Song Yuzhang: Chapter 3 - Libertine
Chapter 3: Libertine
This hour of indulgence sent Chen Hanmin’s soul soaring beyond the heavens, treading the line between life and death. He almost forgot whether he had returned from France or some other distant land.
Song Yuzhang had expected him to be a libertine, but he hadn’t expected him to be this much of one. He almost felt regretful that they hadn’t met sooner.
Dazed and exhausted, Chen Hanmin leaned limply against Song Yuzhang’s chest, drinking water. Only after half a glass did the parched dryness in his throat subside. Regaining his composure, the first thing he did was sigh in admiration.
“Mr. Song, you’re even more formidable than the foreigners!”
The second thing he did was sigh again.
“I thought I was going to die!”
Having unexpectedly upheld the nation’s honor, Song Yuzhang remained composed, neither arrogant nor impatient, and reassured him gently, “Relax, to this day, no one has ever died in my bed.”
Chen Hanmin was completely spent. He rested against Song Yuzhang’s chest for a while, then carefully tilted his head back to study the sharp, elegant contours of Song Yuzhang’s jaw. It was a striking beauty, one that seemed to cut through the air. A single bead of sweat trickled down, and Chen Hanmin, as if bewitched, rose up and licked it away.
Song Yuzhang lowered his head and looked at his slightly flushed face, smiling enigmatically. He pinched his cheek. “Do you really have a death wish?”
“If I could die in your bed, I’d die a happy man,” Chen Hanmin shamelessly declared.
And shamelessness was exactly what Song Yuzhang liked about him.
Chen Hanmin’s bold pursuit won him the opportunity to stay by Song Yuzhang’s side for the rest of the voyage.
Through their conversations, Chen Hanmin learned that Song Yuzhang had studied sociology at Oxford University. Meanwhile, Chen Hanmin had spent his time in France fooling around, indulging in the local culture without even becoming fluent in the language. He admired Song Yuzhang all the more—both knowledgeable and skilled, truly the best of both worlds.
Every day, the two of them drank, gambled, danced, and went to the theater. When they were tired, they returned to their cabin to indulge in each other. Chen Hanmin had never felt such joy in his entire life.
“Mr. Song…” Chen Hanmin lay sweaty in Song Yuzhang’s arms, murmuring softly, “The day after tomorrow, we’ll reach the port.”
Song Yuzhang, one arm around him, lazily smoked a cigarette. “Mm.”
“So… we…”
Chen Hanmin was reluctant to part with this mysterious man who wouldn’t even reveal his real name.
He was no stranger to these fleeting affairs and knew well that Song Yuzhang had only ever seen him as a pastime. That had been clear from the start. He had entered willingly, and as men, neither of them owed the other anything. Once they reached shore, it would be as if these past few days had never happened.
Song Yuzhang looked down at Chen Hanmin’s face, full of sorrow, and sighed lightly. “Are you going to cry?”
Chen Hanmin said nothing, clinging to him like a vine. His chest rose and fell, as if torn between anger and heartbreak. Tilting his head back, he spoke bitterly, “Mr. Song, just kill me.”
Song Yuzhang chuckled, pinching his chin and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I can’t bear to.”
For the past two days, whenever they finished, Song Yuzhang always left. But that night, Chen Hanmin refused to let him go, insisting on spending at least one full night together. Song Yuzhang agreed.
Overjoyed, Chen Hanmin nestled into his embrace and poured out his heart.
With their separation imminent, the fragile thread connecting them was about to snap. As if facing the end of his days, Chen Hanmin began confessing his romantic history—from his first schoolboy crush at twelve to his entanglements with his landlord in France.
He spoke with deep emotion, choking up several times, until he reached his final conclusion: Having seen the great ocean, no other waters will do. After knowing the clouds of Mount Wu, no other clouds compare. In this lifetime, Song Yuzhang was his greatest love.
To such a heartfelt declaration, Song Yuzhang only stroked his neck gently and said, “Hanmin, don’t talk nonsense.”
To him, Chen Hanmin’s grand love stories were nothing remarkable.
Song Yuzhang’s first girlfriend had been a servant girl in his household.
And she was also his last.
Her name was Chun Xing, like the spring apricot—tart yet charming.
Chun Xing had been bought by Xiao Yingtao. She didn’t know who her parents were, nor where she had been born. Xiao Yingtao had spent ten silver dollars to purchase her, making her responsible for managing household chores and looking after Song Yuzhang.
When Chun Xing arrived, she was eight years old, so small and thin she looked only five or six. Diligent and capable, she ate little but worked hard—Xiao Yingtao considered her the best deal she’d ever made.
As she grew older, Chun Xing blossomed into a striking young girl.
Xiao Yingtao became worried. Song Yuzhang was only two years younger than her—if the two of them got too close, and something happened, she’d end up a grandmother far too soon.
By the time Chun Xing turned sixteen, Xiao Yingtao started planning to marry her off. She had her eyes on a rickshaw puller she often rode with—a thirty-one-year-old widower.
But before she could put her plan into motion, she was caught in a street brawl and killed by a stray bullet.
With Xiao Yingtao’s death, Song Yuzhang became an orphan.
