Sun Rain Chapter 58

The sky was like a glass window with the condensation gently wiped away, slowly releasing light.

Yet, the people inside were content to remain in the darkness, covering their heads with the quilt, groping to peck kisses onto each other’s faces, like two desperate souls holding each other for warmth.

The space under the quilt was warm from their body heat, and their freshly showered skin surfaces were becoming sticky again. At first, Shi Meng pushed a few times, telling Fu Xuanliao to get out, but later he exhausted the little strength he had just accumulated, and even his most practiced painful kiss lost its power.

Fu Xuanliao was still wearing that shirt, having rushed out without bothering to button it up. Shi Meng’s slender fingers reached past the hanging front placket, touching the tattoo on his chest and the uneven scar right in the center.

This time, Fu Xuanliao felt the pain, sucking in a breath. He said, “Good aim, right on the tattoo.”

He was referring to the burning cigarette butt.

Shi Meng pursed his lips and mumbled, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Mm, I know.” Fu Xuanliao comforted him. “Next time, I’ll draw a new one and have it tattooed on my back.”

Shi Meng said, “Don’t.”

“Why?”

“…It’s ugly.”

Fu Xuanliao was stunned for a moment, then his chest vibrated as he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you think my drawing is ugly, or the tattoo on the body is ugly?” he pressed. “Or is it both?”

Shi Meng didn’t want to talk to him, turning his head as if to sleep. Fu Xuanliao cupped his chin, preventing him from hiding. Frustrated, Shi Meng grabbed Fu Xuanliao’s collar again.

This time it wasn’t a kiss, but a warning.

“You are not allowed to die. I won’t let you die.” Staring at the man so close, Shi Meng’s eyes were wide, finally showing a hint of ferocity. “If death means liberation, I will absolutely not let you die.”

He spoke words that threatened mutual torment until they grew old and died, but the underlying meaning was far from that.

Fu Xuanliao understood, and therefore, not only was he unafraid, but he was quite willing to continue being “tormented.”

His eyes felt swollen, but he forced a lighthearted smile. “Then I’ll have to live to a hundred.”

To repay, and to be tormented by you.

So that neither of us will be lonely anymore.

Shi Meng finally closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep in the early morning.

For as long as he slept, Fu Xuanliao watched him, resting his chin on his hand. Several times, the shallow breathing and the occasional scent of his body made his heart itch, but he didn’t dare to overstep. The most he did was gently smooth Shi Meng’s soft sideburns with his hand.

The morning mist dispersed, and natural light spilled into the room. Fearing the light would disturb Shi Meng’s rest, Fu Xuanliao got up to draw the curtains. He checked his watch; it was just past seven.

He wasn’t optimistic enough to believe that after yesterday, Shi Meng would open his heart to him, or that their relationship would immediately get back on track. There were still many things waiting for him to handle; he was just dealing with them according to priority, not forgetting what needed to be done.

Walking back to the bed, Fu Xuanliao bent down and placed a kiss on Shi Meng’s eyelids.

Many tears had flowed here yesterday, and the thin eyelids were slightly swollen. Even so, the bluish veins on them were still clearly visible. His long, thick eyelashes fluttered with his breathing, like a butterfly preparing to take flight.

Fu Xuanliao couldn’t resist and leaned down to kiss him again.

Downstairs, Fu Xuanliao first made breakfast for Shi Meng.

He wasn’t a great cook. All he could manage was reheating the leftover chicken wings from last night, keeping them warm in the oven, and making a rough sandwich with sliced bread, fried eggs, and vegetables.

While frying the eggs, he nearly scalded his hand with splashing hot oil. Fu Xuanliao dodged and weaved, using the pot lid as a shield, while secretly resolving to properly ask his mother for lessons on kitchen mastery when he returned this time.

Before leaving, he found paper and pen and left a note inside the blue paper box.

He was afraid Shi Meng wouldn’t see it otherwise, and this was the safest place.

