Song Yuzhang: Extra 5 - Cambridge Life Part 2 [Featuring Meng Tingjing]
Meng Tingjing’s scheme was quickly exposed.
Liu Chu was Song Yuzhang’s man—there was no way he would hide anything from him. The moment he turned around at school, he told Song Yuzhang everything in full.
Song Yuzhang was both annoyed and amused. He had wanted to give Meng Tingjing a small lesson, but on second thought, they had already been through so much together—why deliberately tease him again? It hadn’t been easy to temper Meng Tingjing’s once-fiery disposition. Stirring him up again would be unwise.
He hadn’t yet had his fill of these peaceful days. He had no intention of quarreling.
Smiling and shaking his head, Song Yuzhang thought that for Meng Tingjing’s temperament to have turned into what it was now was already no small feat. Better to let it be.
In any case, Liu Chu would never truly side with Meng Tingjing.
After some thought, Song Yuzhang gave Liu Chu a few instructions. Liu Chu responded with earnest “mm-hm s—he meant to obey sincerely.
After agreeing, Liu Chu left, feeling that though he had only just arrived in a foreign country, he had already made another small contribution for the president.
Ever since Guan Tu had failed to save Song Yuzhang, Liu Chu had harbored deep regret.
Back then, Song Yuzhang had brought only him as a trusted aide—that was trust. Yet he had failed in his duty to protect him. It was a dereliction.
He had failed once. He could not fail a second time.
Even if Meng Tingjing was the president’s “madam,” Liu Chu was very clear in his own mind about closeness and distance.
That very evening, Meng Tingjing privately summoned Liu Chu for questioning. Liu Chu had spent the entire day submerged in incomprehensible foreign chatter, achieving nothing besides eating lunch. So whatever Meng Tingjing asked, he answered with a straight face, fabricating freely—portraying Song Yuzhang as aloof toward other men, pure and steadfast.
Meng Tingjing listened, unconvinced.
Reading his expression, Liu Chu adjusted, shifting his story to invent a handsome, well-born foreign youth who had a fairly good relationship with Song Yuzhang.
Meng Tingjing’s expression darkened slightly. He cast Liu Chu a sideways, skeptical glance.
With utmost seriousness, Liu Chu continued defending Song Yuzhang. “The president is only humoring him.”
After placating Meng Tingjing, Liu Chu left, inwardly pleased with himself, feeling he had successfully played the role of a double agent.
A few days later, as Meng Tingjing’s inquiries grew more detailed, the foreign youth in Liu Chu’s tales became increasingly vivid—complete with distinct features. To make him convincingly imperfect yet harmless, Liu Chu even added a fatal but safe flaw: bad breath.
Hearing this, Meng Tingjing visibly relaxed. Then, after relaxing, he frowned slightly. Foreigners already tended to have strong body odor—he hoped they wouldn’t overwhelm Song Yuzhang.
As for Liu Chu’s elaborate fabrications, Song Yuzhang knew nothing. Liu Chu felt it improper to claim credit before him, so Song Yuzhang assumed he and Meng Tingjing merely chatted idly. He had no idea Liu Chu had furnished him with a handsome, privileged, slightly halitotic “good friend” at school.
At school, Song Yuzhang was indeed popular. But those sixteen- or seventeen-year-old foreign boys—though hairy and tall—were, in his eyes, no different from Liu Chu. All brats. He had not the slightest interest.
Besides, he was now a man with a family.
In the past, Song Yuzhang had never imagined being with someone for the long term. He lacked confidence in himself—and in any potential partner.
It was hard for anyone to remain lovable forever. He feared he would grow bored, grow weary, and fail true affection.
But since he had chosen to take this step, he meant what he had told Meng Tingjing: “Love for as long as it lasts.” With someone already by his side, he would not set foot in multiple boats.
He did not know why Meng Tingjing harbored such worries. In matters of feeling, he considered himself quite devoted and clean.
“Still reading?” Meng Tingjing lifted the blanket and came over, his hand already settling at Song Yuzhang’s waist. “Careful you don’t go nearsighted.”
Turning a page without looking up, Song Yuzhang replied, “I won’t. My eyesight’s good.”
Lately, Meng Tingjing had been a little strange. Strange how, Song Yuzhang couldn’t quite say. He supposed Meng Tingjing simply needed time to adjust to not being with him every moment now.
Just as Song Yuzhang was puzzling over a long sentence and about to ask for help, Meng Tingjing leaned in at the same moment. The instant he opened his mouth, he was met with a long kiss.
His lips still slightly parted, he looked at Meng Tingjing in mild confusion. Meng Tingjing wore a faint, pleased smile—rare good spirits these past few days.
“What is it?” Song Yuzhang found himself smiling too. “Something good happen?”
Instead of answering, Meng Tingjing kissed him again.
It had been less than a month since Song Yuzhang enrolled—he was in a phase of diligent study. Seeing him work hard, Meng Tingjing had refrained from bothering him, and without realizing it, Song Yuzhang had been holding back for quite some time.
That kiss stirred him thoroughly. The unfinished book was tossed aside. Looping both arms around Meng Tingjing’s shoulders, he kissed him back.
As the saying goes, a brief separation makes reunion sweeter than a wedding. They went at it with enthusiasm and were still not satisfied. The nights were no longer hot; both ended up drenched in sweat and migrated to the bathroom, laughing and teasing in high spirits. With one hand braced against the bathroom door and the other cupping Meng Tingjing’s face, Song Yuzhang pecked at his lips repeatedly, smiling. “Why do I feel like your mouth tastes especially sweet today? Like mint.”
