Song Mingyu deliberately brought up Ye Chutang’s deceased older brother.

“If your brother were still alive, Miss Ye, he would surely be as brilliant and renowned as you are.”

This remark struck Ye Chutang as odd.

She wasn’t surprised that he mentioned her mother—after all, from nobility to commoners, everyone knew Tang Wanning.

Many people had spoken to her about her mother before.

But Song Mingyu was the only one who had ever mentioned her brother.

Three days had passed since Ye Anling’s wedding.

Apart from the one time she had mentioned her twin brother to Qi Yanzhou, no one else had brought him up.

Suppressing her suspicion, she replied calmly, “Such is fate.”

Unaware that Ye Chutang had already grown wary of his intentions, Song Mingyu cautiously avoided being too obvious and instead steered the conversation toward Tang Wanning’s past acts of kindness.

Ye Chutang, seeing the sorrow on his face, offered comfort.

“Some people live, yet they are already dead; others die, yet they live on.”

Song Mingyu looked at her in surprise. “I never expected someone as young as you, Miss Ye, to have such profound insight.”

Then, he brought up the events of Ye Anling’s wedding day.

“You unveiled a truth buried for over a decade, avenging your mother and brother. They would surely be at peace knowing justice has been served.”

“It was my duty,” she replied.

Song Mingyu lifted his teacup and took a sip of the lukewarm tea.

“Since ancient times, it’s been said that those who die young bring ill omen…”

Just as he was about to steer the conversation toward his real purpose—inquiring about the whereabouts of Ye Chutang’s deceased brother—Song Jingning’s voice rang out before he even entered the room.

“Father, I refuse to go through with the matchmaking! Even if you came here yourself—”

Song Jingning stopped short upon seeing Ye Chutang in the main hall.

Flustered, he said, “I didn’t realize Miss Ye was here. My apologies.”

Ye Chutang stood. “No matter. You two talk—I’ll go find Dean Song.”

With that, she left.

Song Zhiyan happened to return just then.

“Miss Ye, the calligraphy lesson has been arranged. Please follow me.”

“Thank you, Dean Song.”

As their footsteps faded, Song Mingyu shot his son an exasperated look.

“Of all times, you had to show up now!”

Song Jingning: “…”

“Father, I never thought someone as old-fashioned as you could hold a conversation with Miss Ye. What were you discussing?”

“Can’t you ever be serious?”

Song Jingning immediately put on a stern face. “Is this serious enough?”

Song Mingyu couldn’t help but laugh, his gentle features softening.

“Enough of your antics. And don’t forget your promise—your mother has already arranged tea with Miss Fang. You must at least show up and talk!”

Seeing no way out, Song Jingning reluctantly agreed.

“Fine. Let’s go early and return early.”

Once they left the academy and boarded the carriage, he warned, “Father, Miss Ye is about to get married. Don’t say anything unnecessary to her.”

“Nonsense! We were only discussing her late mother and brother.”

Hearing this, Song Jingning felt an inexplicable pang in his chest.

“You knew Miss Ye’s mother?”

“Back then, who didn’t know Tang Wanning? Every beautiful word could describe her. A pity she married the wrong man and ruined her life.”

With the recent rumors about the Ye family, Song Jingning was well aware of how tragic Ye Chutang’s childhood had been—her mother murdered, her brother killed, and she herself nearly stillborn if not for Divine Doctor Xue’s intervention.

He sighed. “Miss Ye and I were born in the same month, just twelve days apart, yet our lives couldn’t be more different.”

At the mention of “twelve days apart,” Song Mingyu’s breath hitched.

“How do you know Miss Ye’s birth date?”

“During the hunt at Plum Mountain, she mentioned we were the same age and wanted to know who was older, so we compared birth dates.”

Song Mingyu found it suspicious that a young woman would willingly share such personal details with a man.

Could she already suspect Jingning’s true origins?

Then again, their strikingly similar features were hard to ignore.

He never imagined that the infant he’d rescued from the river all those years ago was actually Tang Wanning and Ye Jingchuan’s son.

Seventeen years ago, on the third day of the eleventh lunar month, Song Mingyu had been traveling to Liangzhou to visit his ailing wife.

Not long after leaving the capital, he’d heard the faint cries of a baby.

By the riverbank, he found a stranded wooden basin.

Inside lay a bruised, ice-cold infant, its weak cries fading in and out, barely clinging to life.

With some medical knowledge from tending to his wife, Song Mingyu fought to save the child and brought him to Liangzhou.

Over the twelve-day journey, the baby hovered between life and death but miraculously survived.

Initially, Song Mingyu had planned to find a suitable family to adopt the frail child.

But his wife, Cui Xiangyun, moved by the baby’s resilience, insisted on keeping him.

Song Mingyu agreed, if only to bring her joy.

Her family objected, fearing the unknown origins of the child would bring trouble.

Yet Cui Xiangyun refused to relent.

Then, something remarkable happened—her chronic illness began to improve as the child grew stronger.

From then on, the boy became the fifth young master of the Song family, with his birthday set as the day they arrived in Liangzhou.

Only Song Mingyu and the Cui family knew the truth.

To the Song household, he explained, “Xiangyun was frail. By the time she realized she was pregnant, the child was already five months along. She couldn’t bear to lose it but feared she couldn’t carry to term, so she made me swear secrecy.

If the child lived, it would be a joyous surprise. If not, we’d pretend nothing happened. Thankfully, though premature, the child survived against all odds.”

The Songs, seeing no reason to doubt, accepted the story.

“Father? Father, what’s wrong?”

Song Jingning’s voice pulled Song Mingyu from his memories.

“You were spacing out just now. What were you thinking about?”

Song Mingyu swatted away the hand waving in front of him. “Just how miraculous it is that you’re alive.”

Song Jingning: “…”

That didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Father, you’ve been acting strange all day.”

Still undecided about whether to reveal the truth, Song Mingyu rapped his son’s head lightly. “If you don’t marry soon, your father will lose his mind!”

Song Jingning sensed his evasion but knew better than to press.

“Father, I’m only seventeen. Why the rush? Look at Prince Chen—he didn’t marry until twenty-one.”

“And what about those who had sons by sixteen?”

Song Jingning: “…”

“Fine. One month of matchmaking—if I don’t find anyone suitable, you and Mother have to drop it.”

“Deal. But no half-hearted efforts.”

By then, they had reached the teahouse.

Song Mingyu led his son to the private room where Madam Song, relieved to see him, greeted them.

She stood up and said, “Miss Fang, I’ll go see if the shopkeeper has any new teas. You two chat.”

As she left, she kept her maid behind and shot Song Jingning a warning glance.

Seeing his wife step out, Song Mingyu seized her wrist and pulled her into the private room across the hall.

“Xiangyun, there’s something important I need to discuss with you.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep