The Real Young Master is Entangled by the Paranoid Fake Young Master - Chapter 1

“Quick, look at that person, is he sick? He looks so pitiful. Maybe we should tell him… today there are important guests at Puyue Temple. Casual visitors aren’t allowed in. He shouldn’t waste his energy walking up the mountain.”

“Don’t go looking for trouble. What if he has some contagious disease? Hurry, let’s go…”

The incense burned bright at Puyue Temple, but today the tourists were all heading down the mountain. Only Song Zhaoqing walked alone against the tide, heading upward.

Zhaoqing was painfully thin. His broken body could barely sustain the long trek; after just a few steps, his chest burned with an agonizing fire. No one would believe that this gaunt, skeletal young man had once been like a lush, upright pine, brimming with life and possessing a bright, handsome face.

Zhaoqing opened his phone to a news page. It was broadcasting yesterday’s press conference, an event that had captured the nation’s attention.

[DK Corp has completed the total acquisition of the Song Group. Francis, head of DK Asia-Pacific, and Mr. Song Zhiyuan, former CEO of Song Group, attended the conference.]

[During the meeting, Mr. Song Zhiyuan dismissed allegations of “unfair competition” by DK Corp and stated he shares a deep personal friendship with Mr. Francis. He will remain at DK in a senior position…]

Though he had prepared himself, Zhaoqing still froze for a few seconds when that familiar face flashed on the screen. Then, his expression smoothed back into a deathly calm. He recalled his taxi driver’s words from earlier:

“You, see? These rich people are hypocrites to the bone. If it weren’t for DK squeezing them to the brink of bankruptcy, would the all-powerful Song Group have surrendered so meekly? And then the eldest Song son turns around and gets cozy with that… what’s-his-name? Fran… yeah, that ‘fake’ Westerner. Treating a funeral like a wedding, it’s disgusting.”

Treating a funeral like a wedding. A precise description, Zhaoqing thought. The Songs always did love that kind of theater.

His phone buzzed. His primary physician’s name flashed on the screen. With a weary pinch of the bridge of his nose, Zhaoqing clicked the power button and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He focused on the path.

At the temple gates, he was stopped by bodyguards. He didn’t get angry; he simply asked to see Lin Qi. Though hesitant, the guard eventually went to pass the message. Soon, Lin Qi, the Song family’s usually unflappable special assistant, arrived in a frantic rush.

Clearly, Zhaoqing’s uninvited presence was a significant problem.

“Oh, President Zhaoqing! What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to congratulate the ‘collaboration’ between the Songs and DK… look, I even brought a gift.” Zhaoqing raised the gift box in his hand. His face was unreadable, but Lin Qi could feel the biting mockery emanating from him.

“Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?” When Lin Qi remained silent, Zhaoqing took a step forward.

Lin Qi blocked him. “President Zhaoqing, please don’t make this hard for me! Why put yourself through this?”

“Mr. Song and the Eldest Young Master are inside, along with the Fu and Xie families. Most importantly… Young Master Yuening is back. He’s the head of DK now, the most powerful man in the circle. You two never got along; he likely doesn’t want to see you.”

Lin Qi was already calculating how to have the guards drag him away if he tried to force his way in.

“Francis… Song Yuening… your true master at the Song house.” At the mention of that name, Zhaoqing let out a hysterical laugh. He laughed until he doubled over, until tears leaked from his eyes.

Lin Qi watched him, thinking he had finally lost his mind. It wasn’t surprising; for years, the “real” young master had lived a pathetic existence. No one in the family treated him like a person, let alone an equal to Yuening. Even the patriarch had lamented that it was a pity Yuening wasn’t their biological flesh and blood.

In their eyes, Song Zhaoqing was clumsy, vulgar, and ignorant ruined by his gambler of an adoptive father. Letting him keep the title of “foster son” was generous enough. Now that Yuening was back, Zhaoqing being discarded was a foregone conclusion.

Zhaoqing’s laughter subsided as he touched the faint scar on his forehead. He got that scar at sixteen. He had just joined the Song family and was clumsily trying to please the frail, beloved Song Yuening. He spent a whole morning in the kitchen brewing medicine for him.

Moments after drinking it, Yuening fell violently ill. By the time the doctor arrived, the entire family was at Yuening’s bedside. The doctor somberly informed them that peanut powder an allergen everyone, including Zhaoqing, knew Yuening couldn’t touch had been added to the medicine.

Without a word of inquiry, the Song patriarch stood and slapped Zhaoqing so hard that the malnourished boy stumbled into a porcelain vase. The flying shards left that permanent mark on his brow.

Years later, Zhaoqing learned that Yuening had added the powder himself. It was a play for sympathy that had kept Zhaoqing buried in guilt for a decade. Song Yuening had used countless tricks like that to cement his place, teaching Zhaoqing that “fatherly love” and “brotherly bonds” were luxuries he would never own.

Even now, Zhaoqing could see the hatred in their eyes from that day. They didn’t love him for his blood, but they hated him for possibly hurting Yuening.

He didn’t want to fight for a place in their hearts anymore, he knew he’d never win, but he couldn’t understand why he always had to be the one to step aside. The project he and his best friend, Fang Yang, had worked on for three years was scrapped by his brother just to appease DK. His hard work at the company was rendered void by a single, offhand comment from Yuening.

