Sun Rain Chapter 28
byCompared to the messy “borrowed living” situation, Shi Meng’s academic life was easier than he had imagined.
Teacher Ma chose his students based purely on fate, never setting rigid thematic constraints to limit their creativity. The main purpose of his classes was to let students unleash their hands and minds for free creation, then appreciate and discuss the previous session’s work in the next class. The teaching was relaxed yet structured, the pace unhurried.
He also didn’t impose strict time limits, firmly believing that art stemmed from fleeting inspiration. Treating a painting like an assignment with a deadline would extinguish creative passion and sincerity.
Therefore, Shi Meng rarely went to school. Whenever he finished a new painting and called Teacher Ma, the teacher was usually not at school either. Sometimes they met at an art gallery, sometimes at a tea house, and the most absurd time was in a park—because the elderly gentleman was tired from his morning run and didn’t want to move, telling Shi Meng to come directly to him.
When Shi Meng rushed over with his painting, he saw a crowd gathered in the distance. As he got closer, he realized Teacher Ma was standing in the center, holding a mop-like calligraphy brush and drawing something on the ground.
Due to the limitations of ground calligraphy, the painted mountain layers were indistinct, and the sunlight quickly dried the ink. Passersby didn’t know what he was drawing and walked away after watching for a while, finding it uninteresting. Yet, Teacher Ma was painting enthusiastically, stroke after stroke, as if the person who had complained about being too tired to move on the phone was someone else entirely.
Shi Meng stood silently watching until Teacher Ma finished to his satisfaction. The teacher beckoned him over, and Shi Meng stepped forward to unroll the painting he had carried in his bag.
“Another portrait, is it?” After surveying the whole picture, Teacher Ma nodded. “Not bad. Your handling of light and shadow is more refined than last time.”
Hearing that comment made the trip worthwhile. After discussing the details with Teacher Ma for a while, Shi Meng rolled up the painting, put it back in his bag, and prepared to leave.
“Don’t rush off,” Teacher Ma called out, handing him the ground calligraphy brush. “Come, draw something, anything.”
Shi Meng took the brush, looked down at the ground, and paused for a long time before saying, “I don’t have anything I want to draw.”
Teacher Ma sat fanning himself. “How can you have nothing to draw? Think about it carefully.”
Another five minutes passed. Shi Meng lowered his head and said resignedly, “Truly nothing.”
“Then what was that painting I just saw?”
Shi Meng fell silent.
Teacher Ma sighed, then waved Shi Meng over to sit down.
“That feeling of focusing on one object or one scene, wanting to paint it to the absolute extreme—I’ve felt that too, and I completely understand it,” Teacher Ma never put on airs as a mentor, which always easily dissolved Shi Meng’s resistance to communication. “While I support free creation and hope that the younger generation can paint what’s in their hearts, I hope even more that you can distinguish between dedication and obsession.”
From the moment Teacher Ma said “but,” Shi Meng’s heart tightened.
He thought he had hidden it well and had never revealed his creative purpose to anyone, but still…
“Dedication might allow you to achieve a breakthrough in a certain field and make accomplishments, but obsession will only trap you in place, making you miss more scenery that should have entered your view.”
Contrary to Shi Meng’s expectation, Teacher Ma did not directly call him out.
He didn’t even stop Shi Meng from continuing to paint the same person. Instead, he took the ground calligraphy brush from Shi Meng’s hand and said with regret, “I have seen many of your works, including that piece, ‘Flame.’ They say you stole that painting, but I believe that only you could paint that fervent desire, and the struggle of wanting to touch but fearing being burned.”
Shi Meng’s eyes trembled violently, and he looked up at the person across from him.
This was the first time in years that someone had believed him, and the reason wasn’t so-called evidence, but understanding and trust in him.
Receiving Shi Meng’s gaze, Teacher Ma grew even more emotional. “Someone capable of painting such emotionally rich work should be quick to grasp things. They shouldn’t be trapped.”
Before parting, he looked at the ground, which had completely dried, leaving nothing behind, and smiled. “If you’re tired, just do as I do—find a place to rest, and pick up the brush again when you feel like painting.”
“You can paint anything. I hope that when you pick up the brush, you can put down your obsession, treat the paper as a miniature world, and paint freely and unrestrainedly upon it.”
After returning, Shi Meng stood on the balcony in a daze for a long time, until the sun set and a few scattered stars peeked out from the clouds.
Spring in Fengcheng had arrived quickly and departed hastily. The onset of early summer brought not only the sticky humidity of the plum rain season but also a restless heat.
Shi Meng reached into his pocket but didn’t find a cigarette. He froze for a long time before remembering he had quit ages ago.
Why did he quit smoking?
Because Fu Xuanliao couldn’t stand the smell of smoke.
And where was Fu Xuanliao?
He hadn’t been back for several days.
But it didn’t matter. If I want him back, he has to come back.
In just a few months, Shi Meng’s life focus had steadily converged in one direction, ignoring gossip and using various unsavory methods.
He was doing what he believed was right, so he burned his bridges, leaving no room for retreat.
But the one who should be trapped was Fu Xuanliao, Shi Meng wondered. Why did everyone think I was the one trapped?
When Fu Xuanliao received Shi Meng’s call, he was sitting in a private room upstairs at the Heting Club, incongruously reviewing documents amidst the hazy, languid sounds of jazz music.
Gao Lecheng, who was bored playing cards by himself nearby, saw Fu Xuanliao hang up five calls in a row and knew what was happening.
“I thought you were joking before, but I didn’t expect him to press so hard,” Gao Lecheng shook his head. “No wonder you can’t stand staying in your office and came here to work.”
Thinking about how Shi Meng had run all the way to his company last week when he worked late, ignoring all attempts to stop him and barging into the office, Fu Xuanliao felt a terrible headache.
However, this kind of ruckus was better than him playing games with his life. Last time, when he received his mother’s call and thought Shi Meng was truly dying, he ran several red lights driving back, nearly costing himself his own life.
Fu Xuanliao put down his pen and rubbed his temples. “Only here can I get some peace.”
Gao Lecheng picked up his phone. “I’ll have the staff downstairs send more people to guard the entrance, to buy you a few more minutes of quiet.”
In truth, it wasn’t fear of going home. It was just that he had been too busy lately and cherished the rare tranquility. Furthermore, the matter he was currently handling was related to the person living at home, and Fu Xuanliao didn’t want to see him, fearing distraction.
“I think you’re afraid of going soft,” Gao Lecheng hit the nail on the head. “Although Young Master Shi the Second doesn’t rely on shares for a living, this kind of thing still feels like a betrayal. If Young Master Shi the Second is the type who can’t tolerate a grain of sand in his eye—”
“That would be great,” Fu Xuanliao interjected. “Let him give up early, save me the trouble.”
Gao Lecheng looked at him skeptically a few times, wanting to say something, but ultimately held his tongue.
Even the best friends shouldn’t interfere in each other’s romantic affairs. When people are already tangled up, an outsider stirring the pot might only make things worse.
He changed the subject, asking about the cooperation with the Shi family mother and daughter.
“Didn’t they say they had the support of the group’s elders? Why drag you into it?”
Fu Xuanliao closed his eyes to rest, speaking in a low voice. “In aristocratic families, it’s inevitable that a few harbor ulterior motives. If they suddenly change their minds and back out, the Fu family’s job is to provide a safety net and cover that variable.”
“No wonder,” Gao Lecheng warned. “You need to be careful not to get yourself into trouble.”
Fu Xuanliao hummed in acknowledgment and said nothing more.
In the latter half of the night, Fu Xuanliao’s phone rang a few more times, but he kept hanging up.
Gao Lecheng glanced at the calendar. “Tomorrow is Saturday. You’ve mostly finished your work. Aren’t you planning to go back?”
Reminded by him, Fu Xuanliao also opened his phone to look at the calendar. He stared at the date for several minutes, his gaze fixed on it, not blinking for a long time.
Gao Lecheng waved his hand in front of Fu Xuanliao’s eyes and chuckled. “What, didn’t realize Saturday came so fast?”
Fu Xuanliao couldn’t manage a smile, even a forced one.
After a long silence, he slowly withdrew his gaze. “No, I won’t go back. I’m going to the cemetery.”
“The cemetery?”
Outside, the rain pattered down. The annual plum rain season always arrived without a sound.
“Tomorrow…” Fu Xuanliao’s face was expressionless, but his voice dropped. “Is Shi Mu’s death anniversary.”
(Part 2)
On the second Saturday of July, Shi Meng habitually circled the date on his paper calendar with a red pen.
He had called Fu Xuanliao ten times yesterday, and he hadn’t answered any of them. Shi Meng felt a little uneasy.
This unease briefly vanished when he opened the curtains and saw it was raining outside.
Shi Meng disliked rainy days, so if his anxiety stemmed from the weather, he was actually relieved.
Thinking about it carefully, there was indeed no need to worry. After all, he had plenty of ways to make Fu Xuanliao come back.
