Sun Rain Chapter 43
byThat night, Shi Meng truly had a dream.
He dreamed he was lying on the cold ground, his eyes blindfolded, unable to see anything.
His other senses, outside of sight, became acute in the darkness. He heard approaching footsteps, and immediately felt a piercing pain in his right hand.
He wanted to run, but his hands and feet were bound, leaving him immobile. He wanted to call for help, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out.
The pain jolted him awake. He raised his right hand and found, just as in the dream, that he couldn’t exert any strength; he couldn’t even hold a pen steady. The fear of being unable to evade danger spread sluggishly, quickly expanding into a quantifiable wound. Shi Meng watched with wide eyes, panting heavily, like someone who had reached a dead end only to be reminded that the path ahead was fatal, yet he insisted on struggling forward.
How could he remain indifferent when the hand he used for painting was injured?
The feigned composure wasn’t just for others to see; it was also to deceive himself.
Shi Meng buried his face in his bandaged palm, simultaneously despising himself for surviving in such a wretched state and persuading himself that since he was alive, why not just live day by day?
It was all deception anyway; it made no difference.
Getting up in the morning, Shi Meng went downstairs. Like yesterday, he toasted two slices of bread, slowly fried an egg with his left hand, and added a slice of lettuce. When he bit into it, he couldn’t taste the burnt flavor.
After eating, his complexion improved, and his body stopped shaking. It was as if his low blood sugar had been relieved, and he had a reason to live again.
Some of the meat from yesterday was left over after making dumplings. The ground meat was just enough for a stir-fry, so Shi Meng planned to buy some side dishes.
Before opening the courtyard gate, Shi Meng looked left and right through the iron fence. The streets were sparsely populated in the early morning. A few early-rising elderly people were practicing Tai Chi in the open space by the roadside. Everything was quiet and normal.
Xuncheng was farther north than Fengcheng, making autumn a few degrees colder. Passing a steaming breakfast stall on the street, Shi Meng watched the wisps of white smoke rise and couldn’t help but pull his coat tighter. Greeted by the enthusiastic proprietress, he hesitated briefly before walking in and ordering a cup of soy milk.
The shop was small, with three or five customers dining inside. Most tables held steamed buns and noodles.
The proprietress had just delivered wontons to a table. Wiping her hands on her apron as she walked toward the cash register, she asked, “Don’t you want some staple food?”
Shi Meng shook his head. “I’ve already eaten.”
The proprietress understood, lifted the kettle warming on the stove, expertly grabbed a paper cup, tilted the kettle, and poured the steaming soy milk from the spout into the cup until the creamy yellow liquid reached the rim. She capped it, bagged it, and tucked in a straw.
Handing over the bag, the proprietress still wore a friendly smile. “I heard Aunt Pan say you can paint?”
Shi Meng was never good at socializing. Holding the warm cup in his palm, he was stunned for a moment. His slow reaction was taken as confirmation by the other party.
The proprietress, who looked only about forty, had a round face and two dimples when she smiled, making it impossible to refuse her.
She raised a finger and pointed to the empty wall space in the small shop. “We plan to renovate this shop, and I’m worried this wall is too bare. None of us have an eye for aesthetics. How about you design something for us, maybe paint a picture to hang here?”
On the way back from the supermarket, Shi Meng received a call from Jiang Xue and told her about the matter.
“Someone asked you, and you agreed?”
“Mhm.”
“Did you discuss compensation?”
Shi Meng quoted a number.
Jiang Xue said with an eye-rolling tone, “They probably don’t know your paintings start at seven figures at auction.”
“It’s fine,” Shi Meng said. “I don’t paint as well as I used to.”
A painter with a crippled hand is like a track athlete with a broken leg; no matter how much ambition they have, they have no way to use it. The other end of the line was silent for a moment, then said, “As long as you still want to paint, taking on some low-pressure work is good. Think of it as rehabilitation.”
Shi Meng knew Jiang Xue called him frequently to confirm he was safe, though he didn’t know when he had ever shown suicidal tendencies.
