Song Yuzhang: Chapter 11 - A family
Chapter 11: A family
Song Yuzhang's body had yet to fully recover, and during his time resting on the ship, he had only been drinking plain congee. Faced with a table full of exotic delicacies, he merely tasted a little, afraid that his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it.
“Why aren't you eating?” The eldest brother of the Song family spoke to him from across an empty seat. “Is it not to your liking?”
“It's not that,” Song Yuzhang answered cautiously. “I went several days without food or water while drifting at sea. My stomach hasn't fully recovered yet. If I eat too much rich food, I fear it will cause problems.”
“I was careless…”
Song Jincheng started to speak but abruptly stopped.
It wasn't that he had been careless—it was that he had been too calculating. He had deliberately wanted to make things difficult for this younger brother who had survived a brush with death. He had intended to act as if nothing had happened and treat him as just another person. Yet, in the moment, he had forgotten himself, and an apology had slipped from his lips before he could take it back. This realization left Song Jincheng feeling frustrated.
“It’s no problem,” Song Yuzhang said warmly. “I understand that all my brothers have my best interests at heart.” He lifted the cup beside him. “It has been many years since we've met. I shall toast you all with water instead of wine.”
The Song brothers had claimed they were holding this banquet to welcome him, but in reality, they intended to put him in his place. Instead, the one being tested had turned out to be the most gracious one at the table.
Seeing his two elder brothers raise their glasses, Song Mingzhao, though unwilling, followed suit.
Once that toast was done, the banquet ended hastily. Song Jincheng ordered a servant to take Song Yuzhang to his room before leaving the dining table himself. The moment Song Jincheng left, Song Yekang also rose, leaving behind only Song Mingzhao, who sat there with an empty stomach, wearing a dull and puzzled expression. His suspicions flared up again, wondering if his two brothers were playing him—tricking him into opposing Song Yuzhang while they stood back to enjoy the show.
The servant leading Song Yuzhang was the same young maid whom Song Mingzhao had questioned earlier. She walked briskly ahead, her long, glossy braid tied at the end with a bright red ribbon, looking lively and charming.
The Song family estate was astonishingly vast, like a labyrinth. From the outside, it resembled a grand palace. Song Yuzhang had seen photographs of the White House in American newspapers before, and the Song estate was a similar style of Western architecture. Inside, the floors were dark wood, crystal chandeliers hung overhead, and exquisite imported ornaments and paintings were everywhere.
As a child, Song Yuzhang had lived in a small mansion. Though called a mansion, it was essentially an apartment with only three rooms—one for Xiao Yingtao, one for himself, and a storage room where unused household items were piled up alongside a young Chun Xing. The living room was not very large. Compared to some, their home was comfortable, but it was far from extravagant.
After leaving that home, Song Yuzhang and Chun Xing had depended on each other for some time. They had little money and had to share accommodations with others, the two of them squeezing into a single room.
Later, he had wandered from place to place, never settling down. He had stayed in countless inns and hotels, some shabby, some luxurious. Now, standing before the Song estate—a colossal palace of a home—Song Yuzhang felt both excitement and anticipation. It was like stepping into a grand challenge, and he was eager to take it on. A fresh, indescribable thrill surged through him.
Thinking of this, he recalled the delicate-featured ‘Brother Tingjing’ and assumed he must be the son of a wealthy and noble family as well. People always said that the rich were shrewd, but often, the wealthier someone was, the more blindly confident they became in their own judgment. They assumed all their wealth was earned through their intelligence and looked down on ordinary people from their high horses—only to sometimes make the simplest, most fatal mistakes…
“Fifth Young Master,” the young maid stopped in front of a door, her face still faintly flushed. “This is your room.”
Song Yuzhang looked at her, smiling as he nodded. “Thank you. What is your name?”
“My name is Wan Lan.”
“A lovely name.”
Wan Lan seemed to be overwhelmed with shyness, not even daring to meet Song Yuzhang's gaze. She only told him that if he needed anything, he could call on her.
After Wan Lan closed the door behind her, Song Yuzhang stepped into the room. His eyes swept over it, and he quickly realized that just this one room alone was several times larger than the small mansion he had lived in as a child.
He stood at the doorway, gazing at the luxurious furnishings, and made a very objective assessment of his current situation— ‘They've let a wolf into the house.’
The lone wolf, Song Yuzhang, cheerfully sprawled onto the bed, letting out a long breath. His mind was still a chaotic mess—too many devious thoughts. So many wealthy young masters placed in front of him, and he couldn't quite decide who to target first.
