Sun Rain Chapter 40

After spending the entire afternoon at the police station, it was nearly dark by the time Fu Xuanliao returned home.

He parked the car and released the steering wheel, then raised his hand to examine his palm. There was a bloody scratch from the knife blade when he cut the ropes on the boat.

Shi Meng’s injuries were certainly much more severe than this. The doctor had previously said he could recover enough for normal life, but painting would depend on future rehabilitation.

He already possessed so little; if the freedom to paint was also taken away… Fu Xuanliao couldn’t bear to imagine it.

And Shi Sihui was not the only one responsible for this outcome. After verbally chastising the two elders at the hospital, Fu Xuanliao reflected: shouldn’t he also hold himself accountable?

So, whether out of guilt or a desire for compensation, he had to participate in this complicated situation as an awkward outsider. Shi Meng had endured so much suffering, much of it inflicted by his own hands. But rather than wallowing in self-pity, Fu Xuanliao believed his duty was to do everything in his power to clear Shi Meng’s name and secure what he deserved.

This included compassion and trust, and the affection that should have been easily within his grasp.

Having settled one major problem, Fu Xuanliao, who had been working non-stop for days, expected to sleep soundly tonight. Yet, he woke up in the deep night, checking the clock to find he had only slept for two hours.

When he got up, he stared at the empty right side of the bed for a long time. In a daze, he thought he saw the person curled up and hugging himself there, but his outstretched hand met only air.

He flipped a page on the calendar Shi Meng had left behind, seeing the SAT logo and a prominent red circle. A slight sting pricked Fu Xuanliao’s eyes.

Time passed so quickly; it was Saturday again.

He went to the kitchen to pour water, passing the living room where he saw Jiang Rong sitting on the sofa watching TV.

“You’re awake?” Seeing Fu Xuanliao, Jiang Rong immediately grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

Fu Xuanliao didn’t feel like eating, but he didn’t refuse when Jiang Rong offered him a bowl of sweet soup.

“I learned it online,” Jiang Rong said, scooping the soup with a spoon. “You’ve been so busy these past few days, and I couldn’t help much. Since you’re finally home, I thought I’d make you something nice.”

Fu Xuanliao didn’t reply, staring down at the bowl of soup in a daze.

As if knowing what he was thinking, Jiang Rong placed a porcelain spoon in the bowl. “You don’t need to worry about Xiao Meng. I’ve arranged for food and drinks to be sent to him… Actually, your Aunt Li is better at making soup. Xiao Meng has suffered so much; once she understands, she will definitely treat him very well.”

Fu Xuanliao noncommittally took the bowl and stood there, taking a mouthful.

It was very sweet, but he wondered if Shi Meng would be used to the taste.

He wondered if the current Shi Meng would even be willing to accept kindness that arrived so late.

While Fu Xuanliao drank the soup, Jiang Rong took the clothes out of the dryer and sat on the sofa to fold them.

Since Shi Meng moved in, the Fu family rarely called the maid over, and Jiang Rong had grown accustomed to doing housework. Being busy was always better than being idle.

Folding a sweater, Jiang Rong held it up by the shoulders. “Xuanliao, look at this shirt. Is it yours?”

Fu Xuanliao put down the soup bowl and looked up, identifying it by size and style. “Yes. But I haven’t worn it in a long time.”

“That’s right, I bought this for you years ago, and it only just got washed recently,” Jiang Rong asked. “Did you leave it at the Shi family’s place and forget to bring it back?”

This reminded Fu Xuanliao. He recalled that about two months ago, Shi Meng said he needed to go back to the Shi house to pick up some things. That Saturday, Fu Xuanliao drove him. He remembered Shi Meng only brought a backpack. When Shi Meng pulled a sweater out of the bag upon returning, Fu Xuanliao hadn’t looked closely, only laughing and asking why Shi Meng brought a sweater when the weather was getting warmer.

