Song Yuzhang: Chapter 4 - Charming Scholar
Chapter 4: Charming Scholar
Three days after the Peony was originally scheduled to dock, signs of commotion finally appeared at its destination, Haizhou. The Peony carried nearly a thousand passengers along with a large shipment of pharmaceuticals. Besides travelers waiting to reunite with family and friends, merchants onshore had also dispatched private boats to investigate. In no time, Haizhou’s port was overcrowded with vessels.
“Young Master, you should come take a look—there’s a fight breaking out!”
Ding Youhai, sweating profusely, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. His small eyes, hidden behind his glasses, darted anxiously toward Meng Tingjing, who remained seated, leisurely puffing on a cigarette with a look of utter composure.
Meng Tingjing took his time finishing the cigarette, extinguishing the stub in the glass ashtray on the table. He lifted his face with a slow smile—one that carried the same unnerving wickedness Ding Youhai had seen many times before. “A fight, you say?”
“It’s getting serious,” Ding Youhai urged. “Everyone’s desperate to set sail.”
“So impatient,” Meng Tingjing remarked, then suddenly asked, “You have cargo on that ship?”
Ding Youhai froze. Meeting Meng Tingjing’s gaze, he immediately broke into a cold sweat.
The Haizhou docks were controlled entirely by the Meng family, and all ships that docked had to pay a cut. The profits were astronomical—’fat oil’ didn’t even begin to describe it. The Meng family was so wealthy that their fortune practically overflowed into the streets of Haizhou.
With their master’s wealth, the household retainers naturally found ways to line their own pockets as well. Smuggling high-demand contraband through the docks and selling it locally was a common practice—mere crumbs from their master's fortune, yet enough to make them rich.
Normally, no one would question such matters. But ever since Young Master Meng Tingjing took control of the docks, oversight had tightened considerably. Many retainers who had been skimming profits were caught. Ding Youhai knew exactly what this young master was capable of and immediately confessed, “Just… just some silk.”
Meng Tingjing let out a short laugh, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs on the table. He swayed them lazily as he repeated, “Silk.”
Ding Youhai swore on his life it was only silk, meant for his wife and daughters to make clothes, with a little left over for emergencies.
The weather had been heating up after days of rain, and Ding Youhai continued to sweat as he spoke. His handkerchief was already drenched. He feared this young master—everyone in the Meng family did.
As the silence stretched, Ding Youhai’s legs grew weaker, and he nearly collapsed.
“Old Ding.”
“Yes?”
Ding Youhai responded like a guilty child before a strict parent, a mix of fear and deference in his voice.
“Silk… is fine.”
Ding Youhai finally exhaled the breath he had been holding.
Meng Tingjing turned his head slightly, running a finger along the rim of the glass ashtray, rotating it idly. “Opium, however, is not.”
Before Ding Youhai could even plead his case, a sudden gust of force struck his temple. A searing pain, as if molten lava had been poured over his forehead, spread instantly. With a scream, he collapsed to the ground, trembling fingers reaching up to touch his wound—only to find his hand slick with warm blood. His mind buzzed with panic. Realizing the severity of the situation, he immediately began wailing for mercy.
“Young Master, please spare me! It was my first time—I have a family to feed…”
“And two concubines who just turned eighteen,” Meng Tingjing added casually.
Ding Youhai’s cries abruptly stopped.
Meng Tingjing swung his legs down from the table and stood. Taking his time, he strolled over to the fallen man and delivered a solid kick, flipping him over.
“You sure know how to enjoy life.”
Without another word, Meng Tingjing pounced on him and beat him mercilessly. Then, he turned back toward his desk and pulled open a drawer. Seeing this, the bruised and bloodied Ding Youhai scrambled forward on his hands and knees, clutching desperately at the young master’s leg, sobbing, “Young Master—Master, I—I don’t deserve to die! I swear, I’ve barely even touched those concubines—”
“Get lost,” Meng Tingjing snapped, striking him across the head with the grip of his Browning pistol. “I’m not your wife. I don’t need your damn explanations. Now move, or I’ll put a bullet in your head!”
Ding Youhai immediately released his grip and scrambled away in terror. Meng Tingjing stepped outside. The workers waiting by the door, having overheard everything, quickly averted their gazes. Unfazed, Meng Tingjing waved his hand. “Follow me.”
The midday sun burned fiercely, and the docks were a chaotic mess. People shouted, fists swung, and wooden batons crashed down as frantic passengers and merchants fought their way toward the ships.
Meng Tingjing arrived with fewer than ten men, barely attracting any attention in the turmoil.
He was used to being overlooked.
The Meng family had once produced a top scholar, who later served as a third-rank official in the imperial court. Even after the dynasty fell, their prestige never faded. Meng Tingjing had been a renowned prodigy in his school years, excelling in both classical studies and mathematics. His fair, delicate features made him look like a charming young scholar.
So when he returned from studying in England, many in the Meng family simply didn’t take him seriously.
Their indifference was met with his own.
If they refused to acknowledge him, he refused to acknowledge them as people.
Bang—bang—bang—
Three gunshots rang out, sharp as thunderclaps over the noisy docks. The brawling crowds instantly froze, all heads turning toward the source of the sound.
Meng Tingjing stood among them, dressed in a pale gray robe. He was tall and slender, making his already delicate frame seem even more refined. Combined with his handsome, gentle features, he looked just like a pampered nobleman—nothing more than a pretty face. But the Browning pistol in his hand told another story. The hem of his robe hung slightly open, revealing his forearm, where veins coiled beneath the skin. His fingers remained on the trigger, his smile was anything but warm, carrying a chilling edge of madness.
