Song Yuzhang: Chapter 168 - Still Love
Chapter 168: Still Love
This was an enormous plantation. Song Yuzhang had traveled far and wide and seen enough to recognize at a glance that these were exceptionally fine tobacco leaves.
Qingxi’s climate was warm and pleasant; even in the coldest seasons it never snowed or iced over. It was indeed perfectly suited for this kind of work. Song Yuzhang reached out and brushed the leaves, plucked one and lifted it to his nose. The scent was clean, grassy, untouched by processing. Once cured, it would surely release a refined fruity aroma.
“Do you like it?” Fu Mian asked.
Song Yuzhang replied, “You used to save lives. Now you’re committing sins. That’s not good.”
Fu Mian smiled. “I knew nothing pleasant would ever come out of that mouth of yours.”
Song Yuzhang could now be completely certain that the merchant supplying Shen Chengduo with tobacco was Fu Mian. It was information he had no way of passing on from here—effectively meaningless.
Turning the tobacco leaf between his fingers, Song Yuzhang asked, “When did you know I was in Haizhou?”
Fu Mian gave the same two-word answer Song Yuzhang knew so well: “Guess.”
Song Yuzhang drew in a light breath. “A-Mian, you’re too formidable. I can’t guess.”
Fu Mian took his hand. “Then put more thought into it.”
Fu Mian led Song Yuzhang through the plantation. In truth, there was little to see—apart from the greenery, there was nothing else.
Song Yuzhang walked beside him through the monotonous scenery, still holding that tobacco leaf. A sudden insight struck him: Fu Mian was likely showing him his current enterprise.
Back when they had eloped, Fu Mian had said he would build something of his own.
“So you deal in tobacco now?” Song Yuzhang asked.
“More or less.”
“And something else as well?”
“Guess.”
Fu Mian had grown even stingier with his answers.
“The clinic—did you close it?”
Fu Mian stopped and turned to look at him, a faint smile on his lips, as though tossing the question back at him.
Unperturbed, Song Yuzhang said, “I never gave the prescriptions to Tang Jin. The Fu family still holds the only copies. The clinic should still be able to operate.”
The smile lingered at the corner of Fu Mian’s mouth before he answered again, “Guess?”
Song Yuzhang laughed and shook his head. “I can’t guess.” He lifted his hand, loosened his fingers, and the tobacco leaf was carried away by the wind.
The marks at his waist still remained. That night, Fu Mian finally finished the painting in a calm mood and held up a bronze mirror for Song Yuzhang to see.
It was a bamboo pit viper.
The snake’s body was long and slender, coiled in sinuous curves; its pointed head lifted sharply, brimming with provocative aggression. The venomous snake was painted so vividly it looked as though it might begin slithering across Song Yuzhang’s waist at any moment.
“Is this how I look to you?”
Song Yuzhang lay prone, sweating even as he endured it.
Fu Mian propped his cheek on his hand and smiled at him. “When you chose that name, wasn’t that exactly what you had in mind?”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “Back then I was being hunted, cornered, nearly reduced to a wild man gnawing on raw flesh. Before I met Tang Jin, that bamboo pit viper was the best full meal I’d had. I took the name to commemorate it.”
“Bamboo pit vipers are highly venomous,” Fu Mian said softly. “Why didn’t it kill you?”
“Born with a tough fate,” Song Yuzhang replied. “Hard to die.”
“That’s not a tough fate—that’s a hard fate,” Fu Mian said. “People with hard fates bring death to those closest to them.” He suddenly leaned down and lay beside Song Yuzhang, eyes gleaming. “You killed your mother. I killed my father. Tell me—whose fate is harder?”
“Hard to say,” Song Yuzhang answered.
Fu Mian placed a hand over the back of his head, gently pressed their foreheads together, and murmured, “Then let’s test it. Let’s see whose fate is harder. How about that?”
At the time, Song Yuzhang did not realize that Fu Mian’s words carried the weight of a proposal.
The next day, Fu Mian left Qingxi again, granting Song Yuzhang a measure of freedom.
Song Yuzhang was now allowed to come and go within the courtyard.
The freedom came oddly. Song Yuzhang didn’t question it and went first to see Xiao Fengxian. Xiao Fengxian truly was recovering. The renowned physician of the Fu household lived up to his reputation—his body was healing quickly, enough that he could now get out of bed and walk.
