Song Yuzhang: Chapter 23 - The Indifferent Should Not Provoke the Devoted
Chapter 23: The Indifferent Should Not Provoke the Devoted
The movie drew in Song Yuzhang’s full attention. Whatever entanglements Le Yao’er and Zheng Kexian had off-screen were irrelevant—for the film, they were perfectly matched: a golden couple, a pair of ideal lovers. Their performances were excellent, and when the lights came on, Song Mingzhao even sighed emotionally over the story.
Song Yuzhang nodded. “It was touching,” he said, then turned to Meng Tingjing. “What did you think, Brother Meng?”
Meng Tingjing said flatly, “I found it boring. Almost fell asleep.”
Song Mingzhao overheard and laughed. “Brother Tingjing has never cared for these things. Don’t be fooled by how refined he looks, Fifth Brother—he’s really just a rough man at heart.”
Rough man? Song Yuzhang thought, If Meng Tingjing is rough, then you’re a wild boar.
What a clever turn of phrase—fooling the heavens to ascend in one step.
Was Meng Tingjing testing him?
Father Song Zhenqiao suspected nothing at all, but now both Song Qiyuan and Meng Tingjing were suddenly stepping in to wave swords at him.
How interesting.
Song Yuzhang had been navigating the underworld since he was sixteen—four years now. He’d brushed past death countless times, been exposed before, had a gun to his head, and still made it out alive.
So he remained perfectly calm. After the movie, still curious and relaxed, he even headed backstage to pay a visit to the pair of tragic lovers.
Zheng Kexian was tall and handsome. Le Yao’er was youthful and beautiful, looking even younger than she had on screen—maybe just around twenty. There wasn’t much of a belly to be seen, but a subtle weariness clung to her expression.
Whenever Song Yuzhang met a new woman, he would subconsciously compare her to Xiao Yingtao. He always found some common thread between them. All beautiful. All pitiful. The world was what it was, so in the end—they were all more or less the same.
“Zheng Kexian isn’t as good-looking in person as on screen. Le Yao’er, though, really is a beauty.”
After leaving, Song Mingzhao began critiquing the pair. His eyes twitched with mischief as he bumped Song Yuzhang with his shoulder. “Fifth Brother, don’t you think they might’ve taken the act off-screen?”
Seems the wild boar wasn’t totally useless—his nose still worked. Song Yuzhang replied, “Can’t be. They’re just acting.”
Song Mingzhao shook his head, leaned past him to ask Meng Tingjing, “What do you think, Brother Tingjing?”
Meng Tingjing simply said, “No idea.”
Song Mingzhao thought, Ugh, these two blockheads! How can they not see it?
After the movie, Song Mingzhao left on his own. He knew lingering any longer would just be an unwelcome intrusion. He was content to have gotten a bit closer to the pair. Before getting in his car, he said to Meng Tingjing, “Brother Tingjing, I’m leaving my Fifth Brother in your care—make sure you return him in one piece, yeah?”
Meng Tingjing replied, “Count how many hairs he’s got now, so I can match it when we hand him over.”
Song Mingzhao roared with laughter as he got into the car.
As soon as his car disappeared from view, Meng Tingjing turned to Song Yuzhang and said, “Even Song Mingzhao noticed. Those two won’t be able to keep it under wraps for long.”
“You’re pretty concerned about it,” Song Yuzhang remarked.
Meng Tingjing shot him a look. “Of course I am—Song Jincheng is my brother-in-law.”
Song Yuzhang sighed lightly. “Sister-in-law’s a good woman.”
Meng Tingjing fell silent.
His mother had died just a few years after he was born. Old Master Meng kept taking new concubines, obsessed with expanding the family tree but never showing much fatherly affection. His eldest sister, Meng Sushan, had basically raised him—watching over his food, clothes, and health. The two siblings had always been close.
But after Meng Sushan married, her ties to the family had naturally begun to fade. She was married now—couldn’t keep coming back to her maiden home all the time. Later, Meng Tingjing went abroad for school, and they lost touch for several years.
Things change. Even the closest blood ties fade with time. Some things just couldn’t go back to how they were.
As for Meng Sushan, Meng Tingjing often felt a bitter mix of pity for her misfortune and anger at her passivity. But family matters weren’t his place to interfere in.
“Come on,” Meng Tingjing said. “Let’s go eat.”
Compared to Song Qiyuan’s always layered, ambiguous attitude, Meng Tingjing seemed to forget things the moment he said them—no further hints, no follow-up. And Song Yuzhang responded in kind: still smiling, still teasing, calm as ever. And his calm was genuine, not an act.
