Song Yuzhang: Chapter 166 - An Underhanded Fight
Chapter 166: An Underhanded Fight
Fu Mian fixed his gaze on Song Yuzhang’s eyes. His phoenix eyes narrowed slightly, and to his own surprise, he smiled. “Zhuqing, you really have given me a big surprise. If there’s anything else, say it all at once,” Fu Mian said, rubbing at the corner of his mouth with an intimate familiarity. “Let me hear just how rotten you really are.”
Song Yuzhang’s lips were pulled into a distorted shape by him. Calmly, he said, “Do you want to hear about before I knew you, or after?”
“Before you knew me…” Fu Mian pressed down tightly against him, starting again bit by bit, slow and deliberate. “Who did you have?”
“Do you mean the ones I slept with, or do the ones I didn’t sleep with count too?”
Fu Mian’s hand gripped him, kneading slowly as he murmured, “Up to you.”
Song Yuzhang began talking about the first boy he had slept with.
He really was just a boy. They were both eighteen at the time, both young gentlemen. His temperament was so gentle it was almost excessive—he indulged Song Yuzhang in everything. Very quickly, Song Yuzhang had gotten—“bored of him.”
Listening to Song Yuzhang’s offhand tone, Fu Mian suddenly grew unusually agitated, an emotion mixed of anger, jealousy, and a sense of betrayal.
“And the second?”
“More or less the same,” Song Yuzhang smiled. Suddenly, he pointed at his own hollowed waist. “He had a birthmark here, shaped like a butterfly. Very pretty when he moved.”
“Go on.”
Fu Mian was breathing lightly now.
Song Yuzhang went on one after another, rattling off five or six in one breath. He stopped only because Fu Mian took him brutally, as though avenging all those he had abandoned in one go.
That night, Fu Mian and Song Yuzhang found a new topic of conversation.
Song Yuzhang’s romantic history.
Song Yuzhang did not lie once. Fu Mian could hear it, could see it. His simmering anger gradually dissipated in the face of Song Yuzhang’s utter indifference. Song Yuzhang was in his hands now—those were all things of the past. The former lovers were left behind in a long river of resentment, while he himself had turned the tables and captured Song Yuzhang firmly in his grasp. He was different from those people.
“And then,” Song Yuzhang said, “I met you.”
Fu Mian propped his face up with one hand, one leg bent as he lay on his side, watching Song Yuzhang with interest. Smiling, he said, “So now you’re going to disgust me again.”
Song Yuzhang paused. “If you don’t want to hear it, I won’t say it.”
Fu Mian was silent for a while. His fingers curled around a lock of Song Yuzhang’s hair, and then he said decisively, “I want to hear it.”
Song Yuzhang took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “That day, I accompanied Tang Jin to visit the Fu residence. You were hiding in the bamboo grove. I actually saw you. You were wearing a bright blue jacket—very few men would wear such a vivid color, and even fewer could wear it so well.”
Fu Mian listened intently. Hearing this, he smiled slightly. “And then?”
“And then,” Song Yuzhang inhaled again, a smile appearing on his face as well, “I thought—what a good-looking young master. It’d be a shame not to get him into my hands and play with him.”
Fu Mian lightly patted Song Yuzhang’s cheek. “You bad thing.”
Song Yuzhang’s smile flickered. “That’s right. I’m not a good person.”
Fu Mian lowered his head and breathed in Song Yuzhang’s scent. “Tomorrow I’ll let you see that opera performer.”
Song Yuzhang reached up and stroked the back of Fu Mian’s neck. “If I’m this bad, why are you still willing to be good to me?”
Fu Mian lifted his face and smiled at him. “Because I love you.”
Song Yuzhang said, “Then you really are a cheap bastard.”
Fu Mian’s expression twisted for a moment—but then Song Yuzhang suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace.
“You can shoot me again,” Song Yuzhang said softly. “But at that time, I really did love you.”
Fu Mian was silent for a long time. He lowered his head and kissed Song Yuzhang’s shoulder, then said gently, “Zhuqing, next time you lie, look at me. It’ll be more convincing.”
Song Yuzhang sighed lightly. He lifted one leg to hook it over Fu Mian’s body, then pulled Fu Mian’s hand around his waist. “Stop talking. Go to sleep. You’re really about to fuck me to death.”
“That does sound like the truth.”
Fu Mian held him for a while, then released him and sat up. Half sitting on the bed, he smiled at Song Yuzhang. “I can’t stay the night with you.” His fingertips scraped lightly along Song Yuzhang’s nose bridge as he said with a smile, “I’m afraid I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and won’t be able to stop myself from strangling you.”
—
Song Yuzhang’s funeral was grand.
It was handled personally by Meng Tingjing, who spared no expense and arranged everything according to the highest standards. To outsiders in Haizhou, the relationship between him and Song Yuzhang had always been a mystery. This time, seeing how wholeheartedly he took charge of the funeral, people discussed it among themselves and ultimately acknowledged that the two truly had been close friends.
Meng Tingjing felt no disturbance in his heart and did not find it inauspicious. He treated it as a way of sending Song Yuzhang off properly.
He wanted to show all of Haizhou—make everyone know that he had already accepted the fact of Song Yuzhang’s death.
An unidentified body was buried near the Song family ancestral graves. The Song ancestral grounds were a place of excellent feng shui; who should be buried where had long been decided. In any case, Song Yuzhang wasn’t truly a member of the Song family. If he took up space, then so be it. Meng Tingjing didn’t care. He turned and went down the mountain.
“Boss Meng,” Shen Chengduo greeted him, “my condolences.”
Meng Tingjing ignored him coldly.
The business Shen Chengduo did was beneath his regard. Even if Song Yuzhang was willing to humor and placate Shen Chengduo, Meng Tingjing still looked down on him—and always would.
Shen Chengduo didn’t mind Meng Tingjing’s attitude. He merely sighed. “Ah, Chairman Song was such a good man. Dying so young—it’s such a pity.”
Meng Tingjing walked down the stone steps. “Life and death are a matter of fate.”
Shen Chengduo went down the mountain with him. They didn’t exchange many words. Smacking his lips tastelessly, Shen Chengduo got into his car and spat out the window. “What a piece of work.”
At the foot of the mountain, Liu Chuanzong was waiting by his car. These past few days, Meng Tingjing had been running around nonstop, and Liu Chuanzong hadn’t had a chance to speak with him.
Meng Tingjing motioned for him to get in the car.
“What about Liu Chu?” Liu Chuanzong went straight to the point.
Meng Tingjing said, “Gone.”
Liu Chuanzong paused. “Gone—what do you mean by gone?”
“Gone means gone. There was no body at the scene.”
After a long while, Liu Chuanzong said slowly, “So there’s a possibility he’s still alive. Is that it?”
Meng Tingjing looked out at the towering mountains beyond the window. “I don’t know.”
Liu Chuanzong got out of the car.
Meng Tingjing watched his retreating figure from inside. Now he doubted everyone. The closer someone had been to Song Yuzhang, the more suspicious they became.
The fighting in Yeyang had fallen back into bitter deadlock. Meng Tingjing wanted badly to pass word to Nie Yinbing. Nie Yinbing had at least a division’s worth of troops under his command—he could surely help. But on second thought, those weren’t private forces. Nie Yinbing might not truly be able to mobilize them to search for Song Yuzhang.
Now the enemy was in the shadows, while he was in the open. Making a big show of things would be unwise.
The news of Song Yuzhang’s death had been published. In a way, he himself had now half-disappeared into the shadows, finally able to contend with the other side.
—
Fu Mian kept his word and truly took Song Yuzhang to see Xiao Fengxian.
Xiao Fengxian had received treatment and no longer looked quite so frighteningly thin as before.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Fu Mian said, “I’ve thought it over. In truth, he’s just like me—we were both deceived by you. He didn’t actually know that you and he were much the same, both from the lowest ranks. He thought you were Fifth Master Song. Fifth Master Song—what an interesting way to address you.” Fu Mian chuckled to himself for a moment, then said, “He was a pitiful man, too.”
Song Yuzhang stood quietly by Xiao Fengxian’s bed. He thought that it was fortunate Xiao Fengxian was asleep—otherwise, hearing Fu Mian’s words, he might have hated him so much he’d fainted.
Song Yuzhang took Xiao Fengxian’s hand. Though he was still asleep, Song Yuzhang gripped it firmly, thinking, ‘Fengxian, hold on. I’ll take you away.’
Fu Mian looked down from above at Song Yuzhang, who was half-crouched by the bed. The corner of his mouth lifted faintly, his eyes revealing a trace of ferocious killing intent. Song Yuzhang had his head lowered and did not see it.
The relationship between Fu Mian and Song Yuzhang seemed to ease somewhat. Their bodies remained intimately entangled every day, and such constant closeness didn’t quite suit open hostility.
After more than a month in Qingxi, Fu Mian went on a long trip for the first time.
Song Yuzhang didn’t know where he had gone, nor what he was truly doing there. It didn’t seem much like a medicinal business.
At first, Song Yuzhang didn’t even know Fu Mian had left.
It was only after Fu Mian failed to come to him for several consecutive days—everything being handled instead by a few old servants—that Song Yuzhang grew suspicious, thinking Fu Mian must have left Qingxi.
