Chapter Eighty-Two: While Others Strive for Fame, He Fights for Brotherhood

Song Ci picked up a few calling cards and glanced over them, all the while asking Granny Gong about the backgrounds of these families.

“Baoyu doesn’t hold any scholarly titles, he’s just a pampered young master, yet so many people are interested in him. By the way, didn’t Old Madam Wei also mention matchmaking last time?”

Granny Gong was momentarily puzzled when she heard her refer to him as Baoyu. She assumed it was simply an affectionate variation of Song Zhiyu’s name, and smiled. “Fourth Young Master may not have academic honors, but the Song family’s standing speaks for itself. Besides, he is quite handsome, so it’s only natural that people are interested.”

Song Ci nodded. “True. He can’t compete in scholarly achievements, but he can compete in brothers. Just saying ‘my brother is the Prime Minister’ is enough to make people take him seriously.”

In these times, holding real power was what truly counted. It was true that Song Zhiyu lacked academic distinction, but he was blessed with good fortune—he had an elder brother who wielded power throughout the court.

Granny Gong smiled gently. “Madam speaks wisely.”

“Mother, your precious son has come to pay his respects!” Song Zhiyu’s cheerful voice rang from outside the door.

Song Ci shivered. “Speak of the devil. With how lively he is, still like a child, how could he think of marriage?”

Sixteen years old—still a child indeed. He hadn’t even matured or settled down himself, so how could he take care of a wife or his own household?

Ah, these ancient times!

Like a whirlwind, Song Zhiyu swept into the room, grinning as he cupped his hands and bowed to Song Ci. “Your fourth son wishes you peace and happiness, Mother.”

Song Ci had grown used to her exuberant son. She patted the seat beside her, motioning for him to sit. “It’s rare for you not to be out with your good-for-nothing friends, fighting crickets or carousing at the taverns. You’re back from your studies so early today. Did you skip your lessons, or are you simply out of money?”

Song Zhiyu grinned and held out his palm. “Out of money. Will you give me some, Mother?”

Song Ci smacked his hand. “Get lost! Not only do you not show your old mother any filial piety, you even hope to live off me. What a fine son you are.”

“Mother, you don’t love me anymore. Didn’t you say all your private stash would be left to me?” Song Zhiyu wore a look of utter grievance.

Song Ci didn’t even blink. “Foolish boy, that was just to coax you. And you actually believed it? Too silly, too naïve.”

Song Zhiyu was left speechless.

Granny Gong came over with tea, just in time to hear this, and the corners of her mouth curved in amusement.

“A son will believe whatever his mother says,” Song Zhiyu muttered, taking a sip of tea. He casually picked up a few of the cards from the table and asked, “What are these? Invitations for you to enjoy flowers and wine, Mother?”

“Not at all. These are invitations for me to go to the temple—oh, and for matchmaking meetings.”

Pfft.

Song Zhiyu nearly choked, hastily grabbing a handkerchief to wipe his mouth as he stared at his mother in disbelief. “Mother, what did you just say?”

Ever since his mother’s illness, he felt as though he could no longer understand what she was saying.

“I said matchmaking. Have you forgotten you’re still single, and there are plenty of people eyeing you?”

Single dog—what on earth did that mean?

Song Zhiyu wasn’t entirely slow-witted. Piecing together her words, he understood, and for once, a shy flush crept over his face. “So… Mother, you want to help me find a match? Which young lady have you set your sights on?”

Seeing his embarrassment, Song Ci teased, “So, you want to get married now?”

Scratching his head, Song Zhiyu replied, “All my brothers are married, enjoying the warmth of family and children, and I’m the only one left out. I’d like someone to bring me a cup of hot tea at night, too.”

“If all you want is someone to take care of you, you’d best forget about marriage. A man who doesn’t cherish his wife is no true husband.” Song Ci pinched his cheek. Ah, such soft, smooth skin—she couldn’t resist pinching it again.

“All right, all right, I’ll take care of her too. So, Mother, tell me—who have you taken a liking to? I need to prepare myself.” Song Zhiyu’s eyes sparkled, pink with excitement, as if about to burst into bubbles.