Song Yuzhang: Extra 10 - Past Events Like Smoke I [Featuring the Nie Brothers]
After graduating from military academy, his classmates of the same cohort had all reported to their assigned units. Only Nie Yinbing carried his luggage alone and quietly returned to Haizhou.
“Second Young Master, you’re back.” Nie Mao stepped forward to take his luggage. Nie Yinbing released his grip and reminded him, “There’s a grenade inside. Be careful.”
Nie Mao’s arm stiffened. Still smiling, he said, “Why bring a grenade home? Isn’t that unsafe?”
“It’s a dud,” Nie Yinbing replied.
Nie Mao thought to himself: then why tell me to be careful? After walking a few steps and reflecting on his young master’s temperament, he suddenly understood. The Second Young Master hadn’t meant be careful of it—he meant handle it carefully. Don’t knock it about.
Half laughing, half exasperated, Nie Mao carried the luggage into Nie Yinbing’s courtyard.
The grenade had been a gift from a classmate.
Nie Yinbing had been the undisputed top student of his cohort. Whether in riding or shooting, he excelled; his scores in military strategy were equally outstanding. One could say he was a well-rounded talent. The instructors all commented that he had been “born for the battlefield.”
Unfortunately, such a talent had refused the order to enlist. Upon graduation, he returned to his hometown to run the family mines.
His classmates could not understand it. One hotheaded fellow had given him the dud grenade, the mockery and insinuation unmistakable.
Nie Yinbing had accepted it.
He thought that perhaps in the rest of his life, he might never again touch a shell or a bomb. It was not a bad thing to keep one as a memento.
He paused at the entrance to the study.
Inside, books and papers were piled high upon the desk, cluttered yet orderly. A slightly stooped figure stood to one side, reading a letter in hand. A thin silver chain hung by his cheek; slender crystal lenses rested in deep-set eye sockets, reflecting a faint glint of light.
“Brother.”
At the sound, Nie Xueping turned his face and immediately smiled. “You’re back.”
Nie Yinbing strode into the room and stopped before the desk, bending properly at the waist. “I’m back.”
The two brothers sat opposite each other on the sofa in the study. Nie Xueping brewed tea for him. After observing him for a moment, he made his assessment. “You look well.”
“Mm.”
Nie Xueping sighed inwardly. His younger brother was still the same as ever.
In truth, he had not approved when Nie Yinbing first decided to attend military academy. Yet he had always believed in respecting his siblings’ choices more than interfering. Since Nie Yinbing wished to go, then go he would. Only one condition had been agreed upon—he was not to go to the battlefield. Originally, Nie Yinbing had not entered the academy out of love for the military. He had not gotten along with his middle school classmates and wanted somewhere quieter.
The few years at the academy had suited him well. It was a place where people communicated with fists rather than words. He had found that environment good.
There was only one pity: he had truly fallen in love with the military there.
“Since you’re back, rest for a while,” Nie Xueping said, pouring him tea. “Qingyun is vacationing in France. Would you like to go find her and have some fun?”
“No.”
Nie Xueping was unsurprised. Smiling, he lifted his own teacup.
In recent years, the two brothers only managed to spend a few days together each year, usually around the New Year. Their affection had not faded, but when they sat together, they were indeed quiet.
Nie Yinbing was not good with words and even feared social interaction. To him, sitting together and drinking a cup of plain tea was far more comforting than speaking a thousand sentences. Nie Xueping knew his “problem” and was willing to be considerate of this tongue-tied younger brother.
After finishing the tea, Nie Xueping said, “Go see Bonian.”
Nie Yinbing stood and left at once.
Watching his spear-straight back, Nie Xueping felt that his brother had indeed changed a little—he now truly resembled a soldier.
Nie Bonian was in the courtyard, picking up fallen leaves.
