Song Yuzhang: Chapter 172 - Return
Song Yuzhang was recuperating in the hospital.
After being rushed there the day before, the doctors had forcefully flushed his stomach. He’d suffered terribly—hovering between life and death, his face white as paper. When Fu Mian took his hand, it was ice-cold as well.
The renowned medical expert Fu Mian always kept by his side had been summoned immediately upon seeing Song Yuzhang vomiting and losing consciousness. After observing, listening, questioning, and taking his pulse, even he couldn’t determine what kind of poison Song Yuzhang had ingested. On the spot, he prescribed an emetic and sent someone to fetch the medicine.
Seeing the situation, Fu Mian said nothing more and decisively ordered a car to take Song Yuzhang to the hospital.
By the time the medicine was fetched and boiled, Song Yuzhang was already in a state where no one could tell whether he was alive or dead.
East City was far more prosperous than Qingxi. There were three hospitals in the city, and Fu Mian chose the nearest one. Inevitably, Song Yuzhang’s face was exposed to the doctors and nurses there.
Fu Mian held Song Yuzhang’s hand. He couldn’t tell whether it was Song Yuzhang’s chill infecting him, or whether he himself had grown cold—his own hand was icy as well.
“I’m fine,” Song Yuzhang said.
His tone was crisp, his voice neither high nor low. Judging by his breath alone, he really did sound fine.
The doctor said it looked somewhat like food poisoning, but couldn’t be certain. When asked what he had eaten, Fu Mian fell silent—he absolutely did not believe there was anything wrong with the food.
Fu Mian hooked a finger against Song Yuzhang’s curled lashes and said evenly, “Eating something bad—what could really happen?”
Song Yuzhang gave a soft “mm.” “The chicken soup tasted a bit strange.”
Fu Mian had already had it tested—there was no poison in the soup.
At the time, Song Yuzhang had vomited up a great deal of filth. Fu Mian had ordered it preserved, but neither the hospital nor the medical expert had the technical means to deal with it.
The expert was somewhat better off and could at least determine that medicine had been involved. As for what kind—he was a master physician, not Hua Tuo. He couldn’t say.
Fu Mian thought: either the other party hadn’t intended to kill Song Yuzhang, or Song Yuzhang had eaten too little and escaped by sheer luck.
“There’s an insider,” Fu Mian thought to himself.
“How’s Fengxian?” Song Yuzhang asked.
“I don’t know,” Fu Mian replied.
He didn’t care about Xiao Fengxian—not in the slightest.
Song Yuzhang’s fingers tightened around his hand. “I want to go see if he’s all right.”
Fu Mian’s expression darkened slightly. “What could be wrong with him?”
“A-Mian…” Song Yuzhang’s voice rasped, as if he couldn’t quite support it. He gave a bitter smile. “Consider it me begging you.”
Fu Mian had kept Song Yuzhang trapped in his palm for months, but he had never once heard him plead like this while fully conscious.
“I know you won’t hurt him anymore. I just want some peace of mind,” Song Yuzhang said gently. “Otherwise, let me go back. There’s nothing wrong with me anyway.”
Fu Mian squeezed his hand again. “He’s eating and sleeping just fine. Stay here and recuperate for two days first.”
East City was far from Haizhou, and information didn’t flow easily between regions. Besides, in Haizhou, Song Yuzhang was already a dead man. There was no need to worry. The only thing to guard against was someone making another attempt on his life. Fu Mian knew Zhang Changshan wanted Song Yuzhang dead. He understood. If he were Zhang Changshan, not only Song Yuzhang—he, Fu Mian, would have to die sooner or later as well. Burning bridges after crossing the river, killing the donkey once the millstone was unloaded—that was always a politician’s specialty.
Fu Mian stationed several attendants who were like death-sworn followers—men he had brought up personally—to guard Song Yuzhang around the clock at the hospital. He himself went back to purge his ranks.
The tobacco business was not easy to run. He had fought his way out of a sea of blood to get where he was. Hatred was excellent nourishment, and so he had grown quickly. Under indiscriminate, brutal scrutiny, Fu Mian indeed pulled several nails out of his team.
The nails, once exposed, seemed to know they had no way out. They said nothing extra and immediately took poison.
Fu Mian understood—their families were likely all in someone else’s hands. Selling their lives was the only path left to them.
Like running meat through an iron sieve, he combed through the rest of the people again. He identified several more suspects. They swore to the death that they weren’t traitors. Fu Mian preferred to believe they were—so he killed them all.
Along this road, the thing Fu Mian feared least was killing.
Whoever blocked his way—kill them. Whoever made him unhappy—kill them. Whoever dared lay a hand on his people—kill them.
Song Yuzhang belonged to him. He had “died” once under Fu Mian’s gun, had lain in a grave. The current Song Yuzhang was a completely new Song Yuzhang—his very name had been changed. Such a Song Yuzhang belonged to him alone.
After the thorough stomach lavage, Song Yuzhang was able to take some liquid food starting the next day, but his spirits were poor. After one or two bites, he would stop eating. As a result, his recovery was even slower.
When Fu Mian returned to the hospital, it was the third day Song Yuzhang had been there.
Song Yuzhang was asleep, still pale-faced and sickly, his lips faint with color.
Fu Mian disliked this sickly version of him. He pressed the back of his hand against Song Yuzhang’s cheek. Song Yuzhang didn’t wake. Fu Mian sat down, and within that illness-ridden face, a fierce killing intent rose in him.
By coincidence, far away in South City, Zhang Changshan had also developed killing intent toward Fu Mian.
One day, the informants he had planted by Fu Mian’s side suddenly stopped sending messages. From this, he inferred they were probably dead.
Zhang Changshan thought Fu Mian was preparing to rebel. As a veteran schemer, he naturally spun a whole web of conspiracies on Fu Mian’s behalf.
The aem factory fire—although extinguished in time—had burned a critical area, seriously affecting production. Officially, it was said to be caused by worker negligence. Zhang Changshan couldn’t inspect the site personally and didn’t quite believe this explanation. The timing was too coincidental. He suspected Fu Mian was sending him a warning.
Not to mention that Fu Mian had also killed his men.
Both sides harbored killing intent—but their methods differed.
After weighing it, Zhang Changshan decided this matter was best resolved as quickly as possible. He still didn’t want to send his own people to carry out the killing. Instead, he immediately instructed Shen Chengduo to dispatch men to East City to eliminate both Fu Mian and Song Yuzhang.
In shock, Shen Chengduo actually asked, “Song Yuzhang too?”
Zhang Changshan snorted through his nose. “Nonsense!”
After a moment of silence, Shen Chengduo heard Zhang Changshan soften his tone. “Handle this well, and we’ll have no worries left behind. Autumn is here—it’s time to reap the harvest.”
Shen Chengduo knew Zhang Changshan was dangling bait before him. He wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t willing to become a dog so easily. He wanted some benefits first.
After a round of negotiation, Zhang Changshan hung up on Shen Chengduo and made another call—to Liao Tiandong.
Liao Tiandong was at home admiring a new set of jewelry when Zhang Changshan’s call came unexpectedly. Zhang Changshan was fairly polite in his attitude toward him, bluntly asking Liao Tiandong to lend Shen Chengduo a hand within the Chamber of Commerce.
Liao Tiandong was somewhat dumbfounded, but he didn’t refuse Zhang Changshan. The war situation seemed to be growing clearer by the day, yet the atmosphere above had grown even more turbulent—tenser than before.
Having long held the cushy, lucrative post of director of the Haizhou Transportation Bureau, Liao Tiandong’s political sensitivity had dulled considerably. He couldn’t match Zhang Changshan’s sharpness, stationed as he was at the emperor’s feet in South City.
Since Zhang Changshan had said so, then he would do as asked.
Once Shen Chengduo had obtained his benefits, he willingly decided to work for Zhang Changshan. To be safe, he first sent a group of men to East City to scout the area.
Meng Tingjing had been watching Shen Chengduo closely the whole time. When he noticed Shen Chengduo’s unusual movements, he couldn’t help slapping his thigh—so the fox’s tail finally showed itself!
Meng Tingjing didn’t know exactly what this movement meant, but whatever it was, it had to be a lead. He immediately dispatched people to tail them.
Both groups were heading toward East City—yet Fu Mian was preparing to move Song Yuzhang again.
East City was no longer safe.
However, Song Yuzhang’s condition was ill-suited for constant travel. After he regained consciousness, the doctors at the hospital became visibly flustered. Whenever Song Yuzhang pressed a hand to his stomach or frowned slightly, they seemed to feel the pain on his behalf, unable to bear it, and urged him to stay for several more days of observation.
After all, no one knew what kind of poison he had ingested. Who could say whether there would be lasting aftereffects?
Song Yuzhang looked indifferent about it all. He told Fu Mian he still wanted to go back and check on Xiao Fengxian.
The doctor, overhearing this, objected strongly. “What kind of patient goes back to visit family? Have the family come visit the hospital instead.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Fu Mian shot him a look. The killing intent in that glance made the doctor fall silent at once.
Fu Mian took Song Yuzhang’s hand. “Let’s go home and recuperate.”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “All right.”
Fu Mian took him out of the hospital and brought him back. Every meal was prepared with meticulous care, but Song Yuzhang’s appetite remained poor. Fu Mian could tell he was forcing himself to eat—he simply couldn’t manage more.
The human body is a precision instrument. Some damage may be so subtle that it doesn’t immediately affect its operation, yet who knows—it could already be a serious problem.
The medical expert only said that Song Yuzhang’s spleen and stomach were out of balance.
Hearing this, Fu Mian felt little emotion—except for a strong desire to kill Zhang Changshan.
He couldn’t possibly let Song Yuzhang return to Haizhou, yet Zhang Changshan still refused to let things go.
What had begun as a mutually beneficial partnership—yet these politicians always wanted something for nothing. When they failed to get it, they acted as though they’d suffered some great injustice.
Fu Mian was smoking outside the courtyard when he heard the clang of a spoon being set down inside. He turned back into the room. Song Yuzhang had eaten only a thin surface layer of the bowl of porridge.
“I didn’t finish it,” Song Yuzhang said, yawning, a glimmer of tears appearing at the corners of his eyes. “I’m just a bit sleepy.”
Fu Mian sat down by the bed, picked up the bowl, and scooped a spoonful. “I’ll feed you.”
Song Yuzhang opened his mouth and took a small sip.
He didn’t eat with any relish. Watching him, Fu Mian couldn’t quite describe what he felt. Song Yuzhang being unwell should have pleased him—but in truth, he was deeply unhappy.
He could torment Song Yuzhang himself. Others were not allowed to.
“If you can’t eat, then don’t.”
Fu Mian set the bowl aside and stroked Song Yuzhang’s hair, saying thoughtfully, “Are you pretending to be sick?”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “Whether I’m pretending or not—go ask the doctor.”
“We need to leave,” Fu Mian said.
“Leave?” Song Yuzhang replied helplessly. “Running for our lives again?”
Song Yuzhang wasn’t stupid. He could already see their situation. Fu Mian’s chest tightened with a stifled anger. He continued stroking Song Yuzhang’s hair and said lightly, “If you don’t want to go, then we’ll stay a little longer.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to…” Song Yuzhang smiled, the smile bitter. “I’m just… living one day at a time. Who knows what accident might happen tomorrow.”
They fell into a long silence. Song Yuzhang lay down first, speaking as he did so. “I said I was sleepy earlier. I’ll sleep now.” From beneath the covers, he extended a hand and squeezed Fu Mian’s hand once. “If we go, we go. A-Mian—you want to protect me. I know that.”
Song Yuzhang’s hand was warm. After that brief contact, it slipped back under the blanket. That fleeting warmth sent a sudden shiver through Fu Mian.
If those hands were ever to grow cold, he thought, he wouldn’t be able to live either.
Fu Mian bent down and, through the blanket, pressed his head heavily against Song Yuzhang’s chest.
“Zhuqing.”
“Mm?”
“I won’t let you die. No one gets to take your life.”
“…”
Song Yuzhang didn’t answer. Fu Mian sat up and saw that Song Yuzhang had already closed his eyes. He touched his forehead and said softly, “Sleep.”
The Meng family’s people had been following the Shen family’s men all along, keeping a considerable distance to avoid exposing themselves.
That night, the Shen group took the main road. The Meng group followed, maintaining the same distance. The Shen men seemed exhausted from constant travel and stopped to rest.
The Meng men stopped as well.
While they were chewing on dry rations, the Meng scouts at the front hurried back.
“Bad news—there’s suddenly a mounted group approaching from the southeast. Not sure if they’re horse bandits.”
“Horse bandits? Are there bandits in this area?”
“Hard to say. What should we do? Go over?”
“Don’t. They should be able to handle it themselves.”
The Meng group cautiously refrained from approaching. When daylight broke, their scouts took a side path through the woods to pursue—and found only a road littered with corpses, bodies strewn everywhere.
Before dawn, Fu Mian hurried back. He bathed, then slipped into Song Yuzhang’s bed, cool and fresh. Song Yuzhang woke as Fu Mian pulled him into a fierce embrace. Fu Mian said, “I want to take you back to Haizhou.”
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