Song Yuzhang: Bonus Chapter 1 - Ye Zhuqing (Featuring Fu Mian)
Fine, dense raindrops fell like spilled wine, shrouding the deep courtyard. White mist rose in curls, and clusters of azaleas bloomed vivid as blood. A man stood in the pavilion, his expression calm as he gazed out through the curtain of rain.
Hidden beneath the eaves, someone watched him, a restless itch scratching at his heart. Several times he wanted to step forward, and several times he suppressed the urge—he refused to let the man think him frivolous.
Fu Mian had been waiting in secret for a long time. He didn’t know how long exactly, until the man in the pavilion took out a pocket watch from his breast and checked the time. Only then did Fu Mian realize he might have waited too long—the man looked as though he was about to leave.
The man slipped the watch back into his suit pocket, hands in his coat, and without regard for the steady autumn rain outside, strode straight into it. Fu Mian panicked at once. Letting go of the pillar he’d been clutching, he stepped forward without thinking. “Mr. Ye—!”
The shout rang out so loudly it made his own ears tremble. When Ye Zhuqing turned around, Fu Mian felt certain his face had flushed—burning hot.
Half of Ye Zhuqing’s body stood outside the pavilion, rain streaking across his hair, face, and suit. Yet his expression remained composed, without the slightest impatience from waiting or awkwardness from being soaked. He simply smiled faintly. “Young Master Fu? Good afternoon.”
Fu Mian apologized, saying he had only just returned home and had kept Ye Zhuqing waiting, asking for his forgiveness. Ye Zhuqing said it was nothing as he took a towel from a servant and said gently, “I’ll do it myself.”
“Truly, I’m sorry,” Fu Mian said, composed on the surface as he sat upright in the main seat. “I was tied up with matters at the shop today and made you wait.” Ye Zhuqing sat leisurely with one leg crossed, wiping the rain from his face and hair. His movements were clean and unhurried, casual yet decisive, carrying a hint of the carefree air of a wanderer. Fu Mian forced himself not to stare too intently.
“Young Master Fu must be very busy,” Ye Zhuqing said, handing the towel back to the servant. Running his fingers through his hair, he smiled again. “Unlike me—a man of leisure, with plenty of time.”
Fu Mian felt his gaze sweep over him, and couldn’t help noticing how long Ye Zhuqing’s lashes were. When he smiled, they gathered thickly together, denser even than the autumn rain outside.
“Young Master Fu, thank you for granting me this meeting today.” Ye Zhuqing interlaced his fingers over his knee and inclined slightly toward him. “I wonder if Brother Tang has already explained my purpose?”
At the mention of Tang Jin, Fu Mian’s expression tightened slightly. The Fu and Tang families had been rivals for generations, competing since their ancestors, even opening their shops directly opposite each other. A few days ago, Fu Mian had heard that a distinguished merchant had arrived at the Tang household, and he had immediately sent people to investigate. Yet they came back with nothing useful, only saying that the merchant was extremely handsome—so handsome it made Fu Mian angry.
“I told you to find out his background, not his looks!”
Furious, Fu Mian went to investigate personally. When he returned, his face was flushed, and he lost all appetite, falling into lovesick longing.
Ye Zhuqing. Propping his chin on his hand, Fu Mian gazed foolishly at the moon like a love-struck maiden.
So handsome. Even his smile is beautiful. Ye Zhuqing was from Ye City, here to purchase medicinal herbs. Unfortunately, he had encountered bandits on the road and lost most of his money. It was only thanks to Tang Jin that he had a temporary place to stay.
“I don’t have money on me at the moment, so I can’t pay a deposit,” Ye Zhuqing said sincerely. “But I’ve already written home. I believe there will be news soon.”
“In times like these, with chaos everywhere, even sending letters takes months for a round trip.”
“Yes.” Ye Zhuqing’s expression dimmed slightly. “So for now, I can only discuss terms with you first.”
Fu Mian gripped the armrest of his chair, unable to bear seeing such dejection on Ye Zhuqing’s face. Without thinking, he blurted out, “What herbs do you need? How much?”
Fu Mian couldn’t suppress the curve of his lips. “And how will you thank me?”
Ye Zhuqing named several—rare and valuable varieties, and in large quantities. Even the Fu family itself was short on some of them. Yet Fu Mian didn’t hesitate. “Fine. I’ll reserve them for you.”
Ye Zhuqing’s face lit up at once. “Thank you, Young Master Fu.”
“How would Young Master Fu like to be thanked?”
Ye Zhuqing’s tone and expression were utterly calm. Though he had no money, he showed no trace of embarrassment, as if even if Fu Mian demanded mountains of gold, it would make no difference—he could still provide it.
