Song Yuzhang: Chapter 75 - Unreasonable
THe White Tower lost its star performer, Xiao Yuxian, and the boss had also been replaced. The new boss had fled from the south and brought along a performer named Xiao Fengxian. Not only was Xiao Fengxian skilled in opera, but he was also highly sociable—truly a person of many talents. He charmed several prominent businessmen in Haizhou so thoroughly that they came to see his performances every day.
Liao Tiandong was one of them. He wasn’t particularly interested in Xiao Fengxian as a person—he simply loved listening to his opera. He felt that Xiao Fengxian sang with more emotion than Xiao Yuxian. Xiao Yuxian had a better voice, but Xiao Fengxian conveyed deeper feeling. They each had their own strengths.
“You used to really favor Xiao Yuxian. I didn’t expect you to appreciate Xiao Fengxian, too.”
“Each has their own merits,” Song Qiyuan said, fanning himself. “Xiao Yuxian can sing, but he doesn’t love to sing, so he always lacks some of that genuine flavor.”
Liao Tiandong slapped his thigh. “Exactly! Well said!”
Liao Tiandong was greedy, lustful, indulgent in food, drink, gambling, and women—an all-around scoundrel in Song Qiyuan’s eyes. But he genuinely understood opera. While Song Qiyuan treated the opera house as a personal retreat, Liao Tiandong simply loved the art itself. Perhaps Xiao Yuxian hadn’t suited his taste before, which was why he seldom visited the White Tower. Now that Xiao Fengxian was performing, he showed up to every show and tipped generously each time.
It was well-known that Song Qiyuan loved going to the opera, so when the two met at the theater, Liao Tiandong didn’t suspect anything and naturally befriended him. After some time, Song Qiyuan still didn’t try to cozy up to him, which made Liao Tiandong even more relaxed.
“Director Liao.”
Xiao Fengxian appeared in the private box like a flower in bloom. Liao Tiandong beamed with joy, even rising to mimic a few graceful gestures. Xiao Fengxian praised him for looking like someone trained in childhood acrobatics. “Third Young Master, wouldn’t you say so?”
Song Qiyuan shook his head. “This child performer’s a little old, don’t you think?”
Liao Tiandong dropped his smile and glared at him. “Oh, you brat, got a sharp tongue, huh? Take this—my sword!”
He ran around the seats clanging imaginary swords, making Xiao Fengxian laugh so hard he almost fell over.
After the show, Song Qiyuan invited Liao Tiandong to visit his home. When Xiao Yuxian returned to his hometown, he left Song Qiyuan a set of headgear and a costume as a memento—the former centerpiece of the White Tower.
“Brother Tiandong, would you like to see it?”
Liao Tiandong was eager. Though he didn’t think highly of Xiao Yuxian’s performances, he admitted the costume and headpiece were exquisite and worth admiring.
He thought for a moment and said, “Maybe another day. It’s a bit late now, and there’ve been bandits causing trouble outside the city. It’s not safe at night. You should head home early, too.”
“Alright, another time then.”
After parting with Liao Tiandong, Song Qiyuan headed to the Song residence—quietly, of course. Song Yuzhang had warned him to avoid being followed. Although Song Qiyuan didn’t know what Song Yuzhang was planning, he took the advice seriously. He ditched his car, took a roundabout route, then switched to a rickshaw, entering the Song estate through the back door.
The Song residence had always been quiet, but now it felt cold and desolate.
Holding his hat, Song Qiyuan sighed softly.
“If he won’t agree, it means he still doesn’t fully trust you.”
Inside the hall, Song Yuzhang welcomed Song Qiyuan, holding a black and a white chess piece in his hand. “That’s only natural. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you, and it’s fair for him to be cautious.”
Leaning back in his chair, Song Qiyuan said, “I still don’t get it. What help can someone from the Transport Bureau like Liao Tiandong offer to a bank?”
“You’ll know eventually.”
“Of course I’ll know eventually,” Song Qiyuan said with some sarcasm, rolling his eyes. “I just don’t understand why I can’t figure it out right now.”
Song Yuzhang smiled lazily from his chair. “Third Brother, are you feeling a bit insecure? Thinking maybe you’re not clever enough?”
Song Qiyuan glanced at him. “I’m not that petty.”
Song Yuzhang chuckled. “Come on, just be honest with me. We’re all on the same boat now—no need for secrets.”
“Boring,” Song Qiyuan said, putting on his hat and standing up. “I’m leaving. Take good care of Fourth Brother.”
Song Yuzhang said, “Third Brother, let me ask you one more time—”
“Don’t bother. There’s no one. I don’t know anything,” said Song Qiyuan. “Relax. Everyone in Haizhou knows I’ve been hanging around Liao Tiandong, and everyone also knows we split our family ties—I’ve got nothing to do with you anymore.”
