Song Yuzhang: Bonus Chapter 2 - Zhao Jianfang (Featuring Nie Yinbing)
Since getting to know Nie Yinbing, that wooden, wealthy young master, Song Yuzhang’s life had finally become comfortable. Smoking, drinking, betting on horses, dancing—indulging in lavish food and spending money freely.
Among all the people Song Yuzhang had ever met, Nie Yinbing was the most annoying, the richest, and the easiest to fool. It was as if Nie Yinbing had a grudge against money, and Song Yuzhang had come specifically to avenge it on his behalf. Without Song Yuzhang needing to say much, whatever he wanted, Nie Yinbing would silently pay from behind—an utterly dutiful, fat sheep ripe for shearing.
Song Yuzhang had traveled far and wide, making money off many people. He never felt sorry for those rich young masters and merchants. The more generously Nie Yinbing spent, the more ruthlessly Song Yuzhang indulged.
After a spree of spending, Song Yuzhang got into the car feeling light and carefree. Three more cars followed behind, carrying assistants and all the things he had bought.
Inside the car, Song Yuzhang exhaled smoke lazily, a pleased flush on his face from spending someone else’s money. “We’ve been shopping all afternoon—I’m hungry. Yinbing, what do you want to eat?”
“Anything.”
Song Yuzhang thought for a moment. “That Hunan restaurant we went to a few days ago was pretty good.”
Nie Yinbing remained silent. Song Yuzhang slapped his thigh lightly. “Then we’ll go there, alright?”
Nie Yinbing glanced at the hand resting on his thigh and gave a quiet “Mm.”
Clearly, it was mostly Nie Yinbing paying, yet Song Yuzhang constantly acted as though he were the one treating. Holding the menu in both hands, he would lean over from time to time, asking whether Nie Yinbing liked a certain dish.
Nie Yinbing had no interest in material pleasures. “No need to fuss. Just mind yourself,” he said bluntly, his tone far from pleasant.
Song Yuzhang smiled and withdrew the menu. Spending Nie Yinbing’s money didn’t stop him from privately cursing him for not knowing how to speak properly.
Nie Yinbing’s frown never relaxed; he seemed burdened with worries.
After spending some time with him, Song Yuzhang had already more or less understood what weighed on his mind.
Another naïve idealist, concerned for the country and its people.
Born into privilege, yet dreaming of making achievements on the battlefield, imagining that leading troops into war was something exciting—playing the hero.
“Anything.”
Song Yuzhang thought for a moment. “That Hunan restaurant we went to a few days ago was pretty good.”
Nie Yinbing remained silent. Song Yuzhang slapped his thigh lightly. “Then we’ll go there, alright?”
Nie Yinbing glanced at the hand resting on his thigh and gave a quiet “Mm.”
Clearly, it was mostly Nie Yinbing paying, yet Song Yuzhang constantly acted as though he were the one treating. Holding the menu in both hands, he would lean over from time to time, asking whether Nie Yinbing liked a certain dish.
Nie Yinbing had no interest in material pleasures. “No need to fuss. Just mind yourself,” he said bluntly, his tone far from pleasant.
Song Yuzhang smiled and withdrew the menu. Spending Nie Yinbing’s money didn’t stop him from privately cursing him for not knowing how to speak properly.
Nie Yinbing’s frown never relaxed; he seemed burdened with worries.
After spending some time with him, Song Yuzhang had already more or less understood what weighed on his mind.
Another naïve idealist, concerned for the country and its people.
Born into privilege, yet dreaming of making achievements on the battlefield, imagining that leading troops into war was something exciting—playing the hero.
Song Yuzhang felt disdain in his heart, but on the surface he was considerate and understanding toward Nie Yinbing. That was his specialty.
He ordered over a dozen dishes in one go, not caring that there were only two people at the table. Nie Yinbing was picky with food; no matter how many dishes were served, he would only take a few bites of each before setting down his chopsticks.