Fang Yang had been his only true friend. On a rainy night, while taking their rejected plans to a new investor, Fang Yang was hit by a speeding car and died instantly. Zhaoqing’s grief was so profound he couldn’t even cry. At not even thirty, his hair was turning grey like an old man’s.

He hadn’t been able to find justice for Fang Yang because the hit-and-run driver vanished without a trace.

But it doesn’t matter now, Zhaoqing thought. I’ll see him soon.

Late-stage stomach cancer. That was the diagnosis he received two months ago. When he lay down in that quiet cemetery, he and Fang Yang could share a drink again.

Zhaoqing stopped laughing and looked Lin Qi in the eye. Despite his physical decay, his eyes still shone like the brightest stars. “I only came to say congratulations. Why treat me like a thief?”

Before Lin Qi could respond, a clear, sweet voice broke the tension.

“Oh, Assistant Lin, what are you doing here? President Song is looking for you!”

A pure, innocent face appeared Jiang Yizhu.

“Oh, Zhaoqing is here too…” Jiang Yizhu turned with wide, innocent eyes. “Assistant Lin, go find President Song. Zhaoqing and I are friends; I’ll talk to him.”

Lin Qi fled the scene immediately.

Zhaoqing’s gaze dropped to Jiang Yizhu’s collar, which was intentionally left open to reveal dark, ambiguous red marks.

Noticing the stare, Jiang Yizhu pulled the collar wider, his smile turning predatory. “See these? Ah-Xuan left them. You know that, right?”

“Did you see the news? Ah-Xuan and I are engaged. We’re marrying in six months. I’ll send you an invite… you must come. After all, you’re my… best friend.”

“Who is your friend? Jiang Yizhu, have you hallucinated a friendship? Xie Chengxuan isn’t here to watch your performance.”

Jiang Yizhu’s face twisted. He couldn’t stand that Zhaoqing, who had nothing left, still acted so superior. He decided to unleash years of hidden resentment.

“What does a loser like you know? Ah-Xuan told me that in all the years you were together, you wouldn’t even let him touch you. Talk about acting! Let me tell you the truth: on your first anniversary, he wasn’t ‘busy.’ We were in bed together. Even back in school, he was kissing me and touching me, promising he’d never leave me. How many times do you think we cheated behind your back?”

Jiang Yizhu had grown up in the red-light district; he could speak of such things without a hint of shame. “He said you have zero sex appeal. Boring and prudish. He’s sick of looking at your face.”

“Then what does he like about you?” Zhaoqing asked calmly. These words had no sting; he had given up on Xie Chengxuan the day he saw the betrayal with his own eyes. “He likes that your face looks fifty percent like Song Yuening’s, doesn’t he?”

“You think you stole him, but you’re just a cheap substitute used to ease his unrequited obsession with Yuening.”

Jiang Yizhu was enraged. He hated being called a lookalike. “So what? At least Ah-Xuan loves me! What about you? Ah-Xuan only approached you because Yuening hated you. He made a bet with those rich kids to make you fall in love with him and then dump you just to give Yuening a laugh. You’re so pathetic. Do you even know who killed Fang Yang?”

“It was Ah-Xuan’s cousin, Xie Qianze! Fang Yang was just unlucky. Ah-Xuan knew the whole time, but he kept it from you to protect his cousin and a billion-dollar deal with DK. He watched you run around like a headless fly looking for the killer and said nothing.”

Zhaoqing felt a ringing in his ears. The world blurred.

He didn’t even feel Jiang Yizhu push him. He only saw a group of people approaching: his furious biological father, a cold Song Zhiyuan, a shame-faced Xie Chengxuan, and at the center of it all the person Zhaoqing feared most, Song Yuening.

Song Yuening was elegant, noble, and beautiful like a god. But to Zhaoqing, he was a demon.

Zhaoqing realized he was wrong. He shouldn’t have come. He needed to escape this nightmare.

“Song Zhaoqing!” Yuening called out, pushing Xie Chengxuan aside. His gaze was focused, like a predator who had finally found its prey.

That look sent a shiver through Zhaoqing, reminding him of a night years ago when a drunken Yuening had pinned him to a bed to humiliate him.

“Damn it.” Zhaoqing cursed. He turned and ran down the mountain. He wouldn’t go back. He wouldn’t die in that house where human life was treated like grass.

He wanted to find Xie Qianze. He didn’t have much time left, but he would make him pay for Fang Yang’s life.

He saw a taxi with its “Vacant” sign on, speeding toward him. He waved frantically to stop it.

But the car suddenly swerved and accelerated directly at him.

The impact was devastating. Zhaoqing collapsed into a pool of blood. The car reversed and ran over his body again.

As his life ebbed away, he turned his head to see his reflection in the blood. He was so tired. He had tried so hard, yet he had ruined everything. He knew that to Yuening, he wasn’t even an enemy just a minor, pathetic character.

If he had never returned to the Song family, would it have been different?

The car stopped. In his final moments, his adoptive father, Chen Wan, stepped out. His eyes were bloodshot as he spat at Zhaoqing.

“You little brat. You become a rich young master and won’t give me a cent? After I raised you! Someone paid for your life, and the price was worth it. Once you’re dead, I’m taking the money and leaving the country! Since you were such good friends with that Fang Yang, I’m giving you the same death. You can die happy now.”

They say hearing is the last sense to go. As the darkness took him, Zhaoqing thought he heard someone screaming his name in agony. But it didn’t matter who it was.

Song Zhaoqing’s brief life ended in a filthy puddle on the side of a mountain road.