Song Yuzhang: Chapter 126 - Effort
Chapter 126: Effort
Song Jincheng had three ribs broken. Fortunately, none of them pierced his lungs, so his life was not in danger.
Song Yuzhang sat at the bedside, appreciating the miserable sight of Song Jincheng lying unconscious, and very much felt like having a cigarette.
Not long after, the men he sent out returned.
“Eldest Young Master was with a woman when Young Mistress caught them. Young Mistress fainted.”
“Got it.” Song Yuzhang stared thoughtfully at Song Jincheng’s deathly pale face. “Has Third Brother arrived?”
“Third Young Master is already on his way here.”
Song Yuzhang waved his hand.
It looked like Meng Sushan had finally reached her limit. But with her soft and delicate nature, it was unlikely she could beat Song Jincheng into such a half-dead state.
Song Yuzhang reached out and lightly slapped Song Jincheng’s unconscious face twice.
If she didn’t even slap him, but directly beat him into this state, one could imagine how furious she must have been.
What was the meaning of delivering him to his doorstep like this? Knowing full well that the families had already split. Was it a warning, killing the chicken to scare the monkey? Song Yuzhang slipped his hand into his pocket, leaned back slightly, and smiled faintly. In that case, hadn’t Song Jincheng just suffered punishment in his stead?
When Song Qiyuan arrived and saw Song Jincheng bound tightly to the hospital bed, his vision went dark. “What happened? How did Eldest Brother get beaten like this?!”
Song Yuzhang tapped his toe forward. “He was with a woman when Eldest Sister-in-law caught him. She fainted. As for the rest…” He extended his arm. “You can imagine.”
Song Qiyuan was speechless. After a while, he spoke bitterly: “Why can’t Eldest Brother change his ways!”
He sat across from Song Yuzhang, his gaze filled with grief as he looked at Song Jincheng on the bed.
Truth be told, he found this brother hateful and exasperating. But among the few brothers, some dead, some scattered, only Song Jincheng was left with any blood relation to him. Scarcity makes things precious—so even this selfish, narrow-minded brother was a unique presence to him.
Song Qiyuan did not ask for much. As long as Song Jincheng stayed alive and didn’t cause trouble for the bank, that was enough.
He had thought it harder to keep Song Jincheng from stirring up trouble, but as it turned out, it was even harder to keep him alive and well.
“Since you’re here, Third Brother, I’ll take my leave.”
Song Qiyuan nodded. As Song Yuzhang rose, he added: “You should also be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“That engineer…” His brows knitted. “He’s a Meng family man. Talent is precious, but he’s not irreplaceable. You could recruit through other means. Don’t make enemies. Meng Tingjing strikes too hard.”
Song Yuzhang laughed. “You worry Meng Tingjing will retaliate against me for poaching?”
“Hard to say. Best to be cautious.”
Song Yuzhang walked around the bed to his side, bent down, and whispered by his ear: “Don’t worry. He can’t bear to.”
Song Qiyuan’s ear tingled. He looked up at Song Yuzhang, who appeared completely open and calm, making him wonder if he had misheard or misunderstood. But Song Yuzhang didn’t bother to explain and simply left.
Within two days, the Meng family sent someone to the hospital with a newspaper for Song Qiyuan.
Meng Sushan and Song Jincheng had filed for divorce in the paper—a notice for Song Qiyuan. Holding the paper, with Song Jincheng still unconscious, he swallowed his anger and asked: “Is this Eldest Sister-in-law’s decision, or Meng Tingjing’s?”
“Both Eldest Miss and Second Master agreed.”
Song Qiyuan was silent for a long while, then said, “Fine.”
Half an hour after the Meng family left, Song Jincheng woke up.
He was seriously injured, sleeping more than waking. As soon as he opened his eyes, Song Qiyuan tossed the newspaper onto his pillow and said coldly: “Eldest Sister-in-law has divorced you in the papers. Are you satisfied now?”
For a long moment, Song Jincheng made no response—whether from not hearing clearly or from the painkillers dulling his reactions was unclear.
Though he cherished his elder brother, Song Qiyuan hated iron for not becoming steel. His tone was sharp: “Eldest Sister-in-law is such a good woman, and you didn’t cherish her. Now you’ve played yourself into this mess. You’re in your thirties. As your younger brother, I shouldn’t have to lecture you, but how could you…”
He stopped there.