Faced with that overwhelming confidence, Fu Mian almost trembled all over. His body felt hot and weak. He wanted both to collapse into Ye Zhuqing’s arms and to seize him tightly. No matter what, he wanted him.
The room fell quiet, filled only with the rustle of autumn rain. Under Fu Mian’s burning gaze, Ye Zhuqing remained perfectly at ease, a faint smile at his lips. “How about we play mahjong together tonight?” He paused slightly, the smile seeming to carry some hidden meaning—or perhaps none at all. “I’ll feed you good tiles.”
Fu Mian didn’t know how to play mahjong and didn’t particularly like it, but he still agreed to go.
The table that night was filled with the city’s prominent young men. Tang Jin had organized the game and was surprised to see Fu Mian attend. “Young Master Fu, what wind blew you here?”
Before Tang Jin, Fu Mian maintained his aloof demeanor as the city’s foremost young master, giving a vague grunt in response. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Ye Zhuqing, who said openly, “Young Master Fu came at my invitation.”
Fu Mian’s face grew warm, yet he felt delighted. He liked Ye Zhuqing’s bold, manly manner.
“Oh, I see. So it’s all thanks to you, Zhuqing,” Tang Jin said with a smile, exchanging a subtle glance with Ye Zhuqing when Fu Mian wasn’t looking. Ye Zhuqing’s deep, affectionate eyes remained calm, as if nothing were amiss.
When Fu Mian said he didn’t know how to play, Ye Zhuqing pressed a hand to his shoulder and made him sit. Standing behind him, he leaned down slightly. “It’s fine, I’ll teach you.”
Warm breath brushed against his ear, and half of Fu Mian’s body went numb. He murmured a soft “Mm,” yielding without resistance.
Bent over him, Ye Zhuqing guided his moves. But Fu Mian’s mind wasn’t on the game at all—he stared at Ye Zhuqing’s fingers resting on his tiles, breathing in his scent. Even the force with which he played his tiles was light and absent-minded.
After one round, Fu Mian lost. He disliked losing, especially when sitting in Ye Zhuqing’s seat, and his expression darkened immediately. Just then, a hand gently squeezed his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Ye Zhuqing smiling down at him. “It’s alright—count it as mine.”
“Forget it,” Fu Mian said, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not good at this, and it spoils the fun for everyone. You should play instead.”
As he stood and passed by Ye Zhuqing, he whispered, “Put it on me.”
He heard Ye Zhuqing chuckle softly, his low voice brushing his ear. “If I win, it’s yours.”
Fu Mian cast a glance—Ye Zhuqing was already seated, and he missed the expression on his face. His heart pounded wildly.
Sitting behind him, Fu Mian stayed through half the night. Though he himself had little interest in playing, watching Ye Zhuqing was endlessly engaging.
Ye Zhuqing played casually, picking up and discarding tiles with ease. In his other hand, he held a cigarette, taking occasional drags. His skill wasn’t outstanding; like Fu Mian, his attention didn’t seem fully on the game. He won and lost in turns, only becoming serious in the latter half of the night.
At the end, when accounts were settled, Ye Zhuqing came out slightly ahead. Sitting behind him, Fu Mian felt quietly pleased for him. Seeing Ye Zhuqing’s chest rise and fall as he exhaled, he couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Look at you—getting nervous over such small stakes.”
Ye Zhuqing glanced back, lips curving. “I need to win money for you.”
Their eyes met, and Fu Mian’s heart raced. Under that gaze, he felt like a sugar figurine about to melt, and hurriedly turned away to avoid embarrassing himself.
When Ye Zhuqing was ready to return to his inn, since they had come together, it was naturally Fu Mian’s car that would take him back.
Inside the car, the two sat on opposite sides, neither speaking. After playing cards all night, Ye Zhuqing seemed a little tired. He leaned his elbow against the window, propping his forehead with his fingers, eyes closed as if dozing. From time to time, Fu Mian’s gaze flicked toward him, catching his profile alternating between light and shadow under the passing streetlamps.
As soon as the car stopped, Ye Zhuqing opened his eyes as if startled awake. “Mm? Are we here?” He glanced out the window, confirmed they had reached the inn, then turned back to Fu Mian. “Young Master Fu, thank you for bringing me back.”
Fu Mian’s lips felt dry and stuck together; for a moment, he didn’t know what to say, only giving a slight nod. Ye Zhuqing got out of the car. The sound of the door closing made Fu Mian’s whole body tremble. He didn’t tell the driver to leave, remaining in the car as he greedily watched Ye Zhuqing’s retreating figure.