In fact, his legs had never been injured. He had simply been weak and psychologically traumatized, too afraid to stand.
Song Yuzhang supported him as they walked out of the pitch-dark room.
Unused to sunlight, Xiao Fengxian began shedding tears the moment the light hit him—whether from the glare or from sorrow, it was impossible to tell.
Supporting him, neither sad nor angry, Song Yuzhang said, “Let’s go see the osmanthus tree in my courtyard. When I was little, I loved watching ants beneath it. They look so small, but when they gather together, they can build a fine home.”
Xiao Fengxian sniffled and nodded, letting out a soft “Mm.”
Song Yuzhang brought him back to the courtyard, and they truly did sit together beneath the osmanthus tree.
There were no ants there. The soil was damp. Though it wasn’t in bloom, the leaves still gave off a faint fragrance.
Song Yuzhang thought of Nie Xueping. He took Xiao Fengxian’s hand, resolving that he could never again allow a good person to die for him. Xiao Fengxian shrank slightly and leaned against his shoulder.
A leaf drifted down from above and fell past Song Yuzhang’s head. For no clear reason, he thought of Meng Tingjing—his face surfaced in his mind, and then vanished.
—
Meng Tingjing was quietly observing everything in Haizhou from the shadows.
Yet everything seemed ordinary—or perhaps everything was profoundly abnormal.
The Song family bank fell into brief turmoil, because Liu Chuanzong had also disappeared.
Soon after, the government stepped in to temporarily take control of the bank.
Procedurally, this was reasonable. Holding fast to his habit of suspecting everything, Meng Tingjing believed there might be a scheme behind it.
After Song Yuzhang vanished, whoever stood to benefit was immediately suspect.
A telegram was sent south to find Song Qiyuan, but he had already bid farewell to Song Yekang and vanished himself. Meng Tingjing weighed the situation again and again. Even if Song Yekang were brought back, things might not improve much. Though the Song Bank was privately owned, it wasn’t something any Song by surname could simply take over. According to the will, Song Yuzhang alone inherited the bank. Song Qiyuan at least held a position there and could claim legitimacy; Song Yekang, by contrast, was nothing at all.
Though Meng Tingjing was personally close to Song Yuzhang, he had never interfered with the bank’s affairs, fearing Song Yuzhang would overthink it and argue with him. Now, all he could do was watch as the Song family bank was taken over by the government.
Meng Tingjing dared to think—and dared to hate. He immediately added the Nationalist government to his list of suspects.
Song Yuzhang had met with trouble on the territory of the Twenty-Third Division. Who could guarantee that the Twenty-Third Division hadn’t done it deliberately?
Meng Tingjing had always loved brooding, and the more he thought now, the more it felt as though his liver and gall were being torn apart. He was so furious he wanted to grab a gun—damn it all, rebel and be done with it!
In the end, he forced himself to calm down, deciding that perhaps he was overthinking things.
Because of personnel losses, the chamber of commerce brought in some new members. When Meng Tingjing looked at the list of misshapen nobodies, impatience was written all over his face. A chamber of commerce—commerce my ass!
Meng Tingjing’s temper grew more and more volatile.
Everyone around him felt it.
“Mood swings” was no longer enough to describe it. More often than not, he would suddenly slam the table, leap to his feet, and stride off, coming and going like the wind—like a madman.
Madman. That was what Shen Chengduo secretly called him.
As for Meng Tingjing’s apparent insanity, Shen Chengduo was more than happy to see it. He wasn’t stupid—he had simply never thought along those lines before. Now that Song Yuzhang was presumed dead, Meng Tingjing’s grief—worse than if his own father had died—was practically ironclad evidence.
Song Yuzhang and Meng Tingjing had been sleeping together.
Shen Chengduo flicked his lighter with a series of sharp clicks, an itch crawling through him. He wanted to pay Fu Mian a visit.
But Fu Mian was a slippery fox with more than one burrow. No one could figure out where he had hidden Song Yuzhang.
Even if Shen Chengduo found Fu Mian, there was no guarantee he’d see Song Yuzhang. Song Yuzhang was a good friend—and a fine business partner. But every man looks out for himself, or heaven strikes him dead. Compared to being a dog forever standing behind others, waiting to be commanded and driven, who wouldn’t want to be the one standing in front, basking in glory?
