Song Yuzhang: Chapter 7 - Baby
Chapter 7: Baby
The fingertips were lightly pinched—so gently it was almost imperceptible. Meng Tingjing couldn’t quite describe what he felt, only that it was exceedingly strange. He wanted to shake off the hand immediately, but before he could, the hand withdrew on its own.
Song Yuzhang had only grasped what he suspected was an old lover’s hand for a brief moment before letting go—he truly hadn’t recovered yet and had little strength. Continuing to probe, he said, “I’m thirsty.”
Meng Tingjing remained seated by the bed, unmoving, simply watching him.
Song Yuzhang smiled at him.
Still, Meng Tingjing did not move. He studied the smile on Song Yuzhang’s face, amazed by how much depth a simple expression could hold. It was neither truly wanton nor entirely frivolous, yet it carried a subtle, teasing undertone—half-veiled, suggestive but elusive, making one want to decipher its true meaning.
And what did that mean? Meng Tingjing thought: This man seems to be flirting with me.
Meanwhile, Song Yuzhang mused, This man looks quite delicate and charming, yet he’s so dense. He doesn’t understand a thing, just sitting there like a fool—no wonder I don’t remember him.
“I’m thirsty,” Song Yuzhang repeated, hoping to prompt the slow-witted former lover. Summoning what little energy he had, he traced a finger lightly across the man’s palm. “Pour me a cup of water.”
A faint tickle—his firm nails, along with his soft fingertips, grazed Meng Tingjing’s palm. The sensation was light and tantalizing. Meng Tingjing lowered his gaze to his palm, where the touch lingered, then looked back at Song Yuzhang. The man was still smiling, his expression as soft as water.
Finally, the old lover rose to pour water. Song Yuzhang felt a small sense of gratification—’at least he’s teachable.’ At the same time, he noticed that the man had a tall and lean figure, moving with decisive agility, quite unlike a delicate plaything.
No wonder I didn’t stay with him, Song Yuzhang thought again.
Meng Tingjing poured a cup of water and was about to hand it over, but when he saw that same smile still lingering on Song Yuzhang’s face, he inexplicably understood—Song Yuzhang wanted to be fed.
The situation was undeniably ridiculous. Meng Tingjing found his own actions and thoughts absurd. Originally, he had planned to send Song Yuzhang on his way without anyone knowing, so why was he now pouring water for him? And where had that crew member gone—the one he’d instructed to fetch some opium?
But Song Yuzhang was genuinely parched—so much so that his decorum was slipping. The water was within reach, yet the one holding it simply sat there in a daze. Left with no choice, he rasped out in his hoarse voice, “Baby, I want to drink.”
That finally snapped the other out of his trance. Song Yuzhang watched as his delicate-featured old lover’s expression changed multiple times—like a shifting palette of colors, utterly unpredictable.
He understood all too well.
Few people could remain calm when facing an old flame.
Meng Tingjing sat down at the bedside with the cup, reaching out to scoop Song Yuzhang up from the bed. Having never served anyone before, he clumsily tipped the cup to Song Yuzhang’s lips—pouring too fast, nearly drowning him.
The man in his arms coughed violently, his whole body trembling, splattering water all over Meng Tingjing. Holding half a cup of water in one hand and supporting Song Yuzhang with the other, Meng Tingjing felt something inexplicable.
Barely half an hour ago, Song Yuzhang had been a ‘dead man.’ But now, he was alive—like a slippery fish, struggling in his embrace, shivering slightly. His skin was supple, full of elasticity, carrying the faint salty scent of the sea.
And he had called him ‘baby.’
So very shameless.
If he weren’t someone who always treated lovers gently, Song Yuzhang would have lost his temper by now. He hadn’t expected this old lover to be not only dense but also clumsy beyond belief. Once he’d stopped coughing, he was still thirsty. Finally dropping all pretense, he leaned forward, lips seeking the cup in Meng Tingjing’s hand.
This time, Meng Tingjing had learned. He adjusted the angle of the cup slightly, watching as Song Yuzhang closed his eyes, brows furrowed, drinking with deep thirst. He looked almost like an exhausted cat, stretching out its tongue toward its owner for water.
Strangely enough, his tongue was quite beautiful, too.
“Another cup.”
Having drunk his fill, Song Yuzhang was content to lie back down. But the man holding him was as clumsy as ever, still motionless. With no choice, Song Yuzhang patted his arm, signaling that he wanted to lie down.
The man's body stiffened before finally setting him down.
Once settled, Song Yuzhang still felt uncomfortable. His face and chest were damp from the spilled water. So, he gently requested, “Wipe me off.”
Meng Tingjing clenched the cup, thinking: Does this man take me for a servant?
“Dear.”
Meng Tingjing felt a faint tingle in his ear. With a clatter, he set the cup down, a half-smile on his lips. “Yuzhang, now that you’re back in the country, it’s time to leave those foreign habits behind. Western customs aren’t always good.”
Meng Tingjing had studied in England before. His foreign professors and classmates had often tossed around affectionate ‘darling’ and ‘honey’ in casual address. That was one thing abroad, but back home, he had never heard anyone dare call him that.
Song Yuzhang didn’t grasp his meaning. In truth, his mind was still sluggish compared to usual, so none of Meng Tingjing’s words registered. He simply smiled in silence. Once Meng Tingjing finished speaking, he repeated, “Please help me wipe off.” With a helpless expression, he explained to his dense old lover, “I don’t have the strength.”
Meng Tingjing was well aware that he didn’t.
No strength—an ideal moment to act. A single forced dose of opium, and he’d slip away unnoticed. Even if he reached the gates of the underworld, there would be no one to argue his case. Besides, the man spoke with such careless flirtation, issuing orders so naturally—he deserved to die. Meng Tingjing kept one hand behind his back, but his gaze refused to leave that faintly smiling face.
With the slightest nod, he leaned forward slightly, his posture refined like a proper gentleman. “Wait here a moment.”
He stepped into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. Rolling it between his palms, he glanced up at the mirror—his expression reflected back at him, filled with amusement. Meng Tingjing tossed the towel aside and let out a quiet chuckle. He was about to go back out and smother the man with it.
Gripping the towel, he stepped out, only to see that the chair by the bed—where he had been sitting—was now occupied by someone else. That person was leaning against the bedridden man, sobbing softly.
“Mr. Song, it's such a relief that you're alright…”
Chen Hanmin had taken a moment to freshen up.
Since Song Yuzhang had already been rescued, the weight on his heart was lifted. He then started worrying about his own appearance, quickly grooming himself while Song Yuzhang was still unconscious. Only after tidying up did he come over, but the moment he saw Song Yuzhang, a wave of sorrow welled up again. He held back his tears, knowing that wailing loudly would be undignified.
Seeing Chen Hanmin, Song Yuzhang's mind finally started to clear. His thoughts, which had felt confined within a small box, began to spread out and settle back into place.
The words ‘narrow escape from death’ slid through his mind, sending a tremor through his body. It was as if he had woken from a nightmare in the middle of the night—his limbs twitched slightly. As the storm within him passed, he became completely alert. Song Yuzhang closed his eyes briefly, then looked at Chen Hanmin’s tear-streaked face and smiled faintly. “Hanmin, why are you so tanned?”
His teasing remark, light as a cloud, inexplicably triggered a flood of grievances in Chen Hanmin's heart. Unable to hold back, he let out a quiet sob. Song Yuzhang propped himself up on one arm, testing his ability to sit up. Seeing this, Chen Hanmin hurriedly moved to help him, supporting him into a reclining position. Song Yuzhang, still smiling, then extended his arms toward him. “Come here, little one. Don't cry. Let me hold you.”
Dark-skinned and flushed, Chen Hanmin nestled into the arms of the sickly Song Yuzhang, pouring out his fears and anxieties from the past few days. Song Yuzhang remained silent, one arm draped over his shoulder, listening. When he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening, he turned his head and smiled slightly at Meng Tingjing, who had just stepped out holding a towel.
That smile carried helplessness, as if pleading for understanding. Even the hardest of hearts would soften upon seeing such an expression.
Meng Tingjing hadn't thought much about the two of them embracing—until he saw Song Yuzhang's smile. That expression forced him to think deeper. He knew exactly what kind of person Chen Hanmin was. So... are they lovers?
Meng Tingjing gripped the towel tightly and laughed silently.
Song Yuzhang was perceptive. He immediately noticed that this was not a happy smile, but rather a dark, sinister one. Yet, he felt no great disturbance in his heart. If he couldn’t even handle a situation like this, he wouldn't be Song Yuzhang.
Just as he was about to speak and smooth things over, Meng Tingjing casually hung the towel on a nearby coat rack, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and walked out of the room. Even his stride had a kind of elastic energy—light and swift, moving like the wind. Without a sound, he was gone.
Song Yuzhang was a little surprised. Well, at least he knows when to be considerate.
Outside the room, Meng Tingjing immediately spotted the crew member waiting by the door, nervously holding a damp packet of opium.
Meng Tingjing shut the door behind him and walked to the left. The crew member hesitated for a moment before following. But before they had taken more than two steps, Meng Tingjing stopped abruptly, turned around, and asked, “You have the stuff. Why didn’t you bring it in?”
The crew member kept his head down, stammering incoherently.
Meng Tingjing chuckled, then abruptly slapped him across the face with a crisp, resounding smack. “Speak.”
The crew member's ears were left ringing from the blow. He didn’t dare make up a lie and instead confessed honestly, “I pushed the door open, but when I saw you talking to someone, I... I didn’t dare go in…”
His words were vague, likely because he had witnessed more than just a conversation.
Inside, a volcano erupted in Meng Tingjing’s chest. His words came out clipped, each one carrying sharp intensity. “I swear, I could shoot you dead right now.”
The crew member nearly pissed himself in fear.
But Meng Tingjing didn’t give him a chance to beg for mercy. He turned on his heel and walked away immediately, afraid that if he wasted another second talking to this fool, he really would go on a killing spree right then and there.
Back in his own cabin, Meng Tingjing yanked at his collar, undoing the top button. Hands in his pockets, he paced back and forth in the room, his strides long and forceful. After a while, he gradually calmed down and sank into the sofa by the window, letting out a heavy breath.
He lifted his long legs and propped them up on the windowsill, gazing out at the rolling sea.
The ship remained anchored in place. The crew worked tirelessly, salvaging items from the water. The money, once spread out like a luxurious carpet, was now disintegrating bit by bit. The banknotes had become nothing more than dirty, useless scraps.
Meng Tingjing rested his fingertips against his face, his eyelashes lowering slightly as he glanced at his own fingers.
When it came down to it... there was really no benefit to this for him.
The man had survived, and Chen Hanmin had seen it with his own eyes. If anything happened now, Chen Hanmin would surely cause an uproar. If things got out of hand, he might even end up dragging himself into trouble.
It wasn’t worth the risk. It was a thankless task.
Besides, some people just weren’t meant to die.
If that was fate, then Song Jincheng couldn’t blame him.
And honestly... he was kind of good-looking.
Meng Tingjing sat there for a long time, his thoughts tangled in a chaotic mess. In the end, his mind settled on a single conclusion: Forget it. Let Song Jincheng and his brothers handle their own mess. What the hell did it have to do with him? He wasn’t their damn father!
----------
If you like my translation, please support me by buying me a coffee:
0 comments: