Sun Rain Chapter 22

Taking advantage of the weakening wind, Fu Xuanliao strode forward, grabbed Shi Meng’s arm, wrapped his hands around his waist, dragged him off the windowsill, and carried him into the room without looking back.

The action was far from gentle. Shi Meng, who was thrown onto the bed, was stunned for a few seconds. When he recovered, he immediately lunged toward the painting frame beside him, hugging it tightly as if afraid it would be snatched away.

Fu Xuanliao also climbed onto the bed, pressing down on Shi Meng and prying at his shoulder, forcing him to let go: “Aren’t you very capable? Don’t you destroy things you hate? Why are you still keeping this painting? Huh?”

He was breathing heavily, his voice rough and aggressive. He was clearly enraged and showed no restraint in his actions.

His shoulder blade was being squeezed painfully, making a cracking sound as if it were about to dislocate, but Shi Meng was not afraid. He used all his strength to protect the painting: “This is, my painting.” He gritted his teeth, saying haltingly, “Mine, it’s mine… my painting.”

Fu Xuanliao’s eyes were bloodshot: “I’ll give you ten million, I’ll give you ten million, just give it to me.”

During the struggle, Shi Meng twisted his head and looked at Fu Xuanliao with a chilling intensity.

“I won’t sell it.” He managed to curl his lips despite the pain, his smile triumphant yet pale. “Forget ten million, even if you offer a hundred million, a billion, I won’t sell.”

Neither backed down, resulting in mutual injury.

To protect the painting, Shi Meng maintained a rigid posture, leaving bruises on his shoulders and neck from the pinching. Fu Xuanliao was even more battered. When he had pulled Shi Meng off the windowsill earlier, the frame had struck his face. During the struggle, the corner of the frame had cut his hand. Now, the area from his forehead to his cheek was swollen, and the wound on the side of his hand was still seeping blood, making him look quite ferocious.

Although they often fought like this before, those were minor scuffles—a bite here, a scratch there—which could even be categorized as foreplay before sex. This time, however, it was serious. The air pressure in the room was extremely low, and their heavy breaths intertwined, suggesting they might start fighting again at any moment.

It was Fu Xuanliao who ultimately found it tiresome and rolled off the bed first.

Only after steadying his breathing did he have the energy to search for the shoes he had kicked off sometime earlier.

Walking around to the other side of the bed, Fu Xuanliao saw Shi Meng still stubbornly clutching the painting. Recalling Shi Meng’s repeated claims of “mine, mine,” he sneered, “Right, you spent ten million on it. Legally speaking, this painting is indeed yours.”

Shi Meng didn’t make a sound. Fu Xuanliao saw the fingers gripping the frame move slightly. Fu Xuanliao couldn’t help but say, “You hate Shi Mu so much, why don’t you just destroy this painting?”

Shi Meng suddenly sat up, glaring at him with wide eyes: “This is my painting!”

“Alright, alright, yours, it’s yours, okay?”

Unwilling to argue with someone who seemed mentally unstable, Fu Xuanliao stepped into his shoes and started to walk out.

“Where are you going?” Shi Meng was afraid he would run away and tried to follow.

“To bandage up.” Fu Xuanliao held up his still-bleeding hand, then pointed at the bed with his chin. “Be careful your painting doesn’t get stolen.”

Shi Meng jumped again, turning back to hug the frame with both hands, looking pitiful and ridiculous.

Reaching the door, Fu Xuanliao suddenly remembered something and turned back: “Didn’t you have a painting, one of lilies of the valley?”

Shi Meng seemed to freeze for a moment, then tilted his head, looking at him with confusion.

“So you did.” Confirming it through his eyes, Fu Xuanliao smiled. “It was well painted. Too bad I burned it.”

Seeing Shi Meng’s shoulders tremble violently, a sense of vengeful satisfaction finally rose in Fu Xuanliao’s heart.

He couldn’t resist making Shi Meng hurt more: “I’ve already forgotten what that painting looked like. After all, the painting and the frame—there wasn’t even ash left when it burned.”

Just like how you personally destroyed my freedom four years ago.

Walking down the wooden stairs, Fu Xuanliao dropped his smile. The relaxation after the fight did not bring him any comfort.

After the brief moment of pleasure passed, all that remained was cold emptiness and weariness.

Shi Meng’s motive for using the painting as leverage was not hard to guess. Four years ago, he already knew that the bond of interest was the most secure, knowing how to use a contract to tie him down. Now, he was using a painting as leverage to force him to come over. He was quite clever.

Therefore, when Fu Xuanliao suggested destroying the painting, he himself was sweating. On one hand, he thought that without the painting, he wouldn’t be controlled by Shi Meng anymore. On the other hand, he was afraid Shi Meng might actually destroy the painting in a fit of madness.

As for Shi Meng himself, he certainly didn’t want to die, otherwise why would he stage this whole act?

Reaching this conclusion, Fu Xuanliao didn’t even realize he had sighed in relief before calmly returning to his thoughts. He still hoped that the painting titled “Flame” was safe. As long as it existed, there was a chance to reclaim it.

Fu Xuanliao unconsciously used the word “reclaim” for something that was originally his, and he pulled at the corner of his mouth in exasperation.

It was originally his, and now he had to resort to stealing it back. This world truly was surreal.

The first aid kit was kept in a storage room near the dining area. Passing by, he ran into Shi Sihui, who was drinking at the kitchen island. She glanced at Fu Xuanliao’s hand, showing an “I knew it” expression, and pulled out the high stool beside her, signaling him to sit and talk.

Since he didn’t plan on going upstairs anytime soon, Fu Xuanliao sat down. He placed the first aid kit on the table, opened it, and skillfully disinfected his wound with iodine and cotton swabs.

There was a time when Fu Xuanliao felt that exposing a wound in front of others was a sign of incompetence or even shame. Now, he could handle it with composure and ease. It seemed one could gradually get used to being embarrassed.

“I was wondering about all that commotion just now,” Shi Sihui said, swirling her wine glass with a half-smile. “You two have been fighting for over four years. Haven’t you had enough?”

The pain receptors tightened as the medicine touched the wound. Fu Xuanliao frowned: “You should ask him that.”

Shi Sihui took a sip of wine: “True. You’ve already proposed terminating the contract.”

Both were preoccupied with their own thoughts, and the silence lasted until Fu Xuanliao finished bandaging his wound and closed the first aid kit.

Fearing time was running out, Shi Sihui spoke first, testing the waters: “You haven’t forgotten my brother, have you?”

Legally, she had two younger brothers, but Fu Xuanliao knew the brother she referred to couldn’t be the one upstairs.

Fu Xuanliao looked up at her, his eyes seeming to ask what she meant.

Shi Sihui smiled knowingly: “If you had forgotten, why would you propose termination… I guess I asked a pointless question.”

He recalled the last time, also here, under similar circumstances—one drinking, one treating a wound. Back then, they were mutually guarded, neither daring to reveal the truth. Now that the contract termination was on the table, unnecessary concerns were eliminated.

Fu Xuanliao’s lack of denial was tacit agreement. Shi Sihui felt emboldened to reveal more: “When my brother was critically ill back then, he also underwent Bone Marrow Matching. Do you remember?”

Even though he didn’t want to revisit those dark days, Fu Xuanliao thought carefully: “Yes, wasn’t it said that he wasn’t a match?”

“The doctor said the best scenario for Bone Marrow Matching is a fully matched transplant between biological siblings. So, he and I were the first to be tested. Unfortunately, I wasn’t a match.”

“He… wasn’t a match either?”

“Probably not.”

“Probably?”

“Because none of us have seen his lab report.” Shi Sihui suddenly smiled, seemingly mocking. “My matching result is still kept by my mother after all these years. His result was only a verbal ‘not a match’ from my father. Don’t you think that’s interesting?”

Fu Xuanliao frowned: “But if the matching was successful, there’s no reason not to save him.”

After all, it wasn’t a procedure like a kidney transplant that would cause significant damage to the donor’s body.

“Exactly, that’s why I said he probably wasn’t a match.” Shi Sihui sighed. “But the fact that the lab report was hidden has always been a thorn in my mother’s side. She always feels my father concealed something.”

As she narrated, Fu Xuanliao also fell into contemplation. After a moment, he recovered and said lightly, “Why are you telling me about your family affairs?”

Shi Sihui raised her wine glass and made a toasting gesture in the air: “We’ll be on the same side soon, won’t we? I’m giving you a heads-up and expressing my sincerity.”

Involving a matter of life and death, Fu Xuanliao didn’t find it interesting.

However, this matter successfully took root in his mind, further solidifying his desire to meet Shi Huaiyi alone.

Yet, Shi Huaiyi was even busier this week. His calls were answered by his assistant; he was either in a meeting or resting, busier than a president.

It was Li Bihan who contacted him proactively, asking if he wanted to come over.

Considering the last time he was courted and no results were achieved, Fu Xuanliao hesitated slightly before saying, “Let’s meet somewhere else. In case something happens again.”

This implied that a discussion was possible. Li Bihan laughed on the phone: “You are thoughtful. I’ll talk to your Uncle Shi about the contract termination when he’s home next time.”

Although neither explicitly stated it, both knew they needed each other’s help and were about to form a partnership.

When he returned home, his parents asked about it. Fu Xuanliao briefly explained the situation. Jiang Rong sighed, “Now, your Aunt Li is the only one who can talk sense into your Uncle Shi.”

Fu Qiming, however, was somewhat disapproving: “Stay out of their family affairs. We had a good talk last time, and the Shi family had already relented. Wait a little longer, and the contract will naturally be terminated.”

Fu Xuanliao asked, “Wait, how much longer?”

Fu Qiming’s brows furrowed, unable to answer.

“I can’t wait anymore,” Fu Xuanliao said. “I’ve waited for over four years. That’s long enough.”

When he told Shi Sihui he had forgotten, it wasn’t entirely a lie.

Last night, lying in bed, he closed his eyes and realized he truly couldn’t recall Shi Mu’s appearance clearly anymore.

This sense of crisis regarding forgetting and breaking his promise made Fu Xuanliao confront the terror of time for the first time.

Time could dilute memories, numb one’s nerves, and even create an illusion, causing people to unknowingly sink into it.

Now, he woke up with a start, reflecting on the past four years he had spent in a daze, getting used to every Saturday just as he got used to being embarrassed. Wasn’t that a form of degradation?

Eager to escape, Fu Xuanliao was threatened by Shi Meng with a painting on the last Saturday before the Spring Festival, forcing him to rush to the Shi residence. His mood was naturally at its worst.

On the large bed covered with deep blue sheets, Fu Xuanliao gripped Shi Meng’s chin, the anger in his eyes threatening to burn out: “After all these years, haven’t you gotten tired of it?”

Shi Meng looked up at him, hurting from the pressure, but displayed a smile devoid of warmth: “No, I’ll never get tired of it.”

It was a cold winter night, and the large temperature difference between inside and outside caused a layer of damp condensation on the window glass.

Fu Xuanliao rubbed Shi Meng’s lips with his thumb almost violently until the blood color first appeared, and the coldness turned into a searing heat. Then he moved his hand, tracing the flame tattoo under Shi Meng’s left ribcage, sometimes brutal, sometimes intimate.

Shi Meng actually couldn’t remember the feeling of getting the tattoo—whether it hurt or not, whether he was excited or expectant.

After it was done, he hid it for a while, not letting Fu Xuanliao see it, though it was eventually discovered.

But what did it matter? Fu Xuanliao couldn’t run away anyway.

“You like me that much?” As if seeing through his thoughts, Fu Xuanliao asked crudely, “I burned your painting, and you still want me to take you?”

Shi Meng’s eye corner twitched. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, they were slightly moist, perhaps from the humiliation of having the last layer of covering ripped away.

This reaction was unexpected for Fu Xuanliao.

He thought that mentioning the burning of the painting would at least make Shi Meng angry, make him not want to see him. Who would have thought this person was so shameless, using the same trick to bring him here, dragging him to the edge of danger again and again, allowing him to lose control?

Shi Meng’s answer was a strawberry offered to him.

The fresh strawberry was still dripping water. Shi Meng raised his hand to feed it into his mouth, refusing to be rejected, and asked him, “Is it delicious?”

His clear eyes were full of the innocent expectation of someone ignorant of the world.

Fu Xuanliao responded with a brutal, crushing kiss.

It was less a kiss and more a vengeful gnawing. Fu Xuanliao refused to look into his eyes, and in the entanglement, he returned all the strawberries that had been placed in his mouth. The soft, rotten fruit pulp was churned into juice by their lips and teeth, mixing with saliva that was impossible to distinguish, overflowing from the corners of their mouths and wetting their faces.

Despite the mess, Shi Meng was still smiling.

“It’s delicious,” he answered his own question, then picked up another strawberry from the bedside and held it out to Fu Xuanliao. “I picked them. Have some more?”

Fu Xuanliao turned his head away in disgust, his cold laugh full of contempt: “Shi Meng, aren’t you pathetic?”

He tried to use the most vicious words to sever all possibilities between them. However, Shi Meng only paused for a moment before putting the strawberry in his own mouth, closing his lips tightly, and chewing very slowly.

Strange. It was bitter, even though it had been very sweet when freshly picked.