Song Yuzhang: Chapter 98 - Brotherhood
Chapter 98: Brotherhood
Obedient and unquestioning—that version of Nie Yinbing had returned.
Song Yuzhang suddenly became aware of his own wickedness.
He had never meant to toy with the feelings of two brothers, yet somehow, step by step, he had ended up exactly here.
As for Nie Xueping, he hadn’t originally harbored any romantic thoughts. But after sensing Nie Xueping’s feelings on the night of August 14... Song Yuzhang wasn’t even sure whether his initial fondness had, instinctively, already carried a hint of exploitation. He didn’t like dissecting himself—no one looks good under a microscope.
Let things take their course.
At least now, his feelings for Nie Xueping were real.
And he wasn’t in the habit of messing with someone’s entire family—he’d only swindled Nie Yinbing out of a thousand yuan back then. As long as he returned it, it would be fine. Nie Yinbing’s feelings—he hadn’t wanted to deceive them, and he didn’t want them, either.
“Yinbing, thank you for understanding. Let’s head out for now—how about grabbing a bite to eat? My treat. Back then, I had no money and kept letting you pay for meals. I really was terrible. You were so good to me, and I still joked around with you.”
Song Yuzhang tried to pull his hand back. When it didn’t move the first time, he looked a bit embarrassed—conspicuously so. On the second try, Nie Yinbing finally let go.
Nie Yinbing’s expression still seemed dazed, like he was in a dream.
Song Yuzhang wasn’t sure if this was just his tendency to "love the house and its crow" or if he had genuinely changed. But now, even toward this tall, unsmiling man who was far from the “pretty boy” type, he felt a bit of pity.
Maybe he used to look up to people like Nie Yinbing—wealthy, powerful, high above. Back then, scamming a little money off them hadn’t seemed like a big deal. But now, seeing Nie Yinbing as an equal, he realized there was something a little pitiable about him too.
The two walked out into the courtyard, where Shen Chengduo was waiting, smoking a cigarette. Seeing them, he quickly stubbed it out and came forward.
“Second Master Nie, Brother Song, everything’s alright now?”
“All good. Just a misunderstanding,” Song Yuzhang said. “Sorry for alarming you, Brother Shen.”
Shen Chengduo truly had been rattled.
If either Nie Yinbing or Song Yuzhang had come to harm at his place, it would’ve spelled disaster for him.
“Oh, good, good. As long as everything’s fine.”
Shen Chengduo’s gaze kept flicking toward Nie Yinbing. That scene from earlier—Nie Yinbing pulling a gun, then suddenly running up to embrace Song Yuzhang—had been utterly baffling. Did these two know each other or not? Was there old resentment, or old affection?
Nie Yinbing’s face gave nothing away. And Song Yuzhang? Even less.
Shen Chengduo felt curious, but he knew curiosity killed the cat. He wisely decided not to probe further.
Song Yuzhang called out to Liu Chu, “Go tell the driver to get the car. I’m taking Second Master Nie out to eat.”
Liu Chu responded smartly, but shot Nie Yinbing a huge eye-roll.
Song Yuzhang and Nie Yinbing went to a Western restaurant for dinner.
Nie Yinbing looked like he had nothing to say. He barely even looked at Song Yuzhang.
He still couldn’t make sense of it—how Zhao Jianfang had become Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang took the opportunity during the meal to sound him out—crafting a perfect story that he could also repeat to Nie Xueping if necessary.
Of course, he didn’t lay it out all at once, but rather wove it naturally into the conversation, in a way Nie Yinbing could accept.
Nie Yinbing said, “I understand. I won’t tell him you were Zhao Jianfang.”
“Yinbing, you’re really the best.”
Nie Yinbing stared blankly at the ice cream on his plate, then pushed it toward Song Yuzhang. “You eat it.”
When the two had spent time together before, Song Yuzhang often ate Nie Yinbing’s “leftovers”—anything Nie didn’t like would get pushed to him.
Seeing how out of it Nie Yinbing seemed, Song Yuzhang didn’t refuse. He ate both his own and Nie Yinbing’s ice cream, freezing his teeth in the December chill of Haizhou, silently cursing the Western restaurant for still serving ice cream in winter.
“Yinbing, I want to give you a gift to thank you for how you looked after me back then.”