Now, he realized the sweater had been with Shi Meng for a long time. Not returning it for so long meant Shi Meng might have already treated it as his own, accompanying him through many lonely nights.

As for why he brought the sweater along even after moving to the Fu house… Fu Xuanliao also wanted to ask himself why he preferred wandering outside rather than coming home back then.

Was it just because he couldn’t terminate the contract, insisting on holding onto that grudge?

In the refrigerator were several bottles of wine Shi Meng had bought last time but hadn’t finished.

“That child is stubborn. He didn’t listen to any of my advice, hitting his head against a wall to commit to you.” Jiang Rong closed the refrigerator door and turned around. “You’re not much better. You were determined to avoid him, convinced you couldn’t coexist with him.”

Fu Xuanliao paused while washing the bowl. “Then why didn’t you advise me?”

“You’re my son, how could I not understand you? The more I tell you to go east, the more you insist on going west,” Jiang Rong said with some helplessness. “After you returned from abroad, when I mentioned terminating the agreement, you were initially very resistant, constantly making excuses. I realized then that you actually didn’t want to terminate it, but later…”

Later, Fu Xuanliao discovered that Shi Meng’s feelings for him were not just simple possessiveness. He started to fear—fear being attracted, fear giving in to a response, fear losing control of his gradually leaning heart.

What he hated was not the inability to terminate the contract, but himself—trapped between past promises and present constraints, making a choice internally yet desperately resisting it.

Jiang Rong also felt regretful upon hearing that the paintings Shi Meng made for Fu Xuanliao had been burned.

She led Fu Xuanliao to the room that served as Shi Meng’s studio. “You haven’t stepped inside since Xiao Meng moved in a few months ago.”

“If you’re not ready to sleep yet, go in and take a look. Maybe you’ll find the answer in there.”

The overhead light turned on, illuminating the room like daylight.

Fu Xuanliao entered and gently closed the door, as if afraid of disturbing a sleeping creature inside.

The furnishings were simpler than he imagined: a desk, a chair, an easel. Paints were neatly stacked in boxes, brushes were in a holder, completed paintings were rolled up and piled on the desk, and the unfinished one was covered with a dust cloth. Fu Xuanliao lifted a corner to look—it was a figure, only the back view.

At the Shi house, Fu Xuanliao often saw Shi Meng painting this back view. At the time, he thought it was Shi Meng’s creative preference. Now he understood: it wasn’t that Shi Meng didn’t want to paint the front, but that Fu Xuanliao only ever left him with a departing back.

Even with such a heartless back view, Shi Meng painted it again and again, always dissatisfied.

In fact, Fu Xuanliao knew Shi Meng was a good painter; his ability to gain market recognition was proof of his skill. Moreover, every painting here was so lifelike, even if it was just a bowl of strawberries placed on the desk.

Even the strawberries were Fu Xuanliao’s favorite—Shi Meng had woven the act of “loving Fu Xuanliao” into his very bones, spreading it into every corner of his surroundings. Only now, when Fu Xuanliao summoned the courage to face it, did he truly realize what a foolish thing he had done.

No wonder his little mushroom painted so well but always covered it with his arm, refusing to let him see.

His little mushroom was also so beautiful; no one was more beautiful than him.

Looking back now, Fu Xuanliao even found Shi Meng’s moments of madness endearing. Those bright, upturned eyes would look over, holding two pools of water, the look of hesitation and unspoken words seeming more like grievance than anger.

He was capable of feeling wronged, he just didn’t know that’s what it was called.

And the person who wronged him dared not face it, retreating and avoiding, making a person with so much pride become as humble as dust when faced with love he could never obtain.

In just a few months of living here, Shi Meng had accumulated quite a few paintings.

Fu Xuanliao had long admitted Shi Meng was a good painter, which was why he had doubted the authenticity of the Plagiarism/Theft incident—Shi Meng had no need to steal.

So, when did he start viewing Shi Meng with the greatest malice?

