Song Yuzhang: Chapter 116 - I Don’t Care
Chapter 116: I Don’t Care
Song Yuzhang sat inside the car without instructing the driver to start. He quietly looked out of the window. The scene outside was still in chaos. Nie Yinbing was in the crowd, directing and mediating. His face was streaked with soot and blood. Song Yuzhang had never seen him like this before—he had always thought of him as a carefree, domineering young master.
After waiting for more than half an hour like this, even the driver could no longer bear it. “Fifth Young Master, it’s cold. Let’s go back.”
Perhaps it was because of the alcohol, but Song Yuzhang didn’t feel cold. He said to the driver, “You go back first.” Then he got out of the car, shut the door, and patted it, signaling the driver to leave.
Amidst the vortex of the crowd, Nie Yinbing was distracted by the sound. He turned his head and saw the vehicle behind Song Yuzhang driving away. The cold wind and the gust stirred by the departing car made him sway slightly.
“Why didn’t you leave?”
Song Yuzhang came back to his senses, gave Nie Yinbing a faint smile, and said, “I’m worried.”
Nie Yinbing didn’t press him to go again. “Wait inside.”
“I’ll stay here. It’s not cold.”
“No.” Nie Yinbing grabbed his arm. “If you’re here, I can’t be at ease.”
Shen Chengduo, who was helping haul ore with his sleeves rolled up, saw Nie Yinbing pulling Song Yuzhang toward the office and cursed inwardly: “Damn it, I’m suffering here, and those two are getting all lovey-dovey.”
The mine office was cold as well, though at least it blocked the wind—it wasn’t as freezing as outside. Nie Yinbing pulled a blanket from under the desk and draped it over Song Yuzhang. “Wait here for me.”
After Nie Yinbing left, Song Yuzhang sat for a while. Only then did he belatedly shiver, wrapping the blanket tighter as he glanced around.
The office was a mess—an unusual mess, with piles of small ore chunks and documents stacked everywhere, leaving little space even to step. His seat was uncomfortable; when he shifted, he pulled out a few customs slips from under him.
Setting them aside, Song Yuzhang took a deep breath, wrapped himself in the blanket, and refrained from touching anything else.
The alcohol took hold. He drooped his head, drowsy, almost asleep in the office that was warmer than outside.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before he suddenly felt a familiar weightlessness. Instinctively, he grabbed the clothes of the person carrying him. “Yinbing?”
“Mm.”
Song Yuzhang woke, pushing against Nie Yinbing’s chest. “Yinbing, put me down.”
His tone was stern, and Nie Yinbing’s steps paused.
Taking advantage of the moment, Song Yuzhang slipped from his arms.
“Yinbing, you can’t always carry me around like this,” Song Yuzhang tossed the blanket aside and lowered his head. “It’s very inappropriate.”
Nie Yinbing’s arms were still half raised in the motion of carrying him. Slowly, he let them fall and said flatly, “I don’t care.”
He didn’t explain what he didn’t care about. That was simply how he was—if his words were easy to understand, that would be the strange part.
Outside, calm had returned; most of the people had dispersed. The Nie family’s car remained. Nie Yinbing pulled open the door for Song Yuzhang. After they got in, he heard Song Yuzhang say, “Tonight, I want to stay at the Nie residence.”
Nie Yinbing gave a brief “Mm.”
There were signs Nie Yinbing had washed his face, but only hastily—traces still remained. Song Yuzhang could only see the wound on his neck. “Are the injuries on your body serious?”
“It’s fine,” Nie Yinbing flexed his arm. “The bones are all right.”
The smell of blood still clung heavily to him. Many thoughts flashed through Song Yuzhang’s mind, but in a calm tone he said, “I’ll take a look when we’re back.”
Nie Yinbing made no objection, simply gave a soft “Mm.”
When they returned to the Nie residence, Nie Yinbing did not call for a doctor. He was used to treating his own wounds. Once inside the courtyard, he straightforwardly stripped off his clothes.