After taking a couple of steps, Ye Zhuqing suddenly stopped. That tall silhouette in the night almost etched itself into Fu Mian’s heart. Then Ye Zhuqing turned back, walked up to the car window, and leaned down. “Would you like to come up for a bit?”
Fu Mian thought he should refuse. He had already agreed to reserve the medicinal herbs for him and had spent half the night playing mahjong with him. He still remembered not wanting to seem too frivolous. But as if possessed, he became the most obedient and compliant person in the world, no longer the willful Young Master Fu. He quietly pushed open the car door and followed Ye Zhuqing upstairs.
The two-room suite was not particularly tidy. Clothes hung haphazardly on a rack outside, with a couple of garments tossed onto the bed. Ye Zhuqing showed no embarrassment. “I don’t like outsiders entering my room, so I didn’t have anyone clean it. Young Master Fu, please forgive the mess.”
Fu Mian first said, “It’s fine,” but then, savoring the implication in Ye Zhuqing’s words, his face began to heat up again.
Ye Zhuqing had the inn attendant bring up a pot of tea. He took off his suit jacket and was about to toss it aside casually. Seeing this, Fu Mian didn’t know whether he’d lost his mind or fallen under a spell—he actually reached out to catch it. “Don’t just throw it around.”
Ye Zhuqing looked at him with a half-smile. Fu Mian flushed red, hastily explaining, “I just can’t stand messy places.”
“Sorry, I’m used to it.”
As he spoke, Ye Zhuqing really handed the coat to him. When Fu Mian took it, he caught the faint scent of rain still clinging to it, along with the smoke and alcohol from the night’s card game—and most strongly, the scent that belonged to Ye Zhuqing himself.
Fu Mian held the coat close for a moment, quietly breathing it in, before reluctantly hanging it up neatly.
“So virtuous,” Ye Zhuqing remarked.
Fu Mian turned around to see Ye Zhuqing standing right behind him. With his coat removed, his upper body was outlined beneath his shirt, his shoulders forming an almost perfect shape. He was too close—Fu Mian felt slightly dizzy. Looking at the curve of Ye Zhuqing’s lips, he found the smile a little wicked… or perhaps it was his own thoughts that had turned wicked. Unable to control himself, he parted his lips and leaned in as if entranced. Their lips brushed lightly—just a fleeting touch—then separated. Fu Mian snapped back to himself, his body suddenly cold.
“The tea’s here.”
Ye Zhuqing’s tone was as normal as ever. He told the attendant to set down the tea and snacks, then rolled up his sleeves and began pouring tea. Before the cup was even filled, Fu Mian suddenly rushed toward the door.
Ye Zhuqing caught his arm with one hand. Fu Mian felt cold all over, his face burning, anger and embarrassment surging until he almost wanted to cry.
“What’s wrong?”
As if nothing had happened, Ye Zhuqing asked calmly.
“Don’t like the tea here?”
His tone was gentle as a spring breeze, which only made Fu Mian feel more humiliated. Tilting his head up, his eyes were already glistening with grievance. Seeing the moisture gather in his eyes, Ye Zhuqing was briefly taken aback—then his smile deepened. That smile only made Fu Mian more flustered, on the verge of tears. He tried to shake free and leave, but Ye Zhuqing caught his other arm as well.
“You—” Fu Mian had just begun to speak when his lips were lightly touched again. It was as brief as a dragonfly skimming water, something that should have meant nothing—but Fu Mian’s whole body jolted, staring at Ye Zhuqing in shock.
“Didn’t get to take advantage of me, so you’re upset?” Ye Zhuqing said with a smile. “Now… you’re not upset anymore, are you?”
Fu Mian’s face flushed red. “You… you…” He stammered, unable to finish, and simply leaned in to kiss him again.
Ye Zhuqing let out a low laugh, entirely indulgent of Fu Mian’s “advance.” His lips and tongue tasted clean and pleasant. Fu Mian sank into the kiss, arms wrapping tightly around him. In the intoxication of the night’s passion, he murmured, “Why?”
“What do you think?” Ye Zhuqing said, lifting his chin, eyes full of feeling. “From now on, can I call you A-Mian?”
When Fu Mian left the inn, his steps were unsteady, as if he were floating. A foolish smile hung on his face. He had no idea that upstairs, behind a crack in the window, Ye Zhuqing was watching him as he staggered toward the car like someone drunk. Ye Zhuqing’s gaze remained affectionate—but beneath that depth of affection lay calm calculation.
Ye Zhuqing—or rather, Song Yuzhang—raised his thumb and lightly wiped the dampness from the corner of his lips, smiling faintly at his fingertip. His voice was gentle, yet indifferent. “Little puppy.”
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