With everything arranged, Fu Xuanliao grabbed his jacket and headed out, thinking he would go and return quickly, his steps hurried.

Unexpectedly, as he opened the door, he ran into Li Bihan, who had her hand raised, about to knock.

The unexpected encounter made both of them feel awkward. Fu Xuanliao greeted her, “Aunt Li,” and followed her gaze downward, realizing that not only was he disheveled, but his white shirt had a cigarette burn hole and bloodstains. Coupled with his newly scabbed lip corner and the exhaustion of a sleepless night, he looked utterly wretched.

His heart sank. Fu Xuanliao quickly tightened the jacket around himself, covering the strange marks, and then gathered his spirits to say good morning again.

Li Bihan nodded, offering a smile that was barely warm. “Oh, it’s Xuanliao.”

Seeing the large bags Li Bihan was carrying, Fu Xuanliao proactively helped her bring them inside and told her, “Shi Meng is still asleep. He was too tired yesterday, he probably won’t wake up until noon.”

He didn’t know what was wrong with that statement, but Li Bihan glanced at Fu Xuanliao coolly after hearing it, with a distinct look of scrutiny.

Fu Xuanliao felt the hairs on his neck stand up under that gaze. He thought, how strange, he never used to find Aunt Li a little scary.

Fortunately, Li Bihan didn’t say anything more. While unpacking the things she brought, she asked Fu Xuanliao where he was going.

“Back to Fengcheng for a trip,” Fu Xuanliao said. “To handle some matters.”

Li Bihan gave an “Mm.” “You should handle things properly before coming back.”

Fu Xuanliao understood the implication: she disapproved of his reckless and impulsive behavior in rushing over to seek reconciliation.

However, Fu Xuanliao didn’t regret it. The prerequisite for him to act cautiously was to first follow his heart’s choice.

If he had come one day later, Shi Meng might have endured one more day of rain.

Hearing that Li Bihan planned to stay for a while this time, Fu Xuanliao felt even more relieved.

After saying goodbye and stepping out the door, a ray of sunlight happened to pierce through the clouds, dazzlingly bright.

Fu Xuanliao paused, looking up for a moment, then turned toward the window of the second-floor bedroom. He whispered softly to the person sleeping inside, “Don’t cry, Little Mushroom. The sun is out.”

Back in Fengcheng, even though Fu Qiming’s calls urging him to return to the company had almost drained his phone battery, Fu Xuanliao first rushed to Teacher Ma’s house.

It was Sunday, so there were no classes, and Teacher Ma was out for a walk. When he returned and saw the person standing by his door, his face immediately fell, turning him into a grumpy old man.

“Teacher Ma.” Fu Xuanliao respectfully greeted him. “About the matter we discussed last time…”

“Didn’t I tell you last time it was a no-go?” Teacher Ma took out his key to open the door. “You young people, why are you so stubborn?”

Fu Xuanliao followed him to the door. “It concerns Shi Meng’s reputation…”

Teacher Ma chuckled. “Reputation, so-called, is just vanity that common people care about. I know Shi Meng as a student; he doesn’t seek fame or profit. Painting is just his interest.”

The door opened, and Fu Xuanliao followed him inside.

“You are right. People who truly love painting can distinguish whose hand created that work, and they genuinely don’t care about vanity,” he said. “But I am a common person, and I care.”

Teacher Ma snorted, noncommittally.

After a brief pause, Fu Xuanliao said, “Please don’t laugh, but that painting, ‘Flame,’ was painted by Shi Meng for me.”

Hearing this, Teacher Ma raised an eyebrow and finally gave Fu Xuanliao a proper look.

Fu Xuanliao had been here many times, and each previous visit had ended in disappointment. He thought that perhaps there was an inherent barrier between artists and ordinary people, just as he always failed to understand what Shi Meng wanted, only able to give blindly based on his own guesses and feelings.

Even if he got the direction wrong, and the things he gave weren’t what Shi Meng cared about most, at least the sincerity he offered wouldn’t be wasted.

