Chapter 13

Song Chunfeng had never run so fast in his life.

Even at home, he managed to sprint a hundred meters.

He felt like his body was running ahead while his soul was chasing after him, leaving a trail of shadows that Song Qiuguang was tugging at, persistently asking what their relationship was.

What kind of relationship?

A purely blood-related one!

Song Chunfeng let out a miserable cry as he dashed into his room, kicked the door shut, and buried himself under the covers, closing his eyes to fall asleep.

Forget everything that happened today!

But not long after, he raised his hand and examined it in the moonlight.

He had just groped all over his younger brother.

Song Chunfeng closed his eyes in pain, curling up tightly under the covers, but accidentally touched his lips with his fingers, and a voice seemed to echo in his mind.

He even kissed his foot.

His foot.

Foot.

Song Chunfeng remained silent for a moment, then suddenly sat up, his face ashen, and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

That night, he didn’t know how the others in the Song family slept, but he knew he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep.

What a sin.

Of course, Song Qiuguang didn’t sleep well either.

He sat on the bed with a complex expression, his gaze wandering, his eyelashes fluttering rapidly.

But apart from that, he didn’t make any other moves.

Among the adult young masters, Song Qiuguang was the most impulsive. Unlike his Eldest Brother, who hid knives behind his smile, or his Second Brother, who was simple and loyal, or his Fourth Brother, who seemed quiet but was actually very calculating.

He had a short temper, quick to anger, and easily jealous. Seeing his brothers start to stand out and grow their businesses like a snowball, he was desperate.

What to do?

He wanted so badly to be recognized by others!

To prove that he wasn’t a fool, that he wasn’t the least talented—

So Song Qiuguang was very competitive. He wanted his horses to come in first, he wanted to have the most lovers, and if things didn’t go well, he was even willing to curry favor with the powerful middleman who said that if he gave away the family’s genuine landscape painting, he would reveal the next move in the stock market.

Song Qiuguang believed he would shock everyone.

But then his father died, and Ruan Zhen appeared, exposing his secrets at the memorial hall.

How did he know?

How could he know!

Worse still, he had taken a pair of scissors and stabbed his hand!

After the surgery at the hospital, Song Qiuguang wailed like a banshee.

Partly because of the pain, and partly because of the sorrow.

None of his brothers came to visit him.

But at that moment, he felt a subtle change in his mindset.

How to put it?

Some people are just like that—“cheap.”

He could bully the weak, intimidate those below him, and retaliate fiercely when bullied, but if he found someone too powerful to defeat, he would deliberately flatter and fawn.

Ruan Zhen was very familiar with this type.

And the method to deal with it was simple.

One beating wouldn’t be enough; he would resist and plot revenge.

So, you had to beat him until he was thoroughly afraid.

Until he was completely submissive.

Then he would willingly be “conquered,” turning into your sharpest dagger, proudly pouncing on others.

So after dinner, Ruan Zhen took a nice nap and woke up in the middle of the night.

It was not yet dawn.

The Song family had just fallen into a deep sleep. The early summer breeze was cool at night, and he wrapped himself in a blanket he had taken from Song Shuling, silently walking to the second floor and stopping at a room at the corner.

Without knocking, he pushed the door open—

Song Qiuguang, who had been lying in bed, sat up abruptly, his eyes wide.

“Y-You…”

“Shut up.”

A ghostly figure stood before him, radiating a cold aura: “Don’t call me that.”

Song Qiuguang immediately fell silent.

His hand hurt.

He was terrified.

And…

He was so sleepy.

He hadn’t rested well in the hospital. Even though it was a top-tier ward and his lover had come to take care of him, he couldn’t swallow his pride. How could he be stabbed in the hand by his stepmother at his uncle’s house? It was embarrassing, and the other young masters from noble families would look down on him!

In a fit of anger, he kicked his lover several times.

“Y-Young Master…”

The lover was a fine arts student he had picked up this year, a poor and innocent type. He had managed to get him with threats and inducements, but now found him boring, especially with his submissive demeanor, which only made Song Qiuguang angrier.

“Get out!”

He even grabbed the ashtray and threw it hard: “Useless thing, I’d be better off raising a dog!”

The ashtray shattered on the door frame, scattering glass shards on the floor.

The lover’s face turned pale with fear.

At this moment, Song Qiuguang felt slightly satisfied, a mischievous mood rising: “Kneel down, and I’ll forgive you.”

“Y-Young Master, there’s no place to kneel here…”

Once the door was closed, he knew Song Qiuguang had a perverse fetish. He liked to lock people in and make them kneel on the cold tiles, each time bruising their knees until they bled, which only made him more excited, and he would give them more money afterward.

But with the glass shards on the floor—

“Kneel when I tell you to, take off your clothes, and turn around!”

Song Qiuguang had just finished his IV drip and was resting. The staff had already left, and the large ward was empty except for the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

“Are you defying me? Do you know who I am?”

He threw off the covers and got out of bed, muttering curses as he walked toward the door: “You’re asking for it, aren’t you?”

Until this moment, Song Qiuguang thought it was just another ordinary afternoon.

Like his countless other acts of bullying, it wasn’t a big deal.

He could even take some photos of his lover crying and post them to show off, hearing people praise him and say, “Third Young Master of the Song family is amazing!”

His Eldest Brother and younger brothers would also look at him differently, praising his creativity and boldness.

But Song Qiuguang didn’t expect that the person kneeling on the glass shards would be himself.

His forehead was drenched in cold sweat, his eyes bloodshot, and he lowered his head in fear, not daring to look at the man in front of him.

Because just as he was forcing his lover to kneel, his legs were kicked from behind, and he fell onto the glass shards.

Song Qiuguang let out a painful scream, but before he could curse, he fell silent.

His Third Uncle, Song Shuling, stood before him, silently watching him.

The air around them seemed to freeze. Song Qiuguang, ignoring the pain in his knees and the trembling lover, tried to stand up, trembling: “Uncle…”

“Did I tell you to stand up?”

Song Shuling looked at him coldly, his gaze deep.

“Uncle, Third Uncle…” Song Qiuguang’s face was pale. “I was wrong.”

Blood was already pooling around his knees, mixing with the glass shards, reflecting a translucent, dreamlike color.

Song Shuling’s gaze fell on his hand, which was wrapped in thick bandages, his fingers trembling slightly.

He remembered Ruan Zhen’s sweet laugh when he stabbed the scissors into his hand.

It came through the listening device, tinged with a faint static.

“Naughty.”

And the soft, feather-like whisper in his ear.

“Third Lord, it’s been a pleasure working with you.”