Song Yuzhang: Chapter 60 - Love
Chapter 60: Love
When Song Yuzhang woke again, he was truly awake.
Four or five attendants were gathered at his bedside. The moment he opened his eyes, they smoothly went about their respective tasks—one went to inform others, one wiped his sweat, one poured water, and another asked, “Fifth Young Master, you’re awake. Is there anywhere else you feel unwell? The doctor is on his way.”
“Fifth Young Master, have a sip of water first.”
Song Yuzhang was being tended to with meticulous care. The warm water on his parched lips felt comforting. He asked in a hoarse voice, “You are…?”
“This is the Nie residence.”
Song Yuzhang was slightly stunned. How had he ended up at the Nie residence?
“Fifth Young Master, do you feel like eating something? If you don’t have an appetite, you can try some plain porridge.”
Song Yuzhang slowly shook his head. His entire body felt disjointed, as if it hadn’t been assembled properly. He couldn’t feel everything at once—one moment his head hurt, the next his back. It was all fragmented, and only when pieced together did he realize his whole body ached.
The foreign doctor was in the next room. He soon arrived and handed him a thermometer to place under his arm. Song Yuzhang, like a puppet, lifted his arm. The doctor placed the thermometer and thought to himself how little body hair Chinese people had.
One attendant was still helping him drink warm water, but Song Yuzhang showed little response. His mind was blank, as if a long dream had drowned out everything inside it.
When the temperature was taken, the doctor concluded that the fever had subsided, though not entirely. It was best to observe him, and if it didn’t drop further, another injection would be needed that night.
Song Yuzhang wasn’t listening. He stared blankly at a pot of orchids in the room. The leaves were a dark shade of green, and the petals were white with crimson edges, like an elongated tongue. Suddenly nauseated, Song Yuzhang threw off the blanket and jumped out of bed. The attendants were startled as he staggered into the bathroom and clutched the sink, vomiting violently.
But he hadn’t eaten anything that morning, so all he threw up was water. The foreign doctor faithfully followed him in and patted his back. “Poor boy!”
He retched so hard it felt like his guts were coming out. But once it passed, he felt much better—his head was clearer. He stood up, declined the doctor’s assistance, pushed through the circle of attendants, and walked to the bed to put on his shoes. “I’m leaving now,” Song Yuzhang said in a hoarse, weak voice. “Please thank Mr. Nie for taking care of me.”
“Fifth Young Master, you can’t leave yet, your fever hasn’t fully gone down.”
“It’s fine.”
Though unsteady, he was clear-headed. He even managed a slight, gentlemanly smile. “I’ve got something important to take care of, so I won’t bother Mr. Nie with a personal farewell.”
The attendants exchanged uncertain glances. One quick-witted servant quietly slipped out first.
Nie Xueping was speaking with Nie Yinbing when Nie Mao entered and said Fifth Young Master Song was awake—and insisting on leaving.
“Is he alright now?” Nie Xueping asked.
“He still has a fever. The doctor advised another injection tonight, but Fifth Young Master insists on going.”
“Let him go then,” Nie Xueping said. “Escort him home.”
Nie Mao had brought him here, and now he was tasked with sending him back. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but seeing Song Yuzhang’s pale, handsome face, he felt that he probably hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Fifth Young Master, you still have a fever. You should have a foreign doctor look at you again tonight.”
“Thank you.”
Song Yuzhang’s throat burned as if a fireball was lodged in it, spreading heat to his gut—his entire body burning from within.
Nie Mao delivered him to the Song residence. Song Yuzhang thanked him, got out of the car with a shaky but brisk pace. Nie Mao watched him go inside, still feeling uneasy.
Fifth Young Master Song was an exceptionally good-looking and dignified man—someone people naturally paid extra attention to.
Back at the Song residence, few attendants remained, giving the house a desolate air. “Where does Song Zhenqiao live?” Song Yuzhang asked.
The servant was caught off guard, then answered, “The master’s room is the innermost one on the third floor.”
Song Yuzhang went upstairs.
After the funeral, many of Song Zhenqiao’s personal items had been buried with him, leaving few belongings behind. Song Yuzhang stumbled to the desk, grabbed a photo frame. It was a picture of a young Song Zhenqiao—handsome and debonair. After staring at it for a moment, Song Yuzhang suddenly hurled it to the ground, shattering it.
Even that small act left him short of breath.
He searched the entire room but found nothing—Song Zhenqiao had left behind nothing useful.
Song Yuzhang left the room and returned to his own. He took out a ‘treasure box’ from his desk and went through its contents. Feeling exhausted, he descended the stairs. Halfway down, he became dizzy and had to sit, clutching the banister. After a moment, he forced himself back up and made it downstairs, where he called the bank.
“Where’s Liu Chuanzong? Tell him to get his ass over here!”
At the bank’s conference room, Song Mingzhao was waiting in boredom. When Liu Chuanzong came in alone, he quickly stood and asked, “Where’s Xiao Yu?”
“Fifth Young Master has returned home.”
“What?”
Song Mingzhao was baffled, then irritated. “Why didn’t he ask me to come with him!”
He and Liu Chuanzong rode back together. Upon arriving at the Song residence, they saw Song Yuzhang sitting on the lawn. After getting out of the car, Song Mingzhao called out, “Xiao Yu, why are you sitting on the ground? You’ll catch a chill.”