During the day, Shi Meng painted and cooked with Jiang Rong. Since he had moved into this house, the cooking auntie’s visits had decreased. He unilaterally considered this a good sign, proving that he was slowly being accepted by the family.
Once Fu Xuanliao’s parents accepted him, Fu Xuanliao himself wouldn’t be able to refuse.
This traditional notion originated from Yang Youlan’s indoctrination. Years ago, she had told eight-year-old Shi Meng with righteous confidence: “As long as Shi Huaiyi’s blood flows in your veins, and he agrees to take you home, no one else will be able to refuse you. As for whether they are unhappy about it, why should I care?”
Out of avoidance of unpleasant memories, Shi Meng rarely thought of his mother. When he unexpectedly connected a current event to her, he received a phone call from her, as if by telepathy, which startled him.
He pressed accept and put the phone to his ear just as a muffled clap of thunder sounded. Shi Meng’s hand trembled, and he nearly dropped the phone.
“Why did you take so long to answer?” Yang Youlan on the other end didn’t care about his situation. After scolding him, she immediately issued a command. “Mumu is missing again. Go look for him quickly, especially around your house. He might have run back there.”
Shi Meng hadn’t told her he had moved out, so “your house” referred to the Shi residence.
The Fu family home was in the city center, a good twenty or thirty kilometers away from the Shi family.
It was still raining outside.
Fearing a wasted trip and loss of time, Shi Meng tried to clarify the situation. “When did he run out? Have you searched the nearby area? Did you put the name tag on him…”
“I said he’s missing, so go look for him! Why all the nonsense?” For some reason, Yang Youlan’s voice was trembling on the phone. “My Mumu, how can I not worry?”
Shi Meng paused.
Yang Youlan’s tone just now reminded him of the woman who lived in the Shi family home, and her reaction when speaking of the pain of losing her son.
“It’s all your fault. It’s your fault for not taking good care of my Mumu. Ever since he came home, he keeps running off everywhere, his heart has gone wild.”
Shi Meng swallowed hard, still bewildered.
He seemed to sense something, yet couldn’t grasp the thread. An unbelievable thought surfaced, only to be muffled by the heavy thunder.
“Go find him for me! I don’t care, you go out and find him now!” Hearing no response on the other end, the frantic Yang Youlan screamed hysterically, “If you dare let my Mumu die again, I’ll make you pay with your life!”
The rain continued until late at night. Returning home soaked and carrying the muggy humidity, Fu Xuanliao didn’t bother to shower or change. He sat on the living room sofa for a while first.
He liked to sit here and think when no one was around. Although right now, his mind was blank; he wasn’t thinking about anything.
To be precise, he didn’t dare to think. The principle of “a slight pull moves the whole body” applied to memories as well. Especially since he had seen Shi Mu’s black and white photo today and heard Li Bihan’s sorrowful wails, similar scenes always involuntarily deepened the impression.
The wind blew away the dust covering it, and the images in his memory became clearer under the washing of the rain. Standing in the desolate cemetery, Fu Xuanliao seemed to hear a voice from a distant place, asking if he still remembered their promise, asking how he could so easily forget.
I haven’t forgotten, I haven’t forgotten—Fu Xuanliao answered this way while simultaneously rushing to conceal it. Even though no one knew that Saturday’s significance in his eyes had long surpassed the actual day, he could tell himself: the person resting here is still the love of my life.
But he couldn’t.
Because he knew he had changed, though he didn’t know when.
He felt guilty, struggled, and even doubted whether the so-called true love truly existed or if it was just his own wishful thinking and whitewashing.
He utterly despised himself for forgetting his promise and allowing himself to fall into another entanglement.
Just then, the door opened from the outside. The person who had disrupted his firm pace, who had slashed his originally clean and clear memories again and again, turning them murky and unrecognizable, appeared before him.
Shi Meng was completely drenched, as if he had been out in the rain for a long time.
He stood at the doorway for a moment, then stepped inside, his footsteps as light as a ghost.
“Where did you go?” His voice was also very soft.
Fu Xuanliao didn’t want to be disturbed again, so he stood up and walked toward his room.
But that voice wouldn’t let him go, following him like a shadow.
“You went to see Mumu, didn’t you?” Shi Meng answered his own question languidly. “You all love Mumu.”
Immediately following that, a short, sharp laugh reached Fu Xuanliao’s ears.
“Too bad, he was a painting thief.”
To the left of the room was the walk-in closet, and a two-meter-tall mirror was mounted on the wall by the door.
A flash of lightning tore across the sky, accompanied by the muffled sound of a violent impact. Shi Meng only had time to gasp before the hand gripping his throat cut off all sound.