Carrying him inside, Meng Tingjing pretended he was simply “naturally blessed,” not that he had eaten peppermint candies beforehand.
They fooled around until midnight. Song Yuzhang fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Upon waking, he felt a twinge of regret—the book he had meant to finish was left unread, and today’s lesson would likely be harder.
He blamed himself for lacking restraint, sighed, and got out of bed to retrieve the book. It was gone from the carpet. Turning his head, he saw it placed neatly by the bedside. The sound of running water came from the bathroom—Meng Tingjing must have risen earlier and picked it up for him.
The bathroom door opened. Meng Tingjing emerged wreathed in steam, towel in hand, drying his hair. “Awake?”
Song Yuzhang murmured assent and padded toward the bathroom in slippers. As he passed, his arm was caught, and he was kissed again.
He thought little of it—only that Meng Tingjing’s breath was remarkably fresh, pleasant to kiss.
As usual, Meng Tingjing drove him to school. Liu Chu sat in the backseat, gnawing at the apple he hadn’t finished at breakfast. The two in front spoke softly, laughter interspersed—their relationship clearly harmonious. Crunching his apple, Liu Chu felt that as an unsung hero, he deserved some credit.
Once in class, however, Song Yuzhang’s mood grew slightly heavy. Being a student, he discovered, was no less stressful than being a bank president—especially as the oldest in class. If he failed to keep up with those brats, he would not only embarrass himself but also the East Asian face.
He pulled out his book, intending to cram before the teacher arrived. When he opened it, he froze.
The page he had struggled with the night before was covered in detailed annotations beside the long, complex sentences. The handwriting flowed like dragons and snakes, bold and elegant, yet precise and neat—never difficult to read.
Song Yuzhang brushed his fingers over it. The ink had long since dried.
He smiled faintly, picturing Meng Tingjing rising early to “do homework” for him. He found him truly endearing.
In late October, the school had an autumn break. Around the same time, something not insignificant happened at their London home.
Xiao Fengxian wanted to go to Paris to learn dressmaking.
He had always loved beauty. Back then, he had looked at Song Yuzhang differently precisely because Song Yuzhang himself was extraordinarily beautiful.
After accompanying the Meng family’s ladies to Paris several times—wandering through fashion houses—he had been utterly captivated.
Without a tongue, opera was no longer possible. As he recuperated and spent more time traveling with the Meng women, his spirits gradually revived. One of the Meng sisters, Sixth Miss, also loved fashion and wanted to study art. Meng Sushan doted equally on her half-sisters and promptly agreed, preparing materials to send her abroad.
Watching Sixth Miss bustle about joyfully each day stirred something in Xiao Fengxian.
He did not dare ask to attend school like her. He only wished to apprentice at a Paris fashion house. As an apprentice, he would have food and lodging—earning his keep through effort.
Upon hearing this, Song Yuzhang was half supportive, half opposed. He spoke with Xiao Fengxian for an entire afternoon.
“Are you uncomfortable here? Come to Cambridge with me. Liu Chu’s there too. If you want to study, join us.”
Lowering his head, Xiao Fengxian shook it. “I want to do something on my own.” He lifted his face, healthy color restored. “Fifth Young Master, you brought me out—you don’t owe me anything. I can’t rely on you forever. I’m a man.”
After a long silence, Song Yuzhang took his hand softly. “I’m willing to support you.”
Xiao Fengxian smiled. “But I’m not willing.”
Song Yuzhang himself had always been someone who asked nothing of others. The reason he and Xiao Fengxian became confidants lay partly in that shared temperament. He understood Xiao Fengxian had regained his footing—and he was still young. He couldn’t retire into dependence so early.
“If you want to go, I’ll send you,” Song Yuzhang said seriously. “But remember—wherever you are, this is still your home.”
Xiao Fengxian’s eyes curved in a bright smile. “I won’t forget.”
Song Yuzhang decided to escort him personally to Paris. Xiao Fengxian was delighted. Though Song Yuzhang himself was beautiful, he paid little attention to fashion. He hardly needed to dress up to stand out. Xiao Fengxian longed to show him the world of fashion he adored.
As it happened, Paris Fashion Week was about to begin. Thus, the Meng family’s ladies, along with Song Yuzhang, Meng Tingjing, and the Liu father and son, all set out for Paris together—nearly chartering the entire first-class cabin on the London–Paris flight.
After boarding and sitting down, Song Yuzhang voiced his lingering worries about Xiao Fengxian to Meng Tingjing.
“What’s there to fear? It’s not far. If you’re uneasy, we can visit anytime,” Meng Tingjing said. “This time we’ll help him find a good house and hire servants. He won’t suffer.”
“The house must be carefully chosen,” Song Yuzhang replied. “And hire more bodyguards if possible. Safety is most important.”
A faint, old pain pricked Meng Tingjing’s heart. “All right.”
Song Yuzhang, too, recalled the past with quiet melancholy.
Just as they fell silent, a voice full of surprise—and a touch of uncertainty—sounded beside them.
“Excuse me… are you Mr. Song?”
Song Yuzhang turned his head. A slender young man stood by his seat, holding a ticket and passport. His features were delicate and appealing, his skin slightly dark yet charmingly so. Sunglasses perched atop his head. The moment Song Yuzhang looked back, he brightened. “It really is you, Mr. Song!”
Song Yuzhang slowly parted his lips in surprise. “Hanmin?”
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