Song Yuzhang had seen plenty of young masters like this, but Nie Yinbing was the most irritating of them all. His expression was always so matter-of-fact, indifferent, carrying a kind of arrogant coldness. Even his words were unpleasant.
Song Yuzhang ate heartily, opened a fine bottle of wine, and drank several cups. Sated and slightly tipsy, he held his glass and looked at Nie Yinbing through the clear liquid, letting out a lazy laugh. “The weather’s so nice—why are you always worrying about something?”
Nie Yinbing could tell that Song Yuzhang was very content at that moment.
Song Yuzhang was easy to satisfy. He had desires, but they weren’t strong, nor did he pursue perfection. Good wine and good food were naturally nice, but even with just good food, he could still eat happily.
A few days ago, the two had gone up a mountain together. It rained, and they were stranded, going hungry. Song Yuzhang stood with one foot on a slippery boulder, plucking a leaf and bringing it to his nose, saying that it smelled wonderful after the rain.
Nie Yinbing kept an eye on his footing, afraid he might slip, while also watching the smile on his face. Just managing Song Yuzhang alone was almost too much for him.
When the rain stopped, they went down the mountain and returned to the inn, each going back to their rooms to wash and change. When Nie Yinbing took off his coat and reached into his pocket, he discovered that at some point, Song Yuzhang had slipped that leaf inside.
The leaf carried a faint fragrance. Nie Yinbing held it to his nose and inhaled for a long time.
The waiter later brought fruit—a pomegranate already broken open. Song Yuzhang patiently picked out the seeds one by one, filled a spoon, and smiled at Nie Yinbing, his eyes slightly curved. “Want some?”
Nie Yinbing didn’t want to eat, but since Song Yuzhang was smiling, he nodded.
Song Yuzhang held the spoon in midair without feeding him, his tone lazy and teasing, like coaxing a pet. “Smile first.”
Before Nie Yinbing could react, Song Yuzhang popped the spoonful into his own mouth, chewing as he laughed. “No smile? Then you missed your chance.”
The corner of Nie Yinbing’s lips twitched—he smiled belatedly.
Nie Yinbing didn’t like smoking, drinking, flowers, or pomegranates. All of those were things Song Yuzhang liked. What he liked was Song Yuzhang himself.
For a time, that feeling overshadowed his worries about fulfilling his ambitions in life. Nie Yinbing began to be troubled by love.
Song Yuzhang was a master in matters of romance, yet he completely missed Nie Yinbing’s feelings.
That wasn’t really his fault. Nie Yinbing was cold and wooden, always speaking unpleasantly. If not for his generosity with money, Song Yuzhang might have thought he actually disliked him.
Of course, that suspicion didn’t last long. Song Yuzhang was confident that no one would dislike him if he chose otherwise. The one truly irritating person was Nie Yinbing.
After meeting Song Yuzhang, Nie Yinbing dismissed all his subordinates except for a driver. Like a truly lonely and reclusive oddball, he ended up revolving entirely around Song Yuzhang—as if he had caught hold of someone extraordinary. His dull life was suddenly lit up, and lit up too brightly, almost becoming dazzling and surreal.
The first time he entered a dance hall, Nie Yinbing’s expression was stiff and unpleasant. He disliked such indulgent amusements of wealthy young men; they ran completely counter to his ideals. Many times, he even wished he weren’t the young master of the Nie family.
But Song Yuzhang liked it. He took Nie Yinbing’s hand and bumped his shoulder against him. “We rarely get to come out and have fun—don’t keep such a stiff face.”
Nie Yinbing kept his face rigid. “It’s too noisy here.”
“Too noisy? Is it noisier than firearms training at your military academy?”
Song Yuzhang smiled brightly, leaving Nie Yinbing with nothing to say.
Nie Yinbing sat outside the dance floor, the table in front of him piled with cigarettes and alcohol. He lit a cigarette but didn’t smoke it, staring instead at Song Yuzhang dancing inside.
