Song Yuzhang: Chapter 188 - Cute
Outside the window, rain poured down in sheets; inside, all was quiet and serene. Beneath the covers they enclosed a small, warm world. Hands and feet pressed together, lips resting against lips, noses lightly touching along the bridge—each breath mingling so that it was impossible to tell whose scent was whose.
Fingers slid between fingers; ten digits interlocked, hearts joined. The space between them was filled, and their hearts felt full and comfortably swollen as well.
It had to be this person. It could only be this person.
Meng Tingjing moved slowly—so very slowly—that Song Yuzhang began to feel almost teased by it.
Song Yuzhang was usually uninhibited, yet tonight he could not summon that worldly, flirtatious air. For some reason, he had grown inexplicably shy. It was something he had done countless times before, and yet unfamiliar sparks flickered and flashed, nearly melting him into water, gentle ripples stirring, soft fragmented sounds that warmed the ears.
Their hands could not help but clasp tightly. Song Yuzhang’s fingertips brushed against the curved, misshapen fingers; he rubbed again and again over those two twisted bones, while his lips rose and fell, lightly touching Meng Tingjing’s.
A long, lingering pleasure wrapped around him like fine silk threads. Song Yuzhang rested his burning face against Meng Tingjing’s shoulder—broad and solid, muscles tightening and swelling again and again. His cheek rubbed faintly; his eyes were half open, half closed, floating and faintly trembling.
Their breathing gradually steadied. Lips, damp and clinging, soon deepened into another kiss. A long arm stretched across Song Yuzhang’s waist, a palm gripping that narrow span, lifting him softly from the middle. He leaned back, swaying slightly, short hair brushing against Meng Tingjing’s Adam’s apple. The long arm tightened and loosened in turns; all the breath was at his ear.
Wind and rain rustled outside. In the dim, gentle light of the wall lamp, their shadows swayed fiercely. Carried along like drifting water, Song Yuzhang stretched languidly, arms hooking around Meng Tingjing’s neck. He turned his face slightly; the moment his lips parted, they were gently and comfortably taken in.
Hot, and deeply pleasant.
Song Yuzhang’s brows knit tight, an expression almost like pain flashing between them as he struggled to contain himself. The graceful lines of his body tensed into a long arc. His fingertips tingled. He let out a long breath, inhaled unevenly a few times, and the corner of his mouth curved softly, his whole body nearly dissolving.
Song Yuzhang was truly lazy to the core. Meng Tingjing knew his habits well; he cleaned him carefully and comfortably, then lit a Persian cigar and tucked it lightly to his lips. Half-closing his eyes, Song Yuzhang took a drag and, sure enough, a faint smile appeared. Smoke drifted slowly from between his lips. When he opened his eyes, Meng Tingjing was watching him with a gentle smile. All at once, Song Yuzhang realized that Meng Tingjing was, in fact, very handsome—not merely in the delicate way of a pretty boy. He reached out and touched Meng Tingjing’s jaw. “That felt wonderful.”
Meng Tingjing opened his arms and drew him close, kissing his forehead.
Taking another drag, Song Yuzhang suddenly laughed. Tilting his face up, he said with a grin, “Do you remember that time we quarreled?”
Meng Tingjing looked faintly embarrassed yet oddly justified. “We’ve quarreled too many times. Which one?”
Laughing as he blew out smoke, Song Yuzhang amused himself for a while before leaning close to whisper in his ear, “You said one day you’d make me feel so good I’d cry for my father and mother…”
Meng Tingjing immediately remembered. He laughed as well, wrapping an arm around him. “Don’t worry. I keep my word. I won’t go back on it.”
Song Yuzhang burst out laughing, turned around and straddled Meng Tingjing, planting a loud kiss on his lips. “Tingjing, you’re really cute!”
Meng Tingjing fell silent for a moment. Because he truly loved Song Yuzhang, he did not grow angry. Gently pinching Song Yuzhang’s upper and lower lips, he said lightly, “Don’t talk nonsense.”
After several rains, Haizhou gradually showed signs of winter. Song Yuzhang worried somewhat about the fighting in Yeyang. Fortunately, Yeyang was now letting people out but not in. News from outside could not enter, but information from within could still come out. At least for the moment, Yeyang could hold out for another month.
That barely counted as good news.
The real good news was that the first section of the railway had been completed. Yu Feiyu was already on his way back to Haizhou with the team.
