Song Yuzhang: Chapter 50 - Each Has Their Own Accomplishments
Chapter 50: Each Has Their Own Accomplishments
Song Yuzhang wasn’t particularly fond of gambling—not because he lacked skill or feared losing money. To him, gambling was just another way of swindling money, and a rather base and dirty one at that. He only ever went into gambling houses to unwind, never to win. After all, the more one wanted to win, the more likely they were to lose everything.
Shen Chengduo’s gambling setup was clearly worlds apart from the seedy street-side joints. When Song Yuzhang stepped in, he saw no gambling tables, only several screened-off sections. Though there were the faint sounds of mahjong tiles and idle chatter, it was all very subdued and indistinct. Near the entrance on the right was a bar counter, about the same size as the one downstairs, with three or five young men mixing drinks and serving customers. Occasionally, someone would come by to collect drinks or cigarettes. The place ran orderly, devoid of the smoke-filled, chaotic atmosphere typical of gambling dens.
“Young Master Song,” Shen Chengduo said with some pride, “not bad, right?”
Song Yuzhang nodded. “Quite refined, actually.”
Receiving praise from someone like Song Yuzhang made Shen Chengduo beam with delight. “Come inside, please.”
He led Song Yuzhang into a private compartment behind a decorative screen, painted with birds and flowers. Dice, cards, and mahjong tiles were on a dark red gaming table. Shen Chengduo said, “Young Master Song, how about a few rounds?”
Song Yuzhang picked up a mahjong tile and idly turned it over in his hand, smiling faintly at Shen Chengduo. “Pay me first.”
Shen Chengduo laughed loosely and pulled out a chair. “We haven’t even started playing, and Young Master Song is already asking me for money?”
Song Yuzhang said, “Didn’t you just say before we came up that you’d cover any winnings or losses? If I win, you pay. If I lose, then I’m just keeping you company—and asking for a little entertainment fee isn’t too much, is it?”
Shen Chengduo burst into laughter, shoulders shaking, teeth gleaming. “Young Master Song, you really are something else. Too funny!”
Song Yuzhang smiled and nodded politely. “Glad to be amusing. Thank you for your generosity.” He extended his hand. “Now, pay up.”
Delighted, Shen Chengduo immediately grabbed a handful of chips from a drawer. “Here, take them.”
The chips were small, thin, and brightly colored—there were about a dozen or so.
“Relax,” Shen Chengduo said cheerfully. “That’s enough to spend a few nights with Xiao Yuxian.”
Song Yuzhang sat down as well, opened the drawer in front of his seat, and tossed the chips in. “I’ll just play a few rounds with you first, Boss Shen.”
Shen Chengduo was a crude and unscrupulous man. Though he had connections with many of Haizhou’s elites, he knew most of them actually looked down on him behind his back. They’d only maintain superficial pleasantries, never truly forming close ties.
It was rare to meet someone like Song Yuzhang, who joked and smiled genuinely with him. Shen Chengduo found it novel—and fitting. After all, Song Yuzhang wasn’t a legitimate young master. He was a bastard, and bastards were low-born too. So, mingling with someone like Shen Chengduo felt natural.
Thanks to Shen Chengduo deliberately throwing the game, Song Yuzhang was nearly unbeatable. Eventually, they started playing simple high-card wins. But Shen Chengduo couldn’t throw the game any more convincingly and won back a good amount of chips. He was stunned and said, “Young Master Song, your luck is really awful.”
Song Yuzhang laughed and flipped his cards onto the table. “I’m done. Time to go.”
Shen Chengduo, still holding his cards, wasn’t ready to quit. “Just two more rounds. It’s rare to catch you in such terrible luck.”
“Forget it—”
Song Yuzhang stood up and swept his coat casually, his posture elegant and relaxed. Shen Chengduo detected a hint of streetwise air that didn’t match the image of a noble heir. That made him oddly pleased. “Take the money you won,” Shen Chengduo said.
“Not worth the bother.”
With a wave of his hand, Song Yuzhang shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and turned to leave, his manner nonchalant, like someone who came to play and was now done.
Shen Chengduo hurried to follow.
As Song Yuzhang strolled past the folding screens, his sharp eyes swept around. Each partition had openings, and with his excellent eyesight, he could casually glance and roughly estimate how many chips were stacked at each table.
Based on what Shen Chengduo had said earlier—how just a handful of chips was enough to spend several nights with Xiao Yuxian—then each gambling table here held chips worth over a million.
“I can’t let you walk away empty-handed after entertaining me for so long,” Shen Chengduo said.
Song Yuzhang sat at the bar and said, “Then buy me a couple of drinks.”
Shen Chengduo sat beside him with a laugh. “That’s nothing. The booze here is all mine.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “It’s not even the good stuff.”
“No matter. As long as it gets me drunk.”
