Song Yuzhang: Extra 11 - Past Events Like Smoke II [Featuring Nie Yinbing]
Song Yuzhang had run out of money.
Just moments ago, he had lost his last ten dollars on a single horse. From head to toe, all he had left now was a half-used box of matches.
But heaven never blocks every path. From a distance, Song Yuzhang spotted a solitary rich young gentleman. The man was dressed extravagantly; his bearing clearly revealed a solid family background. He did not look like a fellow swindler. A cigarette hung from his lips as he stood there in a daze, seemingly unsure how to light it without someone attending him.
Faced with such an idle, useless young master, if he did not step forward and fleece him, Song Yuzhang would feel he had wronged himself.
“Picked your horse yet?” Song Yuzhang asked with a smile.
With the cigarette between his lips, Nie Yinbing unconsciously took a drag. The taste of tobacco filled his mouth. He usually ignored strangers, yet for some inexplicable reason he answered, “No.”
“First time here?”
“Mm.”
Song Yuzhang stepped forward, brushing past him into the passageway. He glanced at the eager racehorses and said decisively, “Number Three.”
Nie Yinbing turned his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soldier approaching with betting tickets. From afar, he raised three fingers.
When Song Yuzhang turned back, he saw Nie Yinbing casually lowering his hand toward a servant not far away. The scent of idle extravagance about him was stronger than the cigarette smoke. Song Yuzhang rejoiced inwardly—another fat sheep caught in his net.
Horse Number Three did not win. But the result hardly mattered. Before the horses had even completed three laps, Song Yuzhang had successfully exchanged names with Nie Yinbing and begun addressing him as “brother.” Naturally, he had given a false name.
“What a pity—so close,” Song Yuzhang said, though no regret showed on his face. One could not seem shabby when dealing with a rich young master. Pretending he too had lost a large sum, he casually patted Nie Yinbing’s shoulder. “Brother, shall we grab a drink?”
The soldier returned with the useless betting tickets just in time to see his cold-faced superior holding the car door open for a tall, handsome young man. He froze, let out a futile “Hey—,” and could only watch as his officer got into the car and drove off, leaving him behind at the racetrack.
It was dinnertime. Naturally, they chose a restaurant. Smoothly and without effort, Song Yuzhang conned a fine meal and good wine out of Nie Yinbing.
After eating and drinking his fill, Song Yuzhang stood and made a show of paying. His hand slipped into his pocket—and his expression changed instantly. Only for a split second. He immediately steadied himself and smiled calmly at Nie Yinbing. “Brother Nie, this one’s on me.”
Nie Yinbing remained seated as the waiter approached with the bill. Song Yuzhang rose and gestured for the waiter to follow him.
Nie Yinbing’s gaze followed him.
In the corner, with his back turned.
Song Yuzhang bent slightly, clearly negotiating with the waiter.
Nie Yinbing saw him bend his arm and reach into his jacket—a motion of removing something.
Nie Yinbing gathered the hem of his coat and walked over.
“I have a pocket watch here. It was left to me by my father…”
Before Song Yuzhang finished, footsteps sounded behind him, and Nie Yinbing’s arrogant, indifferent voice rang out. “I’ll handle it.”
Song Yuzhang suppressed a smile. Outwardly, he looked surprised—genuinely startled, with a trace of embarrassment. “Brother Nie, what are you doing? I said this meal was mine.”
Nie Yinbing had already taken out his wallet.
It was thick—also prepared by the soldier—kept in the inner pocket of his jacket. After paying, he said, “Keep the change.” He pressed lightly on the arm Song Yuzhang still held against his chest and said evenly, “If your wallet’s lost, just say so. No need to put on airs.”
Song Yuzhang’s face flushed faintly. He withdrew his hand sheepishly. “You saw through me.”
“You and I are mere strangers. There’s no need to sacrifice a family heirloom just to treat me. Swelling your face to look fat—unnecessary.”
His tone was neutral, yet the content carried unmistakable condescension. Irritatingly so.
Song Yuzhang lowered his head slightly, looking properly chastened. “It’s my own carelessness. The racetrack was crowded…” He raised his face again, smiling brightly. “It’s not that I’m putting on airs. I felt an instant kinship with you, Brother Nie. Treating a friend to dinner is only natural.”
He spoke sincerely, without overplaying it, as though it came straight from the heart—as though their acquaintance were not two hours old but twenty years deep. As though failing to treat him would be a moral failing.
“Then it’s the same if I treat you,” Nie Yinbing replied.
Excellent. The fat sheep had taken the bait. Song Yuzhang laughed inwardly. His eyes, however, shone with apparent sincerity, as though moved by a true friend.
“Where are you staying? I’ll see you back,” Nie Yinbing asked.
Song Yuzhang gave a bitter smile. “To be honest, I just arrived in Jiangzhou.”
Which meant he had nowhere to stay.
Without hesitation, Nie Yinbing brought him back to his own hotel and opened a room for him. Watching him sign his name and charge it to account, Song Yuzhang immediately resolved to squeeze him dry.
“Brother Nie, I never imagined I’d meet such a loyal friend in a strange city,” Song Yuzhang said gratefully.
Nie Yinbing dismissed it. To him, it was a trivial favor.
The moment Song Yuzhang entered his new room, he flopped onto the bed in a spread-eagle sprawl and let out a comfortable sigh. Grinning, he mimed reaching into his jacket again. His palm emerged empty. He burst into laughter, feeling as though he had just performed a magic trick.
There was nothing inside his clothes. No pocket watch—he did not even have all the buttons on his shirt.
Reduced to such straits, he remained entirely unflustered. Grinding his teeth, he smiled like a gourmand savoring a feast, already sharpening his mental knife to carve flesh and draw blood from Nie Yinbing.
Meanwhile, Nie Yinbing returned to his own room. The soldier had been waiting nearby after hearing he was back and promptly knocked.
Nie Yinbing was loosening his tie. At the knock, his heart inexplicably jolted. He turned his head, still holding both ends of the tie.
The knock came again, followed by the soldier’s cautious voice. “Sir?”
The tension drained from the tie at once. Nie Yinbing opened the door. The soldier stood there with an ingratiating smile. “Sir, have you eaten?”
“What is it?”
The soldier scratched his head awkwardly. “Tomorrow… will you be going to bet—no, to the racetrack?”
Nie Yinbing thought for a moment. “Yes.”
“Oh.” The soldier nodded, then heard him add: “You don’t need to follow.”
“Ah? It’s fine, sir, I’ve nothing to do. Staff Officer Zhang specifically told me to take good care of you—”
“Don’t follow,” Nie Yinbing said coolly. “That’s an order.”
Under that gaze, the soldier instinctively snapped his heels together. “Yes, sir!”
The soldier backed out and shut the door, scratching his head again. The officer really was as temperamental as the rumors said. Then he thought of the man who had gotten into the car with the officer. Because of the distance, he hadn’t seen his face clearly—only that he was strikingly handsome, the kind of looks you could recognize at a glance without studying them. Whether someone was good-looking or not, you could tell in an instant.
Anyone who could make their officer personally open a car door for him must be some important figure. The soldier wondered: when had Jiangzhou gained another dignitary? How had he not heard about it?
Puzzled, he left. He’d had a long day. Keeping company with this odd-tempered officer wasn’t exactly a pleasant assignment. Since Nie Yinbing didn’t want him following, then he simply wouldn’t. Time to rest!
The soldier was good at amusing himself. Nie Yinbing, on the other hand, felt somewhat at a loss.
If one spoke of friends, Nie Yinbing could only count Zhang Changyuan as barely qualifying. They had become friends out of “shared misfortune,” which wasn’t much of a foundation for true friendship. Put the two of them together and you merely had double the unhappiness.
Nie Yinbing changed into another set of fine clothes—also prepared earlier by the soldier. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he suddenly thought, Does Zhao Jianfang have a change of clothes?
He pushed the door open and stepped out. After hesitating briefly at the doorway, he went to knock on Song Yuzhang’s door.
Two knocks—no answer.
Perhaps the man had already left.
After all, they were only acquaintances of a single meeting.
Nie Yinbing frowned. He remembered Song Yuzhang’s smile. The loneliness that had seeped in under yesterday evening’s sunset seemed to rise again. Suddenly the fine clothes on his body felt cumbersome and superfluous, and he once more had the impulse to leave.
He turned and headed downstairs, intending to depart without saying goodbye to anyone.
He had always come and gone like the wind. Even his family sometimes found it hard to keep track of him.
With a cold expression, Nie Yinbing stepped out of the hotel. His foot had just touched the first stair when he stopped.
By the green trees at the hotel entrance, a tall figure was leaning casually against a trunk. Sure enough, he was still wearing yesterday’s old clothes, head lowered as if speaking to someone.
“Zhao Jianfang?”
Song Yuzhang turned around, smiling. “Brother Nie, you’re awake.”
His mood brightened at once, for no particular reason. It was as though merely seeing that smiling face made his chest feel at ease, like fresh spring filling mountains and rivers. Nie Yinbing said, “You’re still wearing dirty clothes.”
Song Yuzhang thought this man truly had a knack for saying unpleasant things. His smile, however, did not falter. “Dirty?” He lifted an arm, showing his long, well-shaped sleeve. “I think they’re fairly clean.”
“I’ll take you to the police station,” Nie Yinbing said.
“The police station?”
“To catch the thief.”
Song Yuzhang waved a hand with a laugh. “Forget it. No need for the trouble. Money is an external thing. As long as I’m fine, that’s what matters.”
Nie Yinbing said nothing more.
He looked down at Song Yuzhang from above. Song Yuzhang turned his head as if searching for someone, then quickly turned back, evidently having found no one. There was no disappointment on his face; he seemed to take nothing to heart. Smiling at Nie Yinbing, he said, “Brother Nie, thank you for helping me yesterday. It’s a pity I’m penniless now and can’t repay your kindness. How about we go to the racecourse together? I misjudged number three yesterday. Lend me a hundred or so today, and I’ll definitely win it back.”
Nie Yinbing held himself to strict moral standards.
As a soldier—a professional soldier—being unable to go to the battlefield was already a great regret. In daily life, he therefore demanded even more discipline of himself.
And not only of himself; he had standards for those around him as well.
They were all, temporarily, his “soldiers.” Soldiers should conduct themselves like soldiers. Eating, drinking, whoring, gambling—those weren’t soldiers; those were hooligans and bandits.
Zhao Jianfang’s gambler’s talk had already brushed against a boundary Nie Yinbing disliked. Yet when he searched his heart, he realized he truly did not dislike Zhao Jianfang.
Perhaps it was because Zhao Jianfang was not afraid of him—and because he smiled so happily.
“I’ll take you to have a suit made,” Nie Yinbing said, making the decision on his own. Chin lifted, he descended the steps as he spoke. “You don’t need to pay me back.”
Hearing this, Song Yuzhang felt both amused and helpless.
The other man ordered him about entirely as though he were some hanger-on who had attached himself.
That wouldn’t do. Song Yuzhang was not someone who lived by flattery.
Unhurried, he followed along. With a faint smile, in the cool morning breeze, he had already begun calculating how to draw money from this arrogant young gentleman’s pockets.
He felt no guilt. After all, he was making his living by his own abilities. There was nothing shameful about that.
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