Sun Rain Chapter 35
byShi Meng did not choose the route taken by the other fishing boats; perhaps this boat had no fixed direction to begin with.
By the time they drifted into an uninhabited area of the sea, the sun had risen high, illuminating the wheelhouse brightly.
Only then did Fu Xuanliao clearly see the furnishings inside the cabin: the table, chairs, radar, walkie-talkie… all standard equipment. However, there were few signs of life on this boat; not even a single drinking cup was visible.
Scanning the area again, he suddenly realized there was not even any drinking water on the boat.
Fu Xuanliao speculated that the boat hadn’t been out to sea for some time and was likely rented out for a lump sum, which was why it had been docked by the pier.
The person who rented the boat was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding the steering wheel with one hand. His body was almost completely still except for the rocking motion of the boat, as if he were asleep.
Fu Xuanliao shifted his position, making a sound. Shi Meng “woke up” again, turning his head to look over, his eyes devoid of warmth, treating him like a spoil of war.
“How is your body?” More than why he left the hospital, Fu Xuanliao was concerned about Shi Meng’s injury. “Does it still hurt?”
Hearing the word “hurt,” Shi Meng paused briefly, then released the steering wheel with his left hand and placed it on his chest, remaining silent.
Fu Xuanliao’s hands were tied, but his movement was free. He tentatively shuffled forward two steps and bent down in front of Shi Meng. “Let me see the wound.”
He was terrified that something had happened to Shi Meng during the half-day he was missing. His ribs were injured; he should have been resting in bed.
Fu Xuanliao reached out with his bound wrists to touch Shi Meng’s tightly buttoned shirt, wanting to check if the wound had reopened, but Shi Meng twisted away, avoiding him.
Shi Meng wouldn’t let him touch or look. After a long silence, he said, his back still facing Fu Xuanliao, “It’s gone.”
What was gone?
Fu Xuanliao was about to ask, but seeing Shi Meng still stubbornly pressing his chest, he suddenly remembered that the flame-shaped tattoo was located there, beneath his palm, over his ribs.
Now that tattoo was gone. Shi Meng’s broken ribs were in that exact spot. The area had been kicked until the skin was torn, then sliced open by a scalpel. Even if it healed, it would only leave an ugly scar.
So, the flame was gone.
Before he could feel happy about understanding Shi Meng’s words, a sense of indescribable panic rose in Fu Xuanliao’s heart as he looked at the young man’s slender figure.
It was a greater panic than seeing him covered in blood and lifeless.
Fu Xuanliao seemed to understand Shi Meng’s purpose in bringing him here.
“Let’s go back,” Fu Xuanliao said. “We’re not far from the shore now; returning is easy.”
Shi Meng looked straight ahead, ignoring him.
“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”
Still no answer.
“You haven’t finished your rabies vaccine shots,” Fu Xuanliao offered another reason, trying to persuade him. “If you don’t finish them…”
Shi Meng cut in abruptly, “I’ll die, right?”
Fu Xuanliao froze there, looking at Shi Meng’s statue-like, calm profile. The pale lips parted, speaking the words he feared hearing the most.
“If I die, I die.” Shi Meng turned his head to look at him again. “Didn’t you want me to die?”
This time, Shi Meng was not using life and death as a bargaining chip.
He genuinely didn’t care anymore. He once thought he would die if he didn’t receive Fu Xuanliao’s love, but not only did he not die, he had dragged himself miserably to the present.
It was clear that verbal curses had no effect; they were merely a momentary satisfaction, a way to shock the other person. Trying it too many times was like the story of the boy who cried wolf—it became a joke.
Therefore, Shi Meng said this not to hurt anyone; he was merely stating a fact. That Fu Xuanliao was frightened by his utterly desolate tone was an accidental bonus.
“I didn’t…”
Fu Xuanliao only started the sentence before giving up on defending himself. In the current situation, he had no standing to excuse himself.
He thought Shi Meng was heartbroken because of that phone call. He was afraid Shi Meng was overthinking things and racked his brain for other reasons to reawaken Shi Meng’s desire to live.
“The police are already investigating. Don’t you want to catch the person who hurt you sooner?”
Shi Meng turned his head away, completely uninterested.
“Then do you know… about the switch?” Fu Xuanliao hesitated but felt compelled to speak. “Actually, you are Aunt Li’s son. Aunt Li is your biological mother. You are not without anyone—”
He wanted to say, you are not without anyone who loves you. That woman named Yang didn’t like you, but it wasn’t because you were flawed. And in the future, many people will treat you well, including me.
However, his words were interrupted. Shi Meng’s voice was faint but forceful: “I know.”
Lying in the rain that day, Shi Meng grasped the last thread of hazy consciousness to quietly reflect, connecting all the strange details. They all pointed to the same conclusion—the conclusion Fu Xuanliao had just told him.
But what did knowing change? Could time rewind twenty-five years? Even if it could, who could guarantee that the mistake wouldn’t happen again?
Even if, by some miracle, no mistake was made, would life necessarily follow a predetermined path? Could all those obstacles and variables simply be ignored?
Shi Meng didn’t even know what love was supposed to look like.
He had never experienced love; how could he know if it was truly good?
So, it didn’t matter if he didn’t get it. He didn’t want it anymore.
The boat drifted aimlessly on the sea, and Fu Xuanliao’s heart rose and fell with it.
Shi Meng, however, was like a candle wick soaked in water—impossible to light.
If Fu Xuanliao had held onto some hope before boarding the boat, thinking that Shi Meng had run away from the hospital only to come back for him because of lingering affection, because he wanted to continue their relationship.
He had even naively thought that after bringing Shi Meng back, they could get to know each other again, start over. But he forgot that their misaligned relationship had been deeply entrenched over the years. Their beginning was contrary to anything good, and the mere change of identity or perspective, or the clearing of a misunderstanding, could not heal a festering wound without leaving a trace.
Now, he didn’t have time to consider why Shi Meng was giving up; he focused only on the present, hoping Shi Meng would rally his spirits and live.
It was only now that Fu Xuanliao was finally willing to admit that when he saw Shi Meng sitting precariously on the windowsill, he was more worried about Shi Meng’s safety than the painting.
Yet, he couldn’t think of anything else that might attract Shi Meng. Before, he didn’t have to do anything; just by being there, Shi Meng would cling to him, so he had never considered what Shi Meng truly liked.
Fu Xuanliao watched Shi Meng pull a stack of paper and a very short pencil from the drawer under the table.
Shi Meng tried to hold the pencil with his right hand, but lifted it only to remember his injury prevented movement. He looked sullen and somewhat angry, but still wanting to draw, he switched to his left hand, awkwardly sketching lines on the paper.
That’s right, he liked to draw!
Fu Xuanliao quickly said, “I also know that those drawings were gifts you gave me—the simple sketches you slipped into my school desk.” He took a step forward. “Your hand is injured. If we go back for treatment now, there’s still a chance it can recover to its former state.”
The pencil tip paused. A hint of confusion flashed in Shi Meng’s eyes, as if wondering how he knew that.
Then, his expression returned to near-cold indifference.
“But there’s a lot you don’t know,” Shi Meng said, turning his head to look out of the cabin. “For example, my ‘Flame’ is on this boat.”
Fu Xuanliao’s eyelid twitched.
His heart trembled simultaneously.
That sense of panic finally spread, and he couldn’t grasp it or pull it back.
Shi Meng was no longer even curious how he knew about the past, and he so easily revealed the location of “Flame.” Not long ago, Shi Meng had used the painting as leverage, viewing it as a weapon to threaten him.
At the time, Shi Meng had said the painting was hidden in a safe place, and that “you won’t find it.” It turned out it was hidden right here.
Considering the previous doubts he had about the true author of “Flame,” an inappropriate thought, accompanied by the pounding of his heart, surfaced in Fu Xuanliao’s mind at that moment.
Even more inappropriately, Fu Xuanliao recalled that although Shi Meng’s actions were domineering, he only ever wanted what rightfully belonged to him. For instance, that sapphire necklace—when Fu Xuanliao casually said it wasn’t for him, Shi Meng immediately rejected it, not even sparing it a second glance.
And Shi Meng had once declared to Fu Xuanliao, “You are mine.”
Suddenly grasping valuable information, and not waiting to verify it, Fu Xuanliao immediately said, “I am also on this boat. I am also yours.”
He spoke these words without hesitation, purely by instinct, which made them sound thin and powerless to Shi Meng.
“You are not,” Shi Meng looked down at the paper on the table. “You never were mine.”
Only by telling himself this could he avoid feeling so sad.
So, he didn’t want Fu Xuanliao either.
The last possibility was declared invalid, and a massive sense of abandonment enveloped Fu Xuanliao. He stood rooted to the spot for a long time.
But the sky was darkening, the wind and waves outside were picking up, and the tide was coming in. Fu Xuanliao had to quickly compose himself and find another way out. While Shi Meng wasn’t paying attention, he snatched a spring knife from the table drawer. Turning his back, he tried to pry it open with his bound hands.
Hoping Shi Meng would untie him was impossible. Now that they were at sea, he had nowhere to run. Shi Meng had tied him up simply to prevent him from operating the fishing boat.
But Fu Xuanliao feared Shi Meng would do something foolish; he needed to gain the initiative.
Although Shi Meng showed no immediate signs of doing anything foolish; he was drawing very seriously.
Fu Xuanliao fell silent, but Shi Meng, perhaps because Fu Xuanliao hadn’t leaned over to peek at his drawing, found the mood to talk.
He asked in a casual tone, “Why don’t you ask me why I ran away?”
As if knowing the answer would be cruel, Fu Xuanliao remained silent.
Shi Meng asked again, “Then do you know… why I hid ‘Flame’ here?”
Fu Xuanliao was even less able to answer.
Shi Meng didn’t expect a reply and continued on his own.
“But that doesn’t matter,” Shi Meng drew a curved arc on the paper, his lips curling slightly. “Anyway, it won’t be here for long.”