As he did, Song Yuzhang realized his body was covered with wounds.
Not only the fresh injuries from today, but also many old scars of different lengths and depths, in varying shades—some clearly years old.
Nie Mao brought cold water. Nie Yinbing rinsed his upper body in the courtyard.
Standing at the doorway, Song Yuzhang watched as white steam rose from his body, the dark blood washed away. He drew his shoulders tight and shivered slightly.
After washing his upper body, Nie Yinbing began to take off his trousers.
Song Yuzhang didn’t know if he should turn away. He stayed at the door, realizing Nie Yinbing’s legs bore far fewer scars.
When he had finished rinsing himself clean, Nie Yinbing wrapped a large towel around his waist and came back inside. His hair and body were dripping wet, like a weary but refreshed wolf.
As he dried himself, he told Song Yuzhang, “You’ve seen it—they’re all superficial wounds.”
Nie Mao entered to bring clothes. After putting on trousers, Nie Yinbing took medicine and began treating his wounds. Nie Mao stood by, wanting to help but knowing he couldn’t. “Second Master, should I ask the kitchen to prepare a late-night meal?”
“Mm.” Nie Yinbing sprinkled powder on his waist. “Something to sober up—he reeks of alcohol.”
Song Yuzhang stiffened slightly.
After Nie Mao left, Song Yuzhang hesitated before saying, “Call someone to help you. You’ve got injuries on your back too.”
“I can manage.”
Nie Yinbing’s arms were astonishingly flexible, as if he had eyes on his back. He handled the medicine on his own without issue. For the harder spots, he sprinkled powder on gauze and then wrapped it so the wound was covered precisely.
Song Yuzhang only watched the whole time, never offering help.
He was afraid of provoking Nie Yinbing.
Only after Nie Yinbing had put on his shirt did Song Yuzhang sit down a little distance away. “Why did another explosion happen?”
“I don’t know,” Nie Yinbing said.
Song Yuzhang sighed at his curt reply, but he knew that with Nie Yinbing’s nature, it wasn’t an evasion.
Nie Mao brought the late-night meal and deliberately placed a bowl before Song Yuzhang. “Fifth Young Master, drink this. After some sleep, you won’t wake up with a headache.”
“Thank you.”
Nie Yinbing had been busy all night. Nie Mao prepared a big plate of dumplings for him. He ate a few, then asked Song Yuzhang, “Why aren’t you eating?”
Song Yuzhang kept his head down, lost in thought. Hearing this, he shook his head. “I don’t have an appetite.”
Nie Yinbing set down his chopsticks and walked over to him. In Song Yuzhang’s line of sight appeared his slippers, and he instinctively edged back a little. Nie Yinbing pressed down on his left shoulder and, without a word, began removing his coat.
It took Song Yuzhang two seconds to react. He clenched his fist, wanting to punch Nie Yinbing in the stomach, but remembering his injuries, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His coat was already slipping from his shoulders.
Nie Yinbing swiftly pulled off his tie as well.
By then, Song Yuzhang no longer resisted. He let Nie Yinbing unbutton his shirt and pull it open.
On his right shoulder was a scar—light pink, slightly raised, still fresh, showing signs of healing.
“The wound hasn’t healed yet. Why did you drink so much?”
Song Yuzhang took a weary breath. “I didn’t drink much. I was just discussing business.”
He shifted his shoulder as he spoke, pushing the shirt back up.
Nie Yinbing gripped his right shoulder. “Look at me.”
Song Yuzhang buttoned his shirt and straightened his tie.
Immediately, his cheek was caught and lifted. Nie Yinbing looked down at him, his gaze sharp, carrying his characteristic arrogance. “Do you really think I don’t know you’re lying to me?”
Song Yuzhang stared back quietly.
Nie Yinbing’s grip wasn’t strong. He could have broken free, but when facing the Nie family, he always felt an innate inferiority—especially before Nie Yinbing. If he hadn’t tricked Nie Yinbing out of money back then, perhaps Nie Xueping wouldn’t have died.
Though much time and many events had passed, Song Yuzhang always linked the two in his heart, believing them to be cause and effect.
Now, he wasn’t sure how to face Nie Yinbing.
No matter how close or distant, it always felt wrong.
It wasn’t just fear of Nie Yinbing—he was afraid of himself, too.
He had always known he could stir up romantic debts. He hadn’t cared. To him, feelings were uncertain things—those hurt by him would soon forget, because he himself was like that: love one, toss one, heartless long enough that everyone seemed heartless too.
Nie Xueping and Song Mingzhao had taught him a cruel lesson: love can kill.
Song Yuzhang had never killed anyone.
He was just a small-time swindler who wanted a slightly better life. He had never intended to take a life. Even with Le Yao’er’s unborn child, he had wished for the baby to live long and healthy.
Life was far too precious. Everyone only had one. Unlike love—love could happen many times, with many people.
Under Song Yuzhang’s gaze, Nie Yinbing released his cheek. He bent slightly, then suddenly embraced the half-dressed Song Yuzhang as though amid a blasting mine.
His body was cold, but Song Yuzhang turned his face and leaned his cheek against his shoulder, whispering, “I’m really afraid something will happen to you too.”
Nie Yinbing held him tightly, then suddenly lifted him up in his arms.
He carried Song Yuzhang to a chaise lounge inside. The sharp smell of medicine filled Song Yuzhang’s nose as Nie Yinbing wrapped him completely in his arms. Against his ear was the strong heartbeat inside Nie Yinbing’s chest.
“Do you still miss him?” Nie Yinbing asked flatly.
“Yes, and no.”
“What do you mean, yes?”
“I think his death was unjust, undeserved.”
“And what do you mean, no?”
Song Yuzhang was silent for a long while, then whispered, “I don’t want… to live that tired anymore.”
Nie Yinbing seized his left hand, guiding his fingertips to touch a small scar over his own heart.
“This is a knife wound.”
“Years ago, bandits. One slashed straight at me. My guard blocked for me. I only got scratched, and it left this scar,” Nie Yinbing said tonelessly. “I can’t even remember that man’s face anymore.”
Song Yuzhang’s fingers brushed the scar. It had softened, nearly the same texture as skin.
“You haven’t been through enough,” Nie Yinbing said. “Your heart isn’t hard enough yet.”
Song Yuzhang gave a faint smile. “Really? You think I should forget him immediately, and only then my heart counts as hard?”
“Yes.”
Song Yuzhang weakly closed his eyes.
Then his cheek was gently stroked. Nie Yinbing lowered his head, his warm breath spilling onto his face as he murmured, “But having a soft heart isn’t a bad thing.”
Song Yuzhang opened his eyes. Nie Yinbing was looking at him. Seeing the flicker in his gaze, he even smiled faintly at him. “You were always like this before—soft-hearted, buying flowers by the basketful.”
Nie Yinbing pressed his face against his own chest. “She was happy. I was happy too.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, but Song Yuzhang felt warmth swelling in his chest, and a heaviness behind his eyes.
“Yinbing.”
“Mm.”
“I want to ask you something…”
Nie Yinbing waited quietly, until Song Yuzhang asked: “Do you still like me?”
Nie Yinbing was silent for a moment. He gazed at the faintly flickering candle flame not far away, then spoke with a tone so light it was almost detached: “I do.”
He didn’t care. He didn’t care what others thought, didn’t care how the world changed, didn’t care that Zhao Jianfang had become Song Yuzhang, didn’t care that Song Yuzhang was the “widower” of his elder brother Nie Xueping.
Like was like.
He could say it anytime, anywhere.
His words were never pleasant, but always true.
“Don’t like me. Can you?”
Nie Yinbing was silent again. His thumb rubbed lightly across Song Yuzhang’s face. “I’ll try.”
----------
If you like my translation, please support me by buying me a coffee:
0 comments: