Song Yuzhang: Chapter 95 - Only a Wall Apart
Chapter 95: Only a Wall Apart
The night was pitch black, and fires burned brightly on the mountain. Nie Yinbing smoked a cigarette while absentmindedly playing with a lighter in his hand.
He thought of Zhao Jianfang again.
Zhao Jianfang’s fingers were both clean and slender. His nails were a soft pink and neatly trimmed into a rounded shape. His knuckles were slightly prominent. Holding a cigarette between two fingers, he brought it to his lips, flicked the lighter with his thumb—“click”—a flame of blue with a hint of orange flared, lighting the cigarette. He took a deep drag with his full lips, exhaling smoke, then asked, “Want one?”
Nie Yinbing didn’t smoke, but somehow, he said, “Sure.”
Zhao Jianfang pulled out a cigarette and handed it to him. Nie Yinbing didn’t take it. “Light it for me.”
Zhao Jianfang paused, then smiled. He smiled so cheerfully it was as if all the joy in the world belonged to him alone. He lowered his head slightly and said, “Alright, young master. Let me light it for you.”
Nie Yinbing turned the cigarette between his fingers and stared at the smoke curling from its tip, as if it bore Zhao Jianfang’s silhouette. For the past half year, though he couldn’t find Zhao Jianfang, Zhao Jianfang seemed to be everywhere.
Burning corpses took far more time and effort than killing. The soldiers had been burning bodies from midnight until two or three in the morning before they were mostly done.
“Second Master, it’s finished.”
Nie Yinbing glanced at the scorched ground. “Fetch some water to wash.”
The soldier looked dumbfounded. “Uh… there’s probably no water source nearby.”
“Then go farther.”
They knew better than to argue with this superior and obediently took a small team to find water. On the way, one of them grumbled, not understanding the point of it.
A more experienced soldier with him replied, “Someone’s asked that before.”
“What? Someone actually dared to ask?”
Imitating Nie Yinbing’s cold, emotionless tone, he slowly said, “If it’s not cleaned properly, the grass won’t grow next year.”
“And what’s that got to do with him?!”
“Don’t ask,” the man said. “He’s the officer. Just follow orders.”
It took nearly two months for Nie Yinbing to wipe out all the bandits in the area. Seventeen soldiers were lost, and he gained a new scar on his back. Luckily, it was only a knife wound—shallow and already scabbed, though still itchy. Nie Yinbing tilted his head to resist the urge to scratch. He mounted his horse, wrapped the reins around one hand a few times, and scanned the blood-soaked, burned land without emotion. Then he turned his face away and decisively left it behind.
“Return to the city.”
“Yes, sir!”
The soldiers followed Nie Yinbing on a night march back to the city. He rode a new horse seized from the bandits. Though injured, the horse charged ahead as if its life depended on it. Nie Yinbing soon pulled far ahead of the group, galloping alone in the darkness.
Half the soldiers were his old subordinates and were used to his behavior. Their superior was a cold, silent man who only spoke to shock. By now, they were well-accustomed to his ways.
Nie Yinbing traveled under the stars for two straight days and nights, finally nearing Haizhou. The road was smooth—no delays, no bandits—likely because the gang had been wiped out and the rest dared not make trouble.
By the time he entered Haizhou, it was already deep into the night.
His sudden return startled the household. When he knocked, it was the butler, Nie Mao, who came to receive him. Wrapped in a thin robe and holding a candle, he looked both surprised and worried. “Second Master, why are you back at this hour?”
Nie Yinbing dismounted. “Where’s my brother?”
“At this time? The Master turned in early.”
Nie Mao instructed the servants to take his horse. “Second Master, please come in. Why do you smell so strongly of blood…?”
At the entrance to his courtyard, Nie Yinbing stripped off his clothes. Nie Mao stepped forward to take them. “Don’t keep them. Burn them.”
“Yes, sir.”
The clothes were beyond saving—stiff with blood and grime. Nie Mao’s heart ached. “Second Master, you’re injured?”
“Just a small wound.”
Nie Yinbing had already pulled off his shirt and thrown it into Nie Mao’s arms.
The itch was unbearable.
Rolling his shoulders to relieve the urge, he felt the scab stretch and twitch. “Bring me cold water.”
He took a cold-water bath in the courtyard.
It was nearly December, and Haizhou’s autumn was clinging to life. The nights already had the bite of winter. Nie Mao held a towel nearby, shivering for his master.
But Nie Yinbing wasn’t cold. After days of horseback riding, his whole body was overheated. The warmth made his scar itch unbearably. Only cold water could bring relief.
After dousing himself with two buckets, he shook his head, sending droplets flying from his hair. Nie Mao rushed forward to wrap a towel around his steaming torso. Nie Yinbing rested a hand on the towel and glanced at the courtyard wall.