Nie Yinbing looked up at him briefly, then immediately lowered his head. “I don’t need it.”
“Just take it as a token of my gratitude. I really did wrong by you back then. Let me make it up to you.”
“I don’t need it.”
He repeated it, in that same cold, dismissive tone of his—like he didn’t just reject the apology, but had no regard for Song Yuzhang himself.
Song Yuzhang twirled his spoon through the ice cream and smiled lightly. “Alright, then. I’ll listen to you.”
“Say it again.”
“What?”
“What you just said. Say it again.”
Song Yuzhang lowered his head and chuckled again. The reflective surface of the spoon distorted his face. He said gently, “Alright, then. I’ll listen to you.”
Nie Yinbing sat still for a while. Then, without warning, he got up and walked out of the restaurant without so much as a goodbye.
Through the glass, Song Yuzhang watched his tall figure disappear into the crowd. The Nie family car hastily followed.
Behind him, Liu Chu muttered, “Was he your old flame or something?”
Song Yuzhang turned around. Liu Chu, small as he was, had leaned over the back of the chair, his thin face sticking out and blinking those big eyes.
Song Yuzhang flicked his forehead. “Stop talking nonsense. You done eating? Then let’s go.”
“Tch.” Liu Chu flopped back into his seat and kept munching his bread, grumbling, “You get steak, I get bread. What gives?”
Back at the bank, Song Yuzhang sat and once again pondered his relationship with the Nie brothers. Taking a step back and viewing it objectively, he concluded that it might be best to cut things off with Nie Xueping, too.
True, Nie Xueping was a very qualified and reliable lover—but Nie Yinbing’s existence left him feeling unsettled.
Maybe he really had changed. With his current status and identity, he was starting to care about appearances now.
He touched his own face and sighed softly.
Opening a file on his desk, he scanned the contents, then closed it again.
After some time in contemplation, he still hadn’t made a decision on how to handle his relationship with the Nie brothers. He’d have to think on it a bit longer.
After a full afternoon at the bank, on the ride home to the Song residence, he cleared his mind and focused once more on this emotional tangle with the Nie family.
Nie Yinbing’s feelings—unrequited. Not his fault.
Nie Xueping—pursued him voluntarily. Also not his fault.
If neither were his fault, then why did he still feel so guilty toward the Nie brothers?
Song Yuzhang shook his head in the car, realizing he was holding himself to higher and higher standards these days.
“Hey, Fifth Young Master,” the driver suddenly said. “Isn’t that Fourth Young Master over there?”
Song Mingzhao was squatting against the wall outside their house.
He had been standing at first, but after a while he got tired and squatted down. Then squatting made him sore too, so he braced himself on his legs to stand again. After repeating this a few times, he finally saw Song Yuzhang’s car.
Song Mingzhao tried to stand, but his legs were numb—he couldn’t get up. He had to lean against the wall behind him for support, watching as Song Yuzhang stepped out of the car and walked toward him.
“Fourth Brother.”
Song Mingzhao kept his head down, not daring to meet Song Yuzhang’s eyes.
“Why are you squatting out here and not going in?”
He said nothing for a while, then finally murmured in a small voice, “Xiao Yu, I know I was wrong.”
Song Yuzhang was unusually softhearted today.
Nie Xueping loved him. Nie Yinbing loved him. And Song Mingzhao loved him too. Perhaps, for those who loved him, he ought to show a little kindness in return.
He sighed inwardly, then reached out his hand to him. “Fourth Brother, let’s go inside first. We’ll talk then.”
Song Mingzhao nearly burst into tears. His eyes brimmed with tears, but he was already twenty-three years old—a grown man. At school, plenty of men his age were already married with children. Yet here he was, crying in front of his younger brother. It really was a bit disgraceful.
Like a beggar pulled off the street by a kind soul, Song Mingzhao was led home by Song Yuzhang.
Song Yuzhang asked gently if he had eaten, if he was hungry. That only made Song Mingzhao feel more like a beggar. He wanted to be proud, but the truth was he hadn’t had dinner, and he’d barely eaten lunch or breakfast. He hadn’t had much appetite—but he was hungry.
“No, I haven’t eaten. I’m a bit hungry.”