“Gentlemen,” he said with a polite smile, “this is the Meng family’s dock, not a marketplace.” He lowered the pistol but kept smiling. “If you keep this up, I might just treat it like one.”
Meng Tingjing took the ringleaders back to an office near the dock. They were all wealthy businessmen and influential figures, deeply displeased with how he had brandished a gun to intimidate them. However, upon entering the office, the ones leading the group suddenly froze in their tracks. The people behind them, distracted and irritable, bumped into them, causing a small commotion as some of the city's most prominent figures stumbled together with startled exclamations. Someone at the back snapped, “What’s going on?” But as soon as he saw the scene inside the office, he too fell silent.
In the center of the room knelt a man, his face and head covered in blood. He held a handkerchief to his forehead, but the once-white cloth had turned completely red. His heavy, labored breathing filled the tense air.
“Come in, all of you.”
Meng Tingjing acted as if he hadn’t noticed Ding Youhai, greeting the men at the door politely as though inviting them in for a discussion. Seeing that none of them spoke, their eyes fixed on the bloodied man, and he smirked inwardly. His intention wasn’t necessarily to make an example out of Ding Youhai. This was a matter of family discipline—something entirely unrelated to these outsiders. After all, not just anyone was subject to the Meng family’s rules.
The doorway was crowded with men, while Meng Tingjing sat alone behind his desk, as if occupying his own separate territory. Kneeling in the middle, Ding Youhai’s beaten and bloodied form carved a clear boundary between them.
“I understand that everyone is worried about their relatives and goods. Anything can happen at sea, but since this is the Meng family's dock, it is my responsibility to handle it,” Meng Tingjing said, his voice pressing down on the restless crowd. “Please go back. I will personally lead a search at sea. The fleet is ready and will set sail immediately.”
Someone looked like they wanted to speak, but Meng Tingjing lifted a hand to silence them. “Each ship has two reserved spots. If you wish to send your men, leave them here. If you trust the Meng family's reputation, you may leave now.”
After a brief uproar, some stayed while others departed. Meng Tingjing then turned to Ding Youhai, treating him as a tool to be used. “Go, get everyone moving.”
Ding Youhai, still clutching his forehead, limped out of the office with an obedient “Yes.”
Meng Tingjing remained behind to change his clothes. Long robes were impractical for a sea voyage. Once he had switched into hunting attire, his figure appeared even leaner and more refined, cold and upright like a pine tree in winter.
When Song Jincheng entered, he saw Meng Tingjing fastening a Browning pistol to his waist. With a slight smile, he raised a hand in greeting. “Tingjing, I heard you're going to sea personally?”
“Brother-in-law,” Meng Tingjing adjusted his coat and gave him a genial smile, jokingly asking, “Why are you here? Don’t tell me the Song family has cargo on that ship, too?”
Song Jincheng sighed. “It’s not about cargo.”
Meng Tingjing gestured for him to sit and listened carefully to what he had to say.
“So the old master has a story like this?” Meng Tingjing remarked with a half-smile. “Funny, I’ve never heard of it before.”
Song Jincheng let out another sigh. “Family scandals shouldn’t be aired in public.”
To Meng Tingjing, the fact that Song Zhenqiao had fathered an illegitimate son abroad with a female scholar was hardly a scandal. His own father, Meng Huanzhang, had married eight concubines. Song Zhenqiao, on the other hand, had only one official wife. A little amusement overseas was hardly unusual.
“I understand. I'll keep an eye out,” Meng Tingjing said, then paused as a thought crossed his mind. “Brother-in-law, how is Uncle Song's health now?”
“Same as before.”
Meng Tingjing rubbed his thumb and forefinger together slightly. Then he turned his head, his smile subtly changing. “Brother-in-law, did you come to ask me to bring him back safely? Or…”
Song Jincheng immediately shot him a sharp look—alarmed, as if Meng Tingjing had just spoken something that could melt his ears off. All of the Song family's sons were good-looking without exception. Even in his thirties, Song Jincheng still maintained a refined and dignified appearance. Now, with a mix of scholarly grace and suppressed anger, he scolded, “Tingjing, don’t talk nonsense!”
Meng Tingjing gave a docile nod. “Oh, I must have misunderstood.”
Song Jincheng stood up, hands clasped behind his back, brows furrowed. “He may not be my mother’s son, but he is still my brother. Blood ties are… unavoidable.” He let out a long sigh. “Tingjing, I trust that you understand my thoughts best.”
After Song Jincheng left, Meng Tingjing sat in the office, contemplating the situation. The more he thought about it, the more amusing it seemed.
Song Zhenqiao had been ill for over half a year. Unlike the Meng family, which had only one male heir in this generation—him—the Song family had four sons, all reportedly outstanding. Ever since their father fell ill, the power struggles had been relentless. And now, out of nowhere, another son had appeared. If Song Zhenqiao, on his deathbed, was summoning this long-lost child back to China, it could only mean one thing: he intended to give him a share of the inheritance.
“If I were Song Jincheng,” Meng Tingjing thought to himself, “then Song Yuzhang would have to die.”
Just before boarding, a crew member handed Meng Tingjing a small wooden box.
“What is this?”
“Master Song instructed us to give it to you.”
Meng Tingjing waved the crewman away, then opened the box. Inside, a single bullet gleamed with a cold, metallic luster.
With a sharp ‘snap,’ he shut the box and let out a quiet chuckle. “Not bad,” he thought. “Seems like we think alike.”
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