Song Yuzhang: Chapter 186 - Returned
The long night, filled with slaughter, finally came to an end.
Meng Tingjing helped Song Yuzhang to his feet, quickly untied him, then pulled him tightly into his arms.
Cold wind blew in through the shattered window, scattering the thick smell of blood across the floor. Song Yuzhang slowly raised a hand and patted Meng Tingjing’s back. “Tingjing.”
Without a word, Meng Tingjing lifted him straight into his arms. Liu Chu stood nearby holding a gun, his small chest heaving violently, still immersed in the exhilaration of revenge. Seeing Meng Tingjing carry Song Yuzhang, his excited gaze turned sluggish for a moment, as though struggling to process it, but he still called out joyfully, “President!”
Song Yuzhang lowered his face in Meng Tingjing’s embrace and reached out a hand, brushing it lightly over Liu Chu’s head. Liu Chu grabbed his hand. Song Yuzhang’s hand was a little cold, yet Liu Chu felt a warmth spreading through his heart, as though he had finally come back to life.
“You’ve grown taller,” Song Yuzhang said.
Such plain words made Liu Chu’s nose sting. “President, I’m sorry. I didn’t protect you.”
“It’s nothing,” Song Yuzhang replied gently. “Aren’t I fine?”
After walking down a few steps while holding onto him, Liu Chu suddenly felt awkward. He let go and watched as Meng Tingjing carried Song Yuzhang down the rest of the way, an inexplicable sense of strangeness stirring inside him.
Song Yuzhang could actually walk. He had strength. Shen Chengduo’s drug had no effect on him. He simply felt that if Meng Tingjing didn’t hold him, he might go mad.
“Tingjing, I want to take a look.”
Meng Tingjing understood. Without objecting, he carried him to the open space in front of the bank and set him down.
On the red bricks, Fu Mian’s body had fallen in a vast pool of blood. Song Yuzhang knelt and lifted his upper body from the blood. Fu Mian was soft and still warm, flesh and shattered bone wrapped within his skin. Death had dissolved all love and hatred; Fu Mian was simply Fu Mian now—a broken body in his arms, a warmth forever separated by life and death.
Song Yuzhang held him and gazed at his face. Fu Mian’s eyes were closed; he looked peaceful. Song Yuzhang gently stroked his back.
Aside from the shot to his shoulder, there were two more bullet wounds in his back.
Shen Chengduo’s two shots had both hit their mark.
The stench of blood in the office had been too heavy; Song Yuzhang had not noticed.
He had known long ago that he would die.
Yet he had still let him live.
He had never truly wanted his life.
A coat was draped over Song Yuzhang’s shoulders. He turned his face; Meng Tingjing was looking at him, a faint light trembling in his eyes.
The dead were gone. The living still stood before him. Song Yuzhang took a deep breath, released his hold, and smiled faintly. “Why are you dressed like this today?”
Meng Tingjing said nothing. He spread his arms and lifted him from the blood again.
Song Yuzhang’s long robe and the soles of his feet were sticky with blood. Meng Tingjing remained silent, as though struck mute, carrying him all the way back to the car.
Once inside, he spoke even less.
He only held Song Yuzhang, gathering him entirely into his embrace.
Leaning against Meng Tingjing’s shoulder, Song Yuzhang felt a long-lost trace of peace.
He had finally returned to Haizhou.
This was truly returning to Haizhou.
Song Yuzhang wrapped his arms around Meng Tingjing in return.
“Well,” he said lightly, “after all this time apart, Tingjing, you haven’t changed at all.”
Meng Tingjing pressed his eyes against Song Yuzhang’s shoulder, then lifted his face, eyes bloodshot. “I knew you wouldn’t die so easily.”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “A scourge lives a thousand years.”
Softly he asked, “You’ve been looking for me all this time, haven’t you?”
Meng Tingjing pulled him close again. Song Yuzhang could hear the fierce pounding of his heart.
“Wherever you go from now on, I’ll go with you. Consider it repayment for sparing my life.”
Song Yuzhang laughed soundlessly and patted his back. “Ah, I haven’t washed in half a month. Holding me must be unpleasant. I need to go to the Vienna. Fengxian is with me—Shen Chengduo didn’t kill him. He kept him in the basement.”
“You’re covered in blood. Will you go like that and frighten people?”
To avoid alerting the enemy, Meng Tingjing had not deployed his men. Instead, he sent someone to the Vienna and told the driver to take them home.
