Song Yuzhang: Chapter 13 - Settle Down
Chapter 13: Settle Down
Song Zhenqiao woke up, but his speech had become unclear, making it difficult for him to form complete sentences. With tears in his eyes, he gently touched Song Yuzhang’s face, his expression full of affection. Song Yuzhang cooperated by lowering his head, his eyes also glistening with unshed tears.
The other four Song brothers watched this touching display of fatherly love and filial piety, each with a different expression—none of them particularly happy.
Song Mingzhao was the one who struggled the most to keep his emotions in check.
Before Song Yuzhang’s arrival, he had been the youngest son. Yet, Song Zhenqiao had never spoiled him, had never shown him the slightest bit of the indulgence usually reserved for the youngest child. Instead, his father had always found him lacking. If he made a mistake, Song Zhenqiao would not spare him even a little dignity, berating him in front of the servants without restraint.
And now that there was a new youngest son, his father simply couldn’t dote on him enough. Even though his words were barely coherent, it was obvious just how much he adored this wild little bastard.
Song Mingzhao’s heart ached with resentment. So what if he’s a little better-looking? He’s not an actor—what’s the point of competing based on appearance?
Song Zhenqiao mumbled some kind words as he held onto Song Yuzhang’s hand. Finally, as if exhausted, he beckoned the other four sons closer. Moving Song Yuzhang’s hand to his chest, he gave them a meaningful look. The brothers exchanged glances.Song Qiyuan let out a chuckle and placed his hand over theirs, clasping Song Yuzhang’s through their father’s.
Song Yuzhang glanced at him. Song Qiyuan was looking back with an amused expression, as if watching a play.
The others soon followed, each with their own thoughts, placing their hands over one another’s.
As the eldest, Song Jincheng spoke first. “Dad, don’t worry. We will take good care of our little brother.”
Song Zhenqiao nodded, looking both comforted and exhausted.
With that formality completed, the five brothers left the hospital room together, falling into silence.
“My head hurts.”
Song Mingzhao said bitterly, “I’m leaving.”
Song Jincheng had no desire to deal with him. In fact, he didn’t want to bother with any of his brothers. He had a trip to the villa planned. “I have business at the bank. I’ll be busy.”
In an instant, only three remained outside the hospital room.
Song Yekang was actually a little afraid of Song Yuzhang. He wanted to leave, but his feet wouldn’t move. Staying made him uneasy, but walking away felt difficult.
“Brothers,” Song Yuzhang said, his exhaustion finally showing, “I’m a little tired. Can I go home and rest first?”
“Of course,” Song Yekang said quickly. “Third Brother, you take him back. I need to stop by the bank.”
At the hospital entrance, Song Yekang went his own way, leaving only Song Qiyuan and Song Yuzhang. “They’ve all left now,” Song Qiyuan remarked.
Something stirred in Song Yuzhang’s mind. This Song Qiyuan felt different from the others, as if he knew something they didn’t.
But Song Yuzhang said nothing. For now, he was keeping quiet—not even cracking any jokes. It wasn’t the right time yet. He needed patience.
They got into the car and sat together in the backseat. The Song family owned several vehicles, and the one they were riding in was a Buick. The backseat was spacious, keeping just the right amount of distance between them. Neither spoke.
The car moved along the road, slightly jostling as it went. With every bump, the atmosphere inside seemed to shift slightly. Song Yuzhang caught the scent of Song Qiyuan’s cologne and suddenly asked, “Third Brother, when can I go back to England?”
Song Qiyuan had been sitting quietly, but now his face showed genuine surprise.
Of all the things Song Yuzhang could have asked, this was not what he had expected.
He didn’t bother hiding his reaction. “You want to go back to England?”
Song Yuzhang smiled, a little bitterly, and then fell silent again, offering only a somber, melancholic profile.
When they arrived at the Song residence, the exhaustion on Song Yuzhang’s face deepened. “Third Brother, I’m going upstairs.” Ignoring Song Qiyuan’s unreadable expression, he went straight to his enormous room and lay on the bed, resuming his reading of that infamous rogue’s novel.