Tang Jin had given him a whole chest of legal tender—enough to buy a house and a car at the very least. But that chest of money had sunk into the sea, and the loss made his heart ache. He had to get that money back no matter what.
The real Song family’s young master had most likely perished in the shipwreck. Poor kid—born into a life of wealth and luxury, only to die before he could even enjoy it. Such a pity. Song Yuzhang turned over in bed and thought that a person should have a conscience. The real young master had died unfairly, and here he was, using his identity to swindle his family’s money. It was rather immoral. He had already decided how to atone for it.
With his hands behind his head, Song Yuzhang stared up at the crystal chandelier, his mind clear. “I'll just burn more spirit money for him.”
After lying there for a while, Song Yuzhang sat up, suddenly interested in exploring the room.
The Song family had prepared a suite for their so-called Fifth Master, divided into four sections: a bedroom, a bathroom, a study, and a dressing room. The dressing room was neatly stocked with brand-new summer clothes, polished leather shoes, ties, and scarves—all prepared in perfect order.
Running his hand over the pristine, elegant clothing, Song Yuzhang thought that the Song family was truly amusing. The one returning was a young master, not a young lady—why prepare so many clothes? He probably wouldn't be able to wear them all in a single summer.
As for those elder brothers—excluding the missing Third Brother—his eldest, second, and fourth brothers were all crafty characters, each harboring their own schemes. Did they really think he couldn’t see through them?
Dropping his hand, Song Yuzhang strolled out of the dressing room and into the study. Two large bookshelves stood inside, already half-filled. He randomly pulled out a book—it was a collection of modern poetry. Flipping to a page, he found that every poem revolved around a woman’s thighs and red lips. Taking a step back, he scanned the bookshelf as a whole and noticed that a large portion of the books had foreign titles.
Song Mingzhao had said that ‘he’ had just returned from England.
Lowering his head in thought, Song Yuzhang’s mind, now fully alert, quickly recalled the joke he had made to Chen Hanmin on the ship.
When he woke up, Chen Hanmin had been looking full of energy, clearly having been rescued before him.
What would Chen Hanmin say after he was rescued? That little flirt, who practically wanted to tattoo the word ‘student abroad’ on his forehead, would never forget to mention it, no matter how flustered he was.
“This is my friend, Mr. Song. He just returned from England, just like me—a fellow overseas student.”
Song Yuzhang chuckled softly, placing the poetry collection against his forehead, barely able to contain his amusement.
If this wasn’t fate, what was?
He laughed for a long while—laughed until his head spun—before finally calming down. Then, flipping through the poetry collection, he began reading its utterly ridiculous verses with great interest.
The poet’s word choices were both delicate and vulgar—at first glance, they seemed harmless, but upon closer examination, every line carried a lewd undertone. More than a poet, the author seemed like a grand scoundrel. Song Yuzhang found it rather amusing. Smirking, he read on as he wandered toward the window.
Outside the window was a lush green lawn, so flawless it seemed like a giant emerald embedded in the ground. Song Yuzhang was no sheltered young master ignorant of worldly affairs—he knew well the cost of maintaining such a beautiful lawn. Haizhou truly was extraordinary. Perhaps he should have come here sooner—this place was a real money pit.
As Song Yuzhang was lost in thought, movement stirred on the lawn. A car was approaching—not the steady, dignified one that had brought him earlier, but one that swerved wildly, speeding recklessly, as if the driver had no regard for anything. It veered off the pristine white path multiple times, rolling onto the grass, making Song Yuzhang wince at the damage.
Seeing the servants gathering around in preparation, he didn’t need to guess—this had to be the Third Young Master of the Song family, the one who hadn’t shown up at the meal earlier.
This Third Young Master must be quite the eccentric. Though Song Yuzhang didn’t know why ‘he’ had been separated from his brothers in childhood, the other four clearly didn’t have a good relationship with ‘him.’ At least the rest of them had bothered to make an appearance—this one hadn’t even shown his face. It was obvious he thought himself above the rest.
Song Yuzhang observed from upstairs as the servants opened the car door. A tall man stepped out, his broad shoulders taking up space. Hands stuffed in his pockets, the wind tousled the curls atop his head the moment he emerged.
Song Yuzhang couldn’t help but chuckle.
But then, as if especially sharp, the Third Young Master suddenly lifted his head, his gaze locking directly onto the third-floor window.
It was right at Song Yuzhang’s room.
Caught in the distant stare, Song Yuzhang didn’t dodge or retreat. Holding his poetry book, he continued to watch calmly from above.
The sunlight was blinding, and with the wind making his eyes water, there was no way the man could see anything clearly.
Sure enough, a moment later, Song Qiyuan lowered his head and, surrounded by servants, entered the house.
“Really?”
“Really,” the servant affirmed with certainty. “So beautiful it doesn’t even seem real.”
Song Qiyuan laughed heartily, his curly hair bouncing as he shook his head. “Are you praising or insulting him?”
The servant grinned. “Third Young Master, I don’t have much schooling, so I don’t know how to put it nicely, but I swear it’s true. We’ve never seen anyone this good-looking before—really, not even human, more like an immortal.”
“An immortal? Have you seen an immortal before?” Song Qiyuan asked as he climbed the stairs. “Like that little jade fairy from the White Tower?”
“Third Young Master, you’re joking. Those women can’t compare to Fifth Young Master at all…”
Song Qiyuan walked with an easy stride, laughter spilling from his lips. He had never put on airs around the servants, chatting with them as if they were old friends. “What’s there to compare? Aren’t they all just people? There’s no such thing as—”
As he rounded the staircase, someone was waiting at the landing. A young man stood there, one hand resting lightly on the railing, the other hanging by his side. His face was a bit pale, carrying a sickly air, but his features were soft and refined. He stood at a slight elevation, smiling with perfect grace. That smile had a presence—like a mist creeping in, wrapping around its target. And along with it came a voice, sincere and melodious: “Third Brother.”
***
“The weather’s getting hotter, and Father’s appetite is getting worse. Ever since Old Jiang left for his hometown, I feel like he looks thinner every time I visit. Tingjing, why don’t you bring him back?”
“Sister, you’re mistaken. It’s not about the new cook—it’s about the new concubine,” Meng Tingjing replied with a smirk. “The old man’s running out of stamina.”
Meng Susha covered her lips with a handkerchief, lowering her voice as if she couldn’t stand her brother’s bluntness. “Second Brother, you shouldn’t talk about Father like that.”
“I’m just stating the facts.”
“Then you should at least try to persuade him.”
“You go do it,” Meng Tingjing crossed his legs. “I have nothing to say to him.”
Meng Susha sighed, falling silent for a moment before offering a gentle smile. “I heard from my husband that you saved Fifth Brother. I want to thank you on his behalf.”
Meng Tingjing let out a short laugh. “No need.”
Then, he leaned back and tilted his head. “How long do you plan on hiding out here?”
“Until the evening. His brothers will want to talk, and they have to see Father, too. I’ll wait until later.”
Meng Tingjing studied her. She was his full-blooded sister, gentle and mild-tempered, never one to get angry. Her lifelong dream had been to be a virtuous wife and mother, always obedient to her husband. Sometimes, he thought Song Jincheng was a fool for having such a good wife and still keeping two concubines outside. Other times, he felt that with a personality like Meng Susha’s, there was no way she could have ever controlled Song Jincheng.
As soon as their brothers reunited, she had left the house on her own accord, not wanting to be an inconvenience—or perhaps she knew her husband didn’t truly welcome this outsider of a brother and didn’t want to embarrass him. In short, Meng Susha was a considerate wife, and Song Jincheng was a bastard.
With that thought, Meng Tingjing lost any lingering guilt about messing things up. He said, “Stay for dinner.”
“I’ll see.”
“Stay,” he said firmly. “I’ll have the kitchen make your favorite dishes.”
Meng Susha smiled gently. “Then I’ll listen to you.”
She could never refuse her father, husband, or younger brother.
After lunch, Meng Susha said she was heading to Zhongyue Hall for a checkup.
Meng Tingjing frowned. “Still taking medicine?”
“Mm.”
“Isn’t the problem Song Jincheng?”
“The medicine also helps regulate my body. It won’t do any harm.”
She adjusted her handbag and smiled at him. “I sleep better at night after taking it. Don’t I look healthier?”
Meng Tingjing scoffed internally but held his tongue. “I’ll take you there.”
“No need, you have business at the docks.”
“It’s on the way.”
After dropping Meng Susha off at Zhongyue Hall, Meng Tingjing directed his driver to the police station.
The Peony had been a disaster. There was still an endless mess to clean up.
Thinking about the Peony inevitably led him to think about Song Yuzhang.
It was just a passing thought, without any particular emotion attached.
Meng Tingjing remained expressionless as he mused, “That guy… really is beautiful.”
At the same moment, Song Qiyuan was having nearly the exact same thought.
“Really beautiful,” he thought. Except in his mind, the words were followed by— “This impostor.”
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