Song Yuzhang’s dancing was far better than his gambling. He was tall, well-built, with excellent proportions. One hand held his partner’s, the other rested on her waist; his whole body was like a fully drawn bow—elegant yet sharp.
After two dances, Song Yuzhang released the delicate hands that had been holding him tightly, gave his beautiful partner a polite smile, and stepped away from the dance floor.
Nie Yinbing noticed that almost everyone in the hall turned to look, their gazes following Song Yuzhang as he walked out.
Song Yuzhang came over, bent down to grab a glass from the table, and took a big drink. Finding it not cold enough, he added ice from the nearby bucket, then said to Nie Yinbing, “Why not go down and have some fun? Stretch your limbs a bit.”
“No interest.”
By now, Song Yuzhang was used to Nie Yinbing’s lack of enthusiasm and didn’t let it affect his mood. He took another sip of the chilled drink, then sprawled comfortably onto the sofa, crossing one leg. Holding his glass in one hand and brushing back his slightly damp hair with the other, he smiled teasingly. “Be honest—you don’t actually know how to dance, do you?”
Nie Yinbing didn’t deny it.
Back at the military academy, there had been ballroom dance classes. Nie Yinbing couldn’t understand why someone training for war needed to learn dancing, so he had skipped every single lesson.
“You dance very well,” Nie Yinbing said.
Song Yuzhang swirled the ice in his glass. “Want me to teach you?”
Nie Yinbing had originally intended to refuse, but, rare for him, he showed a bit of social awareness. “How would you teach me?”
“How else?” Song Yuzhang smiled carelessly. “Of course, hands-on.”
When teaching Nie Yinbing to dance, Song Yuzhang still didn’t notice anything unusual.
When teaching Nie Yinbing to dance, Song Yuzhang still didn’t notice anything unusual.
There was an open space in the living room of the hotel suite. Nie Yinbing was stiff and rigid; when Song Yuzhang took his hand, the entire hand seemed to go numb.
Song Yuzhang guided Nie Yinbing’s hand to his waist. Nie Yinbing lowered his head—he was taller than Song Yuzhang, and with just a tilt downward, he could see the smooth, restrained curve of Song Yuzhang’s forehead.
Nie Yinbing’s breathing grew uneven. His grip on Song Yuzhang tightened even more stiffly. Song Yuzhang felt his hand hurt from being squeezed and looked up, noticing the unusual look in Nie Yinbing’s eyes—yet he still didn’t understand.
In Song Yuzhang’s mind, Nie Yinbing was more or less like a rich wooden carving—barely half alive. Only when paying money did he act swiftly; otherwise, he was dull and unresponsive. Because of his odd temperament, no one bothered to deal with him, so Song Yuzhang had seized the opportunity to bleed him dry.
Song Yuzhang didn’t think in that direction at all. He assumed Nie Yinbing was feeling unwell and asked a couple of concerned questions. Nie Yinbing’s expression grew even stranger; without a word, he let go and walked off, leaving Song Yuzhang alone in his suite. Song Yuzhang glanced at his own reddened hand and thought, what the hell was that?
Later, after receiving his cut from the racetrack owner and finding himself flush with cash, Song Yuzhang decided to give himself a day off—no need to entertain Nie Yinbing. He would go out and have fun on his own.
Early in the morning, Song Yuzhang left a note at Nie Yinbing’s door, avoiding any conversation that might spoil his mood for the day.
During this period, Song Yuzhang had been living quite comfortably—everything was satisfying, except for one thing… His gaze swept across the dance floor. It was still early evening, and there weren’t many people yet.
In this town, Song Yuzhang had already been around for some time. He wasn’t particularly low-key—his looks made that impossible—but he rarely socialized. People recognized him and knew him as Mr. Zhao, yet no one had truly spoken with him.