Song Yuzhang ordered a whiskey.
The young bartender, seeing he was with the boss, quickly poured his drink and added ice. “Your drink, sir.”
“Thanks.”
Song Yuzhang lifted the glass and noticed a young boy walking by with a tray of chips, clearly instructing, “Convert to pounds.”
He withdrew his gaze quietly and took a small sip of his drink.
Shen Chengduo couldn’t help but admire how even the way Song Yuzhang drank carried grace and elegance.
Most of the powerful people Shen dealt with in Haizhou were insufferable in his eyes. They carried themselves with arrogance and airs, but Shen Chengduo found them disgusting, knowing full well how low they could stoop when eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling.
When he first saw Song Yuzhang, Shen Chengduo had thought he was just another pretentious aristocrat. But after a few encounters, he realized that Song Yuzhang actually had a pretty genuine side.
“Young Master Song, let’s be friends,” Shen Chengduo said bluntly, with no pretense.
Song Yuzhang was equally straightforward. “Sure.”
With friendship formed, titles naturally changed. As they drank and chatted, they quickly grew closer, calling each other ‘brother.’ Shen Chengduo was surprised that beneath Song Yuzhang’s refined and elegant appearance was a bold and refreshingly straightforward man, while Song Yuzhang had already grasped most of Shen Chengduo’s brash-yet-meticulous personality.
If Song Yuzhang wanted someone to like him, he never resorted to flattery. Instead, he appealed directly to their tastes, making them feel from the heart that he was someone worth befriending.
When they parted ways, Shen Chengduo personally saw Song Yuzhang to his car and enthusiastically invited him out for a brothel trip next time.
Song Yuzhang gave Shen Chengduo a light squeeze on the shoulder. “That’s not really my thing.”
Shen Chengduo asked curiously, “You only like opera singers?”
Song Yuzhang smiled and shook his head. “Let’s talk next time.”
Shen Chengduo stood there, baffled, watching the car disappear into the distance. In Song Yuzhang’s breezy, warm manner, he somehow felt… a little rejected. But that rejection carried a certain affectionate familiarity—the kind where friends could speak openly without having to walk on eggshells.
He ran a hand through his spiky short hair. It felt a bit prickly. He himself felt like he’d been pricked by something, too, not quite sure where to put his hands and feet.
When Song Yuzhang returned to the Song residence, he saw a servant at the gate loading luggage into a car. He stepped forward and asked, “What’s going on here?”
“The Eldest Young Madam is going back to her parents’ home for a couple of days.”
Song Yuzhang was slightly surprised. “Eldest Sister-in-law? Why?”
The servant replied, “That I don’t know.”
Most of the Song family’s servants were well-trained and rarely gossiped, which reflected the household’s strict discipline. Seeing that, Song Yuzhang didn’t press the issue. As he entered the house, he ran into Wan Lan, who was hurrying down the stairs.
“Fifth Young Master,” Wan Lan greeted him first, then continued without waiting for Song Yuzhang to ask, “Second Young Master Meng is ill, and there’s no one at home to take care of him. Young Madam is going back for a couple of days.”
“He’s sick?”
“He fell ill some time ago—got better, and then fell ill again a couple of days later. Lately, Second Young Master Meng’s been so busy he barely comes home. The Young Madam’s worried he won’t be able to hold up, so she’s going back to bring him in line.”
As the two of them spoke, Meng Sushan’s voice called from upstairs, “Wan Lan, did you bring those two ginseng roots?” As she spoke, she appeared at the turn of the staircase, hand on the railing. Upon seeing Song Yuzhang, she paused briefly before her face lit up with a gentle smile. “Fifth Brother, you’re back.”
“Sister-in-law,” Song Yuzhang nodded slightly to her. “I heard Brother Meng was ill. Is it serious?”
Meng Sushan gracefully descended the stairs and smiled. “It’s nothing to worry about. Thank you for your concern, Fifth Brother.”
“That’s good to hear.” Song Yuzhang turned his head slightly and gave another nod, stepping aside to let her pass.
Meng Sushan almost seemed to watch him all the way up the stairs with her bright eyes. She turned her head back, and Wan Lan said, “I’ve already brought the two ginseng roots.”
Meng Sushan gave a soft “mm,” then parted her lips as though to speak, but only sighed instead. “Let’s go.”
Wan Lan silently followed behind. After helping Meng Sushan into the car, she noticed the Young Madam looked a bit worried and said quietly, “Young Madam, should I go ask Fifth Young Master to come along and visit Second Young Master Meng?”
Meng Sushan pressed her hand down with a bit of force. “Don’t push things. Too much is as bad as not enough.”
Upstairs, Song Yuzhang stood at the window of a room, watching the car drive away. His heart wasn’t exactly calm—many thoughts flashed through his mind.
Meng Tingjing was ill.
