Song Yuzhang: Extra 3 - London Life Part 3 [Featuring Meng Tingjing]
It is every teacher’s dream to have students everywhere under heaven.
But not Meng Tingjing’s.
Before the long dining table in the hall, two rows of people sat neatly.
Song Yuzhang, Xiao Fengxian, Meng Sushan, and Wan Lan in one row.
Several concubines and younger sisters in the other.
“Tingjing, it’s so thoughtful of you,” Meng Sushan said gently, gazing at him. “Teaching us English together—it must be such trouble.”
The concubines and sisters chimed in with their thanks. Meng Tingjing’s temples throbbed. He raised his hand and made a firm downward gesture, his gaze sweeping over the secretly amused Song Yuzhang. “Quiet.”
To Song Yuzhang’s surprise, Meng Tingjing truly was a capable teacher—patient and meticulous, not at all perfunctory. The first lesson went excellently.
He remembered Liao Tiandong once saying there was nothing Meng Tingjing couldn’t do well. He hadn’t believed it then, but now he was convinced.
Yet the very next day, Meng Tingjing decisively bundled up the sisters, concubines, Xiao Fengxian, and Wan Lan and sent them off to language school.
When Song Yuzhang heard about it, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Why can’t I go too?” he teased.
Meng Tingjing, reading an English newspaper, replied solemnly, “Your levels differ. Instruction must be tailored.”
Song Yuzhang laughed, pulled the paper from his hands, rolled it up, and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Nonsense.”
A few days before Christmas, the entire estate was decorated. In truth, Meng Tingjing had no interest in Christmas—or any holiday. But seeing that Song Yuzhang liked it, he organized everything properly, intending to make it lively.
It was Song Yuzhang’s first time celebrating a Western holiday, and he found it fascinating. The local chef prepared an enormous roast chicken—apparently a Western breed, much larger than those back home. It looked magnificent, golden and gleaming on the platter. But after tasting it eagerly, Song Yuzhang found it dry and tough. The famed Western chicken, he decided, did not live up to its reputation.
The pies and wine, however, were excellent. He drank quite a bit, warmth spreading through his chest.
After a few days at the foreign school, Xiao Fengxian seemed somewhat restored. His smile was less timid. Holding a glass, he stood by the great Christmas tree counting the lights. Wanlan handed him some chocolates. Shyly, he smiled and, in awkward English, said thank you and Merry Christmas—the teachers had emphasized those phrases these past two days. He didn’t say them well, but he could say them.
Watching from the table, Song Yuzhang suddenly smiled, feeling that the world was at peace and everything was good.
When he went upstairs to sleep, he found a bright red stocking on his side of the bed. Lifting it, he turned. “What’s this?”
“A Christmas gift.”
“A gift?” Song Yuzhang laughed. “Why put it in a stocking?”
As he spoke, he reached inside. “It better not be food. I won’t eat candy that’s been in a sock.”
The house was warm. Meng Tingjing wore a pale gray pointed-collar sweater, the crisp white shirt collar beneath it neatly pressed. As he walked toward the bed, he said, “The stocking is new.”
“New doesn’t matter.”
Still smiling, Song Yuzhang pulled out a thin slip of paper. Three numbers were written on it: 219. He raised a brow. “I deposited the gold and money we brought into a bank safe,” Meng Tingjing said evenly. “That’s the code. With that and your passport, you can withdraw it anytime.”
Song Yuzhang pinched the thin slip of paper, turning it over and playing with it. “Is it all in here?”
“Yes.”
The corners of Song Yuzhang’s mouth curved faintly, and his eyes carried a soft smile as well. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll take the money and run?”
Meng Tingjing reached out and wrapped an arm around his waist. “I know what you’re capable of. If you wanted to leave, even without a penny on you, you could still soar to the heavens and vanish into the earth.”
