Song Yuzhang: Extra 4 - Cambridge Life Part 1 [Featuring Meng Tingjing]
One evening in August, Song Yuzhang received a telegram from Liu Chuanzong. After skimming it in haste, he was left speechless for a long while. Setting the telegram aside, he let out a deep sigh and gazed absentmindedly at the setting sun outside the window. It wasn’t until he heard approaching footsteps that he turned his head.
“Why that expression?”
Meng Tingjing stood with his hands in his pockets, neat and dashing as always. He had recently started a logistics company and had been busy, but he considered himself a man with a family now—so however busy he was, home came first.
Song Yuzhang sighed again. Meng Tingjing walked over, placed a hand on his shoulder, and kissed his cheek. “Worried you won’t adapt to school?”
Song Yuzhang smiled and shook his head. “That’s not what I’m worried about. In the whole school, aside from the teachers, I’ll be the oldest. What’s there to fear?”
There had been no small disagreement between them about his enrollment.
Meng Tingjing had wanted to donate a sum of money and, with the help of the alumni association, send Song Yuzhang directly into Cambridge.
Song Yuzhang refused.
He considered himself to have only a domestic middle-school education. He had studied English for barely half a year in total—good, but nowhere near as fluent as Meng Tingjing, who spoke it almost like a native tongue.
“With a foot of water, sail a foot-long boat. My current ability is suited to continuing in senior secondary school—especially a foreign one. The difficulty won’t be small.”
“I’m not after a diploma. I want to truly learn something. If I have to buy my way in and idle my days away, I might as well stay home and be more at ease.”
After he said that, Meng Tingjing no longer objected.
The new school was in Cambridge. In September, Song Yuzhang would head there to study. Meng Tingjing had already sent people ahead to purchase and prepare a new house, intending to accompany him.
“Asians look young,” Meng Tingjing said, thinking Song Yuzhang feared standing out in class. “As long as you don’t say anything, the Brits will think you’re underage.”
Song Yuzhang laughed and lightly patted his cheek. “Nonsense.”
After laughing, his mood eased somewhat. He drew a breath and tapped the telegram on the desk. “Yinbing refuses to come to England. Old Liu says he’s done all he can.”
Meng Tingjing’s gaze flicked toward it. He barely needed to read it to form a judgment. Inwardly, he almost cheered.
As for whether Nie Yinbing came to England or not, he claimed not to care—though, naturally, it was better if he didn’t. No one would welcome a watchful rival appearing before their eyes, however foolish that rival might be.
“In that case, let him be,” Meng Tingjing said.
Song Yuzhang was silent for a moment. “I suppose we can only let him be.”
The domestic situation was tense. Japan had surrendered; on the surface, things seemed calm, but both Song Yuzhang and Meng Tingjing had dealings with the Nationalist government. They believed that if such a government did not collapse, it would still bring hardship to the people.
Nie Yinbing was unwilling to withdraw. Song Yuzhang could only reply by telegram, telling Liu Chuanzong to bring Liu Chu to England.
By the end of August, Song Yuzhang set off for Cambridge and officially became an overage twelfth-grade student.
The school was a private boys’ school offering both boarding and day options. Meng Tingjing drove him to the gate, but could go no farther—Song Yuzhang wouldn’t allow it.
“I’m not a child.”
With a wave of his hand, Song Yuzhang grabbed his bag and stepped out of the car.
Meng Tingjing remained seated inside, watching without blinking as Song Yuzhang passed through the old iron gates. Suddenly, his heart grew uneasy—pounding wildly in his chest, his temples throbbing. Only when Song Yuzhang’s figure completely disappeared from view did he exhale heavily and light a cigarette.
It was the brand Song Yuzhang liked. Taking a drag, he rubbed his temple and sighed softly, realizing he truly could not do without him.
Before three in the afternoon, Meng Tingjing had already driven back to the school, waiting early at the gate.
Classes ended at three-thirty. By a quarter to four, Song Yuzhang had yet to appear, and Meng Tingjing stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance.
The guard would not let him in and assured him no students had been permitted to leave during the day.
