Song Yuzhang: Chapter 105 - Using Snow as a Screen
Chapter 105: Using Snow as a Screen
The car was quiet. Song Yuzhang said, “Mr. Nie, if you have something to say, go ahead.”
Nie Xueping asked, “Where are we going?”
“Back to the bank.”
After a moment of silence, Nie Xueping said, “Could we go somewhere more suitable for talking?”
Song Yuzhang also fell silent. He thought, There’s no avoiding this anyway. Better to talk things through and make a clean break. So he told the driver, “Home.”
The gates of the Song residence slowly opened. The Song family car entered, followed closely by the Nie family car.
Song Yuzhang led Nie Xueping into the main hall and, treating him like a guest, invited him to sit first, then told the servant to bring tea.
Nie Xueping sat down. Song Yuzhang remained standing.
“Sit,” Nie Xueping said gently. “Standing is tiring.”
With one hand resting on the table, Song Yuzhang turned and looked at him.
Nie Xueping’s expression was calm, with a faint smile on his face—as if nothing had changed between them.
Song Yuzhang had always liked this calm composure of his; it made him feel at ease, relaxed.
The servant brought in tea.
As the teacups were set down and the fragrance wafted through the air, Nie Xueping’s gaze dropped to the dark tea and softened.
Only then did Song Yuzhang realize that the tea the servant had used was still the same kind Nie Xueping had once given him.
A little dumbfounded, Song Yuzhang sat down at an angle to him and said self-mockingly, “I’ve offered the Buddha flowers borrowed from you—sent them right back.”
Nie Xueping said, “It’s nothing.”
Song Yuzhang picked up the cup and took a sip. The tea was rich and mellow, with a long-lasting aftertaste. It was indeed a rare tea—and a rare sentiment.
Which made it all the more important not to let it go to waste.
Better a sharp pain now than prolonged agony later. Song Yuzhang said, “Mr. Nie, say whatever you came to say.”
Nie Xueping was quiet again. After a long pause, his tone carried a trace of wistfulness. “I’m not even sure where to begin.”
Song Yuzhang rested his arm on the sofa, lowered his head, and gave a small laugh. “Yeah, where to begin?”
He didn’t even know when exactly his feelings had begun. From his point of view, those feelings might not have been entirely pure, but they were genuine nonetheless.
That day, when he had seen the dignified and handsome father holding his delicate, adorable son and turning to look back—it had already made Song Yuzhang feel something.
If only life were always like that first meeting.
Just a fleeting encounter, passing by like strangers, leaving behind only a faint, beautiful memory—that might’ve been enough.
But afterward, that affection had become entangled with too many calculations of gain. Song Yuzhang couldn’t say with certainty that he had a clear conscience.
He hoped Nie Xueping felt the same.
Two people bound up in interests parting ways—it was fitting.
The only fear was that while he had been insincere, the other had truly fallen, heart and soul.
In the long silence, Nie Xueping looked at Song Yuzhang.
People say you fall in love at first sight because of beauty. But if it was truly only the appearance, would the feeling fade after a few years?
Nie Xueping didn’t dare claim his feelings for Song Yuzhang were everlasting, but he also didn’t know if time would truly help him let go. Based on how he felt right now, he couldn’t be sure he would forget—just as he hadn’t expected that what had seemed like a fleeting crush would grow into something so uncontrollable.
Nie Xueping said gently, “Yuzhang… have you really grown tired of me?”
“Yes.”
Song Yuzhang answered quickly—so quickly that Nie Xueping didn’t have time to feel anxious waiting for it. But a clean, swift cut could hurt just the same.
In truth, to even ask that question was already undignified. They had agreed to part on good terms. He was twelve years older than Song Yuzhang—he should have the grace of someone older, and let go with poise. Holding the teacup, his gaze resting on the dark tea, Nie Xueping couldn’t tell if his expression still looked calm. His voice was quiet. “So there’s really no way to turn things around?”
Song Yuzhang had not looked at him once. He had thought, For someone of Nie Xueping’s status and usual demeanor, this much would be the limit. Never did he expect Nie Xueping to keep pressing.
Nie Xueping stared at him, unable to stop himself from asking again, “Why won’t you speak?”
Song Yuzhang set down his teacup.
The cup clinked against the table. The tea inside rippled slightly. Song Yuzhang stood up, turning his back to Nie Xueping. His tone was calm.
“Mr. Nie, we’re done… From now on, let’s just be business partners. I’ve wronged you—if you want to blame me, or if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, just say the word. I’ll also give you my full support for the Chamber of Commerce chairmanship at the end of the year.”
Behind him, Nie Xueping was silent for a long time. Then Song Yuzhang heard the sound of a teacup being set down. Moments later, he felt warmth behind him. Arms gently touched his shoulders—Nie Xueping had turned him around to face him. Song Yuzhang’s lashes lowered, slightly avoiding his gaze.
“Yuzhang, look at me.”
But Song Yuzhang kept his eyes downcast.
Nie Xueping lowered his head slightly. “You have your reasons, don’t you?”
“What is it? What are you worried about?” Nie Xueping asked gently. “Or am I the one making you feel pressured?”
Song Yuzhang pulled away from his hand, took half a step back, and looked Nie Xueping straight in the eye. “Mr. Nie, you think too well of me. I’ve already told you—I’m not someone who can be tied down. Honestly, you don’t need to take what’s between us too seriously. Just treat it as a fleeting affair. A few nights of passing intimacy—now the sun’s risen, and this relationship should naturally fade away.”
Nie Xueping stared fixedly at Song Yuzhang. The gentle expression he nearly always wore fell away. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until they were face-to-face, their feet nearly touching.
His eyes locked deeply with Song Yuzhang’s.
“I won’t allow you to speak of our relationship like that.”
It was the first time Song Yuzhang had ever heard Nie Xueping speak to him in such a firm tone.
“Yuzhang, I love you.”
“We haven’t known each other for long. I’m twelve years older than you. There are too many things about us that don’t match. But Yuzhang, I love you.”
“Maybe you don’t quite love me yet,” Nie Xueping smiled faintly, cupping Song Yuzhang’s face in one hand. “That’s all right too. You’re young—you have the right to be willful.”
“Just don’t lie to yourself, Yuzhang. Answer me honestly. Is it really because you’re tired of me that you want to end things?”
Looking into Nie Xueping’s eyes, seeing his own reflection within them, Song Yuzhang said softly, “Mr. Nie, if we’re not going to last, does it really matter when we part ways, or why?”
He turned his face away, slipping from Nie Xueping’s palm and stepping back once more.
“Mr. Nie, I know you love me. I won’t deny that I still love you too. But do we really have to drag this love out until it’s all worn thin before we part? Is that what makes it a good ending?”
He slipped one hand into his pocket, gazing out at the distant landscape through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His profile was gentle, yet a subtle trace of coldness lingered in the air around him. “At that point, maybe you’d be even more heartbroken.”
Behind him, Nie Xueping said, “You’re afraid of hurting me?”
“You could say that.”
“Yuzhang, you underestimate me too much.”
Song Yuzhang paused for a moment, then said, “If that’s how you feel, then perhaps your feelings for me aren’t as deep as you think. Deep love always wounds.”
“Then what about you?” Nie Xueping wanted to step forward, but he was afraid that if he did, Song Yuzhang would only retreat again. “Aren’t you sad at all to part from me?”
Song Yuzhang gazed at the shadowy green lawn outside and said in a low voice, “I’m sad.”
Then he turned back, a soft expression on his face. “But Xueping,” he said with a sigh, “that’s all it is.”
Sunlight streamed through the window onto Song Yuzhang’s face. His cheeks were pale and smooth, his eyes pitch-black without a trace of other color, his pupils gleaming with a piercing brilliance. His face was beautiful and gentle—he was born to be adored.
Only now did Nie Xueping seem to finally glimpse a piece of Song Yuzhang’s true self.
Not the beautiful, blossoming youth of twenty, but something far colder and more resolute.
Nie Xueping took a step forward, standing in front of Song Yuzhang and looking directly into his eyes. Those eyes were clear and lovely, half-shaded by curled lashes—like a porcelain doll’s.
Nie Xueping reached out and gently took Song Yuzhang’s hand, lifting it to his lips. He pressed his lips to the back of the hand and murmured, “What if I said I’m willing to give you the chance to hurt me?” His dense lashes lifted, and he once more met Song Yuzhang’s gaze. “I want to walk into your eyes, Yuzhang. Will you let me?”
Song Mingzhao sat dazed in Song Zhenqiao’s study.
The room had barely changed; shadows of Song Zhenqiao still lingered everywhere—along with fragments of Song Mingzhao’s own memories.
Before the age of five, he’d often come here. Song Zhenqiao would check his homework, and if he didn’t do well, he’d get smacked on the palm with a ruler.
Song Mingzhao had always been a bit delicate—he’d cry the moment he was hit, and the more he cried, the harsher Song Zhenqiao’s strikes became.
Toward his youngest son, Song Zhenqiao had no trace of fatherly kindness. In fact, he resented that Song Mingzhao’s birth had cost him his wife. And if only Song Mingzhao had been clever—that might’ve been excusable. But he was so stupid, so fragile!
The beatings stopped abruptly when Song Mingzhao turned six.
Song Zhenqiao had given up on him.
At first, Mingzhao was relieved—no more homework, no more punishment. But in time, he realized that total indifference was far more terrifying than harsh discipline.
He was a true castaway—abandoned by both his dead mother and his living father.
Song Mingzhao curled up under Song Zhenqiao’s desk. He felt like he might be starting to lose his mind. There had been a professor at their university who went insane—he was sent to an asylum, and rumor had it he was abused there and died shortly after.
Song Mingzhao shuddered.
He thought: I should probably see a doctor.
He pressed his numb left hand against the stool and slowly stood up. But then another thought came: “If they couldn’t even fix my hand, how could they fix my mind? If mental illness could be cured, there wouldn’t be such a thing as asylums.”
He sat in silence for a while, staring blankly. His eyes swept across the desk. Pen, ink, paper, and an inkstone still sat there. A fountain pen leaned against the ink bottle—already dusty.
Suddenly, he found himself missing Song Zhenqiao.
Missing the man who once beat him and scolded him.
At least back then, Song Zhenqiao had expectations for him. At least back then, Song Zhenqiao truly loved him.
Why did Song Yuzhang suddenly stop loving him?
Was it because he realized that his love had changed, and so began to keep a respectful distance?
Song Mingzhao shivered as he clutched the cold fountain pen.
“…It’s all my fault.”
He murmured, setting the pen down. His hand brushed over the radio on the desk and flicked the switch. A burst of disordered static filled the air, but he didn’t turn it off. His fingers slid toward the telegraph machine beside it—and that’s when he noticed a telegram, sent from England two days earlier. Without much thought, Song Mingzhao picked it up.
The telegram was in English.
“Dear father…”
Song Mingzhao read the telegram from beginning to end.
He read it five times.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway outside interrupted his sixth.
Song Mingzhao moved toward the window. He watched as Song Yuzhang stepped out of the car, followed by Nie Xueping. A few more people emerged from the Nie family’s car behind them, but Nie Xueping waved them away, sending them back.
Telegram still in hand, Song Mingzhao stared at it and thought, There must really be something wrong with my mind. Xiao Yu is clearly right here, so how could I have received a telegram from him sent all the way from England?
The message said his leg had mostly recovered and asked how his poor, ailing father was doing. He hadn’t received word from his father in a long time, and was worried.
But… Song Yuzhang’s leg had always been fine.
And as for “Father”? Father had been dead for a long time.
Song Mingzhao slipped the telegram into his pocket. A buzzing chaos roared in his ears.
He’s not Xiao Yu, he’s a fraud… No—he is Xiao Yu, and Xiao Yu is a fraud… So Eldest Brother and Second Brother were right—he deceived Eldest Brother, Second Brother, Third Brother, and even me… Why would he deceive me… Because I’m the dumbest, the easiest to fool…
Stumbling, Song Mingzhao staggered out of Song Zhenqiao’s study, drifting like a ghost into Song Yuzhang’s room.
The room was empty. The bed was neatly made. A lamp sat by the bedside. Everything was so familiar, and yet so unfamiliar.
Once, he and Song Yuzhang had been that close.
But afterward, Song Yuzhang no longer wanted him—left him alone to suffer and struggle.
“If he really is a liar… Then he must’ve known I wasn’t his brother all along…”
A chill rippled through Song Mingzhao. He slowly took in the room, looking around at every corner.
Unsteady, he made his way downstairs and paused at the turn of the staircase.
“…I know you love me. I won’t deny that I still love you too…”
After that, the words became garbled—his ears rang with a sharp, high-pitched screech. And amidst that screeching, a harsh voice shouted inside his head: Meng Tingjing, Nie Xueping—those people are all fine. But not you. Either you’re his brother, or you’re a useless failure he looks down on—he’s just toying with you!
Song Mingzhao squeezed his eyes shut in anguish.
No—it’s not true. I’m not a failure.
I’m not a failure.
“Yuzhang, promise me.”
Song Yuzhang’s heart wavered. But how could he possibly say yes to such a self-punishing request?
He slowly withdrew his hand, and watched as the two of them gently let go of their interlocked fingers. In his heart, Song Yuzhang thought, Let it end here.
Nie Xueping continued looking at him. A faint, rare sorrow flickered plainly in his eyes—but just for a moment. The expression shifted.
Suddenly, without warning, Song Yuzhang was tackled to the ground.
Bang—
A loud crash rang in his ears. The back of his head slammed into the floor, and pain exploded through his entire body. In the midst of it, hazy and disoriented, Song Yuzhang thought he saw someone standing at the top of the stairs not far away.
The stench of blood rushed into his nose. Instinctively, Song Yuzhang tilted his head back.
Nie Xueping’s face was close to his forehead, lowered slightly, his short, thick lashes hiding those gentle, forgiving eyes. Song Yuzhang’s lips parted slightly. “Xueping…?”
Footsteps thundered from outside as people rushed in.
“Mr. Nie!”
In the flurry of panicked voices, countless hands lifted Nie Xueping’s tall frame. Lying flat on the ground, Song Yuzhang looked up. In that long, drawn-out moment of being lifted, he saw it clearly—Nie Xueping’s chest was… clouded in a mist of blood.
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