His courtyard was separated from Nie Xueping’s by only a single wall. He could faintly see light shining through. Towel-drying his hair, Nie Yinbing said, “My brother’s room… still lit.”
Inside, the room was ablaze with light—from the chandelier to the sconces. In that radiant space, Song Yuzhang looked like a sleek, beautiful silver fish.
He wore only two colors—pink and white. At first glance, he was warm jade, soft silk. His skin shimmered, the lines of his muscles appeared finely sculpted, with the natural beauty of divine design.
His face tilted back, lost in pleasure, eyes half-lidded and hazy, staring at Nie Xueping’s handsome, sweat-sheened face.
Nie Xueping bent down to kiss him, and Song Yuzhang breathed deeply with each movement.
His arms wrapped around Nie Xueping’s neck, their bodies pressed closely together. After a slow, tender rhythm came another round of fierce intensity, tossing Song Yuzhang into dizziness and ecstasy.
Nie Xueping kissed his damp face. Song Yuzhang leaned against his shoulder, a smile still lingering on his lips. Then he rolled over and sprawled atop Nie Xueping.
Both were drenched in sweat, clinging together in intimate delight.
Song Yuzhang stroked Nie Xueping’s cheek possessively, lowered his head to kiss his collarbone, took a deep breath, and kissed him again.
They were extremely compatible in bed.
Song Yuzhang thoroughly enjoyed the physical side of their relationship.
Nie Xueping, usually so proper, was just as proper in bed—rarely speaking flirtatiously, hardly making a sound. This gave Song Yuzhang a sense of safety and ease. He didn’t have to think about anything else.
A gentle, thoughtful, and measured lover, Nie Xueping made the relationship feel utterly effortless—pure enjoyment, nothing more.
Sometimes, Song Yuzhang even felt that if things continued like this, it wouldn’t be so bad. In all of Haizhou, where could he find another man like Nie Xueping—calm, quiet, handsome, understanding, and unafraid of crossing Meng Tingjing? Such men were rare.
After a while of soft murmuring and intimacy, Song Yuzhang lay back down, reached for the teacup at the bedside, and took a sip. “I think I heard something outside just now.”
Nie Xueping sat up. “Did you?”
“Listen—”
A faint flush colored Song Yuzhang’s cheeks. He turned slightly toward the door, holding his breath, then murmured, “There’s water running outside.”
Nie Xueping paused for a moment. Sure enough, he faintly heard the sound of water—whoosh whoosh—not too far away. He leaned down and kissed Song Yuzhang’s cheek. “I’ll go take a look.”
Nie Xueping put on a set of silver-gray satin pajamas and threw a dark robe over it. As he stepped out into the courtyard, he saw Nie Mao approaching and greeted him with surprise and joy: “Master, Second Master has returned.”
“Is that so?”
Nie Xueping quickened his pace but then stopped again and ordered, “Have the kitchen prepare a late-night meal.”
Nie Mao acknowledged the order and hurried off. Nie Xueping returned to the bedroom, where Song Yuzhang was still lounging lazily on the bed, the blanket only half covering him, looking like a figure from an oil painting.
Sitting down by the bed, Nie Xueping gently pulled the blanket up and said softly, “Yinbing’s back.”
Still lost in the afterglow, Song Yuzhang’s thoughts momentarily drifted before he smiled lightly. “Ah, the second young master. I’ve never met him before.” He propped himself up on one arm, revealing a broad expanse of smooth, pale chest. “Bring him in. Let me see if he looks anything like you.”
Nie Xueping chuckled, brushed a hand through Song Yuzhang’s sweat-dampened hair, and said, “I’ll be right back.”
Nie Yinbing had just returned to his room and was pulling on a loose robe, sitting by the doorway taking off his boots when Nie Xueping entered. He looked up and greeted, “Brother.”
“Nie Mao said you were injured.”
“Mm, a minor wound.”
“Let me see.”
Nie Yinbing lifted the robe to show the wound on his back.
Nie Xueping examined the injury, then looked at Nie Yinbing’s calm face. “Have the doctor take another look.”
Nie Yinbing let the robe fall. “No need—it’s already scabbed over.”
Knowing his younger brother’s temperament, Nie Xueping said gently, “It’s not for you—it’s for me. Let me have some peace of mind.”
Nie Yinbing considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”
Though they weren’t born of the same mother, the brothers had always been close. Nie Yinbing was the kind who lacked a certain emotional insight—making it all the more necessary for Nie Xueping, as the elder, to look out for him. Nie Xueping accepted that responsibility without complaint. It was simply what a big brother should do.