His memory traced back to the beginning, strict to the point of interrogation.

He realized it must have been five years ago, starting with the painting “Flame,” followed by the drugging, and then the contract he once viewed as a humiliation.

For five years, Fu Xuanliao constantly brainwashed himself, using these facts to prove that Shi Meng was a cold-hearted, malicious person. He desperately sought excuses—Shi Meng stole, Shi Meng was selfish, Shi Meng was unworthy of love.

Now, these excuses were shattered one by one. Looking back, the conclusions derived from actual facts were pitifully few.

Most were labels Fu Xuanliao self-righteously placed on Shi Meng, because simultaneously, he was constantly brainwashing himself with another idea—forgetting was equivalent to betrayal; only by keeping his promise could he avoid condemnation and achieve inner peace. Now, when the skin of the so-called promise was peeled back, the core was just naked exploitation. And he had used attack instead of defense, allowing something originally beautiful to be maliciously defined, misunderstood, resented, and looked down upon.

Until he peeled away the layer of imagined “malice” toward Shi Meng, revealing a clean, transparent heart beneath.

It was all too late, but who was to blame?

Given Fu Xuanliao’s vengeful nature, he should have stormed over after learning the truth. But in this matter, everyone was a victim; even those whose injuries were not severe adopted the posture of victims begging for forgiveness.

Fu Xuanliao was no saint, but he wouldn’t shirk responsibility. He hoped Shi Meng would wake up and hate him, even if he blamed all the mistakes on Fu Xuanliao alone.

After all, whether it was love or hate, both were enough to sustain a relationship.

His only wish now was to continue with Shi Meng.

Returning to the bedroom, he brushed past the foot of the bed. The suit Shi Meng had returned, which was placed there, accidentally fell to the floor with a thud.

Fu Xuanliao traced the falling side and reached into the inner pocket of the suit, pulling out a heavy Sapphire.

The intact gem was crystal clear, and the chain was still attached. Fu Xuanliao held it in his hand, staring at it for a long time until the refracted light stung his eyes, and the bitterness in his chest surged like waves.

He took a long, deep breath. After the self-reproach and regret, the delayed pain, coupled with the dizziness from crouching, made Fu Xuanliao’s vision swim.

This heartache was unfamiliar, but he knew clearly it wasn’t for himself.

It could only be for his little mushroom.

He remembered Shi Meng’s eyes lighting up when he received this Sapphire. Although it was an overly ornate, non-everyday accessory, and though he could easily afford ten such gems, Shi Meng wore it everywhere, constantly caressing it gently, truly treasuring it as a unique treasure.

His little mushroom had climbed mountains and crossed rough terrain, barely seeing the sun but enduring so much rain. In the end, he gained nothing, and now he didn’t even dare to accept a broken gem casually gifted by someone else.

Fu Xuanliao recalled the morning by the sea, when the police asked Shi Meng what he hoped to gain by doing what he did.

What did he hope to gain?

He was merely defending his legitimate rights.

He merely fell for a timid, foolish human… that was all.

(Part 2)

And this foolish human, only realizing sluggishly after being prompted by others, had unknowingly given a response.

In the dead of night, Fu Xuanliao lit a cigarette, standing by the window, watching the flickering star of fire in his hand and the curling white smoke.

This pack of cigarettes was left here by Gao Lecheng a long time ago. Fu Xuanliao offered it to Shi Meng, but Shi Meng refused, leaving it in the bedside drawer until now.

Fu Xuanliao never understood the point of smoking before. Unless it was for socializing, why would one stand alone in a high place inhaling this choking smell?

Now he understood: it was for missing someone.

After just one day apart, he already missed him.

His free hand reached for the wallet on the bedside table, opening it to examine the hidden photo. The person in the photo looked at the camera, and Fu Xuanliao finally rediscovered the feeling of being watched and favored.

He thought, Shi Meng quit smoking for me, didn’t he? How stupid was I not to dare to think that before?