Besides, both Fu Mian and Director Zhang had agreed to spare Song Yuzhang’s life.
That came as no surprise to Shen Chengduo.
Such a stunning beauty—what a waste it would be to kill him!
Shen Chengduo sucked hard on his cigar, restless and itching, worried that Zhang Changshan might get the first taste.
As for Fu Mian, that was beside the point. He had taken enormous risks—he deserved to enjoy himself first. Zhang Changshan had only issued orders from the sidelines; how could that compare? And besides, Zhang Changshan was a half-old man—how unfair that would be to Song Yuzhang!
Shen Chengduo was burning with impatience to have Song Yuzhang, yet Fu Mian remained elusive as a divine dragon—revealing his head but never his tail.
—
Song Yuzhang himself had no idea where Fu Mian had gone. In any case, after half a month had passed, Fu Mian finally returned.
At the time, Song Yuzhang was holding Xiao Fengxian’s hand, sitting beneath a tree and cooling off like children.
Xiao Fengxian had been genuinely happy. But when he heard footsteps and realized it was Fu Mian, he panicked and flung Song Yuzhang’s hand away. With nowhere to flee, he leapt into the nearby pond in sheer desperation.
Song Yuzhang jumped to his feet at once. In the pond, Xiao Fengxian looked like a water ghost, clinging to the edge with both hands, only a pair of bright eyes surfacing eerily above the water.
“How interesting,” Fu Mian said leisurely as he approached. As soon as he drew closer, Xiao Fengxian paddled backward to the far side of the pond. Fu Mian planted one foot on the pond’s edge and turned to Song Yuzhang. “Shall I bring you some extra fish feed?”
Song Yuzhang grabbed Fu Mian’s arm and, without the slightest politeness, dragged him straight into the house. Fu Mian looked at him as though seeing something new, and as they crossed the threshold, he glanced back.
Xiao Fengxian was still staring in the direction they’d gone. When Fu Mian suddenly turned his head, Xiao Fengxian shuddered in fright.
The color on Song Yuzhang’s waist had faded completely. Fu Mian gently stroked it and said regretfully, “It really should be tattooed.”
“I don’t want to,” Song Yuzhang replied.
“As if your wishes matter.”
“Of course they do,” Song Yuzhang said, turning his face slightly and smiling faintly at him. “Because you still love me.”
Fu Mian raised his hand. The slap came down—but didn’t land on Song Yuzhang’s face. Instead, he lightly pinched Song Yuzhang’s chin. “Looks like you got that one right.”
Song Yuzhang’s eyes flickered. “I’m truly flattered.”
“There’s an even bigger surprise,” Fu Mian said, knocking his forehead lightly against Song Yuzhang’s. “Get up. I’ll show you.”
His tone was bright with excitement, genuinely pleased. He pulled Song Yuzhang out of the room. Night had already fallen. Song Yuzhang glanced at the pond—the surface was empty now. Judging by the water stains left behind, Xiao Fengxian must have already gone back.
The compound was dense with trees, sparsely lit, and nearly deserted—at night it felt like a gloomy nest.
Fu Mian led Song Yuzhang into the main hall.
Two large redwood chests stood at the entrance, each tied with even redder silk ribbons.
Fu Mian stepped forward and opened one. As the lid lifted, a dazzling flood of jewels spilled out. A golden floral crown lay atop a sea of red, a phoenix clasping a vivid crimson gem in its beak, from which hung a curtain of pearls. Each pearl was round and faintly pink, and even in the dim light, they shimmered so brightly it made one’s heart race.
“Do you like it?”
Song Yuzhang said nothing.
Fu Mian lifted the ornate crown. The gold leaves were beaten so thin they were nearly translucent, rustling softly with the slightest movement. Smiling, he held it up against Song Yuzhang’s head. “Perfect fit.”
Song Yuzhang raised his eyes; his curled lashes fluttered once. “A-Mian.”
“I brought this back specially from Anjin,” Fu Mian said with a smile. “I’ve been struck from the family registry—getting my hands on it wasn’t easy.”
“So, Zhuqing—are you willing to be my bride?”
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