Song Yuzhang: Chapter 187 - True Feeling
Song Yuzhang’s return from the dead stirred up a tremendous wave in Haizhou. Fearing public panic, Liao Tiandong forcibly suppressed the bank shooting, having the scene cleaned up overnight. In times like these, death was no longer anything unusual—toss a body into a mass grave, and who would ever know?
Zhang Changshan was no ordinary man, but since he had dared to run amok in Haizhou, he should have been prepared to die. Liao Tiandong was not afraid of trouble from his superiors in Nancheng. He had come to terms with it: rather than exhausting himself currying favor and climbing upward, he might as well remain in Haizhou and live in peace.
The “resurrected” Song Yuzhang returned to the Song residence and received visitors day and night without rest. When he had been “alive,” he hadn’t realized he was so popular in Haizhou. It was one thing for fellow members of the Chamber of Commerce—there had always been some social dealings between them, and coming to pay a visit was only natural—but many ordinary citizens lingered outside the gates as well. Even students from the schools sent representatives to call on him.
The Song residence was piled high with gifts and flowers; the vast hall was nearly too full to set foot in. Song Yuzhang hastily closed the doors to further visitors, narrowly avoiding the fate of being drowned in blossoms.
He claimed he hadn’t lost weight, but in truth he had. The moment he put on the clothes from his wardrobe, he could feel that they hung slightly looser everywhere.
Earlier, Meng Tingjing had sent Song Yuzhang a cook. After Song Yuzhang disappeared, the man had been left with no opportunity to display his skills. Now that Song Yuzhang was back, he finally had his chance.
The master chef prepared a lavish and nourishing spread, packed three large food boxes full to the brim, and took a car to the bank to deliver an extra meal to Song Yuzhang.
During Song Yuzhang’s absence, the bank had run fairly smoothly. The enormous interest rates Zhang Changshan had stirred up were a major headache. When Song Yuzhang and Liu Chuanzong compared the accounts, they could only exchange wry smiles.
Although the debts had been incurred by Zhang Changshan, Song Yuzhang could not simply go back on them. Depositors recognized only the name of the Song Bank; they knew nothing of the tangled dealings within. If he tried to explain, it would only spark further unrest.
“Given how the legal tender keeps dropping these days, when the one-month term matures, we might not lose too much,” Liu Chuanzong offered in consolation.
Song Yuzhang lifted a hand to touch his short hair. “Let’s proceed like this for now,” he said, raising his eyes. “I’ll find a way to secure another sum of money.”
Liu Chuanzong smiled. With Song Yuzhang here, one felt reassured.
When the master chef arrived at the bank, he found it inconvenient to carry all three food boxes himself and was about to call the driver for help when a hand suddenly reached out from the side. Instinctively, he turned his arm slightly to shield the food, then stopped. He recognized those strong, sharply defined knuckles.
“Master,” he greeted nervously, even more respectful than when he had served at the Meng household before. He had heard that the master’s temper was now extremely bad, liable to flare up at any moment.
Meng Tingjing gave a quiet “Mm,” took one of the food boxes, and opened it slightly to look. “Clear-braised mutton?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Song likes it, and it’s nourishing.”
Meng Tingjing nodded. “Well done.”
Carrying the box, he walked ahead. The master chef hurried after him.
Song Yuzhang was checking accounts with Liu Chuanzong, fingers gripping a thick stack of ledgers. He smiled faintly. “I think I smell something good.”
“Your nose is sharp enough.”
Meng Tingjing pushed the door open. Song Yuzhang set down the ledgers, clasped his hands behind his back, bent over the food box to sniff, then lifted his head with a radiant smile. “Mutton.”
The habitual arrogance in Meng Tingjing’s face softened slightly into a smile. If Liu Chuanzong hadn’t been present, he would have very much liked to pinch Song Yuzhang’s cheek.
“Old Liu,” Meng Tingjing said as he set down the box, the master chef silently placing the other two beside it. “Been working hard? Join us for a bite.”
“Many thanks for Second Master’s kindness,” Liu Chuanzong said, rising to his feet. “I’ve promised to take A-Chu out to eat.”
With a slight bow, Liu Chuanzong left the office with the master chef.
Song Yuzhang was already rolling up his sleeves.
Meng Tingjing sat down as well and began taking the bowls and dishes out of the boxes.
“Have you eaten?” Song Yuzhang asked.
“They’re all for you,” Meng Tingjing replied.
Song Yuzhang laughed. “I’m not a rice bucket. How could I finish all this?”
Meng Tingjing slapped his thigh lightly. “If you can’t finish, we’ll talk about it then.”
Everything damaged in the bank had already been replaced; even what wasn’t damaged had been changed out. Whatever Liu Chuanzong handled, there were never mistakes. Only a pigeon-blood ruby that had splattered onto the ground had been retrieved again. After eating and drinking his fill—indeed, he hadn’t finished everything, and the table was a mess of dishes—Song Yuzhang lay back on Meng Tingjing’s lap, holding the ruby between his fingers. “We can’t set this into the table again.”
Meng Tingjing looked down at him, at the blood-red stone caught between his fingertips, and lowered his head to kiss Song Yuzhang’s brow. “Didn’t you say you didn’t like jewelry and gemstones?”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “Ah, but it was a gift from an old lover. That makes it different.”
Meng Tingjing finally fulfilled his wish and pinched Song Yuzhang’s cheek. “Clothes are better new; people are better old. Old lovers have their advantages. I’ll take that as praise.”
Song Yuzhang laughed. “I am praising you.”
Meng Tingjing gazed at him. His expression had been somewhat serious at first, but it softened before long. He pulled Song Yuzhang into his arms and tousled him as though he were a child, then suddenly lowered his head and inhaled deeply at Song Yuzhang’s collar.
Song Yuzhang wrapped his arms around his neck, fingers lightly brushing the clean short hair at the nape. “What’s the situation in Yeyang?” he asked softly.
“It’s tense on both sides,” Meng Tingjing said, his nose resting at Song Yuzhang’s collar. “Don’t worry. The Nancheng government won’t truly let Yeyang fall. They’re using it to restrain the national situation, not because of a grain shortage. No matter how capable Nie Yinbing and Zhang Changyuan are in battle, they’re soldiers. They must obey their superiors.”
Song Yuzhang sighed softly. “All of them are chess pieces.”
The room fell silent for a moment. Meng Tingjing pinched his waist. “Still can’t eat anymore? Let me feel.”
He lifted the black cashmere vest from Song Yuzhang’s body, pressing his palm against the white shirt and giving it a squeeze. He immediately smiled. “Round.”
Song Yuzhang laughed as well. “All the flesh on me has gone soft.”
“Is that so? Let me see where else is soft.”
Though he spoke that way, his hands remained perfectly proper.
Smiling, Song Yuzhang slid off him, shifted position, and lay back in his arms, taking Meng Tingjing’s hand. He looked at the two slightly bent fingers on Meng Tingjing’s left hand, drew them to his lips, and kissed them. “Tingjing, you don’t have to be so careful with me. I’m not some untouched maiden. A-Mian… didn’t treat me that badly.”
Meng Tingjing’s fingers tightened, squeezing Song Yuzhang’s hand. After a moment, he lowered his head to look at him. “Are you hinting at me?”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “I don’t know. Hard to say. Not sure.”
A trace of amusement showed on Meng Tingjing’s face. He lowered his head and lightly bit Song Yuzhang’s lower lip. “Scoundrel.”
Haizhou was far from Qingxi. It was clearly unrealistic to transport Fu Mian’s body all the way back. Meng Tingjing suggested they cremate him in Haizhou and bring the ashes home.
After some hesitation, Song Yuzhang agreed.