He also wondered what Shi Meng was doing now. Was he having nightmares like him? Would it be better if he left the lights on?

He also wondered, since Shi Meng knew I mistook him for someone else twice, did he know those two times were actually the moments I started falling for him?

He cared about him so much—remembering what clothes he liked to wear, what color umbrella he preferred, and his fear of the cold—and his lips couldn’t help but curl up when he saw him. Yet, he naively thought he had control over his heart.

Even bystanders had noticed. Thinking of Shi Sihui’s “true love” from a few hours ago, his mother Jiang Rong’s hesitant expression just now, and Gao Lecheng’s countless teasing remarks… Fu Xuanliao pulled at the corner of his mouth, but no trace of a smile reached his eyes.

No wonder he felt pain.

Because the attraction to Shi Meng and the protective instinct he inspired were natural reactions; resisting his love and resisting loving him were acts of swimming against the current.

He had constantly been violating his true feelings.

He brought the hand holding the cigarette to his mouth, mimicking Shi Meng’s way of pursing his lips to inhale, and was immediately choked, his head spinning, the lights outside the window blurring.

But he took another puff, and another, letting the thick smoke fill his lungs, tormenting himself almost maniacally.

Closing his eyes, the scene from his dream was vivid—in the darkness, he saw a spark ignite, falling into a desolate field overgrown with weeds, catching fire and spreading like a wildfire in the wind.

It was exactly like the scene of the painting burning on the sea.

At that moment, the fear of loss and confusion had consumed his entire mind. The dull pain only crept up his spine in this lonely night, piercing him to the core.

He thought, this is retribution, retribution for stubbornly denying his feelings and leaving the person bruised and battered.

In this world, what goes around comes around. He had been stubborn and burned Shi Meng’s painting, and Shi Meng used another one to make him feel the pain of loss, just when the chains on him were finally broken, and he no longer needed to deceive himself.

Fu Xuanliao’s fingers, holding the cigarette, began to tremble uncontrollably.

As the shackles were undone one by one, and his will crumbled layer by layer, he saw the hidden evidence of love.

They surged like a rising tide, regardless of whether Fu Xuanliao could withstand them, and exploded like thunder from a clear sky, each sound like a landslide.

This reminded Fu Xuanliao of how he once compared Shi Meng to a bomb that could explode at any moment.

Well, it had exploded now, but it hadn’t shattered his peaceful life; it had shattered his violently beating heart.

Unfortunately, all the good times they could have had were wasted in betrayal, harsh words, and confrontation.

Only when everything was brought to a close did he discover his love.

How cruel this was.

He took another drag of the cigarette, as if inhaling all the coolness of the late summer evening wind.

Then he let the cigarette burn shorter and shorter in his hand until it scorched his skin, leaving a dense, inky black mark, attempting to let this physical pain override the others, to keep himself sober.

His chest cramped with the pain, and his palm still retained the sensation of gripping Shi Meng’s wrist on the sea.

That was the last time Shi Meng went mad for him. From the moment Shi Meng pulled his hand away, or even earlier, Fu Xuanliao couldn’t hold onto him anymore.

Fu Xuanliao thought, panicked yet soberly, what should I do? The little lunatic isn’t lunatic anymore.

The former little lunatic always grabbed him during his fits of madness and declared, “You are mine.”

Now, I willingly want to be yours. Do you still want me?

In the latter half of the night, Fu Xuanliao forced himself to sleep for a while, finally regaining some energy.

He was coughing badly, proving that the power of tobacco was not to be underestimated; at least Shi Meng was right to quit smoking.

In the early morning, Fu Xuanliao coughed while packing a change of clothes for Shi Meng, planning to take them to the hospital later.

He had been slacking off for days, and the company had a pile of matters waiting for him. He absolutely had to go to the office today. He first arranged everything that could be delegated to subordinates over the phone, planning to show his face, handle the important matters, and then leave. Other issues requiring discussion could be handled via video conference.

In short, his focus recently revolved entirely around Shi Meng: first, taking care of Shi Meng; second, monitoring the police investigation progress; and third… Fu Xuanliao dared not think further.

Shi Meng had cut ties so decisively, letting go when he said he would, refusing to see him when he said he wouldn’t. Blind confidence was clearly out of the question now.

Recalling the bet Shi Sihui made with him at the police station yesterday, Fu Xuanliao’s heart sank.

Forgiveness was easier said than done. He used to think Shi Meng’s tearful appearance was repentance; now he knew the one who should repent was himself.

Just making up for the mistakes he had made would take all his effort, and it still depended on whether the person involved was willing.

Fu Xuanliao self-mockingly laughed at his misfortune—you drove away a little mushroom whose eyes and heart were full of you, and now you regret it and want him back. Who else should fate torment but you?

He finished packing and was about to leave the room when his gaze swept over the few paintbrushes on the bookshelf to the right of the desk.

Remembering Shi Meng’s minor fit of pique when he saw these brushes upon arriving here for his birthday last year, Fu Xuanliao’s tense expression softened slightly, then he smiled wryly.

He walked over, grabbed all the brushes in one hand, and pulled them out.

He tossed them into the trash can without hesitation. The sound, a dull thud, which last night had guided him to face his inner feelings, now served as a reminder to bid farewell to the past.

The trash can lid closed, sealing away the vague affection and misplaced heartbeats he had felt for Shi Mu in his youth.

It sounded cold, but Fu Xuanliao admitted he once felt something akin to liking for Shi Mu. However, for a long time, his heart had been quietly releasing everything related to Shi Mu. Because his heart was too small; once Shi Meng moved in, there was no room left.

Especially after learning about the excessive things Shi Mu had done and the malicious lies he had told, the last bit of “betrayal” guilt was completely emptied out.

Fu Xuanliao never intended to use “misjudging someone” as an excuse. He thought, let’s just say I changed my mind, let’s say I fell for someone else. Having lived for the Fu family and for others for so long, it was finally his turn to be selfish.

Shi Meng gave him the purest heart, and he wanted to return Shi Meng an equally clean one.

This was what he owed Shi Meng, and it was a heart he willingly offered.

It just depended on when Shi Meng would be willing to look at it.

Judging from the current situation, it seemed unlikely. During Shi Meng’s hospitalization, Jiang Xue was inseparable from him. Forget Fu Xuanliao, even Li Bihan hadn’t been able to see him again.

He had considered forcing his way in, but ultimately didn’t want to disturb his recovery and rest. So everyone waited, and waited for over a week.

That day, Fu Xuanliao called Officer Chen to inquire about the case progress. Officer Chen said that since Shi Sihui’s family had stopped obstructing the investigation, the prosecution had formally intervened and was arranging to interview the victim for detailed information. They would file charges soon.

Upon learning that the interview was scheduled for this afternoon, Fu Xuanliao abruptly turned the steering wheel, heading straight back to the hospital after just leaving. He arrived at the inpatient department only to find the room empty. The nurse said the patient had completed discharge procedures moments ago.

Fu Xuanliao knew Shi Meng was deliberately avoiding him, but he hadn’t expected him to go to such lengths. Driving toward the prosecutor’s office, he felt both fear and anger—fear that Shi Meng had run away, and anger that he hadn’t monitored him closely enough to lose track of him.

Fortunately, he drove fast. After parking at the prosecutor’s office, he rushed inside.

Without an appointment, he had to wait downstairs. Unable to wait, he ran upstairs, checking every consultation room but finding no one. After being advised to look in the public prosecution department, he was stopped by staff who wouldn’t let him enter.

Fu Xuanliao was explaining that his friend was inside when his peripheral vision caught sight of two people appearing near the staircase.

It was Shi Meng and Jiang Xue descending from the upper floor.

