Song Yuzhang: Chapter 85 - Feast
Chapter 85: Feast
Just past five o’clock, Song Yuzhang arrived at the mansion where they had agreed to meet. This was the same place where he had hosted Nie Xueping last time—safe and reliable.
Since he was early, he sat in a garden rocking chair to enjoy the sunset. The glow of dusk was just like the day he had seen Song Zhenqiao off up the mountain—blood-red afterglow in the sky—but his state of mind now was entirely different. Even the setting sun seemed to radiate a sense of rising fortune.
Nie Xueping arrived to find Song Yuzhang lounging in the chair, one long leg propped up. The rocking chair was ochre yellow, his trousers navy blue—his long legs stretched endlessly. His black leather shoes tapped in rhythm, and even the sunlight at his toes seemed to sway with each motion.
Song Yuzhang was humming a tune. When he turned and saw Nie Xueping, he smiled and said, “Mr. Nie, you’re early.”
Nie Xueping walked over and stopped beside the chair. “I finished up early, so I came ahead of time.”
Song Yuzhang said, “As it should be. Liao Tiandong has had enough humiliation at the Mengs’. Let’s give him a bit of praise—it’ll lift his spirits.”
Hearing him speak, Nie Xueping felt a mix of emotions. He thought: this young man is only twenty, yet he always speaks with the air of an old soul. Everything he considers is weighed by benefit and interest. At twenty, most should still be on campus—playing tennis, dating girls, earning credits, cursing professors.
Song Yuzhang had someone bring over another rocking chair so Nie Xueping could sit with him.
Nie Xueping sat down, a bit unaccustomed to the swaying. He thought it rather childish—Song Yuzhang’s fondness for swings and rocking chairs.
“Mr. Nie.”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
Nie Xueping turned his head.
Song Yuzhang sat with hands folded, gently swaying, his face calm. “I only played the middleman, made a timely move. Still, I’ll have to rely on you and Director Liao from now on. Don’t cut me, the middleman, out. I trust your character, Mr. Nie, so I’m thanking you in advance.”
Nie Xueping nodded slightly. “It’s only right.”
Song Yuzhang knew his tone was a bit distant, but that was how he was with Nie Xueping—and with any of his lovers. Money was money. Affection was affection. He kept the lines clear, so things wouldn’t get messy when it ended. He wasn’t some boy toy living off others—he made his living through his own skills. And scamming was a skill too. Being a swindler wasn’t easy.
Nie Xueping, already in his thirties, ought to understand. Surely more sensible than the likes of the hot-headed Meng Tingjing. That one, Song Yuzhang would need a good break before he dared go near again.
The two of them sat side by side, watching the sun set. When Liao Tiandong arrived, the sight amused him—it looked like a father and son making polite conversation. Of course, Nie Xueping wasn’t nearly old enough for that, but his status naturally diminished those around him.
The Cantonese chef, grateful for Song Yuzhang’s appreciation, pulled out all the stops. The food took even longer to cook than last time.
Having learned from past experience, Song Yuzhang added a few local chefs to prepare small dishes in between and invited Liao Tiandong’s favorite opera performer, Xiao Fengxian, to liven up the atmosphere. Liao Tiandong was surprised. “Xiao Fengxian never performs at private feasts.”
Today, Xiao Fengxian was dressed as Yu Ji—graceful and charming, yet carrying a heroic flair. Smiling, he said, “I ignore others, but I won’t ignore Fifth Young Master’s feast.”
“Why?” Liao Tiandong glanced at Song Yuzhang and drew an invisible line between them. “Is it that I can’t afford what he offered?”
Xiao Fengxian giggled. “Fifth Master is just too handsome—I’m happy to come for him.”
Liao Tiandong was speechless, but also deeply impressed.
As for his behavior yesterday—storming into the Song bank—Liao Tiandong simply wiped it from his memory. After years in government, his skin was so thick that not even a blade could pierce it. Besides, once he’d seen that mountain of gold, he had no more reservations. After suffering under the Mengs for so long, he was done. He refused to believe the combined might of the Song and Nie families couldn’t take down the Mengs.