He could only say, “Sister Xue, everything is fine here. Don’t worry.”
Jiang Xue pretended not to understand him. “I’m not worried about you right now; I’m worried about that shameless person clinging to you.”
Thinking back to yesterday’s events, especially the brief conversation in the evening, a distraught face suddenly appeared in his mind.
Shi Meng lowered his eyes to the ground. “He left.”
“…Really?”
“Mhm.”
“You saw him?”
“Mhm.”
“Just so you know, Gao Lecheng and I didn’t leak your whereabouts. He found out himself.”
“Mhm, I know.”
As if finding it unbelievable, Jiang Xue asked again, “From Gao Lecheng’s description, he seemed quite determined when he went… Did you really call the police?”
“No,” Shi Meng replied.
Knowing he didn’t want to talk about it, Jiang Xue didn’t press further, changing the subject. “But I heard he met your birth mother and went to the Shi family before coming. Did that guy run all this way and not bring you anything?”
Pondering the question, Shi Meng walked around the courtyard twice after returning to his residence. He checked the windowsill, the fence, under the stone table and stools, and even the temporary brick flowerbed. There was nothing.
Thinking that the man had arrived empty-handed yesterday, Shi Meng didn’t dwell on it, assuming he had just made a spontaneous trip.
After all, today was already Sunday.
For lunch, he made stir-fried pork with green peppers. Because of the inconvenience of his left hand, he added too much salt, but it was very appetizing, and Shi Meng ate an extra half bowl of rice.
In the afternoon, after the usual nap time, Aunt Pan from next door knocked on the door and handed him a plump pomelo.
“My Jiawei brought it back. It’s big and fresh, thin-skinned and juicy. Take it and try it.”
Jiawei was her son, in his early twenties, a graduate student at Xun University by profession and a rock musician on the side. Every holiday, Shi Meng could hear his heart-wrenching singing.
Shi Meng took the heavy pomelo with both hands and thanked her. Aunt Pan smiled. “Don’t be silly. Speaking of which, I didn’t think the breakfast shop proprietress would actually ask you for a painting. I thought she was joking.”
So that was the reason.
Living in this kind of urban village, which was only the size of a town, the most notable feature was the close-knit neighborly relations. What happened in the morning was known throughout the street by the afternoon.
Shi Meng said, “She gave me compensation.”
“Did she give you a stack of breakfast vouchers instead of cash?” Aunt Pan knew from Shi Meng’s expression. “She’s so stingy. And I spent ages praising how good your painting is.”
Shi Meng could guess that she felt embarrassed and thought she had caused him trouble, so he tried his best to assure her it wasn’t troublesome at all.
“The canvas is this big,” Shi Meng said, drawing a circle with his arm to illustrate. “I’ve already sketched half of it.”
Aunt Pan had no concept of painting and gasped after hearing his description. “A canvas that big? How long will that take to paint?”
Two people with completely different ways of thinking communicated patiently, and eventually, the issue was resolved.
“You mean, this canvas is too big for your current easel?”
Shi Meng nodded. “Yes, but I bought a new one, and it’s arriving soon.”
Aunt Pan was relieved. “A canvas that big means the easel won’t be small, right? If it’s inconvenient, I’ll have Jiawei help you move it!”
Shi Meng said no, thinking he could move it inside himself.
However, when the delivery driver dropped off the carton, which was as tall as a person, at the door, Shi Meng failed to lift it with one hand and finally understood what other buyers meant by “very heavy” in the product reviews.
It was already evening, and the delivery driver was rushing to make deliveries, so he left the item at the door and drove off. After trying a few more methods and failing to lift the box, Shi Meng turned back inside, planning to get the small handcart.
Jiang Xue had also prepared the cart for him, saying that since his hand was inconvenient, he could use it for grocery shopping or running errands. Shi Meng had been too embarrassed to take it out before, but now he had no choice and figured using it for leverage should work.