When Song Yuzhang received Yu Feiyu’s letter, he was overjoyed. He slapped Meng Tingjing’s thigh enthusiastically. “Feiyu truly is a talent!”
“He can get real things done,” Meng Tingjing replied.
Song Yuzhang rested a hand on Meng Tingjing’s thigh and smiled at him sideways. Meng Tingjing’s expression remained composed, but he turned his face slightly and raised an eyebrow with composure.
Song Yuzhang laughed and gave his thigh a playful squeeze. “Tingjing, you’re really cute.”
Having been called “cute” day in and day out, Meng Tingjing had grown somewhat numb. Calmly, he said, “Thank you. You’re not bad yourself.”
Song Yuzhang pulled him in for a firm embrace and ruffled his hair. Meng Tingjing dodged his head. “Stop fooling around. We have a Chamber of Commerce meeting this afternoon.”
“What’s there to fear?” Song Yuzhang said. “Don’t you know what kind of image you have in the eyes of our colleagues?”
Meng Tingjing stood up, escaping from Song Yuzhang’s hands, clasping his own behind his back as his long gown swayed. “My image is naturally tall and imposing.”
Song Yuzhang laughed several times, propping his cheek with one hand. He tilted his head, about to speak, when Meng Tingjing raised a hand in a stopping gesture. “No need to say it.”
“You know what I was going to say?” Song Yuzhang laughed.
Turning his back and walking out without looking over his shoulder, Meng Tingjing threw down two firm words—“Cute!”
On the day Yu Feiyu returned, Song Yuzhang and Meng Tingjing also set out for Qingxi.
Meng Tingjing said that as the weather grew colder, the roads might soon face the danger of wind and snow. Since Haizhou was relatively calm now, it was better to settle matters early and be rid of one concern.
Song Yuzhang agreed and brought Fu Mian’s ashes with him to Qingxi.
They could have gone by water, but the journey would have been slow. Fearing delays, Song Yuzhang chose to travel by land. Meng Tingjing had no objections. Whether by land or water, as long as he accompanied Song Yuzhang, his heart felt steady.
On the road, Song Yuzhang began telling Meng Tingjing about his background.
His mother had been an opera performer. When she failed to become famous, she sold herself. As for who his father was—hard to say. When he was little, Song Yuzhang once asked Xiao Yingtao. Pouting her bright red lips, she had replied in confusion, “Baby, Mama isn’t sure either.”
Xiao Yingtao’s mind was always muddled. Aside from a beautiful face, she lived in a daze. That she managed to raise a son like Song Yuzhang was something of a miracle—she had been six months pregnant before she realized it, having previously thought she had simply grown fat.
Song Yuzhang spoke unhurriedly. Meng Tingjing listened quietly, a faint tenderness in his eyes.
Song Yuzhang did not feel uncomfortable under that tenderness. He knew Meng Tingjing did not pity him; he simply loved him and could not bear to see him suffer.
But in truth, Song Yuzhang did not consider himself to have come from hardship.
Xiao Yingtao had already done her utmost.
In his eyes, she was the best mother—only she had not been good enough to herself.
If not for supporting him, perhaps she would not have continued in the flesh trade for so long.
Song Yuzhang did not mention his romantic history—not out of fear of provoking Meng Tingjing, but simply because it seemed unnecessary.
Meng Tingjing took his hand, fingers gently stroking the back of it. “Xiao Yingtao is a very adorable name,” he said, lifting his gaze to him. “She raised you well.”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “If she heard that, she’d happily eat three extra bowls of ice.”
Meng Tingjing smiled as well. “She liked ice?”
“Yes,” Song Yuzhang said with a smile at the corner of his lips. “She craved cold things. All year round she loved ice—she’d eat ice cream even in the dead of winter.”
“And you?”
“Me?”
Song Yuzhang smiled. “Of course I take after her.”
Meng Tingjing squeezed his hand. “There’s an Italian-owned ice cream shop in Haizhou. It stays open even in winter.”
A gentle wind seemed to sweep through Song Yuzhang’s heart. “That sounds rather nice.”
When Song Yuzhang left Qingxi, it had been summer; when he returned, it was already winter. Qingxi’s winters were not cold. Small groups of people walked the streets, dressed only slightly thicker than in autumn.
Song Yuzhang was surprised to find that Qingxi had changed hardly at all.
The place had been reshaped by Fu Mian. Fu Mian was dead, yet it continued to function just the same.
Song Yuzhang had kept out of sight during his time in Qingxi before, so now he caused only a slight stir on the street. He was handsome, and now he made no effort to conceal himself; naturally, people turned their heads again and again to look.
