The Real Young Master is Entangled by the Paranoid Fake Young Master - Chapter 22

Outside, night had fallen completely. Thunder rumbled continuously, and torrential rain poured from the heavens as if the sky had split wide open.

After the fright from Xie Chengxuan earlier that day and the long investment discussion with Fang Yang, Zhaoqing was utterly exhausted.

Logically, after a shower and a glass of warm milk, he should have gone straight to bed. Yet, Zhaoqing paced his room restlessly, his pajamas rustling with every step.

Strange. Song Yuening, who was usually more punctual than a time clock, had unexpectedly failed to show up tonight.

It’s so late and he’s still not back. Did something actually happen? Zhaoqing looked at the storm outside, a sliver of unease creeping into his heart.

In his mind, it felt as though an angel and a demon were at war.

The demon snorted coldly: What are you afraid of? Song Yuening is the family’s precious treasure; they’d never let him die out there. Why waste your breath worrying? Isn’t it better that he’s not here to annoy you? Go to sleep.

The angel, however, hesitated: But the Songs have always been selfish, busy only with their own affairs. What if they really haven’t noticed he’s not home? If something happens, could you live with yourself? Besides, we don’t know if Song Zhiyuan actually dealt with Tao Jiang. If that man is still lurking nearby and runs into Yuening. He could lose his life!

“And…” the angel added in a whisper, “this rain is terrible for Yuening’s frail health.”

Tormented by the conflicting voices, Zhaoqing eventually overcame his drowsiness. He dressed, grabbed his rain gear, and opened the door.

The moment he stepped out, he collided directly into a chest smelling of melodious medicinal herbs and deep, ink-like paper. A cold, questioning voice rang out, startling Zhaoqing into taking a step back.

“Zhaozhao, where did you go this afternoon?”

It was Song Yuening. He was back.

Zhaoqing stared at him, momentarily confused by his presence. Seeing Zhaoqing’s silence, Yuening scanned him briefly before suddenly grabbing his wrist, pressing further.

“Who are you going to see now? Hmm?” Perhaps the storm had stripped away his mask; the manufactured, gentle persona Yuening had worn lately was gone. In its place was an obsessive intensity that was terrifying, like a sharp blade drawn from its sheath, or a relentless drizzle from which there was no escape.

“Are you leaving now just to see someone else again?” His gaze held a captivating yet sharp brilliance.

Zhaoqing felt the man’s emotions were particularly volatile tonight and wondered what he had been up to. He was about to answer when he noticed wet patches on the shoulders of Yuening’s deep blue overcoat. Since when was the meticulously elegant Song Yuening this careless?

A bad premonition hit him. Zhaoqing instinctively reached out to brush the droplets off Yuening’s shoulder.

Fortunately, it’s just a bit of rain. Hopefully, he won’t get sick…

This wasn’t a sudden burst of “Saint” behavior from Zhaoqing. For any other healthy boy, a little rain just meant a hot bath. But Yuening’s body, made of “colored glass,” couldn’t handle even a drop.

Zhaoqing remembered a time in his past life when, due to a driver’s negligence and a lack of umbrellas, Yuening was exposed to rain for just fifteen minutes. He developed a high fever that nearly cost him his life. Old Madam Song had been furious, firing several staff members and even scolding Zhaoqing and Song Lili in her misplaced rage.

Strangely, as Zhaoqing brushed the water away, the heavy atmosphere surrounding Yuening seemed to lift instantly.

“You’re worried about me?” Yuening asked.

Zhaoqing was speechless.

You don’t care about your own health, yet you expect others to…

If you’d died earlier, maybe so many people wouldn’t have been dragged down by you in the future.

Zhaoqing immediately regretted his impulsive act of concern. Yuening’s appearance was far too deceptive; even with half his face obscured by shadows, his beauty remained undiminished.

Yuening stared at him intently for a long moment before suddenly smiling.

“I’m happy that you care.”

Heaven knows what he interpreted from Zhaoqing’s flustered expression. As he spoke, he attempted to lean into the room.

Alarmed by this attempt to “enter the inner sanctum,” Zhaoqing used his body to block the doorway. In the process, the low-key, luxurious black umbrella in Zhaoqing’s hand was exposed.

Seeing Yuening’s eyes shift to the umbrella, Zhaoqing guiltily hid it behind his back. His own umbrella had been lost in the crowd; this one was a gift from Fang Yang. Fang Yang had insisted he take it, arguing that his own home was nearby while Zhaoqing’s mountain villa was far, and that the Song family would surely interrogate him if he returned soaked.

Though the umbrella bore no family crest, it looked far more expensive than a common one. Yuening fixated on it.

Zhaoqing’s guilt deepened. He knew Yuening was dangerously perceptive. Was he plotting some scheme?

After a long silence that tested Zhaoqing’s patience, Yuening finally looked back at him. He seemed to have a thousand questions but settled on one.

“Just who were you with today, and where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” Zhaoqing muttered, his eyes darting away. “I just felt stifled from doing practice problems and went for a walk. Is that not allowed?”

He refuses to tell the truth. He won’t say a single honest word to me.

Yuening thought this but let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. He knew Zhaoqing was lying. He usually enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game of teasing him, but tonight after dealing with Xie Qianze, all he wanted was to see him.

Not the lying version, but the one he saw in those secret photos: the Zhaoqing who was gentle and smiling in front of Fang Yang.

Zhaoqing and Fang Yang had only met twice and could already talk for hours, even planning a business together. Meanwhile, he and Zhaoqing lived under one roof, had faced life and death together, yet remained so distant.

Yuening felt it shouldn’t be this way. Others only saw his polished exterior, but Zhaoqing was the only one who could see through to his dark, hollow interior.

