Song Yuzhang: Chapter 88 - Love and Hate
Chapter 88: Love and Hate
Song Yuzhang caused quite a stir at the bank. Song Jincheng had been staying at the Meng residence to keep Meng Sushan company, so it was only after returning that he heard from Song Yekang about what had happened. Song Yekang, who had been gloomy for quite some time, was visibly uplifted as he enthusiastically recounted how Song Yuzhang had turned the tide. He ended with a heartfelt sigh: “Fifth Brother is really impressive!”
After hearing everything, Song Jincheng gave a forced smile and let out a couple of insincere chuckles. “Impressive,” he said.
Song Yekang continued, “Sigh, whether we like it or not, we have to admit it. No wonder he went to Oxford. That day, I was so anxious I read the Diamond Sutra twice. It really calmed my mind. Eldest Brother, I think we should learn to let go.”
Song Jincheng looked at him as if he’d seen a ghost. “Where’s Third Brother?”
“At the bank.”
Song Jincheng scolded him, “And you were there reading scriptures!”
Song Yekang rolled his eyes. He was tempted to argue, but then thought Amitabha, never mind. He turned and walked toward the door. Before going in and locking it behind him in one fluid motion, he called back, “You’re so capable, huh? Then why were you hiding at the Meng house that day, too scared to come out?” After that, he ignored Song Jincheng’s furious yelling outside and picked up the Diamond Sutra to read aloud with great gusto.
As the son-in-law of the Meng family, Song Jincheng was expected to take charge during the mourning rites. The Song family, by custom, should defer to him in such matters. Song Yuzhang had already discussed this with Song Qiyuan in advance. “Thank you for understanding,” Song Qiyuan said.
“It’s nothing,” Song Yuzhang replied. “I don’t exactly have a thing for donning mourning garb.”
Song Qiyuan rubbed his brow. “In public, at least give your elder brother some face… family harmony leads to prosperity…”
Song Yuzhang nearly laughed aloud. Watching Song Qiyuan act like a father raising two unruly sons, he said, “Have you considered giving them something to do? Sitting around at home all day will make them go stir-crazy. Like Fourth Brother—he’s got a proper job, isn’t that better?”
Song Qiyuan sighed, lowering his hand. “We’ll see.”
Though their father had often beaten them at home, in the bank the elder brothers had always done whatever they pleased. One look at the mess of the books showed they treated the bank like their private piggy bank—transferring tens of thousands at will. If they carried that attitude into the outside world, Song Qiyuan didn’t have the energy to clean up after them.
“How’s Fourth Brother lately?”
“Want to know? Come home with me tonight.”
Song Yuzhang casually threw an arm around Song Qiyuan’s shoulder, which Song Qiyuan quickly brushed off. “Stop being so handsy.”
Song Yuzhang laughed and gave Song Qiyuan’s curly hair a playful tug. “Curly hair looks good—like a foreign dog.”
“Get lost!”
The two of them returned to the Song residence together. People say a house reflects its owner, and even the same house can feel different depending on who lives in it. Song Qiyuan felt the house’s atmosphere had changed—fewer people, yet somehow livelier.
The lawn had been left unattended for a while and had grown patchy. The grass on either side of the driveway had started leaning into the road. As soon as they got out of the car, the scent of crushed grass filled the air. Song Qiyuan stomped his feet. “It’s still a little chilly tonight.”
“That’s because you love looking stylish and dressed too lightly.”
“You’re not wearing much either.”
“I’m in better shape than you.”
“What a joke.” Song Qiyuan scoffed and strode ahead. “With your build? I could take on two of you at once.”
Song Yuzhang laughed and followed. “You mean Eldest Brother and Second Brother?”
Joking and laughing, they entered the house. The servants were all familiar old faces. One brought over a cup of tea. “Third Young Master, your tea.”
Song Qiyuan felt a bit like a guest, sitting down and taking a sip before realizing—this was his own house. What was he thinking, acting like a guest? He crossed one leg over the other and asked, “Where’s Fourth Brother?”
“Fourth Young Master hasn’t returned yet.”
Song Qiyuan looked over at Song Yuzhang, who was loosening his tie. “School’s been pretty busy, I think. He got home late last night too,” said Yuzhang.
“Really?”
Song Qiyuan said, “Should we send someone to the school to check?”
“You hungry?” Song Yuzhang asked. “Don’t worry, if you’re hungry, just eat first. We’re all family—no need to be so formal.”
Song Qiyuan hesitated, but considering how unruly his brothers were, he agreed.
Working at the bank had completely exhausted him. Liu Chuanzong was the impressive one—not only handling things himself, but also mentoring a kid on the side. Song Qiyuan thought, If I had to take any of my brothers to the bank to work, I’d rather hang myself.
Even though Song Qiyuan’s visit was unplanned, the kitchen had plenty of food prepared—more than the three of them would usually eat. “So many dishes. Were you planning to treat me today?” he asked.
Song Yuzhang replied with a straight face, “Yes.”
