Song Yuzhang: Chapter 167 - To Soften
Chapter 167: To Soften
Song Yuzhang went to see Xiao Fengxian again.
This time, Fu Mian was not present. Xiao Fengxian lay on a wooden plank bed, awake. There was finally a little flesh back on his cheeks, and his hands no longer looked like withered branches.
“I’m sorry,” Song Yuzhang said.
Xiao Fengxian burst into tears, flailing his hands anxiously. He was frantic—nearly beside himself—trying to tell Song Yuzhang that Meng Tingjing had come looking for him.
Song Yuzhang couldn’t understand the agitated gestures. He opened his palm. “Fengxian, what do you want to say? Write it in my hand.”
Xiao Fengxian grabbed his hand and, in anguish, pressed his tear-soaked eyes against Song Yuzhang’s palm.
He couldn’t write.
Xiao Fengxian cried hard, sobbing until he could barely catch his breath. Song Yuzhang pulled his messy head into his chest and said softly, “Don’t cry anymore. Save your strength. Focus on getting better.”
Xiao Fengxian’s thin arms wrapped tightly around Song Yuzhang’s waist. His sobs gradually subsided, and his eyes—washed clean with tears—regained a faint glimmer of light.
Song Yuzhang slipped his fingers into Xiao Fengxian’s hair and leaned down slightly. Xiao Fengxian immediately shrank back in fear.
Song Yuzhang kissed him on the forehead.
“Don’t be afraid.”
He took a deep breath, as though there were more he wanted to say but left unspoken.
Xiao Fengxian clutched his arm and took a deep breath as well. He hummed softly in response, answering Song Yuzhang’s unfinished words with quiet clarity.
When Song Yuzhang stepped outside, Fu Mian was waiting with his hands behind his back. The weather was fine—the sky blue as a painting, not a single cloud. Fu Mian wore a blue robe, the color so bright it looked as though it had been cut straight from the sky, dazzling to the eye.
“So soon?” Fu Mian asked.
He turned his face, a faint smile on his lips, gentle and pleasing.
“He’s still very weak,” Song Yuzhang said. “He needs more rest.”
Fu Mian gave an “oh,” twirled a fan behind his back, and said, “You’ve seen him, and I even let you wear trousers again. Am I good to you or not?”
Song Yuzhang walked over and kissed his cheek of his own accord. “You are.”
Fu Mian tilted his face, smiling but not quite smiling. “I treat you this well, and this is how you repay me—by disgusting me?”
Song Yuzhang smiled, opened his arms, and hugged Fu Mian’s shoulders, resting his face against them. “When you’re not around, I don’t even have anyone to talk to.”
“You missed me?”
“I did.”
Fu Mian wrapped one arm around his waist, studied him intently for a moment, then lowered his head and kissed him.
Song Yuzhang tilted his head back, responding gently. Fu Mian wasn’t rough this time, turning the kiss into something soft and lingering, like spring rain.
“One of these days, I’ll take you out for a walk,” Fu Mian said, running a hand through Song Yuzhang’s black hair.
“Not afraid I’ll run away?” Song Yuzhang asked.
Fu Mian smiled. “Would you?”
Song Yuzhang smiled without answering, rubbing his forehead lightly against Fu Mian’s shoulder.
Fu Mian began treating Song Yuzhang better. It was as though he had finally vented all his rage and satisfied his need for revenge. His attitude gradually softened; his words became pleasant, and sometimes he even took Song Yuzhang around the estate, asking him to point things out, to see whether any traces of the past remained.
Holding Fu Mian’s hand, Song Yuzhang smiled and said he no longer remembered much from childhood.
That day, it had just rained. Fu Mian and Song Yuzhang passed the time together in bed.
The weather was hot. A large jar of ice had been placed in the room; when the fan blew, the air turned cool and comfortable. Song Yuzhang usually didn’t sweat much, but on the bed he did. His pale shoulders lay along the edge, soaking up the cool breeze. Fu Mian sat beside him, a book in one hand, the other stroking Song Yuzhang’s back.
Song Yuzhang’s back formed a long, smooth curve. It dipped sharply at the waist, then rose again into fullness. The quilt covered his waist, leaving a striking contrast of red and white. Fu Mian set the book aside and kissed the hollow of his waist. “How about tattooing a pair of butterflies here?”