He tidied up inside, removed the cloth bag from the cart to make room for the box, and dragged it to the door. Just as he pushed the slightly ajar door open, he saw the box he couldn’t lift being carried on the shoulder of a tall man. The two came face to face.
Fu Xuanliao was actually flustered.
He had been waiting by the wall outside the courtyard, watching the delivery driver arrive, Shi Meng come out, and then watching Shi Meng circle the box several times, unable to pick it up. He had been itching to step forward and help, but he waited until Shi Meng went back inside before daring to emerge from the corner.
He had intended to take advantage of the open door, carry the item inside, put it down, and leave quickly. He didn’t expect Shi Meng to return so fast. His foot, suspended outside, slowly stepped onto the ground. Fu Xuanliao, on a whim, blurted out, “I’m here.”
Compared to Fu Xuanliao’s panic, Shi Meng appeared extremely calm. He glanced at the man in front of him, then at the box easily resting on his shoulder. He lowered his eyes for a moment, seemingly weighing the pros and cons. After only a few seconds, he stepped aside, clearing the path into the house.
It wasn’t until he placed the box in the center of the room and straightened up that Fu Xuanliao realized what a foolish thing he had said.
“I made do in the car last night,” he quickly added, trying to salvage the situation. “And I forgot to give you something else.”
Shi Meng ignored him, retrieved a utility knife from the nearby chest of drawers, and squatted down to open the packaging.
Initially, Fu Xuanliao worried he might cut his hand. He wanted to help but couldn’t find a tool. After watching for a while and confirming that Shi Meng was skilled at unpacking, he told him he was going back to the car to get something and left.
Fu Xuanliao’s car was parked in a paid lot on another street. Even running, the round trip took more than ten minutes. Fortunately, the door was still open when he returned. Shi Meng was still squatting in the same spot, staring intently at a page that looked like assembly instructions.
Overall, the technical difficulty was low, but it required two strong hands.
Fu Xuanliao put down the things he brought, leaned over to look, and asked, “Is it an easel?”
Shi Meng still didn’t answer, so Fu Xuanliao didn’t ask again. He quickly scanned the installation guide, rolled up his sleeves, squatted down, and picked up the screwdriver on the floor.
The easel’s structure was simple, but some components were heavy. When attaching the assembled frame to the stand, the force applied while tightening the screws was uneven, and Fu Xuanliao couldn’t spare a hand to hold it steady. Shi Meng walked over and stepped on the raised leg of the stand, facilitating his movement.
It was assembled in less than ten minutes. Fu Xuanliao held the frame, stood the entire easel upright, adjusted a few loose spots to make it more stable, and tightened the last screw. He looked up and saw Shi Meng return to a squatting position, looking down at the insulated bag on the floor.
He had said he brought it for him, yet Shi Meng only looked at it. He was clearly curious about what was inside, but he didn’t even touch the zipper.
Fu Xuanliao’s heart clenched painfully. A long time ago, many times, Shi Meng had watched silently like this, wanting something but not daring to ask.
These things should have belonged to him in the first place.
Fu Xuanliao stood up, walked over, and lifted the insulated bag, along with Shi Meng’s gaze, onto the table. He quickly opened it and took out the food inside, arranging it on the table.
“It’s cooked food prepared for you by Aunt Li and Aunt Fang,” he explained. “The car didn’t have the heater on, and the ice packs inside haven’t melted. You can eat it after defrosting it in the microwave.”
He then picked up another bulging bag. “These are your autumn and winter clothes. Everything wearable at home was brought.”
Shi Meng glanced at the clothes, then returned his attention to the food, seemingly ignoring the “home” in Fu Xuanliao’s words, which referred to the Fu residence where they had lived together.
Despite the cold shoulder, Fu Xuanliao wasn’t discouraged. He asked, “Where do you plan to put the easel?”
Following Shi Meng’s eye direction, Fu Xuanliao moved the easel to the living room near the balcony.
The balcony faced south, so the daylight must be good. After adjusting the easel to a position that was both well-lit and not directly exposed to the sun, Fu Xuanliao straightened up contentedly. He inadvertently noticed an insulated container with a cartoon rabbit print on the windowsill, and the beef jerky inside it.