Tears poured from Song Jincheng’s eyes like floodwaters. Then he struggled to get up. With three broken ribs and his torso bound like a gift box, he couldn’t move. Song Qiyuan rushed to stop him, but Song Jincheng flailed with all his strength. Unable to hold him down alone, Song Qiyuan rang the nurse call bell.
Song Jincheng’s hysterics far exceeded Song Qiyuan’s expectations.
When Song Yekang had his engagement broken by Nie Qingyun, he had also thrown a fit. But at least Song Yekang was able-bodied. Even when faking a suicide attempt, he’d tidy up afterward. But Song Jincheng, half-crippled, threw himself around until his bones shifted and he spat blood several times.
Overwhelmed, Song Qiyuan cursed bitterly: “Are you trying to kill yourself by carrying on like this?!”
Even as he coughed blood, Song Jincheng feebly begged him to wheel him to the Meng residence to see Meng Sushan.
“If you knew this day would come, why do what you did in the first place!” Of course, Song Qiyuan refused. “Go to the Mengs now? You’d be going to your death!”
He had no patience for this self-destructive behavior. Where had this devotion been earlier? Both his elder brothers were the same kind of worthless—he was used to it. He had servants attend to Song Jincheng in the hospital and instructed them to recite Buddhist scriptures to him.
Song Yekang had settled at a temple in Nancheng and already sent letters home, enclosing two golden ginkgo leaves, saying the temple’s ginkgo tree had spirit. Its leaves had not all fallen yet, such a beautiful sight.
Reading it, Song Qiyuan thought so too. Second Brother had become a monk—why not let Eldest Brother shave his head and join him?
While Song Jincheng was bedridden, Song Yuzhang did not visit. Instead, he found time to drop by the textile factory dormitory to see Yu Feiyu.
Yu Feiyu was both overjoyed and embarrassed. A bachelor’s dormitory was hardly presentable.
“Sorry, if you’d told me beforehand, I’d have tidied up. It’s a mess here.”
As he spoke, he quickly snatched two shirts off the couch.
“I heard you’ve been sick for days without getting better, so I came to check on you.”
Song Yuzhang sat on the couch. “No need to fuss.” He smiled. “I’m a man too.”
Yu Feiyu smiled back. “But it’s not the same. You’re the young master.”
Song Yuzhang only curved his lips without comment.
Yu Feiyu, with his body almost recovered, quickly and efficiently tidied up the dormitory. If not for Song Yuzhang stopping him, he would’ve gone so far as to mop the floor.
Song Yuzhang told him to sit on the sofa. “You’re still not fully well, you need more rest.”
“It’s fine,” Yu Feiyu said. “Moving around more is good—work up a sweat, recover faster.” He thought for a moment, then shifted backward on the sofa, putting more distance between them. Raising his arm, he sniffed at his underarm. “I didn’t stink you out, did I?”
Song Yuzhang couldn’t help laughing. Resting the back of his neck against the sofa, he tilted his face toward him again and emphasized, “I’m a man too.”
“I know,” Yu Feiyu laughed awkwardly. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman, I just don’t want to offend a beauty.”
A faint smile lingered on Song Yuzhang’s face. He felt that Yu Feiyu’s warmth and straightforward enthusiasm were oddly familiar—like sunlight pouring right onto him.
All of a sudden, he said, “Come here, let me hold you.”
Yu Feiyu was surprised. He hesitated for a moment, but in the end, obeyed and slowly moved closer. Song Yuzhang opened his arms and really did pull him into an embrace.
Yu Feiyu was tall and strong, his back like that of an athlete—muscles firm, full of life. Song Yuzhang leaned in and inhaled the scent on him. Yu Feiyu’s ears twitched as if they were sharp to the slightest signal; immediately uneasy, he asked, “I smell bad?”
“Yes,” Song Yuzhang stroked his back and whispered, “like a wild horse.”
Then he kissed him.
Yu Feiyu’s lack of experience was obvious. Though he had been the one chasing Song Yuzhang, in the kiss, he seemed a little shy.