He had no interest in women’s thighs or their red lips. He was reading while thinking, letting his scheming mind find fuel for its plots.
Things were becoming clearer.
The four Song brothers and their father were all fools.
No—there was one clever man among them.
Song Qiyuan had grasped something about him… but that didn’t make sense. In just half a day, even Song Zhenqiao, his supposed biological father, had failed to see through him—he had simply held his hand and wept. So how could Song Qiyuan, of all people, be watching him with such an amused expression? With an indifferent expression, Song Yuzhang turned another page. The problem wasn’t with him. There was no need to rush. Since Song Qiyuan wasn’t confronting him outright, then there was no real threat—for now, he would wait and see.
A bank, huh… Song Yuzhang took a deep breath, his lips curving into a smile.
Tapping his fingers on the stark white page, an idea began to take shape in his mind— Should I just settle down here?
For years, he had drifted from place to place, chasing excitement, nearly dying more than once. He had experienced everything—life and death, love and hate, joy and sorrow.
Perhaps this was fate.
In his entire life, he had rarely used the name ‘Song Yuzhang.’
Xiao Yingtao had called him ‘Baby.’ Chun Xing had called him ‘Young Master.’
‘Yuzhang’ was his given name, but almost no one had ever addressed him by it. It had been that one call—‘Brother Yuzhang’—that had ushered in this new life.
Wasn’t that a strange and poetic coincidence?
He had escaped death at sea. In that dreamlike state, he had relived his past as if watching a montage of his life. So perhaps… he had already died once. This was his second life—the life of ‘Song Yuzhang.’
For the first time, his thoughts were crystal clear. Even his usual scheming seemed to settle into something calm. The thought of ‘settling down’ swelled within him, filling his chest with a warm certainty.
He could tell that none of the Song brothers harbored good intentions toward him. But that didn’t matter. He had no plans to play happy family with them. He only wanted to be a wealthy, carefree man.
And England—he would go to England someday! Song Yuzhang’s eyes brightened. He had never been abroad. Chen Hanmin had told him many stories about the beauty of France. Maybe he could see it for himself?
For years, he had roamed across the land, causing trouble, deceiving people, entangling himself in emotions. And now, he finally admitted to himself—he was still quite inexperienced.
A person’s horizons must always expand. Song Yuzhang’s thoughts had always been chaotic yet orderly. He enjoyed thinking alone, almost as if he were fighting with himself. By nightfall, his decision was made.
He would settle down.
Song Yuzhang sat up, still dressed in the old clothes from his time at sea, the lingering scent surrounding him—faint yet persistent.
Settle down.
From this moment on, Song Yuzhang was truly ‘Song Yuzhang.’
His eyes grew brighter. He had always lived without care, indulging in the present with a carefree spirit. But now, for the first time, he had a clear goal. His drifting, directionless life suddenly had a purpose.
When he was adrift at sea, he remained unshaken because his entire life had been like a lone boat on the ocean, going wherever the waves took him.
Now, someone had pulled him ashore.
Then let it be the shore.
Song Yuzhang was not one to hesitate—he made his decision swiftly and decisively.
With certainty in his heart, even his previously frail body seemed to gain strength. He put down the rogue poet’s book he had been reading and, for the first time, took a tour of the dressing room he had little interest in before. He picked out a hat and put it on. The wide brim covered most of his face, leaving only his straight nose and lips visible. Thinking of the poet’s description of red lips, he felt an itch in his heart.
The phrase ‘settle down’ seemed to carry a peculiar magic. In that instant, Song Yuzhang felt truly grounded. He was at peace—and he was beginning to miss someone.
He thought of Fu Mian again.
What a pity.
He had countless chances to take that noble young master, yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had been afraid that if he left, Fu Mian wouldn't be able to survive.
Looking at himself in the mirror, Song Yuzhang tilted his face slightly and shook his head. Sometimes, he thought, he was still too soft-hearted. At the same time, he had to admit—the hat suited him quite well.
After fiddling with himself for a while, Wan Lan knocked on the door.
“Fifth Young Master, Second Young Master Meng is here to see you.”
Song Yuzhang took off the hat and stepped out. The door was already open, and Wan Lan stood there gracefully. Beside her stood a tall, handsome young man.
Meng Tingjing had changed into a dark bluish-gray long robe, exuding an air of effortless elegance. His features were striking, his complexion particularly pale and alluring. Though he wore a smile, it was a cold, unreadable one.
“Brother Yuzhang.”
Meng Tingjing called out loudly, his voice carrying a cheerful lilt, echoing slightly in the spacious room. Song Yuzhang was pleasantly surprised—after all, it was this man’s call of ‘Brother Yuzhang’ that had greeted him when he first woke up, the beginning of all these coincidences.
So, his surname was Meng? Song Yuzhang strolled over and greeted him with warmth and ease. “Brother Tingjing.”
He had already figured out from the docks that this man was the younger brother of the Song family's eldest sister-in-law.
Meng Tingjing glanced at Wan Lan beside him. She, being familiar with him as the maid of Meng Susha, promptly shut the door without hesitation.
As soon as the door closed, Meng Tingjing's expression changed.
He reached out suddenly and grabbed Song Yuzhang by the throat.
Caught completely off guard, Song Yuzhang found himself under Meng Tingjing’s control, his face naturally showing a hint of surprise. “You—”
Meng Tingjing wasted no time. He tightened his grip and took two forceful steps forward, slamming Song Yuzhang against the wall with a loud thud.
Song Yuzhang’s body was still weak from illness, so he did not resist. Instead, he looked at Meng Tingjing in confusion.
Meng Tingjing was staring at him intently, his expression shifting unpredictably. Song Yuzhang had initially assumed this was simply a case of mistaken identity rather than some old lover seeking revenge. But now, seeing Meng Tingjing’s attitude, he wasn’t so sure. Could it be both? No, that seemed unlikely.
Inside Meng Tingjing’s mind, fury was boiling over like oil on an open flame.
From childhood, whether in school—domestically or abroad—or later when he took over family affairs, he had always prided himself on his intelligence. No one ever fooled him.
And yet, this shameless bastard had somehow tricked him!
But what could he do now? Go to Song Jincheng and tell him that the real Song Yuzhang had never even boarded the ship? That the person in front of them was an imposter?
He, Meng Tingjing, had actually been deceived!
Ridiculous! Infuriating! Unforgivable!
Meng Tingjing had always been quick-tempered, his anger as fierce as fire, but within that fiery temperament lurked a chilling cruelty. His emotions swung between burning hot and ice cold, and now, as he caught a faint trace of a familiar scent—this bastard was still wearing his old clothes! His fury only deepened.
Yet, even in his rage, Meng Tingjing was careful. Though Song Yuzhang was being restrained, he wasn’t in actual pain—only keenly aware of the strange sensation of being controlled. He spoke softly, “What’s the matter? Did I offend you?”
His voice and demeanor were gentle, with a teasing undertone, as if he were flirting. It was hard to tell if this was his natural disposition or a calculated act.
Meng Tingjing slowly lifted his face, his expression now utterly frigid. He spoke each word as if carving them into ice. “Talk. Properly.”
Song Yuzhang noticed that Meng Tingjing’s fair face, flushed with rage, looked almost like a blooming peach blossom. The more angry and arrogant this young master became, the more adorable he seemed in Song Yuzhang’s eyes—much more charming than the stiff and awkward version of him back on the ship.
Song Yuzhang had never been afraid of pretty boys. His gaze softened with helpless warmth. Meng Tingjing seemed particularly intolerant of that expression. His grip immediately tightened, forcing Song Yuzhang to tilt his head back.
In that moment, Meng Tingjing’s palm felt something—a slight, subtle movement. He glanced down and saw Song Yuzhang’s Adam’s apple rolling slowly within his pale, slender neck, shifting with each breath like a lively little fish. Meng Tingjing had the sudden urge to slice open his throat, drag that fish out, and swallow it whole.
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