Song Yuzhang laughed soundlessly. “Not a good idea.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Fu Mian gathered the flesh at his waist in his palm, rubbing it together—slick and smooth, like mutton-fat jade.
“It hurts.”
“You’re afraid of pain now?”
“I’m not afraid of pain,” Song Yuzhang said leisurely. “I just don’t want to suffer for no reason.” He turned and smiled at Fu Mian. “If you like it, just paint a pair. Butterflies today, dragonflies tomorrow—crickets the day after. One design a day. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Fu Mian bent down and bit his waist. “Silver-tongued, as always.”
And he really took Song Yuzhang at his word, soon having pigments and brushes brought in.
“You’re sweating a lot,” Fu Mian said.
He covered Song Yuzhang’s waist with a cloth and wiped him down. Song Yuzhang said, “Let me see your book.”
A moment later, the book was tossed over. Song Yuzhang picked it up and saw it was an ancient medical text. After skimming a single line, he found it dense and abstruse enough to make his head ache.
Suddenly, his waist felt cool—the brush had touched down.
Song Yuzhang laughed.
“What are you laughing at?”
“It tickles.”
“Then endure it. Don’t move,” Fu Mian said, half serious, half joking. “Or I’ll tie you up and paint you properly.”
Song Yuzhang held the medical book before his eyes, chewing over each line without understanding any of it, treating it as mere distraction. He wasn’t thinking about anything. When Fu Mian was around, he never thought—his mind empty, dutifully playing the role of a doll.
The brush dipped into pigment, cool against his skin. Fu Mian’s strokes flowed swiftly and confidently. After who knew how long, there was a soft tap—he’d switched brushes.
The fine tip skimmed his back like a dragonfly touching water, then pressed down sharply. Song Yuzhang restrained himself, yet still trembled now and then.
“Don’t shake,” Fu Mian said, fingers sliding along the hollow curve of his spine. “You’ll ruin my handiwork.”
“A-Mian…”
When Song Yuzhang’s deep, magnetic voice carried emotion, it was lethal.
Fu Mian pinched his chest lightly. “Don’t act slutty.”
Song Yuzhang drew in a sharp breath. “Then don’t provoke me.”
With one hand painting and the other toying with him, Fu Mian manipulated Song Yuzhang completely in the palm of his hand. Song Yuzhang didn’t make a sound, only drawing faint, broken breaths deep in his throat.
Fu Mian stopped halfway through the painting and set down the brush. “You really are someone I can’t afford to provoke.”
The paint on his waist hadn’t dried yet and couldn’t be touched. Fu Mian grabbed the curves that flared out below Song Yuzhang’s waist with both hands, kneading them into different shapes. Watching the design sway on Song Yuzhang’s waist, a cold, excited gleam flickered in his eyes.
Fu Mian seemed genuinely pleased now. He told Song Yuzhang to get dressed and said he was taking him out.
Song Yuzhang said, “It’s not dry yet, is it?”
Fu Mian was dressing as well. He glanced back with a smile as he buttoned up. “You don’t want to go out?”
“Of course I do,” Song Yuzhang replied. “If you’re willing to take me out, I’m very happy.”
After fastening the last button, Fu Mian pinched his chin, bent down, and kissed his lips. “Zhuqing, you’re cheap in a way that really makes me happy these days.”
Song Yuzhang smiled indifferently, utterly shameless.
The servants brought in water. Before washing, Song Yuzhang deliberately went to look in the bronze mirror. The painting was on his waist, hard for him to see. He twisted back and forth, trying to find an angle. Fu Mian came over and scooped him up in one motion. “Twist around again and you’re not going out.”
Song Yuzhang draped his arms over his shoulders. “What did you paint?”
Fu Mian smiled suddenly. “Guess.”
Standing by the bath, Song Yuzhang dipped a cloth in water and wiped behind his waist. He brought the cloth up to his eyes—it was smeared with a spread of bluish-green pigment.
After a moment’s thought, Song Yuzhang turned to look at Fu Mian.
“Figured it out?” Fu Mian asked.
Song Yuzhang folded the wet cloth. “I can’t guess.”
Fu Mian smiled, stepped closer, and scraped a finger lightly along the bridge of his nose. “My precious Zhuqing, you’re really good at playing dumb.”
After bathing, Song Yuzhang put on the clothes Fu Mian had prepared for him: a snow-white shirt and grass-green trousers. The fabric was light and cool, so comfortable it felt like he was going on holiday.
Song Yuzhang went out in a carriage.
The carriage had windows. Fu Mian told him not to move—so he moved anyway, leaning against the carriage wall. Before long, he suddenly smiled. “I’m a little hungry.”
Fu Mian tapped the small tea table inside the carriage.
Understanding, Song Yuzhang pulled open the drawer and took out some pastries. He ate neatly and elegantly, one hand cupped beneath to catch the crumbs. Fu Mian twirled a fan in his hand, then abruptly snapped it open and fanned him. The pastry crumbs flew up and scattered all over him, instantly dotting the snow-white shirt with greasy specks. Song Yuzhang looked at Fu Mian. “Is this fun?”
Fu Mian propped both feet on Song Yuzhang’s thighs and leaned back against the carriage wall. “Extremely.”
Since it was already dirty, Song Yuzhang stopped caring and ate and drank heartily in the carriage, finishing more than half a pot of clear tea.
Fu Mian said, “I haven’t shorted you on food or drink—how are you still so greedy?”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “It’s the look of poverty.”
Fanning himself, Fu Mian laughed. “Self-awareness is a virtue. Zhuqing, you’re really making progress.”
Song Yuzhang wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then casually rubbed that same hand back and forth on Fu Mian’s long robe.
Fu Mian’s face was still full of smiles as he kicked at him.
Song Yuzhang dodged quickly. Fu Mian didn’t pursue it further, only said with faint amusement, “Your nerve really is getting bigger.”
Song Yuzhang sat on the outer side of the carriage, hands resting on his knees, sitting straight and handsome. “In front of you, I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid.”
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“Do you think I’m afraid of you?” Song Yuzhang’s gaze slanted as it met Fu Mian’s. “A-Mian, going along with you doesn’t mean I’m afraid of you. It just means I want to go along with you.”
Outside, the sunlight was just right. Inside, the dark yellow silk lining of the carriage seemed to glow, threads of gold floating faintly where their gazes crossed. Fu Mian curled his lips into a slight, cold smile. “You’re playing the hero in front of me again.”
“I’ve always thought of myself as a hero.”
“Oh? A hero who gets fucked speechless in bed?”
Song Yuzhang replied calmly, “Those are two different things.”
Fu Mian smiled. “Stubborn-mouthed—very much the mark of a tough guy.”
Song Yuzhang raised a hand and made a vague gesture of tipping his hat. “Many thanks for the compliment.”
Fu Mian fell silent. Ever since Song Yuzhang recovered his health, everything he said and did was becoming more and more like the Ye Zhuqing in his memory—the careless manner, the teasing words always on his lips, the composure that never wavered even if the sky fell. These were precisely the things that had once utterly captivated Fu Mian.
The carriage traveled quietly for a long time. When it finally stopped, the silence inside remained. Fu Mian rested one arm on his bent knee and smiled gently at Song Yuzhang. “Get down.”
“You first,” Song Yuzhang said.
Still smiling, Fu Mian sat up. “Afraid you won’t recognize the way?”
He lifted the curtain and stepped down. In that brief lift and fall of the curtain, Song Yuzhang caught sight of scenery outside—clean and graceful, like a landscape painting.
Fu Mian stood below the carriage, holding the curtain up with his fan, and extended his hand toward Song Yuzhang. “Come on, my precious Zhuqing.”
Song Yuzhang placed his hand in his but didn’t use his strength, jumping straight down from the carriage instead.
A straight gravel path stretched ahead, with a long river on both sides. The water was calm. Ahead stood a wall that extended as far as the eye could see, with an iron gate set into its center. Fu Mian took Song Yuzhang’s hand and led him slowly toward that gate.
Two burly men stood on either side of the gate, holding the leashes of several thick-bodied, powerful wolfdogs. Seeing that it was Fu Mian, both men and dogs became docile.
With a slight wave of his hand, Fu Mian signaled them, and one of the men stepped forward to push the gate open.
Song Yuzhang glanced up at the towering wall. The place felt like a prison set amid beautiful mountains and rivers. Once he stepped inside the wall, he realized it opened onto boundless green fields. Rows upon rows of neat, monotonous green plants stood in the sunlight, rippling like waves of emerald.
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