Song Yuzhang truly broke into a smile. Slightly tipsy, he let his weight rest against Meng Tingjing’s arm and pressed the slip of paper to his lips. Smiling through the thin white sheet, he said, “I have nothing to repay you with. I’ll give you a kiss to show a little of my heart.”
To keep the paper from drifting away, his lips barely moved. The paper grew slightly damp, faintly outlining the shape of his lips.
Song Yuzhang tilted his head and kissed Meng Tingjing on the mouth. When he pulled away, the slip of paper remained stuck to Meng Tingjing’s lips.
Laughing uncontrollably, Song Yuzhang swayed in Meng Tingjing’s arms. He reached up, pulled the paper away, tossed it aside, and then nibbled at Meng Tingjing’s lips again. “February nineteenth—my birthday, you know. Oh, my silly Tingjing, you’re going to embarrass me to death with how sentimental you are…”
Meng Tingjing had lived more than twenty years and had never once been called “silly.” Yet the first time he heard it, he felt no anger. Song Yuzhang’s fair face was flushed with drunkenness, his bright eyes smiling at him—how could anyone possibly get angry at that?
Unable to resist, he chased after Song Yuzhang’s lips. The two of them tumbled onto the bed together. As they fumbled in a flurry to remove their clothes, Song Yuzhang hooked an arm around his neck and suddenly blew softly into his ear. “Sir, you ought to be gentler with your student.”
Half of Meng Tingjing’s body went weak. He cast him a sidelong glance, his face burning, almost shy. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
Song Yuzhang burst out laughing, rolled across the bedspread, and draped his long leg over one of Meng Tingjing’s shoulders. Lazily, he said, “I’ll say it anyway.”
Meng Tingjing couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. He leaned in, gathered Song Yuzhang into his arms, pressed his forehead to his, and scolded affectionately, “You’ll never change that mouth of yours!”
Still laughing, Song Yuzhang reached up and touched his face. The alcohol was hitting him harder now; his words were thick and sweetly slurred. “Can’t change it… That’s because, sir, you haven’t been teaching with enough dedication…”
Meng Tingjing truly couldn’t bear it anymore. He bent down and forcefully sealed that drunken, rambling mouth with his own.
The next day, when Song Yuzhang woke, he found his whole body sore and limp, curled up against a warm, solid chest. Remembering the drunken antics of the night before, even someone as shameless as he usually was felt a little embarrassed.
It was also Meng Tingjing’s fault—teaching English in such a serious manner that it sent his imagination running wild.
Song Yuzhang quietly got out of bed, picked up the white shirt from the floor, and draped it over himself. After only a few steps across the carpet, he felt something stick to the sole of his foot. Lifting his foot and balancing on one leg, he peeled off the slip of paper. Pinching it between his fingers, he smiled faintly and gently shook his head. He didn’t love money quite the same way anymore. He was no longer anxious or hurried; his heart felt at ease. He no longer needed other things to rely on.
Winter in London was not only cold but endlessly rainy. During the day, the manor was brightly lit with fireplaces burning. Song Yuzhang and Meng Tingjing sat before the fire reading. Whenever Song Yuzhang didn’t understand something, he would ask Meng Tingjing, who would explain it once, then read it aloud to him in an exceptionally elegant, pleasant tone. Firelight fell across Meng Tingjing’s fair profile, outlining his refined and handsome features. Suddenly, Song Yuzhang smiled and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
The reading stopped abruptly. Meng Tingjing shot him a sideways glance. “Up to mischief again?”
“I’m not,” Song Yuzhang said with a grin. “Go on.”
Meng Tingjing lowered his eyes and moved his lips, but after only two more words, he tossed the book aside and swept Song Yuzhang up into his arms. “If I don’t properly discipline you, you’ll never learn what it means to behave in class.”
Hooking an arm around his neck, Song Yuzhang laughed loudly. “And how do you plan to discipline me?”
Carrying him upstairs, Meng Tingjing declared firmly, “Spank you.”