Song Yuzhang didn’t even turn his head. “Liu Chuanzong, come here.”
Liu Chuanzong silently got out from the other side of the car and approached.
Song Mingzhao, hand still on the car door, stood there dumbfounded.
Why was Song Yuzhang ignoring him?
“Fourth Brother, go inside first.”
Song Yuzhang’s voice was cool. Song Mingzhao stood frozen for a long moment, then finally murmured, “Okay.” As he walked inside, he kept looking back, feeling that something was off with Song Yuzhang.
After getting the bank, was Song Yuzhang... not happy?
“Send me to England within five days. That was Song Zhenqiao’s instruction to you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Understood. I’ll arrange it right away.”
“Exchange all the remaining legal tender in the bank into pounds. I’m taking it all with me tomorrow.”
Liu Chuanzong was silent for a moment, then said, “Alright.”
Song Yuzhang stared ahead.
Autumn had arrived. The white birds no longer liked the water, their long, slender legs pacing the lawn all day.
“Get lost.”
Song Mingzhao had been secretly watching from behind the glass window. When he saw Liu Chuanzong leave, he quickly ran out. “Xiao Yu, don’t sit on the ground.” He went to help Song Yuzhang up, but when he saw how pale his face was, he exclaimed, “Xiao Yu, what’s wrong with you?”
Right now, anyone from the Song family irritated Song Yuzhang. Song Mingzhao had always been a dispensable presence to him, and now he found him particularly annoying. After standing up, he shook his hand off.
Song Mingzhao was stunned by the shove. He didn’t have time to think much before quickly following after him. But once he caught up, he didn’t dare say a word—just followed silently all the way back to Song Yuzhang’s room.
Song Yuzhang was full of repressed fury, and Song Mingzhao just had to cluelessly tag along. As soon as he shut the door, he was grabbed by the back of the collar. He let out a choked cry as Song Yuzhang threw him onto the bed.
Without a word, Song Yuzhang raised his hand and gave Song Mingzhao two hard smacks on the butt.
Song Mingzhao was stunned. He couldn’t understand where all this furious rage was coming from. But even though he was shocked and flustered, he didn’t get angry or try to fight back. The pain was sharp, but he just covered his face with his arm, eyes filled with surprise—and a hint of concern. “Xiao Yu, what’s wrong?”
Song Yuzhang had hurt himself more than the other—his entire arm was numb, and his head spun with dizziness and stars. He stared hard at Song Mingzhao, who looked back at him like a naïve and earnest lamb—innocent and trusting. Slowly, Song Yuzhang lowered his raised hand and collapsed forward onto Song Mingzhao’s body.
The weight on him made Song Mingzhao reflexively wrap his arms around him. “What’s wrong, Xiao Yu? Are you feeling unwell? Tell me.”
Song Yuzhang didn’t say a word, just buried his face into Song Mingzhao’s neck.
Feeling the heat on his skin, Song Mingzhao grew worried. “Xiao Yu, your face is burning. Are you running a fever?”
He fumbled to hold Song Yuzhang’s face in his hands and, sure enough, saw a flush of color on that pale complexion.
He pressed his forehead to Song Yuzhang’s. “You really are burning up. This won’t do—we need to call a doctor.”
“No need.”
Song Yuzhang nudged their foreheads together.
Song Mingzhao stroked the back of his head gently. “We have to. A fever isn’t a small thing. You can’t just ignore it.”
“I already got a shot.”
“A shot? Oh,” Song Mingzhao pieced things together, “you got sick suddenly and went to the hospital?”
Song Yuzhang didn’t explain. He just lay there, soaking in this rare moment of pure, genuine care.
It was almost laughable—he had schemed for so long and still failed to get what he wanted, while the things he never sought had been handed to him instead.
Truly, nine times out of ten, life doesn't go your way.
Since Song Yuzhang didn’t want to see another doctor, Song Mingzhao asked the servants to buy some fever medicine and had porridge made. He then personally fed it to Song Yuzhang. As he ate, Song Yuzhang lazily kneaded the back of Song Mingzhao’s neck, like playing with a cat or teasing a dog. The affectionate gesture made Song Mingzhao a little shy, his face heating up to match Song Yuzhang’s.
Just earlier, Song Yuzhang had been so cold and distant, and now he seemed to care again. Song Mingzhao didn’t hold grudges—he lived in the moment, happy and carefree. He didn’t even ask why Song Yuzhang had been angry. A day like this was too rare to ruin.
Originally, Song Mingzhao had imagined the two of them drinking and dancing through the night in the Song family’s grand hall—reveling without a care, but Song Yuzhang’s condition left him lying listlessly in bed. So instead, Song Mingzhao grabbed an English poetry book and leaned beside him, reading aloud.
Song Yuzhang had only learned a surface level of English—most of the vocabulary was unfamiliar to him. The poems entered his mind in broken fragments, not forming complete sentences. But that didn’t matter. From the tone and rhythm of Song Mingzhao’s voice, he understood what he truly meant to say.
Song Yuzhang wrapped an arm around Song Mingzhao’s neck.
Song Mingzhao chuckled and lifted his face. “Xiao Yu, right now, it’s just the two of us. We’re a family now.”
Perhaps only when one is close to having nothing, do they learn to cherish the few things they still have.
Song Yuzhang gently stroked Song Mingzhao’s hair.
He decided— He would love Song Mingzhao well.
Until he left tomorrow.
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