Song Qiyuan chuckled. “No need to be so polite.”
Song Yuzhang kept his head down, quietly eating. After a few bites, he couldn’t hold back and let out a chuckle. Song Qiyuan looked up and immediately figured it out. His face froze for a moment before breaking into a smile. “You two usually eat this much?”
Song Yuzhang stifled a laugh and waved his hand. “It’s me who eats a lot. Don’t blame Fourth Brother.”
“Eat so much, and yet you don’t gain weight?”
“I’ve got things to worry about,” Song Yuzhang said casually.
When Song Qiyuan realized what he meant, his smile faded a little.
Song Yuzhang noticed his change in expression and smiled, “Feeling guilty? Then eat less.”
Song Qiyuan shot him a glare. “You won’t go broke feeding me!”
After dinner, since Song Mingzhao hadn’t returned yet, the two went upstairs. Though Song Zhenqiao had died, he’d left behind a lot of valuable things—paintings and antiques that couldn’t be sold. Both brothers knew their value: Song Yuzhang understood prices, Song Qiyuan understood artistic worth.
On a whim, Song Yuzhang brought out a painting Nie Xueping had given him to show Song Qiyuan. Song Qiyuan admired it and clicked his tongue in wonder. “This is a Lin Mengqi piece, right? I’ve seen his work at auctions—it’s not cheap. Haven’t seen this one before though. Really good—rough but refined, the more you look, the more interesting it gets.”
Song Yuzhang laughed as he lit a cigarette, only to be scolded by Song Qiyuan. “Careful you don’t burn the painting.”
Song Yuzhang thought to himself: I’ve already burned the owner of the painting—what’s one more painting? Still, he obediently went out to smoke.
As soon as he stepped out, he was startled to see Song Mingzhao by the door. “Fourth Brother, you’re back?” Song Qiyuan heard the noise, put down the painting, and came out. “Back and didn’t have a servant call us?”
Song Mingzhao smiled as he looked at the two standing side by side. “The servants said you were upstairs, so I came to find you.”
“Have you eaten?” asked Song Yuzhang.
“Not yet… you guys?” Song Mingzhao smiled. “Finished already, I assume?”
“Yes. If you haven’t eaten, go get something now,” Song Qiyuan said. “Why is school suddenly so busy? Aren’t you just a teaching assistant?”
“You don’t know, Third Brother—being a teaching assistant is exactly what's busy. Professors just dump all the work on TAs,” said Song Yuzhang.
Song Qiyuan gave him a sideways glance and smiled, “You sure know a lot.”
“That’s because I’m one of those hands-off professors.”
“Oh? And I’m the poor sucker of a TA then?”
Song Yuzhang only smiled without answering, then turned to Song Mingzhao and said gently, “Fourth Brother, go downstairs and eat something, or you’ll end up starving.”
Song Mingzhao responded with a quiet “Mm” and turned to go downstairs.
Watching his back, Song Qiyuan said, “Fourth Brother’s matured. Maybe you’re right—perhaps it’s time Eldest Brother and Second Brother found something proper to do too.”
“If all else fails, just bring them to the bank.”
Song Qiyuan replied, “Don’t joke about that!”
“I’m not joking,” Song Yuzhang said. “You don’t think Liu Chuanzong could handle them?”
“Forget it. Old Liu has a kid to raise now. Let’s spare him the trouble. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m not really worried. I just don’t want you to burn out early. Third Brother, you’ve really aged lately. Maybe you should get your hair permed—look a little younger and prettier.”
“Get lost!”
Laughter and chatter floated down faintly from upstairs. Downstairs, Song Mingzhao sat alone in the vast, empty dining room. He picked at his rice and forced a bite into his mouth, but it was tasteless, like chewing wax.
After just a couple of bites, he suddenly slammed his chopsticks down hard on the table. The servants jumped in fright, only to hear him muttering under his breath, “… So noisy.”
After checking on his brothers, Song Qiyuan returned to face another one—Song Jincheng, who had been waiting. He asked about the situation at the bank, and Song Qiyuan simply said, “We made it through. Eldest Brother, don’t get any ideas. Fifth Brother held the bank up with his own ability. The bank belongs to him now.”
Song Jincheng forced a smile. “What a thing to say. Hasn’t the bank always been his?”
“Don’t worry,” Song Qiyuan said, clapping him on the shoulder. “With me around, I won’t let you suffer.”
Song Jincheng said, “Let’s not talk about that. Tomorrow we need to go pay our respects at the Meng Residence. How are we arranging that?”
“Arrange? Of course we’ll follow your lead, Eldest Brother.”
Song Jincheng looked at him, sensing no sarcasm or mockery, and his heart eased a bit. “Mm. Even though the family’s been divided, we’re still Song family. Let’s go together tomorrow.”
“Sure, no problem.”
After a pause, Song Jincheng asked, “You’re working at the bank now?”