Remembering Li Bihan once said Shi Meng liked these things as a child, Fu Xuanliao couldn’t help but curve his lips, thinking he truly hadn’t changed.
Memory and experience of a matter depend on the comparison of two concepts. The Shi Meng of the past expressed his liking by watching the same cartoons and eating the same things every day. The Shi Meng of the present expresses his care through his eyes and actions. Different times and spaces seemed to have interacted, causing the two seemingly distinct people to overlap.
How could he have only just realized how adorable he had always been?
To stall for time, Fu Xuanliao stayed in the bathroom, washing his hands thoroughly three times.
When he came out, he smelled food and checked his watch, suddenly realizing it was dinner time.
The kitchen here was open-plan. A tall, slender figure was busy moving back and forth at the stove, making Fu Xuanliao pause.
It wasn’t until Shi Meng turned around, holding a plate, that he quickly withdrew his gaze, bent down, and picked up the jacket he had casually tossed onto a chair during the easel assembly, draping it over his arm.
“Then I’ll just…”
“Eating?”
The insincere farewell was interrupted by two words. Fu Xuanliao looked up at Shi Meng, almost startled with joy. Shi Meng was looking back at him, still expressionless.
Shi Meng raised the plate in his hand and asked again, “Eating?”
Although he was still shaken by yesterday’s inability to defend himself, Fu Xuanliao naturally had no reason to refuse Shi Meng’s invitation.
Dinner was the leftover dumplings from yesterday, plus a piece of braised beef that had just been taken out of the insulated bag. The rest was placed in a glass bowl, sealed, and put into the refrigerator for storage.
When he noticed that his plate had more dumplings than Shi Meng’s, Fu Xuanliao belatedly realized that he was only invited to stay for dinner because he had helped bring supplies; it was Shi Meng’s way of expressing thanks.
This scene unexpectedly overlapped with the scene at the Fu house on New Year’s Eve last year. Thinking of Shi Meng putting the only two remaining eggs in his bowl, intending to give precious things to the person he cherished, Fu Xuanliao felt a wave of sour, swelling nostalgia wash over his disappointment.
He took a clean pair of chopsticks and put the dumplings back into Shi Meng’s bowl, giving the excuse, “I’m not hungry. I can’t eat this much.”
He also sincerely complimented, “It tastes great, and the presentation is good. You even cook noodles better than I do.”
Likely finding it too much trouble to argue, Shi Meng didn’t refuse.
After eating the dumplings, Fu Xuanliao voluntarily stood up to clear the plates. The kitchen had a dishwasher. After looking up the instructions on his phone, he threw all the pots, bowls, and plates inside and pressed the start button. Fu Xuanliao sighed in relief, turned around, and saw Shi Meng standing by the island counter not far from the stove, fiddling with the coffee machine.
The downward angle of his head exposed a section of his neck hidden beneath the collar of his sweater—pale, slender, the neck Fu Xuanliao had violently choked and kissed countless times.
He should have only kissed it. He was so good; how could anyone bear to treat him badly?
Fu Xuanliao silently and repeatedly questioned himself in his heart.
Just as the urge to step forward and embrace that fragile body was about to peak, he saw Shi Meng turn his head, holding the coffee cup, and ask in that same cool voice, “Want some?”
Fu Xuanliao answered without thinking, “Yes.”
Upon receiving the affirmative answer, Shi Meng first froze, then pulled at the corners of his mouth, revealing a very faint smile.
He rarely smiled, or rather, rarely smiled out of happiness. Just like now, he clearly knew that Fu Xuanliao had come prepared, harboring motives and plans, perhaps even calculating the exact moment he would waver.
But he had already lost once.
Once was enough.
He didn’t intend to give anyone another opportunity to take advantage of him.
Raising the cup in his hand, Shi Meng looked at Fu Xuanliao, his smile cold and mocking. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll drug it again?”