The Real Young Master is Entangled by the Paranoid Fake Young Master - Chapter 12

Song Shicheng found the situation absurd, while Song Zhiyuan was even more stunned that Zhaoqing dared to negotiate with their father. Zhiyuan felt his father’s authority being challenged and his own dignity being trampled upon once again.

He finally couldn’t help but snap: “Song Zhaoqing, let me remind you, not just anyone has the right to stand at this table and discuss ‘interest exchange’ with the head of the Song family.”

“Oh? So, you were planning to have me work for free? What kind of shamelessness gave you the confidence to say that?” Zhaoqing retorted, using a indirect swipe at Zhiyuan to hit Shicheng. “You surely don’t think you can use the Song ‘prestige’ to just take whatever you want without paying, do you?”

“Enough!” Shicheng’s fury reached a breaking point. He suppressed his rage, his face turning a ghastly shade of green as he cut off their bickering.

“Song Zhaoqing! Are you really trying to negotiate terms with your own father?”

“Mr. Song, I haven’t even decided to acknowledge you as my father yet!”

Zhaoqing pivoted back to his mocking tone. “It’s a surprise even to me that a ‘street thug’ like myself could be the son of the noble Mr. Song. But alas, this is my nature I’m shortsighted and lack ability. I only care about one thing: if you want me to look after Song Yuening, what kind of compensation are you offering?”

“Let’s skip the ‘family affection’ talk. It’s much better to keep everything strictly about the money.”

Looking at Zhaoqing, Shicheng once again experienced the boy’s unnerving composure. The boy showed zero fear; it was a constant surprise. At this moment, Zhaoqing didn’t project much physical pressure, yet his cold sense of distance made him feel like a seasoned leader, certainly not the temperament of a “street thug.”

“Name it. How much do you want?” Shicheng realized that “gentle” manipulation wouldn’t work. He dropped the mask of the kind father and reverted to the cold-blooded businessman who prioritized profit above all else.

“One million,” Zhaoqing said instantly.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Zhiyuan was the first to explode. “Yuening is getting better every day. You’d only be looking after him for a few months at most, and you’re opening your mouth for that much?”

“Two million,” Zhaoqing ignored him, continuing to raise the price.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Zhiyuan shouted.

“Three million.” Zhaoqing looked at him with dark, bright eyes as if staring at a dead object. “Say one more word, and it won’t be as simple as three million.”

“This amount is nothing to you, but I really hate people chirping in my ear. Song Zhiyuan, I am speaking to the head of the Song family. What does this have to do with you? Or do you believe you have the right to speak on his behalf?”

“I—! Father, please don’t let him drive a wedge between us!” Zhiyuan’s face went pale. Before he could even finish his retort, he scrambled to prove his innocence to Shicheng.

Shicheng’s patience was exhausted, not just with his disobedient younger son, but also with his talkative, overstepping elder son. He knew Zhiyuan was ambitious and shared the blood of a schemer; he certainly wasn’t above thoughts of replacing his father.

He cut Zhiyuan off and looked at Zhaoqing. “Fine. Three million. But remember: once you take the Song family’s money, you stay in this house. Do not think of playing games, and do not expect anything else from us. Do you understand?”

Three million. This was a carefully calculated figure. Zhaoqing desperately needed capital. While three million was a fortune for a sixteen-year-old, it was pocket change for the Songs. Zhaoqing needed this money for one very specific, very important purpose.

In his past life, Zhaoqing didn’t meet Fang Yang for another two years. Back then, Fang Yang told him that two years prior (which would be now), he had independently developed a tech product. It was ready for market, but his investors pulled out at the last second.

Zhaoqing knew it was the work of Fang Haoyang and his mother. Fang Yang was the product of Mr. Fang’s assault on a maid; as the “shame” of the Fang family, he grew up in the cold. That project was meant to be his ticket out of the Fang house, but it was stolen. Soon after, the Fangs released a nearly identical product, and the credit went to the incompetent Fang Haoyang. At the victory party, Fang Yang had snapped and fought Haoyang, leading to him being beaten half to death by the Fangs.

The brilliant, driven Fang Yang disappeared that day, replaced by the cynical, broken man Zhaoqing met later. In the past life, the “jinx” Song Zhaoqing and the “discarded son” Fang Yang supported each other in the business world, only to be betrayed and ruined again.

This time, while Fang Yang’s project still has a chance, Zhaoqing must find him and invest that three million. In this life, they won’t just survive they will thrive!

Meanwhile, Song Yuening leaned back on the sofa, looking bored and impatient. Lin Qi stood nearby, not daring to meet his eyes.

Yuening ignored him, his thoughts seemingly far away. Only when Lin Qi’s legs began to ache did Yuening speak.

“The person who just left my room that was Song Zhaoqing, wasn’t it? Strange. He doesn’t look like Father, yet I instinctively knew who he was.”

As Lin Qi tried to parse the meaning of that statement, Yuening continued in a troubled tone: “But I don’t know why he was in my room. Or why he was in my bed.”

Lin Qi stole a glance at him. “You got into a car accident while going to find Young Master Zhaoqing. The Master allowed him to look after you because he saved your life in the crash.”

“I went to find him? He saved me?” A rare flash of surprise crossed Yuening’s cold face. Lin Qi caught it instantly.

“Why would I go to find him?” Yuening asked.

Who knows why you went crazy and went looking for him? Lin Qi thought, but he didn’t dare say it.

“I seem to have lost a portion of my memory regarding Song Zhaoqing,” Yuening continued. He leaned forward, his gaze pinning Lin Qi. The pressure in the room skyrocketed. “Lin Qi, tell me everything. Exactly what happened between me and Song Zhaoqing? And why did I stay behind instead of going on vacation, only to end up in a car accident with him?”

Is it amnesia? Or did he only lose the memories from the fever until the crash? Lin Qi felt even more conflicted. He had a feeling that when Yuening heard the truth, he’d be mortified by his “possessed” behavior.

But under that pressure, Lin Qi recounted everything: how Yuening had a sudden fever, refused the vacation, and insisted on picking up Zhaoqing from the slums. He described how Yuening had clung to Zhaoqing in the car, and finally, how Zhaoqing had hauled him out of the wreckage. He was careful to omit the part where he himself had been prepared to leave Yuening to die.

As the story progressed, Yuening’s expression grew more strained with every detail. It was as if he couldn’t believe he was the person Lin Qi was describing.

As the story ended, the calm, calculated Song Yuening seemed to return. He lowered his eyes, his lashes casting a shadow on his cheek as he sank into thought.

Lin Qi felt a sense of relief. Amnesia or not, the “farce” seemed to be over. He thought he could leave, but Yuening spoke again in a light, chilling tone:

“You said the person who hit me was Xie Qianze, the eldest son of the Xie family?”

“Yes, Young Master Yuening,” Lin Qi answered quickly.

“I remember him. His cousin is Xie Chengxuan. Those two brothers are known as the ‘Invincible Demons.’ Xie Chengxuan comes to my birthday parties every year, though I don’t know him well. But this Xie Qianze, he really lives up to the ‘Demon’ title.”

“Lin Qi… I want him dead. You should know no one touches me and gets away with it. Not even a son of the Xie family.”

“But Master… Mr. Song might not agree. After all.”

Shicheng wanted the Xies to invest in a new project. The Songs had dumped almost all their liquid assets into it. If it failed, the Songs would face a massive cash flow crisis. Lin Qi didn’t say it aloud, but he knew Yuening wasn’t ignorant of the stakes.

But how could Yuening swallow such an insult from a piece of trash like Xie Qianze? His style was always “an eye for an eye.”

Yuening smiled. Under the sunset, his flawless profile looked holy, like a god descending to earth. But his words were heartless:

“That’s why we have to do it beautifully. We must make sure Father never finds out.”

He looked at his long, slender fingers, a cold, mocking smile reaching his eyes. Lin Qi sighed internally. Xie Qianze is a dead man walking.