Fu Mian had fallen so badly that his bones and flesh were shattered; the longer they kept him, the harder he was to look at.
Nineteen years to grow into a young man, and after the cremation, he amounted to only a small urn, gray-white ashes in a celadon jar. Song Yuzhang held it in his hands and found it very light.
Meng Tingjing, having regained Song Yuzhang after losing him, had for days been washed through with joy and relief, forgetting for the moment all old grudges and new hatreds. Only now did he recall Fu Mian’s detestable acts. Watching coldly from the side, he almost wished he could kick the urn of ashes from Song Yuzhang’s hands.
Now that it had all turned to ash, Song Yuzhang’s heart, too, settled. He brought the urn back to the Song residence and stored it away for the time being, intending to go to Qingxi after he had handled the matters at hand.
The ashes were placed in the cabinet where valuables were kept. Song Yuzhang lifted the urn high before setting it down. Meng Tingjing tilted his head up to watch, privately hoping the cleaning servants might be a little clumsy with their hands.
Fu Mian was dead, yet the sins he had wrought remained. Song Yuzhang arranged for Xiao Fengxian to be admitted to the hospital. He felt Xiao Fengxian was not entirely incapable of speaking; perhaps he remained silent because of a sickness of the heart—fear that kept him from opening his mouth.
Meng Tingjing found it strange that Xiao Fengxian had been with Song Yuzhang at Fu Mian’s place. To this, Song Yuzhang’s answer was simply, “It’s a long story.”
Since that was so, Meng Tingjing did not press further.
As for the time Song Yuzhang had been missing, Meng Tingjing felt a deep ache. Song Yuzhang assumed he refrained from touching him out of fear that the period of captivity had left lingering shadows. In truth, Meng Tingjing knew Song Yuzhang’s nature well enough—no wind, frost, rain, or snow could truly frighten him, nor would hardship leave a lasting shadow. It was Meng Tingjing himself who felt the pain. The ache did not show itself openly, but from time to time it leapt up, making him reluctant to touch Song Yuzhang.
Xiao Fengxian had been recuperating in the hospital for five or six days. Song Yuzhang had visited him twice; today was the third time.
The moment the door opened and Song Yuzhang’s figure appeared, Xiao Fengxian let out a happy “Ah!”
“Fengxian,” Song Yuzhang said with a smile.
After that “ah,” Xiao Fengxian pressed his lips together and smiled. He was still the same delicate, mute youth.
In fact, Song Yuzhang’s guess had been correct. The doctor said that although Xiao Fengxian had lost his tongue, his throat was unharmed—he could still produce sound. The reason he did not speak was likely because he believed that without a tongue he could not talk, or perhaps because after losing it, his speech had become slurred and strange, and he no longer dared to try.
In short, it was indeed an affliction of the heart.
Song Yuzhang sat at Xiao Fengxian’s bedside and chatted with him for a while. Mostly he spoke; Xiao Fengxian smiled or nodded. Stretching out his arms like a small animal, he burrowed into Song Yuzhang’s embrace. Song Yuzhang patted his shoulder. “Don’t want to go back and have a look?”
In his arms, Xiao Fengxian shook his head rapidly.
“Then don’t go back,” Song Yuzhang said, kneading his shoulders. “When you’re better, think about what you’d like to do. Start a small business? Or do you have other plans?”
Xiao Fengxian stayed silent in his arms. Song Yuzhang gently jostled him twice; Xiao Fengxian jostled him back. They swayed back and forth, and Xiao Fengxian broke into a soundless laugh. Song Yuzhang smiled at him as well. Just as they were playing about, Meng Tingjing, who had been waiting outside, knocked and slipped into the room. “The sky looks bad out there,” he said. “Seems like a heavy rain is coming.”
Song Yuzhang acknowledged him, then turned to Xiao Fengxian. “Fengxian, I’ll head back for now. I’ll come see you another day.”
