjing understood that Meng Sushan didn’t truly believe him—she still thought it was Song Yuzhang’s body, that this person was suffering in Song Yuzhang’s stead. As he stepped forward, a thought suddenly flashed through his mind. He lowered his head and said to her, “You’re right. We can’t leave him here.”
Turning back, Meng Tingjing told the people on the plane to carry the coffin down.
At once, the reporters went wild. Cameras flashed nonstop. Amid the near-chaos, the Meng siblings got into a car, the coffin into another behind them. The Meng family convoy crawled forward through the dense crowd.
Meng Sushan held Meng Tingjing’s hand, her face showing worry and comfort. Meng Tingjing returned the grip, even letting a trace of sorrow show—but the sadness looked somewhat performative, more like impatience.
Fortunately, cameras have a kind of magic—they can turn decay into wonder. Meng Tingjing picked out a candid photo where he looked suitably grief-stricken and let the reporters take it to run in the newspapers.
“Second Master, the Song family has come to claim the body…”
“Give it to them.”
“Yes.”
Meng Tingjing untied his long robe and sat down in a chair. The initial tension and panic had already passed. Aside from extreme physical exhaustion, his mind was actually highly focused. Certain details he had overlooked began to flicker indistinctly in his thoughts.
He suspected—there was an inside mole in Haizhou.
—
Song Yuzhang’s leg had healed.
It had only ever been a flesh wound, worsened by the lack of proper treatment. Fu Mian no longer deliberately inflicted violence on his body and even began treating his old lung injury.
Fu Mian always believed that Song Yuzhang was playing some kind of trick.
Fu Mian had gone through every single page of Song Yuzhang’s medical records from Haizhou. There were no lingering aftereffects in his lungs at all. It was just that Song Yuzhang had been coughing for so long—sometimes coughing until he was nearly out of breath—that Fu Mian finally summoned a physician to examine him.
The doctor was an accomplished practitioner from the Fu family’s former circle. After taking his pulse, he immediately concluded that Song Yuzhang’s lungs were damaged and, in short order, prescribed a decoction. The medicine was bitter, but extremely effective. After a few doses, Song Yuzhang could clearly feel that even breathing through his chest had become much smoother and more comfortable.
With such an expert on hand, pretending to be ill was no longer appropriate.
“At last you’ve stopped coughing,” Fu Mian said softly, gently stroking his hair. “Listening to you cough all the time really gets on my nerves.”
Song Yuzhang remained silent, realizing that Fu Mian had completely come to regard him as a possession.
Because he was his, he had to be kept well.
And once he was well? Most likely, the torment would resume.
Song Yuzhang very much wanted to know what Fu Mian had gone through over the past year. He wanted to understand him. But Fu Mian was clearly extremely guarded. The moment Song Yuzhang showed even the slightest hint of probing, Fu Mian would make him suffer for it.
That day, Song Yuzhang once again asked to see Xiao Fengxian. Naturally, Fu Mian had no intention of granting any of his requests. As they were eating, Song Yuzhang smashed his rice bowl and used a shard of porcelain to slash his own wrist.
Fu Mian stood to the side, smiling as he watched. “Good. Very good. Cry, make a scene, threaten suicide—you’re quick. You went straight for the desperate move. Die or don’t die, I’ll personally kill you today.”
Fu Mian seized Song Yuzhang by the throat and slammed him down onto the bed.
The cut on Song Yuzhang’s wrist was shallow. A little blood flowed and smeared onto Fu Mian. He lifted his face to kiss Fu Mian’s mouth. Fu Mian dodged twice, then bent down and blocked Song Yuzhang’s lips himself.
“A-Mian, let me see him… just one look…”
“Shut up.”
Fu Mian covered Song Yuzhang’s mouth.
Song Yuzhang’s eyes were half-closed, the light in them wavering, a kind of resigned docility.
The two of them fought fiercely. When it was over, Fu Mian pulled on his clothes and was about to leave. Song Yuzhang hugged him from behind, refusing to let go.
“Let go.”
Song Yuzhang held onto him and turned his injured wrist upward. “It hurts.”
“You brought this on yourself,” Fu Mian said as he pried his hands away. “Suffer it yourself.”
The door was slammed shut and locked. Song Yuzhang licked the wound on his wrist.
About ten minutes later, a servant came to deliver water.
The servant was deaf and mute—supposedly also half-blind, unable to see people clearly. The servants set down the hot water and placed a box of medicinal powder on the table before leaving.
Song Yuzhang picked up the box, smelled it, scraped out a little with his fingernail, and put it into his mouth. A cool, numbing sensation immediately spread across his tongue.
Fu Mian went off to deal harshly with Song Jincheng.
The bombing had been completely beyond his expectations.
He had always thought that Song Jincheng wanted the explosives in order to kill Meng Tingjing.
At the time, he didn’t know what special relationship existed between Meng Tingjing and Song Yuzhang, but if Meng Tingjing died, Haizhou would surely fall into chaos. Chaos would breed change, which would greatly benefit his plans.
He had never expected that Song Jincheng would blow up Song Yuzhang as well.
If Song Yuzhang had died… Fu Mian didn’t dare continue that thought—it would tear him apart from the inside.
After snapping a whip in two, Fu Mian threw it aside, loosened his collar slightly, and turned to leave. Someone approached and handed him the Haizhou newspapers.
After skimming them, a smile spread across Fu Mian’s face.
The Haizhou papers were filled wall to wall with reports of Song Yuzhang’s death.
The accompanying photos showed the Meng siblings sitting in a car, their profiles steeped in grief, along with a picture of Song Yuzhang’s coffin.
Fu Mian took the newspaper back to the small courtyard and cheerfully announced Song Yuzhang’s death to him.
“Look, this is your coffin,” Fu Mian said, tapping the photo. “Doesn’t it look quite nice? When you die someday, I’ll order you one just like it—how about that?”
Song Yuzhang’s gaze fell on another photograph.
Amused, Fu Mian followed his gaze.
In the photo, Meng Tingjing was shown in profile, strikingly handsome. Even in black and white, he exuded the refined, dignified air of a great family. His expression was cold and deeply sorrowful.
The newspaper was suddenly folded shut. Fu Mian leaned his face close and smiled at Song Yuzhang. “Why do I feel like we don’t look alike?”
He didn’t allow Song Yuzhang to speak. He himself spoke without restraint, though what he said seemed to carry a very different meaning for Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang didn’t respond.
Fu Mian unfolded the paper again. Meng Tingjing’s face was split in two by the fold. Fu Mian said, “I get it now. He looks like he’s lost both parents, while I’m riding high on a spring breeze. That’s why we don’t look alike.”
Song Yuzhang was silent for a moment, then said, “Your father died too.”
Fu Mian shot him a sidelong look. Song Yuzhang looked back at him.
Without another word, the two of them suddenly came to blows.
Song Yuzhang had recovered his health, lacked neither food nor drink, and his strength naturally returned. He had always yielded to Fu Mian, but this time he exploded without warning. Fu Mian punched him in the stomach, making Song Yuzhang retch. Song Yuzhang punched Fu Mian in the face in return, grabbed at the scar on his chest as if to tear it open. As they fought, somehow they ended up rolling onto the bed again.
Fu Mian pinned Song Yuzhang’s back, moving fast and hard. “Cheap slut—I knew there wasn’t a single word of truth in your mouth! Still thinking about him? Think about who’s fucking you right now!”
Song Yuzhang buried his face in the bright red quilt, his voice muffled inside it.
When it was over, Fu Mian lay sprawled on top of him, taking several deep breaths of that unique scent clinging to Song Yuzhang. At last, he said flatly, “I’ll kill him.”
Song Yuzhang’s whole body tensed, then he let out a hoarse laugh. “Anyone who’s ever been good to me, you want to kill them all? A-Mian, can you really kill that many?”
Fu Mian laughed as well, his hands sliding downward. “From the sound of it, there’s more than just him?”
Song Yuzhang turned his face to the side, resting it on his arm, and spat out two words: “You guess.”
----------
If you like my translation, please support me by buying me a coffee:
0 comments: