Sun Rain Chapter 13

The first snow eight years ago fell on Christmas Eve.

The older generation in Fengcheng didn’t care for foreign holidays, but the young people were enthusiastic. On Christmas Eve, a simulated Christmas tree was erected next to the school bulletin board, attracting many students from the junior and senior high sections who stopped to take photos.

Girls came in twos and threes, blushing as they hung gifts tied with colored ribbons or envelopes sealed with wax on the tree, inevitably drawing a chorus of teasing.

Some idle students spontaneously organized a security team, standing in front of the Christmas tree with megaphones: “Claim it by name, claim it by name! Everyone knows who they’re aiming for. If the letter is opened and it’s not addressed to you, I won’t be the one who’s embarrassed.”

Far from the excitement, Shi Meng stood alone in a secluded corner, his warm breath rising and dispersing in clouds before his eyes. He pulled his hood higher and tucked his hands into his sleeves, taking every possible measure to keep warm, looking ready for a long wait.

The bright lights reflected in his eyes, making even the distant noise feel relevant to him. After confirming once more that the blue box at the top of the tree was still unclaimed, Shi Meng raised a sleeve to rub his frostbitten nose and exhaled another puff of white steam.

Shi Meng knew that box wasn’t for him.

After school yesterday, Fu Xuanliao and Shi Mu had gone out somewhere and only returned after the Shi family dinner had concluded.

The two went upstairs chatting and laughing; Shi Mu entered his Suite, and Fu Xuanliao went into the guest room. The guest room was right next to Shi Meng’s room. This room used to be Shi Sihui’s bedroom, but after she went away for college, Shi Mu had the maid clean it up so Fu Xuanliao could stay there when he occasionally visited.

This conveniently allowed Shi Meng to closely monitor Fu Xuanliao’s movements. This morning, as soon as the alarm next door went off, Shi Meng got up too.

Unfortunately, he misjudged the time. After getting ready and intending to leave, he remembered he had forgotten his paints. Shi Meng rushed back to retrieve them, and when he came out, he bumped right into Fu Xuanliao, who was simultaneously opening the door next door.

In the past, Shi Meng would always leave first. He didn’t want to draw attention, so he would wait in the bushes outside the courtyard, and only when he saw Fu Xuanliao leave would he stealthily follow.

This time he slipped up. They unexpectedly came face-to-face in the hallway less than three meters apart. Before Shi Meng could react, Fu Xuanliao spoke first: “You’re up early too.” He held a blue gift box in his hand, showing no intention of hiding it. “Where are you going?”

Over the years, Shi Meng had lived like an invisible person in the Shi family and usually had no interaction with Fu Xuanliao, a frequent guest. At school, they spoke even less. They were in different grades, and Shi Meng was an art student, spending most of his time in the art studio, which was divided into East and West rooms. Shi Mu usually went to the East room.

Therefore, when the person who usually only appeared as a back view suddenly faced him directly, Shi Meng froze instantly. He then took a step back, unable to utter a word.

Perhaps annoyed by his reaction, Fu Xuanliao muttered, “Am I that scary?”

Shi Meng wanted to say no, but he was a beat too slow, and the rushing Fu Xuanliao spoke first.

“I’m leaving now. If it’s convenient, please tell Uncle and Auntie for me. They should still be asleep.”

With that, Fu Xuanliao, wearing a single-shoulder backpack, strode past Shi Meng toward the staircase.

He stepped onto the first stair, then stopped as if remembering something, turning his head back toward the hallway, startling Shi Meng into almost taking another tactical retreat.

Fu Xuanliao put one hand in his pocket and raised the blue gift box with the other.

“If your brother asks, just say I went for a morning run.” He smiled, as if certain Shi Meng would agree. “Remember to keep it a secret for me, kid.”

Just last month, Shi Meng had turned sixteen. Although he wasn’t tall, he really disliked being called a kid.

So today, he still followed, but deliberately kept a few meters distance, kicking pebbles as he walked, reminding himself not to constantly stare at that back view.

But his smile reminded Shi Meng of the time he was hiding under the table in the Attic, and Fu Xuanliao deliberately sent everyone away and reached out his hand, calling for him to come out. Shi Meng liked it when he smiled like that and couldn’t help but look.

It was just past seven when they reached the school gate. Shi Meng was still a little dazed as he watched a green Christmas tree being carried off a truck by a school worker across the road and then erected next to the bulletin board. Then he saw Fu Xuanliao, taking advantage of the lack of people, throw his backpack on the ground, quickly climb the railing, turn, and hang the blue gift box at the very top of the Christmas tree, securing it with a string.

Only then did Shi Meng understand the purpose of his early departure.

Art students also had to attend cultural classes. Shi Meng didn’t listen carefully during the three morning classes—Chinese, Math, and English. Physically present in the classroom, he wished he could leave his eyes by the bulletin board to keep watch.

At noon, when he went to the cafeteria, he deliberately took a detour around the school gate to confirm the box was still there before settling down for his afternoon classes.

At three in the afternoon, he moved to the art studio in the comprehensive building. Shi Meng uncharacteristically didn’t hide in the corner, choosing a window seat so he could easily look up and see the situation at the school gate.

There were fewer students today, and the East studio wasn’t open. When the art teacher, Sun Yanfeng, brought in his favorite disciples who usually stayed in the East room, Shi Meng was resting his chin on his hand, gazing out the window. He snapped back to attention when he heard that name.

“Shi Mu, let me see your painting!”

The school art studio set a weekly theme for students to paint around, and Shi Mu’s starting strokes always attracted everyone’s attention.

Five or six students surrounded Shi Mu and his easel, chattering with questions about composition and color palette. Finally, Sun Yanfeng, finding them too noisy, waved his teaching whip and ordered them back to their seats, and the studio returned to quiet.

During class time, there was no one at the school gate, so Shi Meng also spread out his drawing paper and picked up his charcoal pencil to start outlining.

The only sounds were the scratching of the pencil on the paper, occasionally interspersed with a few low whispers. He adjusted his drawing board to face the light. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Teacher Sun bending over to guide Shi Mu’s painting. Shi Meng watched for a while, found it uninteresting, and withdrew his gaze to stare out the window for a few minutes.

He didn’t like being in crowded places; his thoughts were blocked, and his efficiency dropped. In an hour and a half, he only managed a rough outline and didn’t even use the paints he brought.

Shi Meng was slow in packing up his art supplies, looking somewhat tired. As a classmate from the back row passed him in the aisle, an unintentional comment—”Your composition looks a lot like Shi Mu’s”—cast another shadow over his already gloomy mood.

No teenager at this age likes to be constantly compared to another peer.

Yet, being compared to Shi Mu had become a fate Shi Meng couldn’t escape since he was eight years old.

From appearance to height to academic performance, and even to painting, which they both enjoyed, Shi Meng was accustomed to being placed in the inferior position for comparison. He was five centimeters shorter than Shi Mu, he was the same age but two grades lower than Shi Mu, and his painting style was similar to Shi Mu’s but was always considered an Awkward Imitation… and many other things.

Shi Meng felt that if all this stemmed from him being an illegitimate child, it was too bizarre, as there was no connection between these factors.

However, the world had no time to answer his questions, nor would it accept his side of the story.

People set their own standards for hierarchy and loved to follow trends and stick together. If they thought there was a connection, then there was. “Truth” was always held by the majority.

As Shi Meng reached the door, Teacher Sun Yanfeng called out, “Let me see your painting.”

Shi Meng was eager to leave and offered an excuse: “I haven’t started painting yet.”

“I saw you draw a few strokes during class.”

“I wasn’t satisfied, so I erased it.”

Sun Yanfeng looked at Shi Meng with his hands behind his back, and Shi Meng stubbornly met his gaze.

In the end, he didn’t press the issue. Sun Yanfeng sighed softly: “Your style is indeed somewhat similar to Shi Mu’s.” He asked tentatively, a familiar hint of pity in his eyes, “Have you considered changing your painting method? Or… do you have other types of art you’re interested in?”

Shi Meng practically ran out of the studio, sprinting down the stairs in one breath.

The north wind wildly slapped his face, blowing his hair everywhere. He finally stopped by the edge of the sports field, hands on his knees, gasping for air.

He couldn’t quite name his current feeling—anger, disappointment, or sadness. He had been in the Shi family for eight years and was used to it, so he was still very calm.

Calmly regulating his breathing, calmly forgetting what had just happened, and then calmly walking to the school gate, finding an inconspicuous corner to look toward the bulletin board.

Winter days grew dark early, but the view here was good. Not only could he clearly see the blue box on the Christmas tree, but he also unexpectedly witnessed Shi Mu being picked up by his mother.

His mother, not mine, Shi Meng thought, even though people always said I looked a lot like her.

Li Bihan was extremely good to Shi Mu. The maid at home said that due to an accident years ago, the Young Master was born before his due date. Premature Baby were fragile, and the Madam felt very guilty about it, compensating him doubly over the years, ensuring he had the best of everything.

The best living conditions, the best education, the best maternal love.

The tall, elegant woman gently placed her soft hand on Shi Mu’s shoulder. The driver beside them held an umbrella over their heads. The woman pulled her son closer, letting him be completely covered by the umbrella.

Shi Meng saw her profile; her smile held a tenderness he was never fortunate enough to receive.

It wasn’t until the two got into the car, and he watched it gradually drive away, that Shi Meng noticed a few cold drops landing on his head, the melted water trickling down his forehead.

It was snowing.

While guarding the blue box, Shi Meng, bored because counting couldn’t fill the long hours, also thought about things he usually didn’t have time for.

For example, how his mother, Yang Youlan, who didn’t live in the Shi family, was spending her day, and whether the next time they met she would again instruct him: “Remember to defer to your brother, you should.”

For example, during that “accident” back then, if Yang Youlan had known that the result of her throwing a tantrum would be Li Bihan giving birth earlier than her, would she have chosen to restrain herself or switch hospitals?

For example, why did Teacher Sun, who liked Yang Youlan so much, not only fail to stop her from having the child but also willingly act as her protector, trying every means to send the child back to the Shi family?

And for example, why did everyone like Shi Mu, even Fu Xuanliao?

But Shi Mu had already been picked up and was probably home by now.

His mother was so meticulous; the house would surely have a warm fireplace lit, and hot soup and a soft blanket would be waiting for him.

Standing in the cold wind, his head covered in snow pellets, Shi Meng wasn’t envious at all. His room could catch the residual heat from the fireplace, and even if the soup was cold, a bowl would always be saved for him.

He stared wide-eyed at the Christmas tree adorned with pretty lights, focusing hard on the top.

Shi Mu was gone, everyone was gone. That blue box was now his.

He waited and waited, watching the people in front of the Christmas tree change in waves, the minute hand on the distant clock tower turn round and round, and the snow pile up like a small mountain by the bulletin board window.

When he walked up to the Christmas tree, the few students who had been spontaneously guarding it had dispersed. The security guard at the gate poked his head out of the booth and shouted, “It’s snowing, hurry home.”

Shi Meng nodded in response but didn’t leave. He waited until the campus lights were extinguished and no one was paying attention anymore. He dropped his backpack in the snow and slowly climbed up, following the path Fu Xuanliao had taken that morning.

It wasn’t easy. The railing was slippery, and there was nowhere to step. Relying on arm strength, he climbed up, managed to reach the box with a trembling hand, and then his limbs went weak, completely drained of strength.

Hearing footsteps further rattled his nerves, and he accidentally missed a foothold. Before he could save himself, Shi Meng, clutching the box, fell backward, face up.

The anticipated pain didn’t arrive. A gasp from behind made Shi Meng’s body stiffen, as if he couldn’t move.

“Hiss… so heavy.”

The person who caught him was clearly struggling too. Shi Meng smelled alcohol in the breath that puffed against the side of his face.

When did he arrive? Why was he drinking? Was it because the gift hadn’t been taken by the person he expected, or…?

Before Shi Meng could figure it out, an arm wearing a school uniform jacket reached out from his side. In the dim light, a warm palm accurately grasped the hand Shi Meng was using to hold the gift.

His heartbeat, which had abruptly ceased amid the noise, started up again a moment later, rushing toward a clamorous crescendo.

Fu Xuanliao gasped heavily and asked in a rough voice, “On my birthday, was it you who slipped the gift into my desk?”

Like a thief caught red-handed by the police, Shi Meng didn’t dare turn his head. After a long pause, he whispered a soft “Mm.”

“Last year, and the year before that, was it also you?”

“Mm.”

Hearing the answer he wanted, the person behind him let out a sigh of relief.

The snow continued to fall, trapping the two tightly pressed bodies in place.

“I knew it…” Fu Xuanliao leaned forward, embracing the trembling person in his arms, his tone fierce yet tinged with grievance, “I knew you liked me too.”