“Who is the painting thief?” Fu Xuanliao glared at him viciously. “Say that again?”
After nearly three months of lukewarm interaction, Shi Meng was extremely pleased to have provoked Fu Xuanliao’s anger again. He struggled to open his lips, silently mouthing the words, syllable by syllable: Shi, Mu, is, a, painting, thief.
Those six short words shattered the steadfast persistence Fu Xuanliao had maintained for years, as well as the defense he had only recently built.
Rage instantly burned away his reason. Amidst the flying ashes, Fu Xuanliao tightened his grip. Seeing Shi Meng’s chest heave as he struggled for breath, he felt his scalp tingle, and a sense of vengeful pleasure surged through his boiling blood.
“You stole the painting,” Fu Xuanliao emphasized. “You stole his painting!”
Taking advantage of a slight twist of his neck to suck in a breath of air, Shi Meng regained the strength to speak, albeit intermittently. “Then… do you, want to, take my, life in, exchange?”
As oxygen grew thinner, Shi Meng thought through the haze: You all love him, you all want him to live. Why not take my life to trade for his?
Perhaps sensing that Shi Meng was merely provoking him, Fu Xuanliao’s momentary shock passed. He curled his lip into a cold sneer. “Do you even deserve to?”
Shi Meng laughed too, as if he had once again mistakenly taken Fu Xuanliao’s reaction as reluctance to let him die.
He pressed his hands onto Fu Xuanliao’s shoulders, desperately leaning forward, shamelessly trying to kiss his lips. When his body was flipped over and pressed against the mirror, the coldness against his cheek made Shi Meng shiver violently.
He asked hoarsely, “What… exactly did you… like about him?”
Didn’t you say my painting was very good? Why don’t you believe me?
Didn’t you tell me not to be afraid, that no one would bully me? Then why do I feel pain now?
Fu Xuanliao was momentarily stunned by the question, followed immediately by a surge of angry resentment at being questioned.
“What I liked about him, you don’t know?” He desperately clung to the few memories that had once moved his heart, trying to highlight Shi Meng’s baseness and depravity. “He was gentle, kind, he respected me, he painted for me, he stayed up talking with me until dawn, and he cared about my injuries.”
“I, I also…”
Shi Meng wanted to say, I would too. I also used to secretly watch you, quietly being good to you. I can change back to how I was before, or even become the person you imagine him to be, as long as you want it.
He’s already dead. Can’t you like me?
“But you…” Fu Xuanliao didn’t give him a chance to speak, gritting his teeth as he listed his faults. “You only steal, occupy, coerce, and confine… doing everything despicable.”
The fear of being turned away was overlaid by another, deeper fear, because Shi Meng knew that everything Fu Xuanliao stated was true.
As if oblivious to how pathetic he looked right now, Shi Meng still struggled to turn his head. “Screw me then. You can screw me as if I were Shi Mu.”
He was impatient to be screwed by Fu Xuanliao, desperate to prove that he was needed.
At least someone in this world didn’t want him dead.
But Fu Xuanliao said, “You don’t deserve it.”
He was so gentle and good. How could a malicious person like you compare?
Finally finding a rational anchor for his excessive anger, Fu Xuanliao grabbed Shi Meng’s hair, pressed him against the mirror, and patted his cheek, which was red from asphyxiation. He leaned close to his ear and said, “Look at yourself. Besides this face, what else do you have that can compare to him?”
“But…” Shi Meng coughed twice, meeting Fu Xuanliao’s eyes in the mirror, a mocking smile pulling at his lips. “But he’s already dead.”
He stole my hard work and suffered retribution, which is why he met an early demise.
What about me? I insisted on taking back what belonged to me, recklessly monopolizing you. Is it now time for me to taste the bitter fruit of my actions?
The deep-seated danger in his heart broke through the soil, surging out to wreak havoc. Shi Meng, who had been indifferent to life and death just a second ago, suddenly became afraid of dying.
Like everyone who knows they have made a mistake but are powerless to fix it, he spread his fingers wide just before reaching the finish line of life, trying to grasp something.
“If I die, if I also die,” confined and unable to turn around, Shi Meng had to look at the person behind him through the mirror. “Will you remember me?”
The mirror had been cracked at some point, spiderweb cracks radiating out from the center of Shi Meng’s forehead.
Fu Xuanliao’s eyes, reflected in one of the shards, were cold as ice.
His beautifully curved thin lips, which Shi Meng had kissed many times, were repeatedly shattered as they opened and closed.
“I’ll only know that once you’re dead.”