Song Yuzhang summoned the servants and instructed the kitchen to make dinner, ordering all the dishes Song Mingzhao usually liked. Hearing this, Song Mingzhao felt both joy and sorrow—it only made him feel more undeserving.
When angry, Song Mingzhao could only see his own pain and grievances. But once the anger faded, the guilt hit harder than ever. He felt like everything was his fault. He wished he could hop in a time machine and go back to the day of the Meng family’s funeral, poison himself mute with one pill—then none of this would have happened.
Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut in front of so many people? Why did he have to be impulsive and start a scene with Song Yuzhang?
And after all that, what did he even achieve?
What result did he expect?
Unanswerable questions—because he simply couldn’t let go.
Day and night, Song Mingzhao was so consumed with regret he felt like he could cough up blood—he hadn’t, but he had vomited twice. The weather had turned cold, and since he hadn’t been thinking about himself, he’d dressed too lightly, caught a chill, and gotten a fever. He didn’t mind; he saw it as his punishment.
The scent of Song family cooking had become unfamiliar to him—and even more so, the presence of Song Yuzhang by his side. After a few bites, he couldn’t hold back and pressed his palm against his eyes.
Song Yuzhang rarely saw people cry—especially men. He sighed silently, put down his chopsticks, and reached out to hug Song Mingzhao’s soft, fluffy head. “Alright, Fourth Brother. Don’t be sad anymore. We’re brothers, after all—bones may break, but the sinew stays connected. Brothers quarrel sometimes—it’s normal. It’s all in the past now. Don’t dwell on it.”
Song Mingzhao’s eyes streamed with tears, but his throat wouldn’t let him sob. He spoke slowly, like he had a mouthful of water: “Xiao Yu, I’m sorry. I embarrassed you.”
“Not at all, Fourth Brother. I know it’s because you care too much about me.”
The gentler Song Yuzhang was, the more guilty Song Mingzhao felt. Tears poured down like a flood.
Song Yuzhang patted his shoulder and leaned close to whisper, “We’re close brothers—closeness is natural. But even so, Fourth Brother, there are limits to some things. Do you understand what I mean?”
Song Mingzhao was still crying, but the moment he heard that, his face turned completely red, as if scorched by fire. It was like someone had punctured his deepest secret—he felt a wave of pain and panic. Even his tears stopped. His mouth clamped shut, and even Song Yuzhang’s embrace now filled him with fear. He felt completely exposed, as if he stood naked under Song Yuzhang’s gaze—a shame stripped of all defense.
“…I understand.”
Song Yuzhang let go and handed him a handkerchief. While Song Mingzhao wiped his face, Song Yuzhang said, “Actually, I think this might be a good arrangement. You and Third Brother can take turns living here—switch every so often. Or stay wherever you feel like that day. Since Third Brother often comes by anyway, the brothers can rotate, stay close, and avoid crowding. Everyone wins. What do you think, Fourth Brother?”
All Song Mingzhao could say was “okay.”
He felt like he was some kind of suffering martyr—like Jesus on the cross. It was fate, and all he could do was endure and come to terms with it. No one else could save him. He wiped his tears, then slowly picked up his chopsticks again. It was another form of resignation. But at least he had come back—like a stubborn patch of bandage peeling itself off and sticking again.
After dinner, Song Yuzhang stood, and Song Mingzhao stood too. He didn’t ask for much—just looked at him and said earnestly, “Xiao Yu, I missed you so much.”
Song Yuzhang smiled and opened his arms. “Come on. Let’s hug.”
Song Mingzhao stepped into the hug cautiously.
The scent, the warmth, the presence of Song Yuzhang—he hadn’t felt any of it in so long. Just one day apart felt like three autumns. Song Mingzhao knew he was being pathetic, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t control himself.
He slowly wrapped his arms forward. When his arms circled around to Song Yuzhang’s waist, his hand brushed against something hard. He froze—it felt like…
He jerked his hand back like he’d touched a live wire. “Xiao Yu, are you carrying a gun?”
Song Yuzhang glanced down, then smiled and tugged his coat closed. “Bought it for self-defense.”
“Be careful it doesn’t go off,” Song Mingzhao said anxiously.
Letting go of his coat, Song Yuzhang smiled. “Don’t worry—I don’t carry it every day.”
He had grown strong enough now. He no longer needed a gun to protect himself.
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