He did not entertain the idea of escaping while he had the chance. Such a thought was pure fantasy—it would get both him and Xiao Fengxian killed.
Inside the room, Song Yuzhang found himself a small toy.
A rouge box used by women.
He didn’t know how the thing had ended up on the dressing table. It was round and flat, like a brightly colored silver dollar, and fit perfectly in the hand—a little object one could idly flip back and forth.
And it smelled good.
Song Yuzhang sat on the bed, flicking the rouge box between his fingers.
There were aspects of Fu Mian’s attitude that felt contradictory—so contradictory that it was hard to tell whether it was deliberate.
Song Yuzhang had the persistent feeling that Fu Mian was setting a trap, waiting for him to step into it.
Perhaps when that moment came, Fu Mian would finally harden his heart and truly kill him.
Song Yuzhang thought again of that newspaper—of the expression on Meng Tingjing’s face in the photo. Had Meng Tingjing really believed he was dead? Song Yuzhang didn’t think so.
The rouge box spun between his fingers. The lid suddenly came loose, spilling fragrant powder all over his body. He got off the bed and brushed at his chest. When he realized it was useless, he stopped bothering.
A servant would bring water in the evening. He’d deal with it then.
Song Yuzhang closed the box of rouge powder and set it back on the dressing table.
There was a bronze mirror on the table. Song Yuzhang looked at himself in it and thought: given Meng Tingjing’s temperament, he would never allow reporters to photograph him at will. And even if a photo had been taken, it would never have been published. He would never let anyone admire his grief.
So that photograph was both a smokescreen—and a message meant specifically for Song Yuzhang.
—I know you’re still alive.
Song Yuzhang took a deep breath. His nasal passages filled with a cloyingly sweet scent. He had never expected anyone to come save him, yet somewhere deep down, against his own will, he found himself wanting to believe—to believe that Meng Tingjing would come looking for him.
Fu Mian returned before the servant who brought the water. The moment he entered, he saw Song Yuzhang covered in rouge powder. He smiled faintly and said, “You knew I was coming back, so you even dressed yourself up?”
Song Yuzhang stood with his hands behind his back, his long robe loose and gaping open down the middle. “I want trousers.”
“Trousers?” Fu Mian walked up to him, smiling lightly. “Wouldn’t those just get in the way?”
Fu Mian scooped Song Yuzhang up and tossed him straight onto the bed.
This trip had lasted a full ten days. During those ten days, he had thought of Song Yuzhang almost every day.
In fact, over the past year, it had been the same—he thought of him every day.
He thought of him with hatred.
He told himself that he would make Song Yuzhang suffer until he regretted it—regretted ever treating him the way he had.
Fu Mian had always been ferocious in bed. Fortunately, Song Yuzhang wasn’t some fragile youth. If it had been anyone else, Fu Mian really might have ruined them.
Without saying a word, Fu Mian took him twice. By the third time, he finally slowed down.
“Last time, you only talked about the ones you fucked,” Fu Mian said unhurriedly. “What about the ones who fucked you? Aside from that vice chairman—who else?”
Song Yuzhang was sweating now. The rouge had melted, spreading in a vivid red across his chest. Gasping, he said, “The Nie family’s…”
Fu Mian wiped the rouge from his chest and chuckled softly. “The Nie family’s? The older brother or the younger?” He applied more force, making Song Yuzhang suck in a breath. “Or both?”
“Only the older brother,” Song Yuzhang said with difficulty.
“From the way you say it, sounds like a pity.”
“No…” Song Yuzhang turned his face and kissed Fu Mian’s lips. “A-Mian, stop talking. I just want you right now…”
Fu Mian’s expression shifted. He forced Song Yuzhang into a kneeling, bent-over position. “Cut out this disgusting talk!”
They went at it until the servant arrived with the water—perfect timing. They even took a bath together afterward.
Song Yuzhang sat in the tub, kissing Fu Mian. Turning his head, he caught a scent in Fu Mian’s hair—something very familiar, yet strangely hard to place, as though it carried a hint of fruit.
It hadn’t been obvious on the bed. Now, with the steam rising, it grew stronger.
Song Yuzhang didn’t make a show of sniffing, but Fu Mian grabbed his waist and pulled him into his arms.
Seizing the chance, Song Yuzhang buried his face in Fu Mian’s hair.
He inhaled deeply—then again.
Besides the faint smell of sweat, there was something else… something.
His mind dug deeper and deeper.
A very ordinary scene suddenly surfaced in his memory: the two of them talking and laughing; something being handed to him; him taking it; the scent brushing past his nose.
Song Yuzhang remembered.
It was a domestically made cigar.
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