Song Yuzhang was covered in blood; his hands and feet were ice-cold, disheveled and pitiful. Meng Tingjing could not bear to see him like that.
The Meng residence was still brightly lit. Fearing news might leak, no one had been allowed to leave. So when Meng Tingjing carried Song Yuzhang inside, it was almost under everyone’s gaze.
He held a blood-soaked man in his arms. Even the well-seasoned servants of the Meng family could not help but draw in a sharp breath.
Meng Tingjing carried him straight back to his own courtyard. The moment his foot stepped onto the grass, his legs suddenly went weak. His knee buckled, and he dropped to one knee, yet he still held Song Yuzhang steady in his arms. His heart pounded wildly as his gaze slowly lifted to Song Yuzhang’s face.
Sensing something, Song Yuzhang reached out and gently touched his cheek. “Tingjing, it’s me. Not a dream. I’m not dead. I’m back.”
“I know it’s not a dream,” Meng Tingjing said.
His nose trembled faintly. In a low voice he added, “I never once dreamed of you.” Pressing his face to Song Yuzhang’s, his voice quivered. “Not once.”
Song Yuzhang cupped his face and rubbed his cheek against his. “I know you missed me.” He paused. “I thought of you too.”
Meng Tingjing pulled back and met his eyes.
Song Yuzhang smiled slightly. “Several times.”
Meng Tingjing’s lashes flickered. “On the ship, I didn’t find you.”
“It’s all in the past,” Song Yuzhang wrapped his arms around his neck. “Don’t be afraid. It’s over.”
The bathwater was changed three times. First, Song Yuzhang washed the blood from his body; then he cleansed himself thoroughly inside and out; the third time, he simply soaked comfortably.
He had not felt such comfort in a long time. His body and spirit relaxed completely. Though he had appeared calm all along, calculating carefully at every step, he had in truth been utterly exhausted.
Now his mind was empty. Soaking in the warm water felt like returning to a mother’s womb. Meng Tingjing held his hand; Song Yuzhang held his in return. After a long while, he exhaled and opened his eyes, smiling again. “I’ve finally come back.”
Meng Tingjing lifted his dripping hand and pressed a gentle kiss beneath his lips. “You’ve finally come back.”
Meng Tingjing did not dare ask what had happened during Song Yuzhang’s disappearance, nor did he want to. When Song Yuzhang had soaked long enough, he took a towel and dried him. As the towel reached his calf, he discovered the gunshot wound on his leg.
Meng Tingjing looked up.
Song Yuzhang gave him a somewhat helpless smile.
Lowering his head, Meng Tingjing gently wiped the scar. He did not know what to say. His eyes blinked, and a tear quietly fell into the water, unseen by Song Yuzhang. His movements slowed until he could no longer continue. He held Song Yuzhang’s legs, unable to control himself. “What’s wrong?” Song Yuzhang said. “Call Meng Tingjing out. I don’t want this fussy person waiting on me.”
Meng Tingjing raised his eyes, red-rimmed. “From now on, don’t even think about letting anyone else serve you.”
Song Yuzhang was silent for a moment, then said slowly, “Domineering.” He grabbed Meng Tingjing’s hand and squeezed it firmly. “Spoiled.”
After that, he wrapped his arms around Meng Tingjing’s shoulders and sat in his lap. Meng Tingjing held him with the towel. Song Yuzhang was soft and smooth, fragrant with the scent of clean skin. Meng Tingjing touched him without the slightest trace of desire—only tenderness, heartache, and love.
Meng Tingjing carried him back to the bed. Song Yuzhang stretched lazily upon it, feeling faintly unreal.
He was back. Truly back.
Meng Tingjing lay down beside him, pulling him into his arms. His palm stroked the short hair on Song Yuzhang’s head. “Why did you cut it so short?”
A flicker of pain crossed Song Yuzhang’s heart. “It was cut badly,” he murmured.
“Let it grow out slowly,” Meng Tingjing lowered his head and kissed the crown of his hair. “It looks more dignified long.”
Song Yuzhang turned around to face Meng Tingjing.
Meng Tingjing looked at him quietly, and Song Yuzhang looked back at him just as quietly. For some reason, it felt as though he had not seen Meng Tingjing for a very long time—so long it was almost like a lifetime apart.
It was as if Fu Mian had taken him back into the past, and only now had he stepped out of it. The moment he did, Meng Tingjing was still there before him. Ever since he had come to Haizhou and resolved to become Song Yuzhang, no matter good or bad, Meng Tingjing had always been by his side.
A little over a year had passed—yet it felt longer than his entire life.
Meng Tingjing took his hands, gathered both of them together, and held them against his chest as if in prayer.
“How did you come here?” Song Yuzhang asked.
“Zhang Changshan’s cornered and desperate. He’s leaving tonight. I thought—if he was the one hiding you, he’d have to stay tonight. If someone else was hiding you, you’d still be useful, and they’d bring you out as a hostage to demand a share from Zhang Changshan. I just miscalculated the timing…”
“You’re human, not a god.”
Meng Tingjing forced a smile—the first he had shown all night.
“If I were a god, I wouldn’t have let you suffer.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. If you were a god, you’d have made me suffer plenty long ago.”
Meng Tingjing smiled again. “Back then, I didn’t understand.”
Song Yuzhang smiled too. “Ah, who did?”
“None of us understood.”
His voice drifted calmly through the room.
Suddenly, Meng Tingjing reached out and turned off the light on the wall.
The room plunged into darkness. Song Yuzhang said nothing. After a long while, he withdrew his hands from Meng Tingjing’s grasp and reached upward. Meng Tingjing caught his hand again, not letting him move higher. Song Yuzhang exerted a little force and pulled free once more. Meng Tingjing pulled the quilt up to cover his face.
Song Yuzhang’s hand paused in midair.
He could hear Meng Tingjing’s slightly uneven breathing.
A dull ache twisted through his chest and abdomen, and before he realized it, his own cheeks were already wet and warm.
After a moment, Meng Tingjing lowered his hand and wrapped his arm around Song Yuzhang’s back, drawing him into his embrace. His palm stroked Song Yuzhang’s damp face, wiping away the moisture. “Sleep,” he murmured.
Song Yuzhang rested his cheek against his chest. “Tingjing.”
“Mm.”
“Have you been looking for me this whole time?”
“Mm.”
“What if I really had died?”
Meng Tingjing fell silent for a long while, then said in a low voice, “Then I would have lived well.”
He tightened his hold and whispered by Song Yuzhang’s ear, “If you died, I’d live on in your place. If you live, I’ll live with you. Yuzhang, you may die for anyone—but as long as you’re alive, I want to live beside you.”
Suddenly, Song Yuzhang’s hand reached up. Meng Tingjing didn’t dodge in time. Song Yuzhang touched his face; his palm felt damp. He let out a soft laugh. “Tell me—how many times did you hide under the covers and cry?”
Meng Tingjing tightened his arms. “Don’t talk nonsense. I didn’t cry. You weren’t dead—why would I mourn?”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “Then why are you crying now?”
Meng Tingjing pressed his hand to the back of Song Yuzhang’s head, holding him against his chest. “Go to sleep. Look how thin you’ve gotten.” As he said it, his heart ached again. He did not dare ask what Song Yuzhang had endured these past months; even imagining it tormented him. He lowered his head and kissed the crown of Song Yuzhang’s hair once more. “Starting tomorrow, I’ll nourish you properly.”
“Have I gotten thinner? I don’t think so.”
“You have.”
His tone was firm, unquestionable. After a moment, he added irrationally, “Skin and bones.”
Song Yuzhang wrapped his arms around his waist. “You’ve gotten thinner too.”
Meng Tingjing did not refute it.
The night was silent—peaceful and unhurried.
After a long while, Song Yuzhang asked, “Are you asleep?”
“No.”
“Can’t sleep?”
Meng Tingjing said nothing.
Song Yuzhang’s hand searched again for his face. Meng Tingjing pressed it down and said softly, “I’m not crying.”
Song Yuzhang sighed lightly. “Then why aren’t you sleeping?”
Meng Tingjing held his hand, loosening and tightening his grip. “You sleep first.”
“I can’t,” Song Yuzhang admitted plainly.
Meng Tingjing clasped his hand more tightly. After a moment of silence, he finally confessed, “I can’t either.” He pressed Song Yuzhang’s fingers one by one against his cheek. “After you were gone, I couldn’t sleep.”
Song Yuzhang’s fingers rested against his skin. He sighed, long and short, then tilted his head slightly and brushed his lips softly against Meng Tingjing’s.
“I want to take A-Mian back to Qingxi for burial. That’s my hometown. Will you go back with me?”
“I’ll go,” Meng Tingjing held him tight and lowered his head to kiss his warm lips. “Wherever you go, I’ll go with you.”
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