It wasn’t until April that London’s weather slowly began to warm. Sunlight poured down, glimmering on the fountain in the courtyard. Song Yuzhang reclined in a chair, flipping through information from various schools, hesitating over which one to choose.
Just as he was worrying over it, Wan Lan came out. “Fifth Master, would you like some afternoon tea?”
Song Yuzhang lifted his face and smiled faintly. “No. Go finish packing—don’t forget anything.”
“Alright,” Wan Lan said. Then she hesitated. “You’re really not coming with us?”
Still smiling, Song Yuzhang lowered his gaze back to the papers. “You all go enjoy yourselves. I’m not interested in fashion.”
Wan Lan laughed. “You sound just like Second Master.”
Resting his cheek on one hand, Song Yuzhang said, “Tingjing is rather rough by nature too—doesn’t care much for dressing up. We’re two grown men; we won’t join in that bustle.”
Wan Lan responded and went back inside. Listening to the lively commotion in the hall behind him, Song Yuzhang’s lips curved into a faint smile.
Toward evening, Meng Tingjing returned. He brought a newspaper with him and handed it to Song Yuzhang with a grave expression.
“Germany has surrendered.”
Song Yuzhang took the paper and skimmed the headlines. After setting it down, he drew a deep breath. “I need to contact Old Liu.”
Meng Tingjing sat down beside him. “Send a telegram.”
The folded newspaper hung loosely in Song Yuzhang’s hand. He stared at the fountain for a while before turning his face toward Meng Tingjing. “What if Old Liu can’t persuade him?”
“Then we can only leave it to fate,” Meng Tingjing replied calmly.
Song Yuzhang sighed and looked back at the fountain, lost in thought. When he finally returned to himself, he smiled again. “I thought you’d oppose it.”
Meng Tingjing ran a hand along the carved armrest of his chair. “Why would I oppose it?” He lifted his eyes. “You simply feel indebted and want to make amends. Even if I’m not pleased, I should still be understanding.”
Song Yuzhang set the newspaper aside, looped an arm around his shoulder, and kissed his cheek. “Tingjing, you’re very good to me.”
After going inside to send the telegram, Song Yuzhang came back out to find Meng Tingjing flipping through the school brochures he had left aside. “Have you decided where to enroll?” Meng Tingjing asked.
“Not yet.” Song Yuzhang walked over and draped both arms across his chest. “Help me choose?”
Meng Tingjing shot him a sideways glance. “What? You’re not accusing me of arranging everything for you anymore?”
Song Yuzhang laughed, resting his chin on top of his head. “Don’t hold grudges. Other couples quarrel at the head of the bed and make up at the foot of it. Why can you remember something for half a year?”
Song Yuzhang’s faint fragrance drifted into his nose. His face glowed healthily in the sunlight. Hearing the natural intimacy in his tone, Meng Tingjing wasn’t truly angry at all—he was only teasing him.
He understood that Song Yuzhang had never stopped worrying about Nie Yinbing’s safety. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked the Liu father and son to lie low in Haizhou. That didn’t carry any special implication.
The longer Meng Tingjing lived with Song Yuzhang, the more clearly he understood his temperament.
Song Yuzhang was tender-hearted. He carried a trace of affection for everyone. If not for that tenderness, perhaps their own bond would have ended long ago.
It was something precious about him. Meng Tingjing loved Song Yuzhang, and neither had the heart nor the desire to strip that goodness away.
If Song Yuzhang wanted to take care of Xiao Fengxian, he would help him do so. If Song Yuzhang wanted to warn Nie Yinbing and urge him to step away from danger in time, he would support him.
If he did otherwise, then Song Yuzhang would no longer be the man he loved. And if that were so, what was there to resent?
Nearly half a year of sweet, almost married life had calmed Meng Tingjing’s heart. He took Song Yuzhang’s hand and gently bit the tip of his finger. “I just have a good memory. I was born that way. Don’t be jealous.”
Song Yuzhang burst out laughing and cupped his head, planting a loud kiss on him. “You’re mine. No jealousy needed!”
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