“Sir, please be patient. Perhaps he’s participating in an after-school activity,” the guard said politely, smiling warmly. “Relax—he’s a grown young man.”
Meng Tingjing’s forehead was tight. “I just want to go in and confirm he’s safe.”
“Sir, our school’s safety is well known throughout Cambridge. We certainly don’t allow outsiders in.”
Just then, a burst of noisy laughter erupted from within. Meng Tingjing instinctively turned his head and saw Song Yuzhang approaching, surrounded by a crowd.
The weather was splendid, the sunlight bright. Song Yuzhang wore his summer uniform—short sleeves and shorts revealing long arms and calves. He was tall, his skin very fair, his hair grown slightly longer, soft and fluffy, bouncing in the sunlight. He truly looked like a big boy. White teeth flashed between his lips as he said something, and the boys around him slung arms over his shoulders, cheering and jumping.
Swaying along, Song Yuzhang turned and spotted Meng Tingjing. He waved at him, then said something to the boys beside him. They too waved enthusiastically at Meng Tingjing.
After a brief hesitation, Meng Tingjing waved back.
Once in the car, Song Yuzhang wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. Smiling, he said, “Foreign kids are quite interesting.”
“Interesting?” Meng Tingjing started the engine.
Song Yuzhang pulled out a handful of brightly wrapped candies from his pocket. “Want some? The boys gave them to me.”
Meng Tingjing was silent for a long moment. “I don’t eat candy.” He hadn’t eaten a single piece, yet his heart already felt sour.
In Song Yuzhang’s eyes, those sixteen- or seventeen-year-old British boys were all children. Though physically mature, their speech and temperament struck him as naïve and innocent. All day he found himself half amused, half exasperated, recounting the day’s incidents to Meng Tingjing as jokes.
Meng Tingjing, rationally, knew they were just a group of young lads—incapable of stirring much trouble. Song Yuzhang did not take them seriously. But emotionally, he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy.
The British matured far too early! At sixteen or seventeen, they looked nearly twenty. Standing beside Song Yuzhang, anyone would think them peers.
By temperament, Song Yuzhang leaned toward a mature, easy elegance. Yet after going abroad, his mind had grown lighter, as though he were living backward in age. Now that he had reentered school, the boyhood cut short at fourteen seemed to return to him. When he smiled, his eyes curved, his lashes lifted—fresh and full of youthful vitality.
“The way foreigners address people is really mushy,” Song Yuzhang said after taking a sip of water. “They’ve only just met you and already call you all sorts of things. I’ve broadened my horizons. Hey—when you studied in England, could you stand that?”
Meng Tingjing lifted his cup and drank. “No.”
“If you couldn’t stand it, what did you do?”
“Beat them up a few times. That solved it.”
Laughing and shaking his head, Song Yuzhang stood, walked over, and kissed him on the cheek. “Such a bad temper, my dear.”
At first, the low timbre of his voice made Meng Tingjing’s ears tingle. Then it struck him that this “my dear” must be what those British little bastards were calling Song Yuzhang. Instantly, flames shot up in his chest. He wished he could storm into the school, drag those foreign brats out, and slap each of them across the face.
School life was rich and interesting for Song Yuzhang. For Meng Tingjing, however, it was rather hard to bear. He discovered that many things were easier said than done. It was entirely foreseeable that Song Yuzhang would be adored—and there was no sign that he had had “enough” of being adored. By all reason, Meng Tingjing shouldn’t be angry and had no need to be. In reality, though, he was.
He did not show that anger in front of Song Yuzhang. He was no longer the impulsive young man who would quarrel at the slightest provocation.
The proper course was to solve the problem first.
By mid-September, Liu Chuanzong and Liu Chu arrived in England. Back home, Liu Chuanzong had mainly handled two matters: first, persuading Nie Yinbing; second, transferring control of the bank, the arm factory, and the docks to Li Zifeng. He had his own secret ledgers and a set of explanations provided by Song Yuzhang—enough to convince Li Zifeng that Liao Tiandong had colluded with the Ministry of New Laws to seize the Song and Meng family properties, provoking both sides into open conflict. Once he had maneuvered his way out of Haizhou, he could then slip away and head to England.
When the plane landed, it was daytime. Song Yuzhang was in class. The only one who came to receive them was Meng Tingjing.
He had driven from Cambridge to London personally to pick up the Liu father and son.
Liu Chuanzong understood Meng Tingjing’s temperament well and felt somewhat flattered, though his expression remained calm and impassive. “Second Master.”
“You must be tired from the journey,” Meng Tingjing greeted them pleasantly. “Get in the car. When Yuzhang comes back tonight and sees you, he’ll certainly be delighted.”
Liu Chu had grown even taller. In this unfamiliar environment, his face held a stiff fierceness. Seeing that unaltered edge in him, Meng Tingjing felt quite satisfied.
After settling the father and son in, Meng Tingjing drove off again to pick up Song Yuzhang from school, telling him in the car that the Lius had arrived safely.
As expected, Song Yuzhang brightened, grabbing Meng Tingjing’s arm in delight. “That’s wonderful!”
The moment he stepped into the courtyard, Liu Chu shot out like a cannonball. Song Yuzhang caught him in an embrace and lifted him up forcefully.
“Kid, you’ve grown taller again.”
He brushed aside Liu Chu’s messy hair and cupped his face in both hands. The burn scars on Liu Chu’s face could not be removed; they lent what had once been a fairly delicate face a trace of harshness and menace. Yet in Song Yuzhang’s eyes, he was still that lively, sharp-tongued brat.
The moment Liu Chu opened his mouth, he proved it. “President, why’re you dressed like a doll?”
“It’s called a school uniform. What do you know?”
“Still looks awfully tender.”
“Shut your rotten mouth—”
Hooking an arm around Liu Chu’s neck, Song Yuzhang dragged him inside. Liu Chuanzong bowed toward him. Song Yuzhang went over and patted his shoulder. “You and I are no longer master and servant. There’s no need for that.”
That night, the four of them had a lively dinner together. Afterward, Song Yuzhang went out into the courtyard alone with Liu Chuanzong to ask in detail about Nie Yinbing.
Having just arrived abroad, Liu Chu was curious about everything, much like Song Yuzhang had once been. He was studying the carpet beneath his feet when someone tapped his shoulder.
He turned around. Meng Tingjing’s expression was gentle. “Shall we have a chat?”
“Second Master Nie said he wants to wait a little longer,” Liu Chuanzong was saying outside. “He likely has a grasp of the current situation and won’t truly let himself fall into an irreparable position.”
After hearing this, Song Yuzhang let out a deep sigh. “Let’s hope so.”
After a pause, Liu Chuanzong added, “I ran into Third Young Master in Jieyang.”
This genuinely surprised Song Yuzhang. “Third Brother?”
“Yes. At the train station.”
“Did you greet him?”
“No.”
Liu Chuanzong had never truly harbored goodwill toward any of the Song bloodline. Seeing him was merely that—seeing him in passing.
“How did Third Brother look?”
After considering, Liu Chuanzong replied, “At ease.”
Song Yuzhang thought that Song Qiyuan was perhaps still traveling while searching for Song Jincheng. Let him search. Having hope was better than none.
Before long, Meng Tingjing and Liu Chu joined them in the courtyard.
With an arm draped over Liu Chu’s shoulder, Meng Tingjing said to Song Yuzhang, “Yuzhang, I just spoke with Liu Chu. I’m thinking of sending him to your school as well—two grades below you. Old Liu, what do you think?”
Naturally, Liu Chuanzong agreed.
After a moment’s surprise, Song Yuzhang nodded. “He’ll need to learn English first.”
“That’s not a problem. The fastest way to learn is to interact more with foreigners. I’ll hire a tutor to teach him after school. The term has just begun, so if he goes now it’s perfect. Otherwise, he’ll lose another year.”
After some thought, Song Yuzhang found the reasoning sound. He looked at Liu Chu with a smile. “All right. Then we’ll be schoolmates.”
Liu Chu forced a stiff laugh to mask his thoughts: How did the president end up with such a jealous man? Jealous even of kids—honestly unbearable!
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