Suddenly, Nie Yinbing looked up from beneath his lashes and asked, “Did you find a woman?”
Nie Xueping was briefly startled, then quickly understood. Sitting down, he replied, “No.”
Nie Yinbing had little interest in his brother’s private life. Their sister-in-law had passed away over five years ago—remarrying would be perfectly normal. He’d only asked in passing, not meaning anything by it.
“All the bandits in that area have been dealt with, but I still want to go out and look for him myself. No one else takes it seriously.” Nie Yinbing’s gaze dropped as he said flatly, “I miss him so much I can’t bear it.”
His thoughts always jumped around like this—but Nie Xueping still understood what he meant.
Nie Xueping frowned slightly—not because he was unwilling to let his brother search, but because after all this time and effort, Nie Yinbing had found nothing. To find one person in a vast sea of people with no clues was nearly impossible. All he had was a memory in his mind—what was he going to do, drag every person in China out and compare faces one by one?
Even now, Nie Xueping still couldn’t bring himself to say outright that “Zhao Jianfang” was likely a fake name. He couldn’t bear to see his stubborn brother crushed by disappointment.
“You’re looking for a needle in a haystack. It’s nearly impossible.”
“Even in a haystack, sometimes you find the needle.”
“Is it really that important to find him?”
“Yes.”
“What if you never find him—not in this lifetime?”
“Then I’ll look for a lifetime,” Nie Yinbing said without hesitation.
Nie Xueping was silent for a long moment, then sighed. “Then go.”
Nie Mao brought in the midnight snack. Nie Yinbing, clearly hungry, dove right in and started eating heartily, paying no mind to the concerned big brother or butler who had stayed up for him.
Nie Xueping quietly got up and gave Nie Mao a look. Nie Mao nodded quickly to indicate he’d take care of Second Master.
Back in the bedroom, Song Yuzhang was already asleep.
He didn’t sleep very tidily. His long arms and legs splayed out in all directions, each with a will of its own, making the large bed look messy. It was only in these quiet moments that Nie Xueping was reminded that his young boyfriend was still a twenty-something college student. Most of the time, Song Yuzhang was so mature he didn’t seem like a carefree young lord at all.
Nie Xueping sat by the bed, lifted Song Yuzhang’s hand, and gently kissed it.
The next morning, Nie Yinbing woke up very early, intending to visit Shen Chengduo for information. Since he didn’t want to disturb anyone, he slipped quietly out through the back door.
But there was already a car waiting at the back gate. Nie Mao was seeing someone off, and Nie Yinbing caught a glimpse of a long leg being retracted into the vehicle—light gray trousers with a sharp crease, polished black leather shoes.
When the car pulled away, Nie Mao turned around and was startled to find Nie Yinbing standing silently like a ghost. “Oh my goodness, Second Master! You scared me!”
Nie Yinbing asked, “Who was that?”
Nie Mao shuffled over and hesitated for a second, but decided to tell the truth. “Fifth Young Master from the Song family. He came last night to talk business with the Master.”
“Still here at this hour?”
“You don’t know, Second Master? Haizhou’s building a new railway. Song Bank and the Meng family are both investing, and so are we, of course. The Master’s been terribly busy—he often talks all night with President Song.”
Nie Yinbing responded with a nonchalant “Mm,” then turned to leave—only to turn back again. Staring at the empty road, he suddenly gave a small laugh. Startled by the rare sight, Nie Mao asked, “Second Master, what are you laughing at?”
Nie Yinbing turned his head, didn’t answer, and walked back inside muttering quietly to himself, “So it really wasn’t a woman.”
Inside, Nie Xueping was reading the newspaper when Nie Yinbing strode in and said bluntly, “Brother, were you having a tryst with that young master from the Song family last night?”
Nie Xueping held the edges of the newspaper with both hands, the lower half of his face hidden behind it, revealing only his eyes and a glint of his monocle as he stared at Nie Yinbing without replying.
“His name is Song Yuzhang, right?” Nie Yinbing said. “I’ve seen him—upstairs at Shen Chengduo’s place. He had two boys in his arms. Disgraceful.”
Nie Xueping lowered his gaze to the paper, his lashes fluttering faintly behind the lens. He said lightly, “Kids like to play.”
“I’m just warning you.”
“I understand.”
Nie Yinbing turned to leave but was stopped by his brother’s voice. “Don’t talk about this outside.”
“I won’t,” Nie Yinbing replied. “There’s no glory in being involved with someone like that—nothing worth advertising.”
Nie Xueping watched silently as his brother walked away. Even after Nie Yinbing’s figure disappeared completely, he didn’t move. The ticking of the clock filled the room. After a while, Nie Xueping folded the newspaper and set it on the table, rubbing his brow with a sigh.
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