Shi Meng had just been discharged, and his steps were still a bit unsteady, but he insisted on holding the railing with his left hand and walking down the stairs himself.

He walked very carefully, looking down intently at the steps, until a pair of feet wearing leather shoes appeared in his forward view. Only then did he realize who he had encountered.

Their eyes met. Fu Xuanliao stood there calmly, just looking at him.

Shi Meng seemed to have lost more weight. His long sleeves nearly covered the backs of his hands, with a section of gauze-wrapped hand exposed on the right side. Fu Xuanliao wondered how the recovery was progressing inside.

His hair had also grown longer, a layer of scattered bangs covering his eyebrows, making his eyes look larger. But they were empty, devoid of the former expectation and longing, and devoid of Fu Xuanliao’s reflection.

This made Fu Xuanliao’s already sunken heart collapse further, sinking into the depths.

Jiang Xue pulled Shi Meng, intending to bypass him. “Let’s go. Ignore him.”

But Shi Meng didn’t follow her. He said, “Wait a moment.”

Jiang Xue reluctantly stepped aside, waiting for them to finish talking.

The silence lasted a few seconds. Fu Xuanliao was afraid of being abrupt when he spoke. “The case… I mean, the one Shi Sihui masterminded, is it going smoothly?”

Shi Meng took a moment to respond, then nodded. “Yes.”

After a while, he added, “Thank you.”

Even though he didn’t specify, Fu Xuanliao knew he was thanking him for the maritime kidnapping incident, where the Fu family used connections to prevent the police from pursuing charges.

But Fu Xuanliao knew perfectly well it wasn’t kidnapping, so he couldn’t say “you’re welcome.” He just hummed in acknowledgment, saying it was what he should do.

The two spoke trivial words in an unprecedentedly normal manner, so calm that Fu Xuanliao momentarily thought things had simply ended this way.

They had argued, fought, kissed, and entangled. They had cried and hurt each other. Although Fu Xuanliao didn’t plan to shirk responsibility, he felt that with so many twists of fate and unfortunate coincidences, he shouldn’t have to bear the consequences alone.

Like every gambler holding onto a sliver of hope, he wished for a comeback, for everything to start anew from this point.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were discharged?” Fu Xuanliao asked.

Shi Meng didn’t answer.

Fu Xuanliao took his silence as consent, steadying his breath, and continued, “Then… let’s go home.”

This time, Shi Meng reacted. Just as Fu Xuanliao’s hand was about to touch him, he took a step back, avoiding the contact.

He didn’t respond to Fu Xuanliao’s suggestion. Instead, he said, “The things I left at your house, I don’t want them anymore. Throw them away.”

His speech was slow, every word clear and forceful. This made it all the more apparent that Shi Meng’s previous calmness was forced composure, while his current calmness was utterly devoid of emotion.

A calmness Fu Xuanliao couldn’t break.

He was left speechless, unable to find a way to respond, until Shi Meng walked two or three meters past him, then suddenly stopped.

Witnessing Shi Meng turn back, Fu Xuanliao’s eyes showed a surprise akin to finding something lost. He walked toward him. “I…”

There was so much he wanted to say, but what he wanted Shi Meng to know first was—I was wrong, please don’t be angry.

Even if you can’t forgive me yet, don’t be angry, and don’t punish yourself. You are so good; no one should make you angry.

But Shi Meng didn’t give him the chance.

Shi Meng pulled a stack of hundred-yuan bills from his pocket and handed them over.

Fu Xuanliao stared blankly at the money, unsure of its purpose, when he heard Shi Meng say, “It was in your suit pocket. I borrowed it earlier.”

It was used to buy the knife, the rope, the lighter, and the fare to the seaside.

Every item was preparation for that grand farewell.

So Shi Meng felt no need for further discussion. He simply pressed the money back into Fu Xuanliao’s hand and said in a very quiet voice, “We are even now.”