Liao Tiandong had made up his mind to switch sides. At the dinner table, he laughed and joked heartily. But seeing that Nie Xueping and Song Yuzhang were both quite refined, he gradually lowered his voice too, speaking in a deep, catlike rasp.
It was a fine meal, with all the assurances in place. Everyone left satisfied—Liao Tiandong most of all, Song Yuzhang no less so, and Nie Xueping wore his usual gentle smile, clearly content.
After Liao Tiandong left, Song Yuzhang sent someone to escort Xiao Fengxian back to the White Tower and thanked him for attending.
Xiao Fengxian smiled with pursed lips. “Fifth Young Master, will you do me the honor too?”
Song Yuzhang replied, “Tomorrow, I’ll come to see your performance.”
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Not tomorrow.” He had removed his makeup, his face clean and fair, a delicate and pretty young man. Tilting his head with a grin, he said, “Fifth Young Master, give me some face—kiss me.”
Song Yuzhang was a bit surprised. Despite Xiao Fengxian’s delicate looks, he didn’t give off a rabbit-like air—he’d heard the performer liked women.
Still, though puzzled, Song Yuzhang didn’t consider his own lips so valuable. And Xiao Fengxian was good-looking—worth kissing. So he leaned in and gave a light, dragonfly kiss on his clean cheek.
Xiao Fengxian was overjoyed, bouncing around. “I’m not washing my face tonight!”
Song Yuzhang couldn’t help but laugh.
Xiao Fengxian added, “Everyone in the theater said that back when Xiao Yuxian was all the rage, Fifth Young Master adored him to death. Now that you’ve kissed me, I’ve been loved by you too—I’m not losing to him at all!”
Song Yuzhang hadn’t expected that to be the reason. Seeing Xiao Fengxian so competitive was oddly endearing. He waved it off. “I’ll come support your show again tomorrow.”
仙真是有点意思。”
Back in the hexagonal pavilion, Nie Xueping watched through the glass as Song Yuzhang walked back, talking and laughing. “That Xiao Fengxian really is something.”
Nie Xueping smiled but said nothing. He’d had quite a bit to drink during the meal, and his smile had grown noticeably more relaxed.
Song Yuzhang stood before him and studied his face carefully. Seeing nothing but warmth and calm, no trace of displeasure, he liked him all the more—age does have its advantages: maturity!
If it had been Meng Tingjing, he’d surely be shouting and throwing punches by now.
Song Yuzhang wasn’t drunk—he could hold his liquor, and it was hard for him to get drunk easily. He was only slightly tipsy, and in that light haze, he lowered his head and cupped Nie Xueping’s face, kissing him again and again with lively delight.
Nie Xueping was like an ordinary gentleman in his thirties, completely even-tempered. To call him “middle-aged” was perhaps an overstatement—he was only thirty-two, without a single wrinkle on his face, his features handsome and upright. It was just his air of dignity that made him appear a bit “older.”
Song Yuzhang held his face and whispered, “Don’t go back tonight.”
Nie Xueping’s eyes were half-open, half-closed. He gave Song Yuzhang’s back a light pat. “Sober up first.”
The chef brewed the hangover tea quickly. Outside, the breeze was cool and fragrant with the scent of grass and trees. After a whole night of drinking, feasting, and socializing, Song Yuzhang finally had a moment to relax. He sipped the hot tea, sat in the garden amidst blooming flowers, and couldn’t help but feel a tinge of melancholy.
In life, who could ever predict if the next moment would be a rise or fall? He hadn’t expected that after years of drifting and wandering, he would ever settle down—and even truly grasp a few things in hand.
A half-dead bank.
A few brothers of questionable quality.
He chuckled—he actually had brothers now.
Song Yuzhang took another sip of tea, swayed his head, and closed his eyes with a faint, barely noticeable smile on his lips. Through the slits of his lashes, he glanced at the calm and composed Nie Xueping beside him.