The household cook took what money and valuables remained and fled. In the end, only Song Yuzhang and Chun Xing were left behind. Ma Jiming wanted sixteen-year-old Chun Xing to inherit her mistress’s role and become his concubine, but fourteen-year-old Song Yuzhang took her and ran away in the dead of night.
The two of them relied on each other, this beautiful boy and girl wandering the world together, enduring countless hardships. In their most desperate hour, they hid in a cave as gunfire raged outside. Chunxing sobbed, “Young Master, are we going to die?”
“No,” Song Yuzhang held her close, gently patting her shoulder. “As long as I’m here, you won’t die.”
“Young Master, I haven't gotten married yet. I heard that if a girl dies before marriage, her resentment will be heavy, and she'll be stuck where she died for all eternity. I don't want to be trapped here…”
Chun Xing sobbed bitterly. Fourteen-year-old Song Yuzhang frowned slightly and promised her in name, “It's alright. If we can't escape, I'll marry you.”
In truth, Xiao Yingtao had been overly concerned. Song Yuzhang and Chun Xing had grown up playing together, and he had no interest in a girl who looked even smaller than him. He had always regarded her as a younger sister.
Song Yuzhang had a deep sense of warmth and compassion for those weaker than himself—sometimes to the point of being reckless. By the time he realized that Chun Xing, having survived their ordeal, truly wanted to marry him at eighteen, he had already fallen for a boy who sang hymns at the church.
At that moment, Song Yuzhang demonstrated his remarkable ability to cut off emotions. Just like his mother, he swiftly arranged a match for Chun Xing. The suitor wasn’t a widower—he was two years older than Chun Xing, a cook's assistant from a wealthy family who lived just behind their tiny, dilapidated house. He was an honest man who would blush whenever he secretly glanced at Chun Xing.
Chun Xing had always been gentle and obedient. She had no objections to the marriage because she knew that Song Yuzhang didn’t love her. The promise in the cave had been meant to comfort her in the face of death—it had no meaning in life.
On her wedding day, Chun Xing still cried.
“Young Master, I’m leaving.”
Song Yuzhang waved a hand. “You don't have to come back to cook for me tomorrow.”
By then, they were no longer master and servant. Song Yuzhang had never paid her wages, yet she had continued to fulfill the duty bound by that ten-tael contract.
The day after the wedding, Chun Xing still returned to cook for him. But when she entered the house, she found it completely empty, as if no one had ever lived there.
Song Yuzhang was gone.
Having settled his little maid’s future, he had no more attachments. He threw himself into the dazzling world outside, quickly becoming a notorious libertine, a scoundrel through and through.
Lying in bed with Chen Hanmin in his arms, Song Yuzhang didn’t think about Fu Mian or Tang Jin, let alone Nie Yinbing. Instead, he rather admired Chen Hanmin for remembering things so clearly.
As for himself? He loved one, discarded one, and forgot one.
Unburdened and living for the moment.
When Song Yuzhang woke in the middle of the night, the ship was rocking violently. Chen Hanmin, still groggy, mumbled, “Are we docking?”
Song Yuzhang got out of bed, threw on a robe, and walked to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he was met with darkness, rain, and howling winds. A flash of lightning cut across his vision, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. The ocean waves rose like towering mountains.
After four years of wandering alone, Song Yuzhang had not only expanded his romantic history but also developed an acute instinct for danger—especially the danger of death.
“It's raining,” he murmured. “Not good.”
Chen Hanmin didn’t understand what he meant by ‘not good.’ The ship rocked violently again.
Then, he saw Song Yuzhang let go of the curtain, stride toward the door, and decisively step out.
Dizzy from the rocking, Chen Hanmin sat up and looked out the window—just in time to see a massive wave crash against the deck. Even through the glass, he heard the explosion-like impact.
Meanwhile, Song Yuzhang had rushed back to his own room. He changed into clean clothes, opened a chest filled with banknotes, lined the bottom with newspaper, shut the lid, and picked it up. Then, he stepped out and headed toward the ship’s ballroom. Halfway there, he hesitated.
When he returned, many passengers had already emerged from their cabins, and Chen Hanmin was still hurriedly packing his belongings in a panic.
“Just take the valuables!”
Song Yuzhang’s return significantly calmed Chen Hanmin. He looked back at him.
At that moment, Song Yuzhang stood in front of him, his lips—slightly darker than the pale pink roses Chen Hanmin had seen in France—pressed into a thin line. His lips were beautiful but sharp, curving downward slightly at the corners, giving him a cold, almost murderous air.
“Hurry!”
Once Chen Hanmin had packed, Song Yuzhang grabbed his hand and pulled him outside. Just then, the ship suddenly tilted. Chen Hanmin, as light as a paper scrap, slid half a meter downward, screaming—only to be yanked back up by the unmoving, rock-solid Song Yuzhang.
“Hold on tight,” Song Yuzhang commanded sharply.
Chen Hanmin immediately wrapped both arms tightly around him.
In truth, Song Yuzhang and this pampered young master had nothing more than a fleeting affair—there was no real attachment between them. But at this moment of life and death, that uncontrollable sympathy for the weak surged within him again. Whether they were prostitutes, servants, or pretty playboys, they were all the same—irreplaceable weaknesses in the heart of this wandering libertine.
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