Xiao Fengxian did not respond. His hand clutched Song Yuzhang’s arm as his eyes fixed on Meng Tingjing at the doorway.
Meng Tingjing gave him a slight nod and turned his face aside in avoidance.
He did not look at Xiao Fengxian. The sight of him stirred uncomfortable associations in his mind.
Xiao Fengxian let out another “Ah,” as though waking from a dream, and released Song Yuzhang’s arm, pointing toward the door.
Song Yuzhang followed his gaze, puzzled, and looked at Meng Tingjing. He thought Xiao Fengxian was trying to “say” something—perhaps something about Meng Tingjing.
Meng Tingjing was equally confused and exchanged a glance with Song Yuzhang.
Growing anxious, Xiao Fengxian began gesturing urgently. He pointed first at Meng Tingjing, then at himself, and finally at Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang and Meng Tingjing communicated with their eyes, but neither understood.
Song Yuzhang caught Xiao Fengxian’s agitated hands. “Fengxian, slowly—what do you want to say?”
Xiao Fengxian pulled his hands free. His fine brows knit together. He placed both hands behind his back, turned around with his back to Meng Tingjing, and buried his face in the pillow. His hands, hidden behind him, twisted awkwardly in a bound posture. He wriggled twice, then turned his face slightly, peering at Meng Tingjing through the gap by the pillow. Seeing Meng Tingjing standing there without a word, he grew so anxious he nearly broke into a sweat. Something seemed to stab at his throat. With effort, he rasped, “Box… box…”
Song Yuzhang still did not understand, but Meng Tingjing suddenly turned and walked out of the room.
Song Yuzhang immediately rose to follow. He had only just stepped out when Meng Tingjing pulled him into his arms.
“What’s wrong, Tingjing?” Song Yuzhang asked, surprised, lifting a hand to pat his shoulder in comfort.
Meng Tingjing’s breathing was rapid; he seemed to be trembling faintly.
Held tightly, Song Yuzhang embraced him in return. “What is it, really?”
Meng Tingjing’s Adam’s apple bobbed several times. After a long moment, he said hoarsely, “Nothing.”
Song Yuzhang stroked his back and turned his face to kiss Meng Tingjing’s cheek. “It’s all right now, Tingjing. I’m fine already.”
From within their intertwined embrace, Meng Tingjing looked at Song Yuzhang.
The one who had suffered was Song Yuzhang. Yet after their reunion, the one who received more comfort was himself.
Song Yuzhang… Yuzhang…
Meng Tingjing lowered his head and gently took Song Yuzhang’s lips. This time he did not stop at a brief taste. The warmth of his tongue touched the seam of Song Yuzhang’s lips. Song Yuzhang parted them slightly, lashes fluttering, and their lips and tongues drew deeply against one another.
Meng Tingjing pulled him tight into his arms again and murmured, “I love you.”
Song Yuzhang wrapped his arms around Meng Tingjing’s waist. After a long while, he said softly, “In the past, I was afraid to admit it—afraid of hurting others, and afraid of hurting myself.”
“Tingjing…” he continued quietly, “I can’t promise I’ll love you forever. I’m not even sure how long I’ll love you…” He gave a faint, self-mocking smile. “You know what sort of person I am. If we have a moment, we love for that moment. How about that?”
Meng Tingjing held his waist and leaned back slightly so their faces met. He saw the cautious testing in Song Yuzhang’s expression.
Lowering his head, Meng Tingjing pressed his forehead to Song Yuzhang’s. In a hoarse voice he said, “I take back those words. You’re good. You’re worthy. Song Yuzhang, you’re good—very worthy.” He pulled him fiercely into his arms, repeating, “You’re good. You’re worthy…”
Song Yuzhang murmured, “Am I really good like this?”
“Yes,” Meng Tingjing said firmly.
He pressed his cheek hard against Song Yuzhang’s. “Song Yuzhang—especially good.”
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