Cruel, wicked, selfish, treacherous, insidious.

Yuening knew that in Zhaoqing’s heart, he was worthless. That was why Zhaoqing avoided him like the plague.

But we are destined to be entangled, Yuening thought with a twisted sense of comfort. We share a surname. We represent the Song family. Even if our blood is different, our interests will bind us forever.

He had once believed that if he couldn’t be radiant like Zhaoqing, he could at least pull that beautiful life down into his own abyss, keeping it in a suffocating cage until they both rotted away.

But Fang Yang’s appearance created a secret sense of crisis. Yuening knew Fang Yang’s project was good and would make money. What did they want the money for? To start their own life? To leave their families?

I don’t mind turning their ‘partnership’ into a trio, Yuening thought wickedly, like a child about to pull a prank. I’m sure Fang Yang would love a wealthy, mysterious angel investor.

Seeing Zhaoqing’s evasive eyes, Yuening decided to drop the subject and softened his voice until he sounded pitiable in the drizzling night.

“Actually, I didn’t come for anything specific… it’s just…” He paused, sounding genuinely vulnerable. “I’m very afraid of thunder. I used to be the only one living on the second floor with no one to talk to. Now that you’re here, I’m so glad. The thunder is so loud tonight; can I please sleep in your room?”

To punctuate his words, a massive crack of thunder split the sky. Yuening’s face turned deathly pale.

Zhaoqing knew this wasn’t a lie. The teenage Song Yuening really was terrified of thunder. He remembered the third day of their kidnapping by Tao Jiang, a storm just like this. In that abandoned factory, as lightning flashed, Yuening had looked like a ghost, his body failing him. Zhaoqing had held him, covering his ears, and they had huddled together until dawn.

From that day on, Yuening had opened his heart. They had shared childhood stories and dreams of the future. After they were rescued, Yuening would often sneak onto his hospital bed to “keep him warm.”

Back then, Yuening’s smile was like apricot blossoms falling on a traveler’s shoulder.

But it had all been a lie. A means to secure an inheritance.

“I’m only using him… don’t you see? If not for… how could Song Zhaoqing be worthy of my sincerity?”

The memory of those cold words from the banquet in his past life shattered the moment’s tenderness.

“No. Go back to your own room,” Zhaoqing said coldly.

Yuening was stunned. Everything had been going perfectly; he had felt Zhaoqing’s heart soften, yet he was still rejected.

“Zhaozhao, why won’t you let me stay? Do you think I’ll do something to harm you? I’m just scared. I won’t touch you; I can even sleep on the sofa.”

He pushed, desperate and confused.

“Save your theatrics,” Zhaoqing sneered. “We aren’t that close. There’s no one else here, so stop acting.”

He gave Yuening a light shove and whispered quickly, “Just go rest. Dry yourself off properly, or you’ll get sick and people will blame me again.”

Slam.

Yuening was left staring at the door. He wondered how Zhaoqing saw through his “pious” act so easily. He began to wonder if he had done something to him during his period of memory loss.

He clutched his chest. Why did the memory of Zhaoqing looking at him with “disgust” feel so painfully real?

And how did Zhaoqing know he got sick easily from the rain?

Inside, Zhaoqing fell asleep quickly, perhaps aided by the warm milk. But his sleep was not peaceful.

He dreamed of his past life the exhaustion of being a corporate tool for the Songs, the betrayal of his “brother” Chen Lian, who viewed Zhaoqing’s help as an insulting “handout.” He dreamed of Jiang Yizhu, the “friend” who had isolated him in school and eventually stole Xie Chengxuan away.

In the dream, he stood before the long dining table of the Song family. They were all there elegant, harmonious, and high-class. There was no seat for him.

This time, he didn’t wait to be invited. He turned and walked away.

The dream shifted to a garden full of flowers roses, begonias, lilies, and his favorite: red camellias. Camellias are known as “decapitated flowers” because the whole bloom falls at once, decisive and never looking back.

Who planted these for me?

He felt a tug on his trousers and looked down to see a litter of puppies. He laughed and picked one up, noticing a figure at the end of the garden path.

The person stepped out of the light. It was Song Yuening.

Zhaoqing plummeted back into darkness.

In the real room, the balcony door had somehow opened. A figure stepped through the white lace curtains.

Song Yuening ignored the dampness on his clothes, his eyes fixed on the sleeping boy. He noticed the furrow in Zhaoqing’s brow.

Is he having a nightmare? Am I in it? I hope so. At least that means I have a place in his heart, even if it’s a hateful one.

A flash of lightning illuminated Yuening’s handsome face. He reached out to wipe the sweat from Zhaoqing’s forehead and glanced at the empty milk glass on the nightstand.

He had spent days experimenting to ensure the “additive” in the milk worked. Now, he could visit whenever he liked without permission.

Yuening climbed into the bed, sliding his fingers into the gaps between Zhaoqing’s fingers, relishing the warmth. He inhaled the scent of soap and youth like an addict.

“I hate the Songs,” he whispered, “but not you.”

He traced Zhaoqing’s jawline and throat, eventually sliding his hand beneath the fabric of the boy’s shirt. Zhaoqing flinched in his drug-induced sleep, but couldn’t wake.

Yuening felt a surge of possessiveness. He remembered the only thing he had ever loved—a stray black puppy he found when he was nine. He had loved that puppy more than his own health, but his father had kicked it to death because its fur “ruined the elegance” of the house.

That was the day he learned that he couldn’t protect the things he loved without power.

He looked at Zhaoqing. He had found a new “puppy.”

“It’s okay if you bite me,” Yuening whispered into the dark. “Because you are my puppy now. We have a long time ahead of us.”