Sitting in his seat, Song Yuzhang lightly rotated the rim of his glass with his fingers. Glances came from all directions. He kept his eyes lowered, not responding to any particular gaze, simply waiting to see who had the courage to approach.
When Nie Yinbing found the dance hall, Song Yuzhang was no longer outside the dance floor. He casually grabbed a waiter to ask; Song Yuzhang’s face was so striking that the waiter easily pointed him in the right direction.
In the dimness, Nie Yinbing heard a low laugh. It was the same lazy, carefree laugh as usual, yet somehow different—what was different?
Following the sound, Nie Yinbing moved silently closer.
Song Yuzhang was chatting and laughing with someone—it was another man. The corridor was narrow; they stood face to face, with barely any space between them. Song Yuzhang held a glass, and as he laughed, he flicked his hand lightly, spilling a bit of wine onto the man’s cheek. The man let out a startled cry, though it sounded rather affected.
“Did it splash you?”
Song Yuzhang bent slightly and used the back of his hand to wipe the liquid from the man’s face. The already small distance between them disappeared entirely.
Leaning close to the man’s ear, Song Yuzhang said something, making him laugh so hard he trembled, his body repeatedly leaning into Song Yuzhang’s chest. Song Yuzhang let him lean, one hand holding the glass, the other loosely draped around his shoulder, as if making sure he wouldn’t get splashed again.
Nie Yinbing stepped forward and took the glass from Song Yuzhang’s hand. Caught off guard, Song Yuzhang instinctively pulled back, spilling the rest of the drink over the man’s head.
“Ah—”
This time, the cry sounded much more genuine.
Song Yuzhang was startled, too. Turning his head, he saw Nie Yinbing’s gaze sweep toward him. His brows furrowed slightly, disapproving, but he ignored him, lowering his head first to apologize to the soaked young man.
“Are you alright?”
His tone was gentle, but before he could finish speaking, Nie Yinbing grabbed him and pulled him away.
There were people everywhere outside, and Song Yuzhang didn’t want to struggle in public. He grabbed Nie Yinbing’s arm and stopped. “Yinbing.” His tone turned serious. “Let go.”
Song Yuzhang wasn’t weak either. Nie Yinbing turned back, and the two stood in a standoff in the corridor. Song Yuzhang assumed it was just another fit of spoiled temper and found it irritating again. Seeing Nie Yinbing’s cold, rigid expression, he thought this person really was strange.
Sighing, Song Yuzhang decided not to argue. He took back the glass from Nie Yinbing. There was only a mouthful left; he tilted his head and drank it, then shook his head at Nie Yinbing with a hint of affectionate reproach. “What a waste.”
Just like that, Nie Yinbing—who had come to catch him—ended up being dragged away instead. Song Yuzhang slung an arm over his shoulder, tapping his cheek lightly with the cold glass. “With your temperament, only I can put up with you. It’s just a bit of fun—can’t you even stand that?”
“Just… for fun?” After a long pause, Nie Yinbing finally repeated his words.
Passing by the bar, Song Yuzhang casually set down the glass and asked the bartender for a bottle of liquor. Leaning against the counter, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag. Squinting through the smoke, he smiled at Nie Yinbing. “Yinbing, you’re too old-fashioned.”
The bartender handed over the bottle. Song Yuzhang exhaled a stream of smoke and jerked his chin, signaling Nie Yinbing to take it.
Nie Yinbing reached out and accepted the cold bottle. Song Yuzhang draped an arm over his shoulders, half his weight leaning against him, exhaling smoke by his ear. “Let’s go, young master. Since you won’t let me drink here, we’ll go back and keep drinking.”
Holding the chilled bottle, with Song Yuzhang’s solid warmth pressing against him, Nie Yinbing said in a low voice, “It’s not that I won’t let you drink.”
“Hm?” Song Yuzhang didn’t hear clearly. He lowered his face, looking at him through the haze of smoke. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Nie Yinbing said, his hand tightening around the slender neck of the bottle. “We’ll talk when we get back.”
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