He was deceiving the Song family. What did that have to do with Meng Tingjing? If Meng Tingjing wanted to expose him—so be it. Business was business, feelings were feelings. One thing didn’t get in the way of the other. That’s why he could be truly composed and truly indifferent.
Meng Tingjing’s words just now carried a lot of weight.
It was both a probe and a counterattack.
He couldn’t stand how Song Yuzhang always acted so playful, like he was just having fun, so he flashed a bit of the truth to make him rein it in a little—stop being so shamelessly cocky.
But Song Yuzhang didn’t change at all. Whether it was because he was that deep or for some other reason, Meng Tingjing could tell one thing for sure: he really didn’t care.
That left Meng Tingjing feeling both defeated and strangely stirred.
Because Song Yuzhang wasn’t just beautiful—he was also anything but simple.
In the car, Song Yuzhang kissed Meng Tingjing.
Kissing Meng Tingjing wasn’t easy. You had to catch him off guard, sneak up first, spark his temper—and only then would he kiss you back, like a form of retaliation.
Song Yuzhang had kissed plenty of people, but kissing like this—like fighting—was rare and, frankly, pretty entertaining.
The space inside the car was cramped. Both of them were tall with long arms and legs, so there wasn’t even room to fight properly. Their hands and feet stayed mostly in place, almost well-behaved, and only their four lips were locked together, waging a hot and intimate battle inside the sealed chamber of their mouths.
In his early twenties, at the peak of youthful vigor, Song Yuzhang had never denied himself in this regard. As long as the other person was attractive, clean, and a type he liked—a handsome young man—he was happy to indulge in a passionate affair.
Except for Fu Mian. Fu Mian was an exception.
Fu Mian had loved him with reckless abandon, and that had made it hard for Song Yuzhang to let him down.
He was a restless, heartless sort, the kind that avoided those who loved too deeply.
Meng Tingjing was also in his early twenties, with just as much heat in his blood. His whole family leaned toward traditional values. While Old Master Meng tirelessly took new concubines, he hadn’t forgotten his son in that area either. When Meng Tingjing was fifteen, he’d sent a ‘bedmaid’ to his room.
The girl was a year older than Meng Tingjing, a delicate blossom of a girl, lovely and refined. She was one of Old Master Meng’s ‘leftovers,’ saved especially for his son. He even emphasized that she was still a virgin.
‘Virgin’ was supposed to be a clean, respectable word—but coming from Old Master Meng’s mouth, it felt filthy and revolting to Meng Tingjing, like he was being shoved into a reeking sewer.
Meng Tingjing coldly said, “I don’t want her. Send her away.”
Old Master Meng wouldn’t give up. He tried every trick in the book, as if obsessed with breaking his son’s innocence—he even went as far as drugging his son’s dinner.
After eating the spiked meal, Meng Tingjing was indeed overtaken by lust—he grabbed a knife and stormed into his father’s room, nearly castrating him on the spot.
That one confrontation made Meng Tingjing’s stance clear: I don’t interfere with you, so don’t interfere with me. But if you force me, I won’t hold back.
After that, Old Master Meng finally backed off.
To push back against the toxic atmosphere of his family, Meng Tingjing—even when he sometimes longed for a different way of living—would hold himself back, afraid of becoming just another corrupted member of the Meng clan, a little clone of his father.
Fortunately, in twenty-four years, temptation hadn’t really plagued him. Everyone knew about his peculiar ‘preferences.’ No one dared send people his way. While abroad, some beautiful men and women had tried to get close, but Meng Tingjing relied on his willpower to resist them. He was proud of his self-restraint, confident in his armor of discipline and control. But now, that armor had been effortlessly pierced by a pair of lips. And what spilled out? He didn’t know—only that it was hot, burning, and capable of hurting someone.
Meng Tingjing grabbed Song Yuzhang by the waist, trying to pull him onto his lap. Though Song Yuzhang’s waist was slender, it was strong and flexible—more than enough to put up a fight against Meng Tingjing’s arms. One pulled, and the other resisted—and not just resisted, but reversed the hold to pull him back instead.
Outside, the driver—who’d been sent to buy pastries—saw the car shaking and figured the two young masters were probably fighting again.
Honestly, it was strange. You couldn’t say they got along—they bickered the moment they met—but you also couldn’t say they didn’t because they kept meeting so often. They rarely exchanged kind words or pleasant looks and always seemed on the verge of throwing hands.
The driver shook his head, clutching the bag of pastries while crouching by the street corner to sniff their sweetness.
Inside the car, the two were locked together in a tangled mess. If someone opened the door right now, they wouldn’t even be suspicious—it really did look like a fight. Shoulders pressed against shoulders, arms locked like wrestlers in a heated match.
A sheen of sweat appeared on Song Yuzhang’s forehead. “Tingjing, you’re stronger than I thought.”
Sweat was also dampening Meng Tingjing’s hair. “Right back at you.”
Song Yuzhang gave him a wry smile. “Are we actually fighting right now?”
Meng Tingjing replied, “Who started it?”
Song Yuzhang widened his eyes. “It couldn’t have been me, could it?”
Meng Tingjing snorted, righteous and cold. “Who else, if not you?”
Song Yuzhang thought to himself—he never hit pretty boys too hard, and though Meng Tingjing was indeed a particularly fiery one, he was still a pretty boy and should be treated gently. He loosened his grip. “Fine, fine. I’ll take the blame.”
Meng Tingjing felt very satisfied.
As long as Song Yuzhang admitted defeat in front of him, his mood immediately lifted. It was like taming a wild, beautiful stallion—watching it lower its elegant legs in submission. It was a sense of conquest.
The two ‘made up’ again, sealing it with a mutual peck. Song Yuzhang said, “I’m off. See you next time.”
When it came to goodbyes, Song Yuzhang was always quick and clean—heartless and unfeeling, without a trace of sentiment. He left faster than the wind.
Meng Tingjing sat alone in the car, feeling like he’d just been abandoned.
He thought of Chen Hanmin. Chen Hanmin had been abandoned by Song Yuzhang.
And he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he’d be any different.
But he had his own plans.
When the time came, he’d strike first, play the game, and discard Song Yuzhang before he could be discarded himself. He’d rape the bastard conman—then kill him!
When the driver came back, he saw Meng Tingjing sitting alone in the back seat, smiling. But it wasn’t a happy smile—it was the kind of evil grin that spelled disaster for someone. The driver shivered. He wondered if the newly returned Fifth Young Master of the Song family had just been doomed by their heir.
In the Meng family, Meng Tingjing’s reputation was something like a demon who didn’t blink before killing. And he did kill—quickly and ruthlessly. Even the most loyal servants, if they crossed his line, were sent straight to the execution grounds. He was like a merciless judge—no, worse. At least the judge bled his prisoners dry before killing them. With Meng Tingjing, the only difference was whether the death was clean or messy.
When Song Yuzhang returned to the Song household, he was greeted by cheerful laughter.
That was… unusual.
Song Yuzhang, ever wicked, thought: Don’t tell me Le Yao’er just came over with good news?
The one bringing good news wasn’t Le Yao’er, but Song Yekang.
“Congratulations,” Song Jincheng laughed heartily, “You and Qingyun have finally come to fruition. Fifth Brother, you haven’t met Qingyun yet, have you? She’s quite the capable girl—has your Second Brother wrapped around her little finger.”
Song Yekang’s expression was calm and pleased, and even his gaze toward Song Yuzhang softened. “In a few days, I’ll bring her home. Fifth Brother, you’ll get to meet her then.”
Song Yuzhang leaned against Song Mingzhao’s side and glanced around at everyone before bashfully asking, “Am I… appropriate to attend?”
Song Jincheng, seeing him sensibly lowering himself, laughed, “What’s inappropriate? It’s just a meal—don’t overthink it.”
Song Yekang chimed in as well, “Exactly, Qingyun won’t mind.”
Song Mingzhao added, “I think it’s you who should worry, Second Brother. With how good-looking Fifth Brother is, Sister Qingyun might not even see her own fiancé when the time comes!”
Everyone burst into laughter. After the laughter died down, Meng Sushan asked Song Yuzhang, “Fifth Brother, what about you? Did you get a girlfriend while overseas?”
Song Yuzhang smiled, “No, I was too busy.”
“Exactly,” Song Mingzhao squeezed his hand firmly. “We’re men of learning—we abstain from women.”
“Oh, shut up—” Song Jincheng laughed and scolded.
Song Mingzhao laughed heartily. “But Fifth Brother really is something else. We went to the movies together today and met Zheng Kexian backstage. You all think Zheng Kexian looks quite dashing in films—hah—but he’s nothing compared to Fifth Brother!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Song Yuzhang watched Song Jincheng. His expression didn’t change, still smiling gently as he casually said, “Don’t talk nonsense. How can you compare Fifth Brother to those actors from the lower circles?”
