Song Yuzhang: Chapter 169 - The Phoenix Weeps Blood
Chapter 169: The Phoenix Weeps Blood
The Fu residence suddenly sprang to life without warning. Almost overnight, countless servants seemed to appear, quickly dressing the gloomy old compound in the trappings of celebration.
Song Yuzhang neither said yes nor no. In practical terms, it was never up to him anyway.
This was a performance, and he was a puppet in it, the strings held firmly in Fu Mian’s hands.
The servants carried the two large chests into Song Yuzhang’s room. When the other chest was opened, it revealed a full set of wedding garments—entirely feminine from inside to out. The workmanship was exquisite beyond reproach, radiant and resplendent, no less magnificent than the floral crown, the two perfectly matched as a set.
Any bride, upon seeing such a phoenix crown and crimson wedding robes, would find it hard not to feel a stirring of joy.
Song Yuzhang picked up the red bridal veil, a helpless, self-mocking smile flickering across his face.
He had calculated everything, yet never imagined that one day he would become a bride again.
He only wondered how long this farce would continue—and what ending Fu Mian had prepared for him.
Setting the veil aside, Song Yuzhang turned back and lay down on the bed, still clothed. After resting quietly for a while, he raised his right hand, closed his eyes, and gently kissed the knuckle of his index finger.
The two protagonists of the wedding were, oddly enough, especially idle. Song Yuzhang had no idea where Fu Mian had gone. He himself could not leave the compound, and after seeing that vast plantation, he had good reason to suspect that Fu Mian had become the local overlord of Qingxi. Even if he did escape the residence, it would likely be useless.
Within the limited freedom he was granted, Song Yuzhang did his best to look after Xiao Fengxian.
Xiao Fengxian had been badly frightened by Fu Mian and no longer dared to go outside.
People came and went through the courtyard. Pressed against the door, Xiao Fengxian saw the bright red decorations; they brought him no sense of festivity, only dread.
Song Yuzhang fed him porridge. “Did you sleep well last night?”
Xiao Fengxian nodded.
“It’s noisy outside. Don’t go out—your health comes first,” Song Yuzhang said.
Xiao Fengxian nodded again.
Seeing how obedient he was now, Song Yuzhang felt a pang of regret. Xiao Fengxian hadn’t always been so meek.
Xiao Fengxian wanted to communicate with him, but when he opened his mouth, it revealed only emptiness; he feared that would frighten Song Yuzhang. His gestures were limited, he couldn’t write, and he couldn’t think of any way to express himself. The frustration tormented him, yet he refused to cry again—his tears were spent, and he was saving his strength to survive.
As Song Yuzhang was about to leave, Xiao Fengxian grabbed him, pointed at Song Yuzhang’s chest, then flailed his arms in a whipping motion.
“Don’t worry, he didn’t beat me,” Song Yuzhang reassured him.
Xiao Fengxian shook his head hard. He ran to the wall, pressed his ear against it, pointed outside, and mimed whipping again.
Song Yuzhang understood. “You mean Song Jincheng is being beaten again?”
Xiao Fengxian turned back and nodded vigorously, then pressed his hands together under his cheek and closed his eyes, miming sleep—indicating that Song Jincheng wasn’t just being beaten, but beaten every night.
Xiao Fengxian was unusually concerned about his fellow prisoner. Knowing Song Jincheng was Song Yuzhang’s elder brother, yet unclear about Song Yuzhang’s true identity or the grudges between him and Fu Mian, Xiao Fengxian didn’t even know why Song Jincheng was imprisoned here. Panicked and helpless, he wanted only to tell Song Yuzhang everything he knew. He believed Song Yuzhang would find a way to take him away.
“I know,” Song Yuzhang said.
Leaving the room, he looked toward the courtyard wall. He truly couldn’t enter that yard—Fu Mian clearly didn’t want him speaking with Song Jincheng.
Song Jincheng still had his tongue. He could still scream.
That night, Song Yuzhang saw Fu Mian.
Fu Mian’s steps were light, his expression relaxed—nothing about him suggested that every night he personally went to “deal with” Song Jincheng.
“Strictly speaking, the bride and groom shouldn’t meet before the wedding,” Fu Mian said with a smile. “But if I didn’t come, I was afraid no one would tell you we’re getting married tomorrow.”
Song Yuzhang laughed. “Thank you. Now I finally know I’m getting married tomorrow.”
Fu Mian entered the room and picked up the rouge box from the dressing table—the one Song Yuzhang had once knocked over—and sniffed it lightly. “Knowing now isn’t too late.”
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Song Yuzhang asked, “Is there anything I need to prepare?”
Fu Mian turned back with the rouge box in hand, smiling. “You seem quite invested.”
“It’s my own wedding,” Song Yuzhang said with a smile. “Of course I should be.”
Fu Mian stepped closer and lightly dabbed a bit of rouge onto Song Yuzhang’s brow.
A single red mark bloomed between his brows—striking and beautiful.
“You don’t need to prepare anything,” Fu Mian said pointedly. “Just make sure you don’t disappear when the time comes.”
Song Yuzhang closed his eyes, feeling the coolness and fragrance of the rouge. “Then I’ll try my best to be present.”
Fu Mian did not stay the night.
Lying beneath the bright red quilt, Song Yuzhang felt an eerie desolation. This was hardly the atmosphere one should feel before a wedding.
They were not a pair of lovers, yet had been forcibly made into one. What intentions lay behind it—who could say?
He thought it was even more tragic than sharing a bed with different dreams.
Whom could he blame? No one, really. If anything, blame fate for its cruel jokes.
The next day passed as usual. Only after nightfall did the mute servants knock and enter, together lifting the two large chests to the side of the dressing table.
Song Yuzhang sat before the bronze mirror. In its dim, yellowed reflection was his calm face. He took a deep breath. Fine—then let him be married.
The wedding garments were complex, but Song Yuzhang had once lived among opera troupes and could manage. Layer by layer, piece by piece—when the knotted buttons at the lapel were fastened, it felt as though the robes themselves had trapped him. Half-awkwardly, he put on only the upper garments, sighed, then removed his trousers and tied on the skirt as well. The skirt alone was heavy, weighed down with gemstones, dazzling in its opulence.
The floral crown placed upon his head weighed several jin. Song Yuzhang thought wryly that being a bride was truly suffering.
The mute servants draped the red veil over him and placed a snow-white jade ruyi in his hand.
As he stepped out, he noticed the leather shoes on his feet and couldn’t help laughing—it all felt like a solemnly staged child’s play.
The sedan chair waited in the courtyard. Song Yuzhang ducked inside, still holding the jade ruyi, its chill seeping into his palm. There were no windows; the air was stifling. Before long, sweat beaded on his skin as the chair swayed along.
It seemed to travel for a long time—so long that Song Yuzhang even felt it might have left the Fu residence.
The creaking sway continued in his ears. Overheated, he tore off the red veil. The sedan chair was low; the floral crown pressed against the top, making it hard to move. With a jolt, the pearl curtain before his face chimed softly.
Bracing one hand against the wall of the chair, Song Yuzhang asked, “Where are you taking me?”
Outside, the bearers remained silent. He lifted his foot and kicked the door once, but the sedan chair continued on its unhurried, swaying path.
Song Yuzhang let out a bitter smile. By the time the sedan chair finally came to a stop, he was drenched in sweat and on the verge of fainting.
With a creak, the sedan door opened from the outside. Song Yuzhang slumped sideways inside, lifting his gaze to look up. Black satin shimmered with cold glints under the moonlight, and a hand reached in.
“Zhuqing, come down.”
Song Yuzhang placed his hand into it and bent low as he stepped out of the sedan. Suddenly remembering something, he turned back. “The veil.”
A vivid red bridal veil lay slanted inside the sedan.
“It’s fine. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
Fu Mian said with a laugh in his voice.
Song Yuzhang turned his face away and only then realized that the bearers had carried him all the way to the plantation. Beneath the enormous full moon, the tobacco leaves glowed with a dim, ghostly green. Fu Mian was dressed in a black groom’s outfit, a smile flickering faintly across his face. “So beautiful.”
Song Yuzhang hadn’t applied any rouge or powder. He had sweated on the way, leaving his face pale and lightly flushed—natural adornment enough. His looks had never been androgynous, yet they suited this lavish floral crown perfectly—so perfectly that Fu Mian couldn’t help but reach out to touch his face, repeating softly, “So beautiful. My bride.”
Behind the curtain of pearls, Song Yuzhang’s eyes flickered. Fu Mian took his hand and turned, leading him into the tobacco leaves.
“A-Mian.”
Fu Mian didn’t respond. He only pulled him faster and faster. Song Yuzhang had to break into a run to keep up. It felt as though they were chasing the moon in the sky, running until they reached the edge of the tobacco forest.
