Song Yuzhang: Chapter 182 - To Reminisce
The basement of the Vienna was a little cold. Shen Chengduo had likely prepared it in haste—inside it was completely bare. Song Yuzhang himself didn’t mind, but he was afraid Xiao Fengxian would get chilled, so he gathered the boy into his arms.
Xiao Fengxian had been through enough already. After being locked up, he trembled for only a short while before settling down. Curled in Song Yuzhang’s embrace, he still felt safe.
Song Yuzhang had indeed rescued him from Fu Mian. He believed Song Yuzhang would rescue him from this predicament as well.
Gently stroking Xiao Fengxian’s hair, Song Yuzhang waited calmly for Shen Chengduo.
By now, Fu Mian had probably discovered he was gone.
People brought together by mutual benefit rarely know each other deeply.
If Shen Chengduo truly understood Fu Mian, he would never have dared snatch him from Fu Mian’s hands.
Song Yuzhang lowered his eyes. He wondered whether Fu Mian would eventually realize that he had calculated against him yet again.
Every man for himself—he had always been that sort of person. Surely Fu Mian would not be too disappointed.
The basement lights stayed on at all times, blurring the line between day and night. After Xiao Fengxian fell asleep, footsteps finally approached. The moment Shen Chengduo appeared, Song Yuzhang looked over and pressed a finger to his lips in a soft shushing gesture.
Shen Chengduo stopped at once.
Song Yuzhang carried Xiao Fengxian to the corner, laid him down carefully, then turned and walked back to the bars of the cell.
Shen Chengduo approached lightly, lowering his voice. “President Song, I’m sorry. The place is a bit crude.”
Song Yuzhang smiled faintly. “Brother Shen, since when have we become so polite with each other?”
Shen Chengduo gave a strained smile. “Brother Song, I had no choice. You know what kind of man Zhang Changshan is.”
“I know what kind of man he is,” Song Yuzhang replied coolly. “What kind of man you are—I’m not so sure I ever saw clearly.”
Shen Chengduo fell silent in embarrassment.
“Bring in two quilts, water, and food,” Song Yuzhang said. “And two packs of cigarettes and some liquor.”
Shen Chengduo nodded to each request. As Song Yuzhang turned to leave, Shen Chengduo hurriedly added, “Fu Mian has disappeared.”
Song Yuzhang looked back.
“He set a fire and burned the house to the ground.”
Shen Chengduo’s expression grew solemn. “Brother Song, your days under Fu Mian couldn’t have been easy, could they?” His gaze hardened. “Zhang Changshan forced my hand back then. He meant to kill you. I argued and persuaded him before he spared your life. Fu Mian said he had some old ties with you and was willing to look after you—that’s the only reason I agreed…” He showed a look of regret. “Now Fu Mian brought you back to Haizhou just to use your life as leverage against Zhang Changshan again. I already harmed you once. This time, my conscience truly wouldn’t allow it. You may not believe me, but I took enormous risks to rescue you.”
Song Yuzhang said evenly, “If you rescued me, why keep me locked up instead of letting me go?”
“You’re safest here,” Shen Chengduo replied quickly. “The moment you step outside, everyone will want you dead.”
“So I should thank you?”
Shen Chengduo looked ashamed. “That’s not what I mean. I’ve truly done my best. Brother Song, think about it—I’ve never harmed you.”
“You’ve never harmed me?”
Song Yuzhang suddenly gripped the bars in front of him, startling Shen Chengduo.
“Do you really not know whether my days with Fu Mian were good or bad?”
Shen Chengduo’s heart lurched. He swallowed and forcibly dragged his guilty gaze away from Song Yuzhang’s beautiful face. “That’s exactly why I’m afraid I can’t protect you now that Fu Mian’s suddenly vanished.”
Song Yuzhang fell silent for a long while. Lowering his lashes, he said softly, “He sent a group to Ye City to transport goods.”
Shen Chengduo was overjoyed. His peripheral vision flicked again toward Song Yuzhang. It seemed Song Yuzhang had truly been frightened by Fu Mian.
“Good. I’ll find a way to intercept him.”