Song Mingzhao laughed easily, “I was just saying our Fifth Brother is handsome—nothing more.”
“You…” Song Jincheng turned to Song Yuzhang and said, “Don’t take it to heart. Fourth Brother just talks without thinking.”
“No worries,” Song Yuzhang replied, “Fourth Brother is just straightforward. I know he means well.”
Song Mingzhao gripped Song Yuzhang’s hand and smiled brightly. “Good little brother—glad I’ve been kind to you.”
Song Yekang was getting engaged, and the engagement ceremony was set for two months later. In the meantime, the two families would meet and have dinner.
Song Mingzhao took Song Yuzhang to get fitted for new clothes. Song Yuzhang said his wardrobe was already full, only to be laughed at by Song Mingzhao, “Those rags are fine for daily wear, but how could they be suitable for such an occasion?”
The Song family’s immense wealth constantly refreshed Song Yuzhang’s understanding of extravagance—often in the most casual remarks. He wasn’t exactly naïve, but he still found himself frequently surprised—and having to work hard to suppress his own greed.
Song Mingzhao took him to a tailor’s shop. It wasn’t until they arrived that Song Yuzhang realized it was run by a foreigner. The shop assistants were all foreigners too, greeting them with a “Welcome.”
Song Yuzhang kept a neutral expression and nodded slightly. One of the foreign assistants, never having seen such a strikingly handsome man before, boldly stared at him. Song Mingzhao noticed and sneered in English, “My brother’s pretty, isn’t he?”
The assistant quickly replied, “Yes, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve seen in China. He looks like a living David.”
Song Mingzhao burst into laughter. In Chinese, he said to Song Yuzhang, “Fifth Brother, aren’t you going to say something back? David? Are you that small?”
Song Yuzhang didn’t understand a word.
His school hadn’t taught English. He once liked a boy who sang in a church choir—the boy taught him a few simple phrases like “God bless you,” “I love you,” “Goodnight,” “Thank you,” and “Go to hell.” In total, not even ten phrases. Holding a conversation? Not a chance.
But that didn’t matter. He had his own judgment.
Turning to face Song Mingzhao with a smile, Song Yuzhang said, “Fourth Brother, don’t make fun of me.”
Sure enough, Song Mingzhao just laughed again. He exchanged more English banter with the assistant. The assistant said something to Song Yuzhang, who simply nodded and followed him upstairs.
The shop had three floors. The assistant led Song Yuzhang to the second. Song Mingzhao didn’t follow. As they climbed, Song Yuzhang quietly asked, “How long have you been in China?”
Without pausing, the assistant replied in broken Chinese, “One year.”
Song Yuzhang understood. One year.
“Your Chinese is pretty good.”
Chapter
“Really.”
The assistant was thrilled. Encouraged by Song Yuzhang’s praise, he tried his best to speak Chinese throughout the fitting. When he got stuck, he’d slip back into English. Song Yuzhang simply smiled—his smile spoke across languages. The assistant responded with flawless Chinese: “Beautiful.”
Song Yuzhang descended the stairs, smiling. Song Mingzhao was examining scarves. Another customer was chattering in English with a shop assistant.
As Song Yuzhang paused on the stairs, the man who had been speaking turned slightly— and when he saw who it was, his face went completely pale.
Song Yuzhang said nothing. He simply walked toward Song Mingzhao. “All done?” Song Mingzhao asked.
“Yes,” Song Yuzhang replied. He turned to the assistant and said, “Thank you.”
The assistant smiled, squinting, “You’re welcome!”
Song Mingzhao laughed so hard he nearly bent over. As he threw an arm around Song Yuzhang and led him out, he said, “I really can’t get over how weird foreigners sound when they speak Chinese. Isn’t it odd? We speak English so properly and smoothly—why do these foreign devils sound so awkward?”
“Maybe they just lack talent for languages,” Song Yuzhang said.
“No talent for language,” Song Mingzhao snorted, “but they sure have a knack for being robbers!”
They walked out, chatting. Behind them, Chen Hanmin stood frozen, cold sweat trickling down his spine. In front of him, the assistant was still talking: “Mr. Chen, how can you do business without integrity? You promised us the fabric, but we haven’t seen it. We already paid! It’s been dragging on for ages. Mr. Chen, you Chinese really don’t understand contract spirit. I don’t think we need to talk anymore. See you in court.”
“Get out—!” Chen Hanmin suddenly exploded. His eyes bloodshot, he roared at the assistant, “**** your ancestor Napoleon!”
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