Song Yuzhang guided him, teaching him how to kiss, how to suck, how to exchange breath and saliva.
In the cramped dormitory, the atmosphere grew heavier. Song Yuzhang straddled Yu Feiyu’s lap, bowing his head to peck his lips again and again. Yu Feiyu held him by the waist, and in the middle of the kiss, broke into laughter.
“I feel like you might actually like me a little now.”
Song Yuzhang rubbed his nose against his, smiling. “A little.”
“Oh? Then I’ve got to work harder. Though I don’t know what about me you like. Could it be because I got sick? Should I try harder to fall ill?”
“You can try.”
They both laughed, the mood turning playful. Yu Feiyu ventured to kiss him once on the lips.
Song Yuzhang looked at him with a smile, neither refusing nor responding.
So Yu Feiyu kissed him again—this time bolder, gently prying his lips open with a lingering, winding kiss. Song Yuzhang, brows relaxed and eyes smiling, leaned further into his arms and kissed him back.
Yu Feiyu was a man of broad learning, dabbling in all sorts of things. Talking with him was never boring—he knew at least a bit about everything. He even had a deck of bridge cards in his dorm, which he brought out for them to play. Song Yuzhang wasn’t very good, but Yu Feiyu was even worse.
“I thought someone like you would be great at cards.”
“Haha, it’s just for fun. Why be so serious? Seriousness ruins the fun.”
Song Yuzhang held a few cards in his hand. Hearing that, he found the words meaningful. “That’s true. It’s just play—too much seriousness kills the joy.”
“Cards are boring anyway. After New Year, let’s go skiing together,” Yu Feiyu suggested.
Song Yuzhang didn’t know how to ski, but he didn’t show it. “Alright.”
Yu Feiyu was delighted at another chance to see him. When he was happy, his whole body seemed to radiate joy—like he was born to spread cheer.
Song Yuzhang nudged his arm. “Feiyu.”
“Hm?” Yu Feiyu answered cheerfully.
“We’re not in any… special kind of relationship right now, are we?” Song Yuzhang’s gaze was clear.
Yu Feiyu paused, thought about it, then said, “Friends, I guess?”
Song Yuzhang leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Friends who kiss?”
Yu Feiyu felt a bit embarrassed, but admitted frankly, “I know my place. I’m just one of the people you’re willing to kiss. I still have to work harder.”
Jealousy, in his mind, wasn’t something he had the right to feel yet—let alone to interfere with Song Yuzhang’s way of living. And from his perspective, Song Yuzhang’s charm lay partly in his easy grace, that natural air of a dandy. It made one want to willingly become his ‘devoted follower.’
“No need to see me off. It’s cold out.”
“How could I not? I have to put in the effort.”
The two left the textile factory chatting and laughing. At the gate stood the Song family car, and beside it, a black Ford.
Song Yuzhang glanced at the vehicle, then lightly patted Yu Feiyu’s face with a smile. “Goodbye.”
The leather glove was soft and cool. Yu Feiyu touched the spot on his cheek where he’d been patted, watching the car drive away. He hadn’t noticed when Meng Tingjing had stepped out of the Ford or when he had come to stand right beside him. Only when Yu Feiyu turned back, still smiling sweetly, did he see the expressionless Meng Tingjing. He jumped in fright. “Xiao Meng—you walk so quietly!”
Realizing he’d used the wrong form of address, he quickly grew guilty and corrected himself. “Boss Meng.”
Meng Tingjing stared at him, his tone mild and flat. “Lovesick?”
Yu Feiyu dropped his hand and laughed heartily. “I’m cured.”
“Cured?”
“Cured.”
Yu Feiyu didn’t want to talk about his private matters with him. “I’ll head in first.”
Meng Tingjing watched Yu Feiyu swaggering away. He realized he felt nothing much for him after all.
Even without Yu Feiyu, there would be someone else.
The root wasn’t in Yu Feiyu.
Suddenly, his feet itched with the urge to break a few of Song Yuzhang’s bones. Maybe then, like Song Jincheng, he too would cough up blood, and finally understand just how much pain Meng Sushan’s heart had suffered under his torment.
Meng Tingjing closed his eyes briefly.
Now, his cultivation truly had one goal—no love, no hate.
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