Song Yuzhang: Chapter 64 - President
Chapter 64: President
Song Yuzhang returned to the Song residence and rushed upstairs without pause. He flung the door open with a loud bang, strode to the desk, yanked open the drawer, and pulled out the envelope Meng Tingjing had once given him.
He had never actually looked to see how much money was inside.
Back when he’d asked Meng Tingjing for a so-called “virginity fee,” it was a retaliatory move tainted with self-degradation. No matter how calm it looked on the surface, at its core, it was still a form of self-humiliation—a mutually destructive act of revenge. So he had kept avoiding it.
Song Yuzhang tore open the envelope.
As it opened, a thin check fluttered out like a leaf, landing softly on the dark red desk.
Song Yuzhang took a closer look. On it, Meng Tingjing’s name was scrawled in flamboyant calligraphy, but the amount line was left blank.
—It was a blank check that could be filled in with any amount.
Song Yuzhang picked up the check, a complex smile slowly appearing on his face.
Tingjing, oh Tingjing… do you hate me, or do you love me?
You keep saying I’m not worthy—yet you left me a blank check like this.
Weren’t you afraid I’d just fill in some astronomical number?
Song Yuzhang’s gaze chilled as he pulled out a fountain pen.
If you show no kindness, then I’ll show no loyalty!
The pen hovered above the check, but it didn’t come down.
His eyes fixated on the name "Meng Tingjing" written on the check. His grip on the pen tightened more and more.
Clink.
The pen slipped from his fingers and rolled onto the desk.
Song Yuzhang held the check up in front of him.
Meng Tingjing.
You want me to sell myself? I refuse!
His fingers slowly curled, and he crumpled the check into a ball.
Then, together with the envelope, he flushed it all down the toilet.
“Xiao Yu.”
A cautious voice came from outside the door.
It was Song Mingzhao. Sensing that Song Yuzhang had been extremely moody these past few days, he had grown timid around him.
“What is it?”
Song Yuzhang appeared in front of him, all smiles and warmth.
Song Mingzhao breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. “I just wanted to ask if you’ve had dinner yet?”
“No,” Song Yuzhang threw an arm around his shoulder, beaming. “Come on, I’ll eat with you.”
That night, Liu Chuanzong received a phone call from Song Yuzhang.
“Open the bank as usual tomorrow. I’ve got a 200,000 yuan check here. Go exchange it and use it to prop things up.”
“As for going to England, put that on hold until I give the word.”
“Understood.”
Liu Chuanzong hung up, thoughtful.
He wasn’t some mindless puppet—it was just that he was used to hiding everything beneath a calm facade. He was a servant. A servant needs neither pride nor opinions.
That evening, Song Yuzhang had dinner with Song Mingzhao, cheerful and light-hearted. Seeing his good mood, Song Mingzhao finally felt happy. “You’ve seemed a little off the past couple days. Is it the bank being too much to handle?”
Song Yuzhang took a sip of wine, slung an arm around Song Mingzhao’s shoulder, and gently pinched his cheek.
“These past few days really have been hectic. Sorry to worry you,” he said softly. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. My poor, sweet Fourth Brother—caring about me like this makes me really happy.”
Song Mingzhao was a bit tipsy, unable to resist Song Yuzhang’s sudden tenderness.
After dinner, Song Yuzhang said he was going out. Song Mingzhao wanted to follow but was afraid he’d be refused. Song Yuzhang patted his cheek and smiled. “Stay home like a good boy. I’ll be back soon.”
Having not seen that smile in days, Mingzhao was especially obedient and replied with a soft “Mm.”
Song Yuzhang got in the car and told the driver to head toward the Western-style house that had been assigned to Song Qiyuan.
It was also a Song family property. Though it didn’t have the grand presence of the main residence, it was elegant and refined—clearly a wealthy man’s home, and well-situated too. Sitting in the car, Song Yuzhang lit a cigarette and said to the driver, “Go in and tell Song Qiyuan I want to see him. Make sure it’s just him alone.”
The driver followed orders and cleverly found a familiar servant, telling her, “Go call the Third Young Master—quietly. Don’t let the First or Second Young Master see.”
Moments later, Song Qiyuan came out. He seemed ready for bed, wearing only a shirt and trousers with a robe thrown over. The driver’s eyes lit up when he saw him. “Third Young Master, Fifth Young Master is waiting for you in the car.”
Song Qiyuan had been keeping an eye on the bank’s situation these past few days. He thought Song Yuzhang would be leaving tomorrow, and with that, chaos would break loose. While his two elder brothers were focused on dividing up the money, he himself had been tossing and turning, unable to sleep, wondering how to weather the coming storm.
So why had Song Yuzhang come? To say goodbye? They weren’t exactly the kind who needed goodbyes.
To confront or accuse him? At this point, what would be the point?
With a trace of doubt in his heart, Song Qiyuan opened the car door.
Inside, Song Yuzhang was engulfed in a cloud of smoke. He was smoking heavily, the white smoke lingering thickly in the air. Hearing the door open, he turned his head and gestured with his cigarette-holding fingers. “Get in.”
Song Qiyuan got into the car.
“Song Zhenqiao left you thirty million US dollars,” Song Yuzhang said bluntly before he even sat down.
Song Qiyuan slowly settled into his seat, remaining silent. That thirty million weighed heavily in his hands—taken reluctantly, helplessly, and with guilt.
“Give me a portion.”
Song Yuzhang took a drag from his cigarette, licked his lips, and said calmly, “I don’t want much. Just five million.”
Song Qiyuan still said nothing. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “You’re not Song Yuzhang.”
“We already talked about this, didn’t we?” Song Yuzhang turned his face, one eyebrow arching slightly. “I am now.”
“Tomorrow Liu Chuanzong will take you to England. Don’t worry, he’ll find a way to help you—”
“I’m not going.”
The three light words from Song Yuzhang cut him off. Song Qiyuan froze, then turned to look at him.
Smoke drifted steadily from Song Yuzhang’s mouth. “Give me five million. I want to keep the bank alive.”
Song Qiyuan was once again stunned by his words.
“Five million?”
“Yes, five million.”
Song Yuzhang lowered his head and chuckled with a cigarette between his lips. “If you’re willing to give more, I don’t mind.”
Song Qiyuan laughed, but it was a bitter laugh—at Song Yuzhang’s naivete and delusions of grandeur.
“Do you even know how big the hole in the bank is?”
Perhaps Liu Chuanzong hadn’t explained things clearly to him. He said, “Do you really think five million dollars can fix anything?”
“Isn’t it just a three-hundred-million-dollar deficit?” Song Yuzhang smiled lightly and looked at him, lashes lifted. “Just because you’re incapable doesn’t mean I am.”
Song Qiyuan was silent for half a minute, then said flatly, “You’re insane.”
“Think what you like.” Song Yuzhang pulled the cigarette from his mouth. “Five million. I want to see it delivered within ten minutes of the bank opening tomorrow. Otherwise—” he smiled at Song Qiyuan, “I don’t have to be Song Yuzhang. We’ll go down together. Nobody walks away clean.”
Song Qiyuan’s expression shifted. “You’re threatening me?”
“How is this a threat? You want me to take the fall for a 300 million black hole, and I’m only asking for five million. That’s a bargain. Or better yet, let’s switch—I’ll give you the bank, and you give me the thirty million. Don’t worry, I’m generous. I’ll even split ten million with the others. How about that?”
Song Qiyuan was again left speechless.
Deep down, he knew they shouldn’t have that thirty million at all.
But people are not saints, and he was far from perfect. When faced with a real choice, he had selfishly chosen to protect himself and his brothers first.
He didn’t like this family, but he was born into it. He was a part of it. His father exchanged his life for a promise, and he had no choice but to carry that burden.
As for everything else, he’d just count it as being cold-hearted.
“What’s your plan to save the bank?” Song Qiyuan asked slowly.
Song Yuzhang had finished one cigarette and lit another. The orange flame flickered at his fingertips. He brought the cigarette to his lips, his mouth slightly puckered on the filter, half-smiling as he said, “You want to invest, Third Brother? That five million doesn’t count.”
“Five million won’t last long.”
“Then give more, Third Brother.”
“At this rate, if something goes wrong, no one can guarantee you’ll make it out in one piece.”
Song Yuzhang couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. He looked at Song Qiyuan and said slowly, “So you’re doing all this to keep me safe?”
“Song Qiyuan, have you lied so long you’ve fooled even yourself into believing you’re a righteous man?”
“Just remember—whether I’m Song Yuzhang or not is as clear as whether you’re a good person or not. We both know the answer. No need to say more. Five million. Not a cent less. Otherwise, deal with the consequences. You know I’m no saint—I’m capable of all sorts of vicious things. A man with nothing to lose has no fear. It’s just one life. Think it over.”
Biting the cigarette, Song Yuzhang turned away, frowning slightly. “Get out.”
Through the smoke, Song Qiyuan once again found he couldn’t clearly see the man before him.
He’d thought this was just a greedy conman finally getting his comeuppance. But now the conman said he wasn’t leaving. He wanted to save the bank?
A 300 million dollars hole—anyone would say it’s a mountain that would crush a man to dust. Could Song Yuzhang really shoulder that?
Or was he just trying to con another five million out of him?
Song Qiyuan stepped out of the car. The driver brushed past him. His robe swayed slightly. A chill ran through him as he returned to the villa. Song Yekang was in the main hall and asked, “Who was it? Has Sister-in-law come back?”
“No,” Song Qiyuan waved a hand. “Just someone handing out flyers.”
“So late and still making a racket.”
Song Yekang said, “That bastard hasn’t left yet. Is he planning to leave tomorrow?”
Song Qiyuan stood silently for a moment. He didn’t know how to answer the question, so he just waved his hand. “Go upstairs and sleep.”
Song Yuzhang returned to the Song residence and asked a servant to open a bottle of good liquor for him.
It was top-quality whiskey—part of Song Zhenqiao’s private collection.
Song Yuzhang downed half a glass like a cow chewing on peonies. The servant couldn’t help but advise him, “Fifth Young Master, please drink slowly.”
“It’s alright,” Song Yuzhang took another big gulp, turned his face slightly, and smiled at the servant. “Your Master Wu can really hold his liquor.”
The servant blushed, feeling that Fifth Young Master was exuding an unusual, irresistible charm.
After two glasses, Song Yuzhang went upstairs.
Inside the room, Song Mingzhao was waiting for him. He was sitting in bed, wearing a silver satin pajama set, reading under a small night lamp. Hearing the door, he turned and smiled happily. “Xiao Yu, you’re back?”
Song Yuzhang walked over and flopped sideways onto Song Mingzhao’s lap.
Song Mingzhao immediately caught a whiff of smoke and alcohol. “You went out drinking? With whom?”
Song Yuzhang closed his eyes, half-smiling. “Fourth Brother, are you jealous?”
Song Mingzhao blushed. “What nonsense. I was just asking.”
Song Yuzhang smiled faintly, turned his face, and buried it against Song Mingzhao’s waist, murmuring, “Fourth Brother, you’re really good to me.”
Song Mingzhao chuckled a bit foolishly. “Are you drunk?”
Song Yuzhang gave another soft laugh and wrapped his arms around Song Mingzhao’s waist.
“Fourth Brother.”
“Mm?”
“I want to love you a long time. Let’s be good brothers forever.”
“…”
Song Mingzhao felt his heart melt like it had been dipped in honey. He leaned down and rested his cheek against Song Yuzhang’s. After a long pause, he whispered, “Then I’ll love you even longer.”
He waited a long time for a reply but heard nothing. Looking up, he saw Song Yuzhang had already fallen asleep with his eyes closed.
Song Mingzhao smiled slightly and held him. He didn’t sleep; he was afraid his snoring would disturb Song Yuzhang. He would only sleep once Song Yuzhang was deep asleep. Watching him sleep like this made him happy.
Because in that moment, Song Mingzhao felt that Song Yuzhang truly belonged to him—his and his alone.
The next day, Song Yuzhang woke early, freshened up, and took a pigeon blood ruby about the size of a thumb from his drawer, slipping it into the pocket of his coat.
The driver saw how radiant he looked and couldn’t help but compliment, “Fifth Young Master, you look great today.”
Song Yuzhang smiled at him. “Good things lift the spirit.”
The driver thought, Wasn’t the good news from a couple of days ago? Why is he only happy now?
The bank opened as usual. There was the usual hustle and bustle. Surrounded by attendants, Song Yuzhang entered the bank, receiving greetings from all sides.
“Good morning, President.”
“Morning.”
The newly appointed and strikingly handsome bank president had shed his cold demeanor from the past few days. He nodded politely and charmingly. “Good morning, everyone.”
“Morning! President, you look especially spirited today.”
Someone dared to speak up and was rewarded with a charming smile from the president—almost enough to make their heart leap out of their chest.
Liu Chuanzong was already waiting in the office. As soon as Song Yuzhang entered, he handed him a check.
“You’re being watched. When transferring or using funds these next few days, be sure to cover your tracks.”
“Yes, don’t worry. I know someone is watching me—I just haven’t cared much until now.”
“Well, from today on, you’d better care.”
Song Yuzhang said, “I don’t want this office anymore. Have everything in here moved to the president’s office.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And this.”
Song Yuzhang took out the pigeon blood ruby and pressed it to the desk, tapping beside it with a finger. “Have this embedded into my new office desk.”
“I want to see it every day the moment I walk into my office.”
“Understood.”
Liu Chuanzong went downstairs, and as he entered the main hall, he ran into a familiar face.
“Third Young Master.”
Song Qiyuan gave a slight nod. “Where is he?”
“Upstairs—in the president’s office.”
With people coming and going in the lobby, it wasn’t convenient to talk. Song Qiyuan gave him a meaningful look, and Liu Chuanzong followed him to a quiet corner of the bank.
“He came to me yesterday and said he’s not leaving today.”
“That’s what Fifth Young Master instructed me.”
“Instructed?” Song Qiyuan frowned. “Liu Chuanzong, do you even know who you’re working for?”
“I know very well,” Liu Chuanzong replied emotionlessly. “Right now, I’m Fifth Young Master’s servant.”
Song Qiyuan couldn’t reason with him and said, “Do you know what he said to me? He demanded five million dollars—or he’d burn everything down with him. He’s not…” Song Qiyuan glanced around, then lowered his voice even more, “…he’s not even the real Song Yuzhang.”
Liu Chuanzong didn’t move. After a moment’s pause, he slowly replied, “Third Young Master, that has nothing to do with me.”
“I am the Fifth Young Master’s servant now. Whatever he tells me to do, I do. Third Young Master, I have work to attend to. I’ll take my leave.”
The president’s office was spacious—twice the size of Song Yuzhang’s previous one. The décor was lavish. A large floor-to-ceiling window let in ample light. Song Yuzhang recognized that this window was directly beneath the bank’s dazzling gilded dome.
Standing in front of the window, he looked down at the bustling crowd below.
Knock knock—
“Come in.”
“President, Third Young Master is here.”
Song Yuzhang smiled. Sunlight hit his eyes with a sharp brilliance. “Let him in.”
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