“The joke isn’t about Shi Meng’s painting, but that this painting was actually for me,” Fu Xuanliao said, laughing self-deprecatingly. “Yet I, I thought someone else had painted it for me, and I self-righteously told him to return it to the ‘owner.'”

“Looking back now, besides feeling blind, I feel even more undeserving.”

“He is so good. Who am I? Why should I receive his favor? Why should he like me, and like me for so many years?”

Thinking of that pure, untainted heart directed toward him, and that pure gaze fixed upon him, Fu Xuanliao’s heart, which had only recently recovered, began to ache faintly again.

He took a deep breath and continued, “So, to be worthy of his affection, I must do this—for him, and for myself.”

“I don’t want him to continue bearing this stigma that weighs on him like a mountain. I want him to escape the shadow of all these years, and I want to hold his hand and escort him to a place full of flowers and applause.”

By the end, Fu Xuanliao’s tone was almost pleading. “This matter can only be accomplished if you are willing to help.”

After all, the painting had been burned, and relying solely on existing photographs made identification much harder. Issuing such a certification required an art professional with sufficient authority in the industry. This was Fu Xuanliao’s blind spot, so he had to repeatedly visit Teacher Ma, hoping to find a feasible method through this connection.

Perhaps moved by his words, Teacher Ma pondered for a long time before finally sighing.

He went back into the house and returned with a slip of paper on which a phone number was written.

“This is another one of my students. He couldn’t settle down to paint, but didn’t want to leave the industry, so he went into calligraphy and painting appraisal.”

Handing the note to Fu Xuanliao, Teacher Ma said, “His current teacher is the most respected appraiser in the industry. When you contact him, mention my name, and my student will help talk to him. As for whether the master is willing to take the job, that depends on your luck.”

The solemn tone gave Fu Xuanliao an inexplicable sense of responsibility.

He took the note, folded it neatly, and put it in his pocket.

As soon as he left Teacher Ma’s house, Fu Xuanliao dialed the student’s number.

Hearing that he was introduced by his esteemed teacher, the student agreed without hesitation. However, just as Teacher Ma had guessed, the student also said he needed to test the waters first. This kind of appraisal and certification involved reputation, and his current teacher wouldn’t want to ruin his own brand, so caution was necessary.

Fu Xuanliao understood their difficulties, but he was anxious. He asked for the address and simply drove over, bringing the generous gift Gao Lecheng had prepared in advance.

This time, it was Fu Xuanliao’s turn to take the lead. Although he wasn’t skilled at painting or art, he was more frequent at the negotiation table than the dining table.

Upon arriving and meeting the elderly master, he started with subtle flattery, then offered complete sincerity both superficially and substantially, promising to take full responsibility if any issues arose—signing a contract was no problem. Even the most stubborn old man couldn’t withstand this dual assault of money and personal appeal.

When he came out, he received a call from Gao Lecheng, who was also delighted to hear that he had succeeded.

“Jiang Xue is preparing for your ice beauty to make a comeback. Clearing his name now? That’s perfect, a double blessing.”

Fu Xuanliao felt comfortable hearing this, and his nerves, which had been taut for days, relaxed slightly.

He drove along the road leading to the suburbs, finally having the leisure to listen to Gao Lecheng recount his loving daily life with Jiang Xue—meeting parents, buying a house—all things Fu Xuanliao had never considered before, but now felt a stirring desire to think about.

Hearing that he was heading back to Xuncheng after finishing his business, Gao Lecheng asked doubtfully, “His cheap older sister is already crying behind bars, his conscience-eaten adoptive mother and teacher won’t be out for ten or eight years, and even his beastly biological father ended up with his wife and son running off with all the assets. What else is there to deal with?”

The car turned a corner, entering a secluded road that wound upward, disappearing into the deep mountain forest.

Fu Xuanliao answered briefly into the phone, “Dealing with the past.”

The winter wind rustled the evergreen fir trees along the road. When he got out of the car, Fu Xuanliao looked back at the road he had traveled, thinking of Shi Meng’s word “return” from last night, and couldn’t help but quicken his pace, wanting to get back sooner.

This was a cemetery, excellently situated by the mountains and water. It was said that even the most remote plots could sell for seven figures.

Setting aside the money, behind every standing tombstone was a different life story, and the one in front of Fu Xuanliao was no exception.

This was his first time coming here with a calm and peaceful heart. Therefore, when he saw the name on the tombstone, his mind was blank for a moment, as if he didn’t know what to say.

In truth, he didn’t need to say it out loud, nor did he need to make this trip.

But Fu Xuanliao felt he needed to give Shi Meng and himself an explanation. If he didn’t say it face-to-face, it wouldn’t seem firm enough.

He would just follow the trend and pursue a sense of ritual this one time.

Fu Xuanliao remembered that the last time he came here, due to the guilt of “changing his mind,” he didn’t even dare to look directly. Now, looking at the black and white photo on the tombstone, he only felt the face was increasingly unfamiliar, no longer the person in his memory.

Or rather, precisely because what he had seen before was a facade, the collapse was so swift and complete when the truth arrived.

Looking at it another way, he should be grateful to the person lying here. They had allowed his last trace of guilt to vanish, the ropes binding him to be untied, enabling him to embrace freedom anew and examine his true feelings.

Fu Xuanliao opened his lips in the cold wind. “This is the last time I will come here.”

“It’s not to see you. After all, I don’t owe you, and Shi Meng owes you even less.”

The person in the photo seemed not to hear him, smiling as brightly as ever, unchanged from before.

Yet, Fu Xuanliao suddenly felt an urge to step forward, tear open that smile and pretense, and ask why he was so vicious, harming Shi Meng to such an extent even on his deathbed.

What wrong had Shi Meng done? Why was he tormented by fate, left scarred and riddled with holes?

Why did they have to miss each other for so many years?

But the person before him was dead; nothing he said would reach the ground below.

Only then did Fu Xuanliao understand the true meaning of Shi Meng’s words back then: “But he is already dead.”

Because he is dead, you can’t forget him; because he is dead, I can never fully possess your heart.

Seemingly provocative, flaunting his own life, it was actually deeply humble, as if he had no advantage capable of competing with a dead person, except for the fact of being alive.

It was a profound sense of desperate powerlessness.

He inhaled deeply the cool mountain air, which scraped his throat like a knife, bringing with it a rust-like smell strong enough to numb the nerves.

“I came this time to tell you that everything you stole will return to Shi Meng,” Fu Xuanliao said, enunciating every word. “Including the affection you falsely claimed all those years.”

Thinking of the beautiful moments that should have belonged to Shi Meng and him, shattered into pieces, he hated himself for being so blind, and also hated this person before him, who smiled so innocently but was utterly malicious.

This person had a clean exit. Even if he was mentioned later, it could be lightly dismissed with a phrase like, “He died young of a terminal illness, no wonder he was unbalanced.” But the things he did were like needles stuck in their hearts, causing them to doubt each other. Even if pulled out, the gaps would remain.

But now was not the time for complaints. Forcing down the surging rage, Fu Xuanliao sneered, “Now, I can guarantee I won’t forget you.”

“I will never forget what you did to Shi Meng. Even your death cannot wipe the slate clean. The sins you committed must be repaid, one by one.”

At this point, Fu Xuanliao felt fortunate.

Fortunately, he was still alive. Fortunately, they were both still alive.

Being alive was not just an advantage to contrast with the dead, but a way to demonstrate the power of life to the deceased.

There is hope only in life.

“If you still feel it’s not enough, and you still want revenge, come find me. I have a tough life.”

Fu Xuanliao straightened up, forcefully exhaling the cold air he had drawn into his lungs.

“And he, with everyone’s love and everyone’s blessings, will live a long, healthy, and happy life.”