A flash of cold light passed through Shen Chengduo’s eyes. Softly, he added, “Once things quiet down, I’ll arrange to send you away. Brother Song, you can’t stay in Haizhou anymore. I’ll send you back to England. What do you think?”
Song Yuzhang let out a cold laugh. “If I return to England, will the bank, the arm factory, and the railway follow me there too?”
Shen Chengduo sighed helplessly. “Why can’t you see? Whether it’s you or me, none of it truly belongs to us. It’s all a matter of someone else’s word, someone else’s raised hand.” Then he changed tone. “I’ll send what you asked for shortly. I must act carefully—this place isn’t absolutely safe. Too many eyes are watching. Haizhou is about to descend into chaos. Brother Song, you’re truly safest here for now.”
Even Shen Chengduo felt the speech sounded overly self-righteous. He left quickly.
Song Yuzhang clasped his hands behind his back. Though he stood inside the cell, his thoughts drifted beyond it. His vision, his mind, seemed to spread over Haizhou from above, looking down coldly at the shifting winds.
Shen Chengduo still did not understand Fu Mian well enough.
Even he himself had spent considerable time and thought deciphering Fu Mian after their reunion.
The day Guantu met with trouble, there had been an expert marksman hidden in the woods—at such distance, he had killed Song Yuzhang’s men one by one with flawless precision. Song Yuzhang had long wondered where Fu Mian found such a sharpshooter and whether he might be turned.
After quietly observing Fu Mian for a long time, he realized that was impossible.
Because that expert was Fu Mian himself.
Shen Chengduo assumed that if Fu Mian had no one left at his side, he would seek reinforcements. What he didn’t know was that Fu Mian trusted no one. The one he trusted and relied upon most had always been himself.
Fu Mian. Shen Chengduo. Zhang Changshan. In this three-way melee, who would emerge the victor?
With immense effort, he had dragged the battlefield back to Haizhou.
Tingjing, are you watching too?
For an entire night, Meng Tingjing did not close his eyes.
He possessed a near-photographic memory. Even memories that pained him deeply were not forgotten; when he wished to recall them, they surfaced effortlessly.
He dragged that night back into his mind and replayed it frame by frame, almost cruelly.
By then, his body and mind had already been stretched to their limits. One ship after another was stopped and searched. Each time he boarded with hope, each vessel seemed to carry Song Yuzhang’s shadow—but none carried the man himself.
He forced himself aboard that particular ship.
The owner was somewhat dark-skinned, fitting for someone who made a living at sea. His demeanor showed nothing unusual.
Meng Tingjing searched cabin by cabin, his heart clenched tight.
Then he entered a storeroom piled high with hay.
Memory unfolded like a continuous film reel. Thanks to his exceptional recall, he could even remember the strange scent he had noticed in that warehouse.
At the time, his mind had been muddled with exhaustion; he could no longer judge clearly.
Meng Tingjing closed his eyes, straining to recall the smell.
Hay left too long. Spilled lamp oil, slightly scorched. Damp wood. A faint trace of blood. And beneath those chaotic scents—what had been hidden there?
Meng Tingjing’s eyes flew open.
In the room, under the crystal chandelier, the silk upholstery of the chaise longue shimmered harshly.
His fingers began to twitch violently. Slowly, he rose and approached the chaise, letting his palm glide across it.
Splicing the two memories together, that elusive scent now surged to the surface.
It was the scent of human bodily fluids.
His mind exploded in a blaze. Trembling, he braced his hand against the chaise to keep from collapsing.
Back then, in the main cabin, he had also vaguely sensed a similar smell. He had thought it a hallucination born of tension. After hope failed again and again, he had begun doubting his own judgment—had he chosen the wrong direction? Had he wasted days while Song Yuzhang was taken elsewhere?
But his judgment had been right.
It was even possible that minutes before he boarded, Song Yuzhang had been on that very ship—inside that very cabin, perhaps even that warehouse.
Enduring Fu Mian’s torment in that sweltering, humid storeroom.
Meng Tingjing’s chest felt as if it were being torn apart. His fingers dug into his palms until blood seeped out, and he did not notice.
Yuzhang.
He expelled a long, shuddering breath.
Now that memory had a focal point, his few encounters with Fu Mian replayed before his eyes.
“…I brought my wife back to visit relatives along the way.”
The gentle, courteous smile. The happiness at the corners of his eyes. A faint, meaningful look directed at him.
Meng Tingjing’s chest heaved violently, his eyes bloodshot. He pressed his fist into the chaise and forced himself to calm within a few breaths.
Last time, urgency had led him to make mistakes.
This time, he must not repeat them.
He turned and slowly sat down on the chaise. His insides still burned.
The fire at the Fu residence was suspicious. He had to think—and he had to investigate—but without alerting the enemy. The telegram he had sent could nearly be called falsifying military intelligence; it had exhausted Li Zifeng’s favor entirely, all to throw Zhang Changshan into confusion. This was his last chance. He could not afford disorder. He must be colder—absolutely cold, as though none of it concerned him.
Meng Tingjing sat rigidly through the night. At dawn, sunlight crept to his feet. He called for a servant.
“Invite Shen Chengduo to visit,” he said hoarsely.
The servant acknowledged and hurried off.
Meng Tingjing remained seated for a moment longer, then rose and went to the bathroom. He took a cold shower, shaved the stubble grown overnight, combed his hair impeccably, changed into a silver-gray satin robe, and walked out looking refreshed.
Two rocking chairs stood side by side in the courtyard, gleaming in the morning dew. Meng Tingjing stepped over and brushed the newer one with his palm, smearing away a patch of cool moisture.
Then he turned sharply and strode into the hall.
When Shen Chengduo received the invitation, his heart leapt violently.
Meng Tingjing inviting him as a guest—this was a first.
The Meng family servant stood waiting respectfully. Shen Chengduo did not accept at once. Instead, he hesitated. Haizhou could change overnight now; every step required caution.
Could Meng Tingjing’s invitation have something to do with Song Yuzhang?
For once, Shen Chengduo politely declined.
After the servant left, he found himself inexplicably heading down to the basement again.
Song Yuzhang was seated atop the newly delivered quilts, pouring himself a drink. One leg was bent loosely; he did not look like a prisoner at all, but just as at ease as ever. Seeing Shen Chengduo, he swirled his glass and smiled. “Brother Shen, cigarettes without a light? That’s hardly proper.”
Shen Chengduo smiled as well and took a lighter from his pocket. “My mistake.”
Song Yuzhang drew a cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips, strolling lazily to the bars. Leaning against them, the white cigarette jutted through the iron gap.
Shen Chengduo flicked the lighter—click—and carefully lit it for him.
Song Yuzhang inhaled deeply and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.
Staring at his profile through the drifting haze, Shen Chengduo said quietly, “Meng Tingjing has invited me over.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he felt foolish. Why had he come seeking Song Yuzhang’s counsel? Perhaps habit—once they had often conferred together. He wanted to leave, yet his feet would not move. Some instinct told him Song Yuzhang would offer advice—and reliable advice.
“What are you afraid of?” Song Yuzhang drawled. “As long as this place is absolutely secure and secret, you can always lay your cards on the table.” He removed the cigarette from his lips and blew a thin stream of smoke toward Shen Chengduo. “I’m in your hands. Tingjing won’t dare do anything to you.”
When Song Yuzhang had “died,” Meng Tingjing had been half-dead himself. Shen Chengduo had already suspected there was something between them. Now, hearing Song Yuzhang all but confirm it, he swallowed involuntarily. “Is that so? You’re that close with him?”
Song Yuzhang smiled faintly. “What do you think?”
Shen Chengduo’s gaze shifted slowly as he stared at him. “I don’t know.”
Song Yuzhang placed the cigarette back between his lips, shook his head, and returned to sit on the quilts. Stretching out his long legs casually, he took a sip of liquor and swirled the glass twice before looking up again. “Tell him Fu Mian slept with me for months,” he said lightly. “I guarantee Fu Mian won’t make it back to Qingxi alive.”
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