Song Yuzhang: Chapter 103 - Past Events
Chapter 103: Past Events
When Song Mingzhao returned, Meng Tingjing was just getting into his car. The two of them ran into each other at the door. Meng Tingjing was reminded of the past and had a strong urge to slap Song Mingzhao twice. Song Mingzhao, remembering the past as well, only felt more ashamed and regretful toward Song Yuzhang—and also wanted to slap himself.
Meng Tingjing was in the middle of a self-imposed reform, trying to transform the violent and domineering nature he’d developed over the past twenty-something years, so he suppressed the impulse to hit Song Mingzhao. Instead, he pointed at him from a distance and said sharply, “Don’t cause him more trouble.”
Standing in the courtyard of his own home, Song Mingzhao was being scolded and pointed at like a dog, but all he could do was feel guilty and genuinely believe that Meng Tingjing was right to scold him.
After Meng Tingjing left, Song Mingzhao lightly slapped himself in the face and repeated in a low voice, “Don’t cause him more trouble.”
He went into the house, which was cold and deserted. When he called for a servant, they said Fifth Young Master had eaten dinner and gone upstairs to bed.
“He ate alone?”
“Second Young Master Meng ate with him.”
“When did Second Young Master Meng arrive?”
“He came in the afternoon.”
“How long did he stay?”
“He was here all afternoon, upstairs talking with Fifth Young Master.”
Song Mingzhao dryly let out an “oh,” then trudged upstairs with his briefcase, dejected. He thought of greeting Song Yuzhang but hesitated—what if Song Yuzhang didn’t want to see him? Or what if he saw something on Song Yuzhang’s body that he shouldn’t?
His left hand trembled slightly.
His hand had been numb for the past two days. He’d gone to the hospital, and the doctor said it was a nerve issue.
Song Mingzhao froze. “Does that mean I have a nervous disorder?”
“It’s a problem with your hand’s nerves, not your mental state. A nerve disorder and a mental illness are two different things.”
The doctor explained smoothly, clearly used to such questions.
Song Mingzhao more or less understood, took the prescribed medication—three times a day—but it was completely ineffective.
He didn’t tell anyone, thinking it wasn’t important.
Back in his room, he sat on the bed in a daze. When he finally looked at his watch, he realized he’d been sitting there for two hours.
Seeing the watch reminded him of the one he had bought for Song Yuzhang. He stood up, sat down, stood up again—repeating the cycle a few times—but in the end, he still didn’t go to find him.
Madame Bovary was missing, and the watch was probably gone too.
Song Mingzhao sat in a daze for a while longer, then told himself, “It doesn’t matter.”
Now there was another drifting soul in the Song residence. After watching him wander gloomily for several days, Song Yuzhang finally suggested that Song Mingzhao go stay with Song Qiyuan for a couple of days.
Song Mingzhao was drinking congee. Upon hearing this, he paused with the spoon at his lips and thought, Did I do something wrong again? I didn’t even say anything to Meng Tingjing that day… He just doesn’t like me anymore… Now that he has Meng Tingjing, he doesn’t want me.
“Okay,” Song Mingzhao said quietly, lowering his head. “I’ll go to Third Brother’s tonight.”
Song Qiyuan’s place wasn’t exactly lively either. Song Yekang had apparently truly decided to become a monk. He stayed in his room reading scriptures and was currently looking for a monastery. Monasteries were in high demand now—many wanted to become monks because, at least, monks had food to eat. For someone like Song Yekang, who already had enough food at home, ordaining would mean stealing a monk’s livelihood, which went against Buddhist teachings and seemed inappropriate.
But Song Yekang wasn’t in a hurry. Spiritually, he already felt purified, and the formal process didn’t need to be rushed.
Seeing through the world often happened in a single instant. After Meng Huanzhang’s funeral, the more Song Yekang thought, the more he felt life was an illusion. Even someone as powerful as Song Zhenqiao had chosen to end his own life. A scholar of Meng Huanzhang’s caliber had died in complete disgrace—what was the point of all this worldly pursuit? After much contemplation, he decided that ordaining might be the better path.