“I’m just worried Eldest or Second Brother might let something slip…”
“Don’t worry. Second Brother is too busy trying to hang himself to care, and I’ve already sent Eldest Brother off to the Meng family.”
“The Meng family?”
“Old Master Meng looks like he’s on his deathbed. Sister-in-law can’t leave him, and since Eldest Brother has nothing else to do, I sent him to keep her company. It’s quieter that way.”
Song Yuzhang nodded slowly. “Old Master Meng is dying?”
“Yeah,” Song Qiyuan said. “When the time comes, Eldest Brother should take the lead. Even though you inherited the bank, he’s still the Meng family’s son-in-law. He should be the one attending the funeral rites.”
“I don’t care,” Song Yuzhang said as he tossed the chess pieces in his hand and smiled. “I won’t fight with him over who gets to wear mourning clothes.”
Song Qiyuan shook his head. “Try not to say things like that.” With a wave of his sleeve, he turned and left, finally regaining some of the suave demeanor he once had—maybe from soaking in the opera house these past few days.
Song Yuzhang held a chess piece between his fingers, lost in thought.
Old Master Meng was dying.
Even if Meng Tingjing was the most unfilial son in the world, he would still have to divide some of his attention now.
Though Meng Tingjing had remained quiet since that day, Song Yuzhang knew he was merely lying in wait for the right moment to strike—probably even enjoying watching him struggle in vain.
To someone like Meng Tingjing, it was always all or nothing.
Song Yuzhang’s struggle, pain, humiliation, destruction—he would happily take it all.
Time was short. With Old Master Meng dying, hopefully the gods would bless him with a windfall!
With a clatter, Song Yuzhang dropped the chess pieces back into the basket and headed upstairs to find Song Mingzhao.
As usual, Song Mingzhao was sitting under the covers reading a book. He read too much at night, and his eyes had begun to tire. As Song Yuzhang approached, he saw him blinking and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Fourth Brother, don’t rub. You’ll hurt them.”
Song Yuzhang sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed his hand. “Are your eyes sore? Then don’t read anymore.”
He closed the book on the bed and set it aside. “I’ll go get you a towel. You can wipe your eyes.”
Just as he was about to get up, Song Mingzhao wrapped his arms around his waist.
“It’s fine. I’m fine now.”
Song Mingzhao pressed his face against Song Yuzhang’s stomach. His eyes burned red and sore. In a low voice, he said, “Xiao Yu, I still can’t bear to let go.”
“Can’t bear to?” Song Yuzhang stroked his head, smiling. “Can’t bear to part with that book? What book could be that good, that you can’t wait even one night?”
He picked up the book. The cover read Madame…, followed by a word he didn’t recognize—it was clearly a biography about some woman. He asked, “Is she that charming? That you’re so reluctant to put it down?”
Song Mingzhao clung to him without moving, murmuring, “No. She’s pitiful. And so very sad.”
“Don't read such sad books before bed. Read something cheerful instead,” Song Yuzhang gently patted Song Mingzhao on the head and said softly, “Why not take a look at the newspaper? There are actually two pretty good jokes in today's paper.”
After comforting Song Mingzhao for a while, Song Yuzhang went to take a bath. When he came out, he shivered from the cold, then quickly crawled under the covers.
The bed was warm and carried a clean, masculine scent. After Song Yuzhang lay down, Song Mingzhao also lay beside him. He turned to embrace him and took a deep breath.
There was always a particular scent on Song Yuzhang that Song Mingzhao really liked—he was almost addicted to it.
In the dark, Song Mingzhao’s embrace made Song Yuzhang curl his lips slightly. He returned the embrace, holding the warm body close and whispered, "Fourth Brother, sleep now. Don’t be sad. The stories in books are all fictional, none of them are real.”
Song Mingzhao responded with a quiet "mm" and hugged Song Yuzhang tightly.
The next day, Song Yuzhang went to the hospital to visit Nie Bonian.
Nie Bonian always seemed downcast whenever he was hospitalized, but he perked up when Song Yuzhang came to visit. In fact, Song Yuzhang found it rather odd—why didn’t Nie Bonian just recover at home? It’s not like the Nie family couldn’t afford a private doctor.
“Dad’s afraid I might suddenly die,” Nie Bonian said while receiving an IV drip and holding a brightly illustrated book, blinking innocently. “If something happened on the way from home to the hospital, they wouldn’t be able to save me in time.”
Song Yuzhang was used to Nie Bonian’s precocious manner. He stroked his head and said, “Makes sense.”
Nie Bonian was very pleased to hear his approval. He looked Song Yuzhang over from head to toe, confirming once again that Song Yuzhang was beautiful and clean in every way. He couldn't help but think that his second uncle had been talking nonsense lately—how could Brother Yuzhang possibly be unhygienic? Even the collar of his shirt was pure white.
“Bonian, reading like that will hurt your eyes,” Song Yuzhang said. “How about I read to you instead?”
“Yes, please. Thank you, Brother Yuzhang.”
In truth, Nie Bonian had read that book many times over—he could practically recite it. He had a little quirk: whenever he was sick, he liked rereading old books. He was afraid that if he started something new and didn’t like it, the irritation would affect his recovery. So he stuck with the books he had carefully “filtered” and grown fond of.
But with Song Yuzhang reading, even the old book seemed to take on a new flavor.
As he read, Song Yuzhang noticed the signs of wear on the pages and asked, “You’ve read this before?”
Nie Bonian answered honestly, “Many times.” Then added, “But I still really like it.”
Song Yuzhang smiled and gave him a kiss on his soft cheek. “Bonian, you’re really an adorable little kid.”
The candid compliment made Nie Bonian blush. Trying to stay composed, he replied, “Thank you, Brother Yuzhang. I like you too.” Then he leaned in and kissed Song Yuzhang on the cheek. Just as he sat back up, he spotted Nie Xueping at the door and said with surprise and delight, “Daddy!”
Song Yuzhang also turned to look.
Nie Xueping was dressed as formally as ever—dark suit, white shirt, a tie matching the jacket, and a dark silk handkerchief in his chest pocket.
His gaze fell on the two of them, and when his eyes met Song Yuzhang’s, he gave a slight nod. “Mr. Song.”
His tone was no different than before, as if nothing had ever happened between them.
Song Yuzhang also nodded. “Mr. Nie.”
Nie Bonian was excited. “Daddy, the doctor said I’m almost better now—I can go home tomorrow.”
Nie Xueping walked over and patted the back of his head. “You’ve done well.”
Nie Bonian smiled happily.
Nie Xueping glanced at the book in Song Yuzhang’s hand, then looked back at him. “Mr. Song was reading to Bonian?”
“Yes,” Song Yuzhang replied with a smile. “Though he’s already read it himself—several times over, I imagine. I suppose I was being redundant.”
“He only reads old books when he’s sick.”
“I see.”
“You’ve probably been reading a while,” Nie Xueping said warmly. “Lie down and rest for a bit, regain some energy.”
“Mm.”
Nie Bonian obediently slid under the covers. Nie Xueping tucked him in, his gaze sweeping toward Song Yuzhang, who had already risen and was watching Bonian with gentle affection. Bonian gave him an adorable smile, and Song Yuzhang smiled back. “Rest well.”
All the lights in the bedroom were off except for a small one in the corner. Song Yuzhang and Nie Xueping left the room one after the other. The lights in the outer room were bright, stretching their shadows long on the floor.
“Here to see Bonian?”
“Yes,” Song Yuzhang said with a faint smile, eyes lowered. “Not just that.”
Not just that. But he didn’t elaborate—just like that day: unclear, vague, leaving the other person to guess and wonder.
Nie Xueping looked down at him. From his vantage point, he could see Song Yuzhang’s soft black hair and smooth, rounded forehead.
Even his forehead was perfect
Nie Xueping lifted his hand and gently pressed the back of it to Song Yuzhang’s forehead.
Just like that day, Song Yuzhang didn’t move away.
His hand slowly slid from forehead to cheek. The motion was unhurried, feather-light. Despite the autumn chill, the back of Nie Xueping’s hand was still warm. His touch had no hint of impropriety—Song Yuzhang could tell.
He tilted his head slightly to meet Nie Xueping’s gaze.
There was a rich tenderness in it—warm and weighty, the kind that made you want to melt into it.
Song Yuzhang was puzzled. He didn’t understand when Nie Xueping had started to like him, nor did he understand whether his own feelings right now were based on strategy or genuine affection.
But Song Yuzhang was never one to overthink. If he wanted to do something, he would just go for it. So, he simply closed his eyes, tilted his head, and kissed Nie Xueping once again.
Nie Xueping’s lips were soft and dry, and his mouth had a clean taste, with a faint hint of tea. Song Yuzhang thought of that tin of red tea he’d casually asked someone to leave in the kitchen. He reached around Nie Xueping’s neck and deepened the kiss.
His hand came to rest on Nie Xueping’s shoulder and then, almost unconsciously, began to explore.
Nie Xueping had broad, straight shoulders, hard bones, and firm muscles. By all logic, this shouldn’t have appealed to Song Yuzhang in the slightest. Yet somehow, it thrilled him.
Maybe the world was just full of unreasonable things—like how he could feel desire for someone like Nie Xueping, who didn’t match any of his preferences at all.
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