The weather was still warm; it was not yet the season for leaves to fall in abundance. The ones on the ground were torn or blemished, not pretty enough to make good bookmarks. Nie Boniann was troubled, squatting with his backside in the air and his face nearly pressed to the ground as he searched. Suddenly, he was scooped up. He cried out in surprise. Turning his head, he met Nie Yinbing’s sharp, cool eyes and immediately broke into a grin—his smile curved far deeper than his father’s. “Second Uncle!”
Nie Yinbing bounced him in his arms, weighing him. “Gained weight?”
Holding a small leaf in one hand, Nie Bonian raised three fingers with the other, squinting happily. “I’ve gained three jin this year.”
“Good. Keep gaining,” Nie Yinbing said as he carried him back. “You’ll live a few more years.”
Nie Bonian was speechless for a moment, then decided to accept this fine blessing from his uncle. He nodded obediently and handed over the imperfect leaf. “Second Uncle, this is for you.”
Nie Yinbing accepted it and tucked it into the breast pocket of his uniform.
“I don’t have anything to give you in return.”
“It’s all right, Second Uncle. I don’t want a gift.”
“Mm.”
Nie Yinbing explained, “This time, I only brought back a grenade.”
Nie Bonain blinked curiously. “What’s a grenade?”
“It’s a bomb.” Nie Yinbing set him down on a rocking chair and gestured roughly the size of it with one hand, mimicking the motion of pulling the pin. “Quite powerful. One can blow up a lot of people.”
Nie Bonian’s mouth slowly fell open.
Nie Yinbing let his hands drop, his expression stern. “Unfortunately, the one I brought back is a dud.”
Nie Bonain slowly closed his mouth again. His small hands fidgeted together. He could roughly guess what “dud” meant and quietly let out a breath of relief. “What a pity,” he said softly.
After only a few days in Haizhou, Nie Yinbing began to feel restless. At the academy, he had had a fairly close classmate named Zhang Changyuan. Zhang Changyuan was a few years older, broad and careless in temperament, and could not go three sentences without swearing—“damn it,” “to hell with it,” “I’ll curse your ancestors”—such phrases were constantly on his lips.
The academy was full of sons of military families. No one indulged anyone else. Arguments turning into fistfights were commonplace. As the top student, Nie Yinbing rarely fought; he believed it damaged a soldier’s image.
Zhang Changyuan was one of the few fortunate enough to have been beaten by Nie Yinbing—thanks entirely to his foul mouth.
Yet they had become friends through fighting. Both had elder brothers who forbade them from going to the battlefield. There was a sense of shared hardship between them. Zhang Changyuan had fared slightly better—he had managed to secure a position in the army, albeit a desk post. Still, it was better than nothing; at least he had soldiers under him.
Knowing Nie Yinbing must be stifled in Haizhou, Zhang Changyuan sent a telegram, calling him out to have some fun.
What kind of fun?
Bandit suppression.
Bandit suppression was something they had often done back in military academy. Those cadets were future high ranking officers destined for the battlefield. With bandits running rampant, it was the perfect chance to practice with live targets.
Nie Yinbing had always been fervent about suppressing bandits.
He knew he was forbidden from going to war. If he could not fight soldiers, then fighting bandits would have to suffice.
He packed lightly and bade farewell to Nie Xueping, saying he was going out to suppress bandits.
Nie Xueping was slightly surprised. But seeing the barely restrained eagerness in his brother’s posture, what objection could he voice? After a moment’s thought, he agreed.
Better this than the battlefield. With Nie Yinbing’s ability, dealing with bandits should pose no problem.
Even so, Nie Xueping worried a little and sent several family guards along with him. Nie Yinbing accepted them. After a few excursions, when he returned bearing quite a number of wounds, Nie Xueping instead stopped worrying. Nie Yinbing was no child. He would know his limits.
One day, Zhang Changyuan wired him, inviting him to suppress bandits near Jiangzhou.
Jiangzhou lay far from Haizhou. Nie Yinbing traveled by horse and by car to get there, only to find Zhang Changyuan already gone. Troops moved at a moment’s notice. Nie Yinbing was accustomed to Zhang Changyuan’s abrupt departures. In fact, he felt a faint envy.
Perhaps no one would understand the kind of drifting, brutal life he longed for.
His friend had left, but the bandits remained. They had to be crushed, and crushed thoroughly. When alone, Nie Yinbing was somewhat less restrained.
The journey was long, so he did not bring the family guards. Zhang Changyuan had left him a handful of soldiers; Nie Yinbing used them readily enough. The skills he had learned at the academy were more than sufficient against these wild brigands. In two or three days, he had beaten the bandits into scattered fragments.
Once the bandits were finished, loneliness returned like a shadow.
The soldiers Zhang Changyuan left behind were smooth operators. Zhang Changyuan had feared that his taciturn old classmate would struggle to communicate with the men, so he had specifically left a few socially nimble ones.
After a few days with Nie Yinbing, the soldiers quickly sensed the “special” quality about their officer. He was solemn, severe, sparing with smiles. They did not dare suggest brothels. With their limited imagination, after eliminating that option, gambling seemed the only remaining amusement.
“I don’t gamble,” Nie Yinbing said crisply, rejecting the proposal.
The soldiers were quick thinkers. “Then how about the racetrack, sir? Plenty of good horses there.”
Nie Yinbing liked horses. More precisely, he liked anything connected to the battlefield. Guns and artillery were good. Fine horses were rare treasures.
It was an evening washed in magnificent sunset light when he washed up at the inn where he was temporarily staying. The clothes he had brought had met an unfortunate end during the bandit campaign, smashed and burned by a bandit’s fire bottle. The soldiers had procured him a new outfit.
A black suit. A snow white shirt. Cufflinks set with tiny diamonds. He put them on and studied himself in the mirror. His brows drew together slightly. He felt like some idle rich young dandy.
Nie Yinbing had never cared much about food or clothing. Though he disliked the outfit, he wore it out without requesting a change.
The soldier who came to fetch him drove a Buick, dressed just as extravagantly, hair slicked and face powdered. Nie Yinbing’s brow furrowed faintly. He lifted his chin. “Attention.”
The soldier reflexively snapped his heels together and even added a salute.
Nie Yinbing looked him up and down, lowered his gaze slightly, returned the salute, and ducked into the car.
The racetrack was lively. Though it was already six in the evening, the place buzzed with noise, not a seat empty. Entering through the central passage, Nie Yinbing immediately spotted the horses waiting off to the side for the next race. He surveyed them briefly and felt disappointed.
Good horses, yes. But racehorses and warhorses were worlds apart.
The ferocity in these racehorses could not compare to a true warhorse that had tasted blood.
He lowered his head slightly and noticed the glittering diamonds on his cufflinks. Their decorative brilliance bore no resemblance to the cold sheen that flickers along a blade’s edge.
“Sir, you watch for a bit. I’ll get you some tickets.”
Nie Yinbing gave no answer. In truth, he was already thinking of leaving.
One hand rested in his trouser pocket. Inside was a pack of cigarettes. He did not smoke much, but at that moment, he wanted one. He flicked the box open and slid a cigarette out with his thumb, lowered his head, and placed it between his lips. As he reached into his pocket again to light it, he found no matches.
Given the soldier’s eagerness in all things, perhaps the matches were with him.
Dark violet clouds draped the racetrack in gauze. The grass and track lay beneath a dim veil. Crowds thronged both sides of the walkway. With the cigarette between his lips and his head slightly bowed, Nie Yinbing once again felt that nameless loneliness. He felt like an unlit cigarette himself, able only to satisfy the craving in theory.
“Chi—”
A lit match flared up by his lips. Smoke curled upward. Nie Yinbing did not react at first. It was only when the rich scent of tobacco filled his lungs that he suddenly came back to himself. His eyes shifted sharply. He narrowed them, keen as a drawn blade, and collided with a pair of smiling eyes. Dark pupils, washed by the sunset, held a faint red glow, as if a small fire burned within.
“No fire for a cigarette. That’s irritating,” the man said with a smile. “Hello. Here to bet on horses?”
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