After truly making the decision, Song Yekang began reflecting on his past, wondering whether he’d done anything in his life that could be considered a karmic sin.
He didn’t consider himself perfect, but also felt he hadn’t done anything truly bad. Alienating his brothers didn’t count—they’d alienated him back, so it was even.
There was only one thing he truly couldn’t excuse himself for.
—Song Jincheng’s child.
That child and her mother lived overseas, just the two of them, with barely enough money. The child had never known her father—she was pitiful. He had helped to push that situation to where it was. While he’d done it as part of the sibling rivalry, he had no illegitimate child of his own for Song Jincheng to get revenge with—so ultimately, he owed Jincheng and that mother and daughter.
Carrying this guilt, he wanted to talk to Song Jincheng, but was afraidSong Jincheng would hit him. After all, Song Jincheng hadn’t studied Buddhism, and their spiritual levels were miles apart.
Writing a letter seemed too cowardly. Putting it in black and white wasn’t ideal either—what if he became a renowned master in the future? That letter would become a blemish on his record.
After much thought, Song Yekang decided to find a middleman.
If someone else was present, Song Jincheng might not immediately hit him. And if he did, the other person could help break up the fight.
As for the third person—after thinking it over, Song Yekang could only choose from his brothers. After all, family matters shouldn’t be aired outside.
Song Qiyuan now resembled Song Zhenqiao to a fault, and Song Yekang worried that if he got angry, he’d beat up both him and Song Jincheng. As for Song Yuzhang, he was technically complicit in the incident—but now that he was the bank president and had moved out of the main household, he was at least more neutral...
“Fourth Brother.”
Song Mingzhao had his hand on the door and paused, turning his head back. His eyes were steady, and he thought to himself—Here it is again. They’re about to kick me out.
“Come back early tonight. There’s something we need to discuss.”
Song Mingzhao gave a half-hearted “oh” in reply. He felt adrift, unattached to anything, and didn’t care what the matter was. Right now, he was like a homeless wanderer—where he would sleep each night was a matter of luck.
With his emotional entanglements cleared away, Song Yuzhang felt lighter without “love.” But when he arrived at the bank and started reviewing the ledgers, his brows furrowed slightly. “The bad debt rate keeps going up.”
Liu Chuanzong replied, “The war is pressing. Times are hard.”
Song Yuzhang tapped the ledger with his fingers and, after a pause, pointed at the papers. “Loan approvals will need to be stricter going forward. No loans to those without real estate. Even with property, we need to inspect the land boundaries—don’t lend on properties in areas that could be leveled by a single bomb. Those would just turn into bad debts. The safest is within the foreign concessions.”
“Yes.”
But Liu Chuanzong didn’t leave after replying. Song Yuzhang looked up and asked, “Something else?”
Liu Chuanzong said, “The Chamber of Commerce has a meeting the day after tomorrow. All banks must attend.”
Song Yuzhang studied his expression. Liu’s face was stiff and blank, giving nothing away—but knowing Liu Chuanzong’s personality, the fact that he stayed behind to mention this meant there was something more to it.
“Speak freely.”
Liu Chuanzong did just that. “Around this time every year, there’s always pressure to contribute to the national treasury bonds. With the war now, the rumor is the required amount is even higher than last year.”
“Treasury bonds?” Song Yuzhang said. “Throwing money into a black hole. What’s the point of buying them?”
“We have no choice.”
Song Yuzhang understood. After a moment of silence, he asked calmly, “How much are we expected to buy?”
“Rumor has it each bank will be asked to cover at least ten million. Song Bank has always contributed more than others.”
“Got it.”
He waved Liu Chuanzong away and leaned back in his chair, gazing silently at the ceiling in thought.
All of Shen Chengduo’s 15 million had gone into the railway. Of the 30 million borrowed from Nie Xueping, half had gone into the railway as well. The rest was keeping the bank afloat. As for the original 30 million in U.S. dollars, much of the interest had already been eaten up by withdrawals, and more would be needed to settle interest at year’s end. Add to that the reserve fund owed to the central bank—and now these treasury bonds.
If things kept going like this, the bank would become a hollow shell again!
Money. He still needed money. Fast money would be even better.
Damn it. The higher-ups had it easy—asking banks for money in the name of patriotism, all in broad daylight. Treasury bonds? Nothing but scrap paper!
Turning paper into money… what a clever scheme.
Turn paper into money… Song Yuzhang’s eyes flickered. Suddenly, the fake securities that Liu Chu had once made came to mind. If the authorities could print paper to get money from banks, why couldn’t the banks do the same?
Of course, he wouldn’t issue worthless bonds. The interest could be slightly higher than savings accounts, with a longer term. Once the railway opened, revenue would flow steadily, and repayment wouldn’t be an issue. That way, liquidity in the bank would improve, and the surplus could be invested elsewhere—grain, gold, tobacco, weapons… all profitable ventures. It just came down to whether he had the guts.
And guts—was something Song Yuzhang never lacked.
He called in Song Qiyuan, Liu Chuanzong, and Liu Chu for a meeting to discuss it.
Song Qiyuan had been gambling in the American stock market lately and lost quite a bit. But he wasn’t flustered, knowing this was just part of the learning curve. After hearing Song Yuzhang’s plan, he said, “The higher-ups might not approve.”
“You mean the Chamber of Commerce?” Song Yuzhang rested his hand on the arm of the sofa. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll attend the meeting myself and make sure they agree.”
Song Qiyuan thought for a moment longer, his expression turning resolute. “All right. Then I’m in.”
Song Yuzhang smiled and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “Third Brother, you’re getting bolder.”
“Because I’m borrowing your nerve.”
Then Song Yuzhang turned to the father and son from the Liu family.
Liu Chuanzong said, “I’ll follow the president’s lead in all things.”
Liu Chu echoed, “Me too.”
With that, the short meeting ended. The Lius left first. Outside, Liu Chu said, “The president even discussed this with us. He really treats us like his own.”
Liu Chuanzong patted his head. “Just do your job well.”
That night, Song Qiyuan followed Song Yuzhang back to the Song residence to continue their discussion. As he entered the door, he asked, “Where’s Fourth Brother?”
“He’s still staying with you tonight.”
“Then I’ll stay here,” Song Qiyuan said cheerfully.
Meanwhile, back at the annex, Song Mingzhao returned to find Song Yekang in the sitting room reading a Buddhist scripture. He showed no concern for his fourth brother returning home. Now deeply immersed in Buddhism, Song Yekang cared only about his own spiritual cultivation—not even his own brothers were included in his compassion.
Song Mingzhao didn’t bother with him either and asked a servant to bring him food.
He sat with his back to the sofa, noisily slurping congee and soaked rice. The sound disrupted Song Yekang’s meditation, who snapped irritably, “Fourth Brother! Quiet down! Where are your manners? Fed them to the dogs?!”
Song Mingzhao’s shoulders twitched slightly. He thought silently, Fed them to you. But his face remained expressionless, and he continued eating just the way he pleased.
Song Yekang was annoyed, but stopped himself from pushing further. He feared that if he upset Song Mingzhao too much, and Song Jincheng decided to turn hostile, he’d be left outnumbered—two against one. Better to let it go. Amitabha. Just endure it.
When Song Mingzhao was almost done eating, Song Jincheng came home.
“Second Brother, what did you want with me?” Song Jincheng called out as soon as he entered, “If you’ve got something to say, say it quick—I’m busy.”
“A live-in son-in-law sure has a lot to be busy with,” Song Yekang muttered under his breath.
But Song Jincheng had exceptionally sharp ears and caught every word. He let out a cold laugh and snapped back, “Not like some people who couldn’t manage to become a live-in son-in-law and ended up either hanging themselves or trying to become a monk.”
“You—”
Song Yekang slapped his Buddhist scripture and stood up. “I’m becoming a monk not because I failed as a son-in-law, but because I’ve been called by the Buddha!”
“Hah! The Buddha called you? Then go commune with him all you want. While you’re at it, have a chat with God too. Ask them both why they didn’t give you a few more brain cells!” Song Jincheng said.
The two had been at each other’s throats since childhood. Back then, they still cared somewhat about appearances, but now that both their circumstances had fallen, any pretense of decorum had eroded. Seeing the argument escalating again, Song Mingzhao quickly said, “Eldest Brother, Second Brother—if that’s all, I’ll head upstairs.”
Song Jincheng had no affection left for this “traitor” of a younger brother and ignored him completely. But Song Yekang, reminded by his presence, recalled the reason for today’s conversation. He called out, “Fourth Brother, don’t go yet. Come over here.”
Song Mingzhao had eaten their food and decided to give them that courtesy—he walked over.
Song Yekang pulled him over to stand between them like a human shield. He had originally planned to speak calmly and offer an apology, but now it felt more like bracing for battle. With a deep breath, he said, “It was me who did that to Le Yao’er. I’m sorry.”
Song Jincheng had been wondering what this was all about and now let out a cold chuckle. “I knew it was you. Sluts are heartless, actors are faithless—didn’t give it a second thought.”
“Then you wrongly blamed her,” said Song Yekang. “She didn’t refuse to keep the child—it was me who told her to leave.”
That made Song Jincheng sneer even more viciously. “What, your newfound Buddhism suddenly gave you a conscience? Driving your own kid out of the country for what? Nie Qingyun still didn’t want you, did she?”
Song Yekang got angry and confused. “My kid? Wasn’t that your child?”
“Don’t you dare try to pin that on me!” Song Jincheng roared. “Le Yao’er already admitted it. You bastard—you touched my woman, and I was generous enough not to come after you!”
“Bullshit! I never even said a word to her!”
Song Yekang exploded. “Anyone who touched her—damn it, is a bastard’s bastard!”
“Who are you calling a bastard?!”
The two of them hurled curses back and forth for several rounds. Song Mingzhao, now suffering from a pounding headache, finally shouted, “So whose child is it exactly?!”
The two elder brothers glared at each other, chests heaving, but their rage slowly began to die down—simmering into realization.
They’d grown up in a household full of intrigue, and in a flash, they both grasped the truth.
Song Jincheng was the first to piece it together. “He told me it was your child. Said you were about to get married and asked him to help send Le Yao’er and the child abroad.”
“He told me it was yours. Said it was to preserve harmony between you and your wife, and he’d take it upon himself to send her abroad.”
They stared at each other in silence for a few moments—then it finally clicked.
“Well then—” Song Jincheng’s face turned ashen. He spun around, furious. “Good. Very good. He’s really something else…”
Song Yekang slowly sank into the chair, looking dazed. “And I gave him two hundred thousand…”
“Two hundred thousand?!” Song Jincheng turned back, livid. “I gave him five hundred thousand!”
Song Mingzhao was completely lost. “What are you even talking about?”
Song Jincheng had no patience left for this idiot of a younger brother—he had sided with Song Yuzhang during the family split, and now he was being casually cast aside. Song Jincheng couldn’t understand how their family had ended up with such a useless fool.
“What are we talking about? Your beloved brother Song Yuzhang!”
“I really don’t get it,” Song Jincheng said, his voice sharp with mockery and disgust. “You’ve been kissing up to him all this time, but what has he ever done for you? I’ve finally figured it out—he never had good intentions from the start. He’s been playing all of us. And you, still treat him like a real brother? He’s just using you for laughs. Idiot!”
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