Song Yuzhang: Chapter 181 - A Flaw
The man snorted in cold agreement and pointed upward with his finger, saying in a mocking tone, “Business with the higher-ups is always the easiest.”
Fu Mian replied gently, “Let’s not talk about state affairs, let’s not talk about state affairs.”
The two chatted a while longer. Seeing that it was almost dark, Fu Mian rose to take his leave. “Time to go home and have dinner with my wife.”
The man had long heard that Fu Mian was married, that he had a frail wife who rarely went out. He smiled and said, “Boss Fu really dotes on his wife. Haizhou has good feng shui—may you soon have a noble son.”
The corner of Fu Mian’s lips curved slightly. “I’ll take that blessing.”
On the way back to the residence, Fu Mian kept thinking about the phrase “soon have a noble son” and found it rather amusing. He had the driver stop along the way and bought a box of candied sour jujube cakes, intending to use it to tease Song Yuzhang properly.
Haizhou was indeed a fine place. Ever since bringing Song Yuzhang back to Haizhou, Fu Mian’s mind had grown much calmer. Perhaps it wasn’t Haizhou at all—perhaps it was simply because Song Yuzhang had been quietly by his side.
The car stopped at the gate of the residence. The moment Fu Mian stepped out, he sensed something was wrong.
The air at the entrance still carried the lingering smell of gunpowder. Dark-red firecracker debris lay scattered across the steps. Hearing the commotion, a neighbor came out and immediately began complaining.
“This afternoon a bunch of children came shouting and making a racket, setting off a pile of firecrackers. It was unbearable.”
Fu Mian smiled mildly. “Is that so?”
“Kids these days are so ill-mannered, spoiled rotten by their families.”
Still smiling politely at the neighbor, Fu Mian stepped onto the stairs. A trace of unease rose in his heart. He stopped indulging the neighbor’s chatter, reached out, and gently pushed the door. The door opened only a crack before his gaze froze.
“What’s that smell?”
The neighbor edged closer curiously, but Fu Mian had already squeezed inside and slammed the door shut behind him with a bang.
Several bodies lay sprawled haphazardly across the courtyard. Fu Mian did not spare them a glance. He strode quickly toward the house. The door stood open; inside was empty, visible at a glance. He stepped back out and swiftly surveyed the entire small residence, inside and out.
There were no survivors in the courtyard.
Fu Mian grabbed the nearest attendant’s corpse and found a bullet hole between his brows—killed with a single shot, as if ambushed without warning.
“A bunch of children shouting and making a racket…”
Fu Mian set the body down. Waves of dizziness washed over him. He braced one hand against the stone table; his palm pressed into something soft and sticky. His eyes shifted sideways. His hand was sunk into the box of sour jujube cakes.
His gaze sharpened. He flung his hand away violently.
The cakes fell with a slap into the pool of blood on the ground, splattering messily and sending up a grotesque, misshapen flower of red.
Fu Mian stared blankly at the blood pooling on the ground. He took two deep breaths, then pulled out his handkerchief and carefully wiped the sticky jujube paste from his fingers.
Afterward, he walked steadily out of the courtyard. Closing the gate behind him, he got into the car and said to the attendant inside, “Out of the city.”
The attendant obeyed at once, flooring the accelerator and driving straight out of town in one breath. Fu Mian sat in the car, eyes fixed on the beam of headlights cutting through the night. “Go back,” he said. “Burn the house.”
“Yes.”
Fu Mian stepped out and slammed the door. The vehicle started up behind him and drove away. Only after the sound of it faded did he sway slightly, a sharp pain stabbing through his chest as he slowly exhaled.
Song Yuzhang was gone.
The thought felt like an invisible hand gripping him tightly. He found it hard to breathe, yet his breaths came fast and urgent, surging upward again and again until at last a warm, damp rush forced its way out.
Bent over as if crushed by pressure, Fu Mian opened his mouth. From between his lips, dark red, thick blood dripped down in threads like a web.
This time, Shen Chengduo had truly paid the price.
Those child assassins were the most ruthless and desperate batch he had selected from among orphans with no parents. Each boy looked like a respectable family’s child, yet in truth they were capable of any petty crime. From the age of five or six they had been trained to handle guns and kill, raised until now. Shen Chengduo had always used them sparingly—one or two at a time—partly because they were rare, partly because such a trick could only be used once. Most people did not guard against children. But once they suffered losses and became wary, the tactic would lose its value.
Two of the boys sent out had died, one was injured. But to Shen Chengduo, it was worth it—because in exchange he had obtained Song Yuzhang, a life-preserving talisman.
Shen Chengduo was no fool. He knew how many eyes were watching in the shadows. No matter who stood behind those eyes, this time he had acted personally, played his trump card, returned to the decisiveness of his youth—fast, ruthless, precise—while remaining cautious to the extreme. It could be said to have been watertight.
For that, he felt a trace of pride. After so many comfortable years, he had indeed grown rusty—but his foundation remained. The old blade was not yet dull.
Now, he simply waited for Fu Mian to come knocking.
At home, Shen Chengduo appeared leisurely, but in truth, he was wound tight with tension. He did not wait for Fu Mian. Instead, he received a frenzied Zhang Changshan.
Zhang Changshan had been lying low. His plan had been to have Shen Chengduo stage a performance before Fu Mian, trick him into handing over Song Yuzhang. Of course, what was a “performance” to Shen Chengduo would be even more of one to Fu Mian. The moment Song Yuzhang showed his face, Zhang Changshan intended to kill all three of them at once.
For this, Zhang Changshan had secretly redeployed troops, reluctantly transferring several of his most trusted subordinates from South City.
Such a redeployment would surely draw attention from above, but Zhang Changshan could no longer afford to care.
His younger brother was his life.
What career? What struggle? Before that little brother of his, none of it mattered.
Yet before his trusted men could infiltrate Haizhou, a secret telegram from Yeyang tore at his heart and guts.
Yeyang had become a stagnant quagmire of war. News from outside could not enter; news from inside leaked out only bit by bit. Every scrap of information was like an earthquake to Zhang Changshan.
This secret telegram had been transmitted from Yeyang with immense difficulty. Though Zhang Changshan himself was not in South City, he had people constantly watching for any military intelligence that might come back from Yeyang.
It was a plea for help.
Sent by Zhang Changyuan.
Food in Yeyang was about to run out—old news.
Zhang Changyuan had been wounded.
“Yeyang needs medicine. You may not allocate funds, but medicine must at least be supplied—”
“Old Zhang, I understand your feelings. Whether it’s food or medicine… right now, medicine is even harder to procure than food. You know that.”
Zhang Changshan hung up the phone directly.
He could wait no longer—not a single day more. Slumping into his chair, the urgency on his face gradually hardened into cruelty. The future no longer concerned him. As long as Zhang Changyuan could be saved, nothing else mattered.
“Tonight. Take men to Fu Mian’s place immediately. He’s in Haizhou. No matter how fierce a dragon, it can’t overpower a local snake like you. Kill them all. Don’t worry—I’ll handle all the aftermath,” Zhang Changshan said viciously.
Shen Chengduo was somewhat taken aback. Cautiously he said, “Director Zhang, going at it openly like this—there may be consequences…”
Zhang Changshan cut him off. “I said I’ll handle everything!”
In his heart, Shen Chengduo had absolutely no intention of continuing to risk his life for Zhang Changshan. The wound on his neck had not yet healed. Besides, he had just snatched Song Yuzhang from Fu Mian; now was the time to hide him. He had already prepared a speech to shift the blame onto Zhang Changshan.
Fu Mian and Zhang Changshan both wanted to use him as a gun. He wanted to try using someone else as a gun for once.
Shen Chengduo unbuttoned his collar, revealing the wound on his neck. “Director Zhang, to be honest, some days ago, Fu Mian already came to warn me. I nearly lost my life.”
Suppressing his fury, Zhang Changshan replied bluntly, “You’re still sitting here in one piece, which proves he doesn’t dare kill you! You’re a prominent figure in Haizhou—are you really afraid of that mere upstart?”
Shen Chengduo thought: Nonsense. The barefoot man fears nothing; he himself wore shoes, while Fu Mian was the barefoot one. Zhang Changshan not only wore shoes, he wore socks too—he had the most to worry about, which was why he kept sending others to risk their lives for him.
Anger flared in Shen Chengduo’s heart. He had gained little benefit, yet kept bowing and scraping. Even if Zhang Changshan pointed a gun at him today, he would not do it.
Fu Mian did not dare kill him. Would Zhang Changshan dare?
At worst, he would go barefoot, too.
He had seen it clearly: whoever dared the most would gain the most.
Song Yuzhang was secretly in his grasp. What did he have to fear? The measure of advance and retreat was now in his hands.
With confidence in his heart, Shen Chengduo appeared calm on the surface, lowering his head and putting on a show of reluctance.
Seeing his evasiveness, Zhang Changshan burned with anger. But in Haizhou, he truly lacked manpower and could only soften his tone. “Once he’s dead, his men will have no one to rely on—just a rabble. That large stretch of plantations in Qingxi…”
While the two were speaking, a light knock sounded outside.
Zhang Changshan frowned deeply. Shen Chengduo, listening intently, called out, “What is it?”
“Boss, the Fu residence has caught fire.”
The house had been reduced to ashes. Shen Chengduo did not dare show himself personally and could only send someone to investigate. Zhang Changshan was also greatly shocked, smashing things inside the Shen residence, suspecting that Fu Mian had sensed something in advance and shed his shell like a cicada to escape.
The moment Meng Tingjing landed in Haizhou, the Meng family attendants who came to receive him carefully reported everything that had happened over the past few days.
Listening as he got into the car, Meng Tingjing turned his head slightly and frowned. “The Fu residence was burned?”
“Yes.”
“The police station handled it. We tried to find out exactly what happened, but we couldn’t. This matter… Zhang Changshan seems to have intervened.”
Meng Tingjing slowed as he stepped into the car. Almost to himself, he said, “If the Fu residence burned, why would Zhang Changshan intervene?”
Then his words—and his movement—stilled at once.
A telegram that could disturb one’s composure. He had wanted the tense Zhang Changshan to panic and reveal some flaw in his actions.
A flaw had indeed appeared.
Meng Tingjing’s thoughts jolted violently. Images flashed through his mind in a sudden whirlwind—clues chaotic and half-formed, suspicions without clear edges—until at last they converged and condensed into two words.
—“Someone from the past.”
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