Meng Tingjing had never come to Qingxi before. It was truly a small place, not somewhere that would ordinarily draw him. Yet knowing that Song Yuzhang had been born and raised here, Meng Tingjing’s gaze upon the little city softened unconsciously. Suddenly his imagination took flight. Seeing a stone, he pictured a young Song Yuzhang squatting beside it to play. Seeing a flower, he imagined him staring at it without blinking. In his heart, a small Song Yuzhang seemed to come alive, tender little hands lightly scratching at the tip of his heart.
“This is it.”
Song Yuzhang stopped before a large residence.
The house stood in a secluded spot at the mouth of a small lane. Song Yuzhang pushed at the gate; it opened at once.
No one had tended the place. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw the ground covered with fallen leaves.
The leaves were green—not fallen in their season, but torn down by wind and rain, carpeting the earth.
Holding the celadon urn, Song Yuzhang felt a fragment of memory return. He drew in a deep breath. That stretch of memory stirred no emotion in him now.
It was all in the past.
Meng Tingjing did not know whether Song Yuzhang’s “right here” referred to the place he had first lived with Little Cherry or the place where he had later been confined by Fu Mian. Judging by the age of the residence, it was likely the latter.
Meng Tingjing’s face turned cold. Every blade of grass and every tree here filled him with loathing.
Song Yuzhang led him to the courtyard where he had once stayed.
The tall osmanthus tree was still in bloom. Not a full canopy of flowers—just scattered tender yellow specks—but blooming nonetheless. The fragrance was faint, fresh, and lingering. Song Yuzhang inhaled deeply, then glanced back at Meng Tingjing with a smile. “This tree has a strong life. It was already here when I was little.”
At that, Meng Tingjing’s expression softened. He laid his palm against the rough bark, as though touching the small Song Yuzhang of years past.
Xiao Yuzhang, he murmured inwardly, thinking: Adorable.
Song Yuzhang let out a soft breath and looked into the distance, though there was not much to see. The little courtyard was enclosed on all sides by square walls.
Originally, he had thought of taking Fu Mian back to Anjin. But then he remembered that Fu Mian had said he had been cast out of the Fu family, his name erased from the clan register. If he went back, how could he explain things to the Fu family? How could he explain the story between himself and Fu Mian?
Forget it.
A-Mian, you no longer have a hometown. Then stay in mine.
Under the osmanthus tree, Song Yuzhang dug a pit.
He had loved playing here as a child—because of the fragrance, the dense leaves, the many insects. A place like this was hard for a child not to love.
He did not know whether Fu Mian would have liked it.
Song Yuzhang buried the celadon urn and gazed at it deeply for a long moment before covering it with soil. There were flowers and leaves mixed in the earth, carrying a faint scent. As the years passed, lively insects would live here again. In time, this place would truly become a little paradise for children.
He completed the task himself, hands filthy beyond measure. Meng Tingjing frowned and took his hands to a nearby basin to wash them.
The water was cold, but Meng Tingjing’s hands were warm. He scrubbed Song Yuzhang’s fingers carefully, saying as he did, “Dig into the gaps between your fingers yourself.”
Song Yuzhang smiled faintly, feeling that Meng Tingjing spoke as though he were a child.
A playful thought struck him. He flicked his fingers, splashing droplets of water all over Meng Tingjing’s face.
Meng Tingjing looked at him with restrained patience and said nothing. Song Yuzhang grinned mischievously. Meng Tingjing turned his face aside and shook his head, choosing not to argue.
They lodged at an inn in Qingxi with their attendants. Since Qingxi was where Song Yuzhang had grown up, Meng Tingjing took an interested tour, mostly hoping to hear him say, “When I was little, this place was like this…” Instead, after a day of wandering, Song Yuzhang kept saying, “This place is completely different from when I was a child.” Meng Tingjing was greatly disappointed, and his feelings for the place cooled.
In truth, Song Yuzhang felt the same. Qingxi was his hometown, yet he no longer had a home here. Without a home, how could it truly be called one’s hometown?
After staying two days in Qingxi, Meng Tingjing and Song Yuzhang set out to return to Haizhou. Before they reached it, they encountered Liu Chu, who came galloping toward them in haste.
Liu Chu brought two pieces of news.
One was good news—Yeyang had won a great victory in breaking through the siege. Nie Yinbing was coming back.
The other was bad news—the legal tender had plummeted, and the banks were in chaos.
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