And a lover twelve years older than him.
If Nie Xueping were four or five years older, he could’ve been his father.
Song Yuzhang reached out and held Nie Xueping’s hand. “Don’t leave tonight.”
His tone was more like an announcement than a request. To Nie Xueping, it came off a little domineering—but that same domineering air also carried a childlike quality, so he simply smiled. “Alright.”
The Nie family attendants were in disarray, completely unprepared for Nie Xueping to spend the night out. They practically tore the villa apart checking every corner before they were finally reassured enough to leave.
Seeing this scene, Song Yuzhang couldn’t help but laugh, though he quickly suppressed the smile—he guessed Nie Xueping must have suffered some sort of hidden loss before, which would explain such cautiousness. It wasn’t something to laugh about.
The bed in the small villa was clean and sun-dried just yesterday, still carrying the pleasant scent of sunlight.
As Song Yuzhang ran his hand over the fluffy quilt, he uncharacteristically felt a bit shy.
In truth, he hadn’t done this kind of thing in a while.
Strange, for such a flirtatious person, he often ended up involuntarily celibate for all kinds of reasons—what a twist of fate. Heaven envies beauty, truly.
There was Fu Mian. Then Meng Tingjing. Both very different, but each had kept him abstinent for a long time.
So, being young had its perks—but without question, it also brought a lot of trouble.
In contrast, Nie Xueping’s maturity and steadiness were truly rare and valuable.
Reflecting on himself, Song Yuzhang realized his past standards had been too narrow. But he couldn’t be blamed—he hadn’t seen enough of the world. Now that he had, he was ready to try something new with an open mind.
Out of habit, he leaned over and kissed Nie Xueping.
Their mouths both tasted faintly of strong tea and the lingering sweetness of wine. It felt quite pleasant. Holding Nie Xueping’s hand, Song Yuzhang led him to the bed, his steps light as if dancing. He intended to fall onto the bed naturally—but Nie Xueping stopped short at the edge.
Song Yuzhang’s face was already flushed with desire. Nie Xueping still wore a faint smile, his eyes soft and gentle. Song Yuzhang asked directly, “You don’t want to?”
Nie Xueping said nothing. Then Song Yuzhang suddenly realized, “You’ve never slept with a man.”
Nie Xueping rested a hand on his waist, still silent.
“Is it that you can’t? Or just uncomfortable?” Song Yuzhang sincerely asked. If Nie Xueping really couldn’t, then fine. He did like him, but not to the point of needing him above all else. Their partnership mattered more—no need to create conflict over a bit of pleasure.
He let go of his hand—but just as he released it, Nie Xueping caught it again. The hand on his waist tightened slightly as well, and he pulled Song Yuzhang into his embrace, brushing his lips against his temple and speaking in a low voice: “I’m afraid you won’t be able to take it.”
Heat immediately surged through Song Yuzhang’s body. The alcohol in his blood flared up, and Nie Xueping’s words alone sparked a wild wave of fantasies in his mind.
Everything was finally falling into place in his life, and he was in a moment of momentum—light-hearted, forward-driving, and full of desire.
He needed Nie Xueping. He also needed release.
Song Yuzhang pressed Nie Xueping down onto the bed.
Once lying down, Nie Xueping’s breadth became more apparent—broad shoulders, his tie askew, and his white shirt stretched taut over his firm chest. Song Yuzhang pressed his cheek against it and could hear his heartbeat.
It was fast.
Thump-thump-thump—beating like a drum.
Surprised, Song Yuzhang looked up.
Nie Xueping’s face was calm, still as gentle as ever. But his eyes shimmered with a deep, restrained glow, dark and absorbing, drawing Song Yuzhang’s gaze completely in.
Even at this moment, Song Yuzhang couldn’t say he fully understood Nie Xueping. He didn’t dare make any definite conclusions about his character. He only knew that gentleness was the surface. What lay underneath? He didn’t know. It needed to be explored, uncovered, risked.
And Song Yuzhang loved taking risks.
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