People get sick—it’s perfectly normal.
Given his temper, it made sense that he’d fall seriously ill, lingering and dramatic.
He got sick a while ago… Song Yuzhang thought for a moment and wondered, Could it be because of that incident with me?
As soon as that thought arose, Song Yuzhang laughed and shook his head. Even with Meng Tingjing’s bad temper, it wouldn’t go that far, right? After all, he was the one who suffered the most from that incident. Besides, it wasn’t anything that serious—would it really be worth it for him?
Still… when someone’s ill, they might be more open to persuasion. If he went to visit now and showed some concern, maybe it’d be a chance to break through Meng Tingjing’s defenses—get him to agree to work with the Song family’s bank? He did seem to like him…
His mind spinning with ideas, Song Yuzhang suddenly realized he had unconsciously cast himself in the role of the ‘rabbit’ in this whole scenario. A shiver ran down his spine, and goosebumps rose on his arms. He quickly went downstairs to relax by playing with the big white bird.
Meanwhile, Meng Sushan had arrived back at the Meng residence. The servant said the young master Meng wasn’t home, that he was at the textile factory. So Meng Sushan instructed the driver to take her there.
The signboard of Chen Textile still hadn’t been changed. Black characters on a white background, stained and dirty. In front of the factory, filthy liquid pooled on the ground. Wan Lan helped Meng Sushan navigate the potholes while wearing high heels. Once inside, they found the place brightly lit and filled with the sound of voices. She looked around for a long time before finally spotting Meng Tingjing in the crowd.
He wore a dark robe with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the hem hitched high. One foot was propped on a side platform as he leaned down, fiddling with some kind of mechanical part. Several people surrounded him, discussing something.
Meng Sushan called him several times, but Meng Tingjing didn’t respond. She quickly walked closer.
“Young Master, will this work?”
“Let’s try it.” Meng Tingjing handed the repaired part to a technician nearby. “We’ll only know what’s missing once the machine is running.”
“Understood. I’ll give it a try.”
Just as he was looking for something to wipe his hands with, a pale handkerchief was held out to him from the side. Meng Tingjing looked back, raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”
Meng Sushan followed him into the factory office. The moment she stepped in, she saw blueprints and parts scattered all over the floor—there was hardly a place to stand. Meng Tingjing walked ahead, wiping his hands. “Don’t worry about it. None of that stuff is important.”
Even though he said so, Meng Sushan still carefully picked her way through. “I heard you haven’t been home for several days.”
“What for?” Meng Tingjing sat down in a chair, meticulously wiping the oil from his fingers. “The house is a mess. I can’t concentrate there.”
“You don’t look well. Are you sick again?”
“I’m not some fragile scholar who gets sick every other day. Just busy here lately—tired, that’s all. No need to worry. I’ll rest once things settle down.”
“…But I heard you’ve barely been eating or sleeping, and you were fine yesterday but suddenly started vomiting…”
Meng Tingjing looked up, his expression particularly cold and sharp. But Meng Sushan wasn’t afraid of him—she just smiled gently. “Don’t try to figure out who told me. They’re only worried about you.”
Meng Tingjing lowered his gaze and said flatly, “Got it.”
He seemed unusually mild today, and that surprised Meng Sushan. But it also made her uneasy. Her younger brother was like stormy weather—quiet as rain, sudden as thunder. This calmness actually worried her more.
“I’m fine. You can go.” Meng Tingjing finished wiping his hands. “This handkerchief’s dirty now—I can’t give it back. I’ll have someone bring you a few new ones later.”
“It’s just a handkerchief. Don’t worry about it.” Meng Sushan hesitated, then added, “Will you come home tonight? I already had your luggage sent back. I’ll be staying at home a couple of days—come back and at least pretend to entertain your guest.”
“What kind of guest are you?” Meng Tingjing didn’t even look up. “Stay wherever you like. Take care of yourself.” He waved her off and stood up again. “It’s too messy here. Go home.”
The more composed he acted, the more alarmed Meng Sushan felt.
Last time, she’d tried to play peacemaker between him and Song Yuzhang—but it ended poorly. Not only did things fall through, but he got sick right after. A high fever, constant headaches. The family called doctors and even brought in a foreign physician for injections. He’d barely recovered before throwing himself into this new factory and hadn’t come out since.
As the eldest sister, she always saw herself as a second mother to him. This time, she really couldn’t sit still.
“Tingjing…” she followed behind him, speaking softly. “Are you still… upset with Fifth Brother?”
Meng Tingjing stopped.
So did she.
He turned to look at her. His face and expression were unusually calm.
Meng Sushan was startled by how composed he looked. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, a loud cheer suddenly erupted from outside. Meng Tingjing turned his head sharply and flung open the office door. A few workers were running toward him with excitement. “Young Master, it worked! It worked!”
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