Song Qiyuan, suspecting Song Jincheng might try to meddle again, said bluntly, “Eldest Brother, Old Liu and I already went through all the bank’s accounts. You know very well what’s in there even if I don’t say it. Since it’s over, let’s leave it there. You don’t bring it up, I won’t either—and from now on, you stay out of the bank’s business too.”
Song Jincheng looked sullen and didn’t speak for a long while. Eventually, he gave a slow, reluctant nod.
The next day, the five Song brothers gathered at the family home. It was the first time they had all been together again since dividing the inheritance.
Song Yekang came up to greet Song Yuzhang and handed him a string of prayer beads, saying they’d been blessed. Song Yuzhang casually thanked him and asked which master had done it. Song Yekang, both shy and serious, admitted he had blessed the beads himself the night before—reciting the Diamond Sutra several times. “I’ve gained a lot of insight from the Dharma,” he said. Song Yuzhang blinked, lips parting slightly. “Second Brother, that’s… very dedicated of you.”
“Not at all,” Song Yekang said modestly, turning to Song Mingzhao. “Fourth Brother, I was in a rush last night, I’ll give you yours next time.”
Song Jincheng watched all this coldly, thinking his second brother looked like a deranged clown. “Enough,” he said. “Let’s go early. I need to help Sushan.”
They arrived at the Meng residence early, before most of the cars had arrived. Led by the servants, the five of them entered the main hall.
Meng Sushan, dressed in a black qipao with a white flower in her hair, greeted them with her two younger sisters. Song Jincheng stayed behind to help her with receiving guests. She pinned an armband on him, then stepped away and quietly called out to Song Yuzhang. “Fifth Brother, thank you for coming.”
“It’s the least I can do, Sister-in-law. Don’t be too sad.”
She smiled. A full day and night had passed—grief had already been diluted by exhaustion. She held onto his sleeve and pleaded, “Fifth Brother, go check on Tingjing, will you?”
Song Yuzhang hesitated. “Where is he?”
“In his courtyard. I’ll have Wan Lan take you.”
“No need. I know the way.”
When she returned, Song Jincheng asked what she’d said to Song Yuzhang. “Nothing much. Just asked him to refresh the incense for Father.”
Song Yuzhang had a kind of professional sensitivity to paths and spaces. He quickly found his way through the maze-like corridors to Meng Tingjing’s private courtyard.
It was especially secluded and quiet. A round moon gate led in, with a rocking chair and a tea table outside—exactly the same as the last time Song Yuzhang had been there.
Just as he was about to step forward, Meng Tingjing emerged—dressed in mourning black, with a white armband.
They locked eyes across the distance, both staying perfectly still.
After a long moment, Meng Tingjing said quietly, “You came.”
“Sister-in-law asked me to check on you,” Song Yuzhang replied directly.
Meng Tingjing’s eyes were dark and intense as he strode toward Song Yuzhang. Song Yuzhang met his gaze calmly, his expression composed—as if nothing had ever happened between them.
When Tingjing stopped in front of him, he just stared. Song Yuzhang felt his face almost being burned through by the stare. He blinked slowly and said, “If you’re fine, I’ll get going.”
He hadn’t even taken a step before he was pulled into an embrace from behind. Meng Tingjing wrapped his arms around Song Yuzhang’s waist—not forcefully, but firmly enough that Song Yuzhang didn’t move. He said softly, “Let’s talk properly. Don’t be like this.”
Warm skin pressed against the nape of his neck, and Song Yuzhang could feel Meng Tingjing’s eyelashes like fallen leaves brushing lightly against his skin. He sighed inwardly and gently pried Meng Tingjing’s hands off his waist. Meng Tingjing didn’t grab on again. Just as his arms dropped away, Meng Tingjing suddenly asked, “Have you ever wished I were dead?”
Song Yuzhang was slightly taken aback and turned his head.
Tingjing looked calm—not mad, not frantic.
“Have you ever thought, if I died, you’d finally be free? That it would be a relief?”
Song Yuzhang let out a helpless smile. “Tingjing, how could you think that?”
Meng Tingjing stepped half a pace closer. Song Yuzhang didn’t retreat, but glanced warily at the hand Meng Tingjing raised, suspecting he might go for his throat again. But instead, Meng Tingjing gently pressed his palm to Song Yuzhang’s cheek. Song Yuzhang raised his eyes to look at him, seeing Meng Tingjing’s unwavering gaze. Then Meng Tingjing lowered his head. Song Yuzhang turned his face away, but Meng Tingjing’s forehead came to rest gently against his temple—his skin slightly warm.
“You don’t love me. And you don’t hate me either.”
Meng Tingjing murmured.
Song Yuzhang let out a slow sigh. “Isn’t that for the best?” He paused. “Tingjing, I really don’t understand. Do you love me, or do you hate me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t love me. And don’t hate me either.”
Meng Tingjing was silent for a while—then suddenly pulled him into a fierce embrace again, this time holding on tightly, almost desperately. “You can control yourself, but you can’t control me,” he whispered. “Song Yuzhang, you’d better hope I die soon. Only then will you have peace.”
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