Under the moonlight, a square clearing opened up within the plantation. Damp, pitch-black earth had been piled into a small mound to one side. As Song Yuzhang was still catching his breath, Fu Mian suddenly grabbed his shoulder and pulled him straight into his arms.
Fu Mian was panting too, his tone tinged with excitement.
“Zhuqing, this is the grave I dug for you with my own hands. Do you like it?”
Beside the mound of earth was a perfectly round pit, like a hole torn open in the ground.
“When I heard about the explosion, I was truly terrified,” Fu Mian held him tightly. “I was so afraid.” His lips pressed lightly to Song Yuzhang’s forehead as he spoke softly. “So afraid I wouldn’t be able to send you on your way with my own hands.”
“A-Mian…” Song Yuzhang said.
“Shh—”
“Didn’t you always want to know what happened to me?”
Fu Mian suddenly whispered into his ear, his voice light and gentle. “Zhuqing, do you know? I had never been looked at by so many people before.”
“My father, my clan elders, the pharmacy clerks, the servants at home, the inn doorman…”
“In broad daylight, everyone was watching me—watching me naked in there, standing stupidly with two ship tickets no one wanted.”
Song Yuzhang closed his eyes slightly as Fu Mian’s lips moved to the hollow of his ear, his words reaching him with piercing clarity.
“In that moment, I truly felt utterly debased.”
Fu Mian released him, then abruptly spun him around. Their eyes met. Fu Mian gazed at him with great gentleness and said, word by word, “You deserve to die.”
Through the curtain of pearls, Song Yuzhang stared steadily at him.
What he had wanted to know—after enduring for so long—Fu Mian had finally told him.
“I’m sorry,” Song Yuzhang said.
Fu Mian smiled, drew a gun from his sleeve, and aimed it at Song Yuzhang. “I told you, there’s no need to say such things to me. Anything that belongs to me, I’ll take back with my own hands. Keep your hypocritical apologies for your next life. I picked this place especially for you. After you die, I’ll plant it full of new tobacco leaves. Zhuqing, I believe nourished by you, those leaves will have a very special flavor. I’ll enjoy them myself—and every year on your death anniversary, I’ll light one for you, let you taste the flavor of your own flesh and blood. If you have any last words, say them now.”
Song Yuzhang’s gaze passed over the dark muzzle of the gun and fixed on Fu Mian’s eyes.
Fu Mian’s eyes were cold, indistinct in the night.
“At that time,” Song Yuzhang said quietly, “I truly did love you.”
Bang—
Fu Mian fired a shot into the sky. Then he pushed the still-hot barrel through the pearl curtain of the phoenix crown and pressed it directly to Song Yuzhang’s brow. Song Yuzhang closed his eyes slightly, a rolling pain blooming across his forehead.
“I’ll give you one last chance,” he heard the gun being cocked. “At least before leaving this world, you should leave behind one sentence of truth.”
Song Yuzhang opened his eyes again. There was no change in his expression—natural and open, like the passing of a breeze. He looked straight at Fu Mian and smiled faintly, the same smile as before, like wind threading through forest leaves. “A-Mian, you were once the love of my life.”
Click. The sound was short and sharp. With the pull of the trigger, Song Yuzhang resignedly closed his eyes, his lashes trembling sharply along with the sound.
It seemed he truly was prepared to die.
There was only one bullet in Fu Mian’s gun.
Song Yuzhang opened his eyes again. Fu Mian was staring at him, his eyes faintly red. Song Yuzhang looked at him in a daze before being shoved into the grave that had already been dug. Fu Mian leapt down after him, entangling him tightly. Dressed in wedding garments, the two of them rolled together, their bodies smeared with filth and mud.
Inside the grave Fu Mian had dug with his own hands, he held Song Yuzhang in a death grip. In the darkness, apart from the wind rustling through leaves, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing.
“Zhuqing.”
Song Yuzhang tightened his arms around him.
He heard Fu Mian say calmly, “I thought about dying.”
Song Yuzhang’s breath caught.
Then Fu Mian said, “From now on, don’t lie to me again. All right?”
Song Yuzhang lifted his gaze. The floral crown had tilted, the golden phoenix drooping slightly, a red gemstone clasped in its beak, as if the phoenix were weeping blood. “All right,” he said.
----------
If you like my translation, please support me by buying me a coffee:
0 comments: