Sun Rain Chapter 59
byIn Xuncheng, over a hundred kilometers away, Shi Meng opened his bleary eyes, got out of bed, and pulled back the curtains, squinting against the high-hanging sun.
Walking down the stairs, he heard movement below. Li Bihan, busy in the kitchen, came out when she heard him, smiling when she saw Shi Meng still looking dazed and half-asleep. “Eat something first before you go back to sleep. Your stomach shouldn’t be empty for too long.”
After brushing his teeth, he came to the dining table where two meals were set before him.
“The one on the left was left by Young Fu,” Li Bihan said. “He said he went back to Fengcheng to handle some business. The one on the right is what I prepared for you. Eat whichever you feel like.”
Faced with a choice right after waking up, Shi Meng looked at the sandwich on one plate, then the chicken noodle soup in the bowl. Worried that the noodles would clump if left too long, he picked up his chopsticks and started eating the soup.
The freshly brewed old hen soup, paired with soft yet firm thin noodles, and the whole chicken leg soaked in the savory broth, felt warm and comforting in his stomach.
Li Bihan stayed by his side for as long as Shi Meng ate, her gaze resting lightly on him—a kind of care that wasn’t burdensome.
With food in his belly, his brain started functioning again. Shi Meng put down his chopsticks and was about to ask Li Bihan how she had arrived, but she seemed to know what he was going to ask. “The lawsuit is over, and I’ll have a long period of free time now,” she said.
She was wearing an apron printed with little rabbits, her smile gentle. “I came to spend the New Year with you.”
Shi Meng had always lacked a strong sense of time; his days used to be differentiated only by day and night, and Saturday versus non-Saturday. Only now, being reminded, did he realize that the Spring Festival was approaching.
No wonder Auntie Pan had asked him to pick up the rice cakes.
Speaking of Auntie Pan… Shi Meng suddenly remembered his appointment with Pan Jiawei today to see the art exhibition. He picked up his phone and found the battery dead, causing it to shut down automatically. After plugging it in and managing to turn it on, a string of missed calls flooded in, all from Pan Jiawei.
He called back, but no one answered. Wondering if Pan Jiawei was angry about his no-show, Shi Meng quickly threw on a jacket, intending to walk over next door.
Opening the door, he saw Pan Jiawei standing outside the yard, pacing back and forth aimlessly with his hands in his pockets.
Seeing Shi Meng emerge, Pan Jiawei showed a mournful expression. “Just woke up? You can really sleep.”
Shi Meng expressed his apologies with great guilt, saying they could reschedule for next week if it was convenient, and he would pay for the tickets and meals.
Pan Jiawei hadn’t been too angry to begin with, and hearing this, he immediately declared bygones to be bygones, then requested barbecue for their next meal, which Shi Meng readily agreed to.
Getting closer, Pan Jiawei noticed Shi Meng’s eyes looked a bit swollen and asked curiously, “Where did you go last night?”
“The industrial park.”
“What for?”
“A walk.”
Pan Jiawei’s mouth twitched. “Good heavens, a marathon walk.”
He then asked about something else. “Were you alone? Or was that crazy older brother with you?”
Shi Meng answered truthfully. “Together.”
“Oh.” Pan Jiawei couldn’t help but feel down. “You two got back together?”
Shi Meng shook his head.
“Then… do I still have a chance?”
After a moment’s pause, Shi Meng shook his head again.
The expected answer, ironically, gave Pan Jiawei a sense of relief that things were finally settled.
He took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them together idly. “That’s fine, too. I also think it’s better to be friends. It lasts longer and is more stable.”
Shi Meng also breathed a sigh of relief. Pan Jiawei was the first friend he had made since coming here, and he didn’t want to lose him over this.
The two of them fiddled with the plants in the yard for a while. Shi Meng was worried that the marigolds he had planted would get chilblains, so he planned to build a small glass greenhouse.
Pan Jiawei volunteered to draw the blueprints, picking up a dead branch to sketch on the ground, telling Shi Meng where the door and windows would go, and suggesting placing a rocking chair facing south so he could hide inside and sunbathe in winter.
Shi Meng listened intently, professionally constructing a 3D image in his mind.
During a break, Pan Jiawei ate the last bag of potato wedges Shi Meng gave him and asked in a low voice, “That sister by the window, she’s so beautiful.”
Shi Meng turned his head to look. Li Bihan was sitting by the window near the yard, looking down and fiddling with something. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up, meeting Shi Meng’s eyes.
She curved her lips into a smile, and instinctively, Shi Meng curved his lips too.
“She’s not my sister,” Shi Meng told Pan Jiawei.
“Then… an aunt? Or a madam? No way, she looks so young.”
Receiving another denial from Shi Meng, Pan Jiawei made a bold guess. “Could she be… your mother?”
Shi Meng paused, then lowered his head for no apparent reason, looking at the green sprouts emerging from the soil, and softly hummed a “Yes.”
After months apart, Li Bihan’s skill had improved even more. In just half a day, she had knitted a scarf. She had Shi Meng try it on in the evening, thought it was a bit short, and said she would finish the edging tonight.
“I’ve already spoken to Miss Jiang, and she said it’s fine for me to stay for a few days,” Li Bihan said as she carried her luggage into the room next to the master bedroom upstairs. “I’ll just cook and do laundry. You do whatever you need to do, don’t worry about me.”
She might treat herself like a housekeeper, but Shi Meng couldn’t. After dinner, while Li Bihan cleared the dishes, Shi Meng wiped the table and swept the floor. Working together, the small amount of housework was quickly finished.
Seeing that it was still early, Li Bihan picked up her yarn and knitting needles to continue weaving, while Shi Meng sat down at his drawing board to practice quick sketches with his right hand.
Just as he turned a page, he heard Li Bihan speak at the right moment. “Do you have time tomorrow?”
Shi Meng looked up, a little confused.
“It’s nothing major,” Li Bihan answered her own question. “I told you before that I know an orthopedic specialist. I want to take you to see him. Maybe he has a better method to help your hand injury recover faster.”
Shi Meng considered it, then nodded and said, “Okay.”
Li Bihan seemed surprised that Shi Meng agreed so quickly, and along with her joy, she was a little flustered.
That night, she busied herself preparing everything needed for the next day, inside and out: clothes, blankets, drinking water, and even two lunch boxes of fruit and snacks for the road, giving Shi Meng the illusion that they weren’t going to a medical appointment but on a spring outing.
The hospital was not close, and the round trip would take about three or four hours.
They set off early the next morning, with Li Bihan in the driver’s seat. Shi Meng was so bundled up in the thick scarf that he couldn’t easily lower his head. He fumbled for the seatbelt for a long time before Li Bihan leaned over to help him buckle up.
When she was close, Shi Meng always smelled the citrus fragrance on Li Bihan, a scent he had often smelled since childhood.
It was the first scent that came to mind when his teacher assigned the composition topic “My Mother” when he was little.
He subconsciously held his breath, which Li Bihan mistook for nervousness.
“Don’t be afraid. Although I don’t drive often, my skills are decent,” Li Bihan winked at him. “Don’t think of the destination as a hospital, just think of it as going somewhere fun.”
Because of that sentence, Shi Meng didn’t feel as anxious as usual when he entered the hospital. He was led by a nurse for X-rays and then examined by the doctor, the whole process simple and relaxed.
Li Bihan stayed by his side the entire time, only asking Shi Meng to wait outside after the examination, saying she wanted to catch up with an old friend.
Shi Meng sat on a long bench outside, idly fiddling with his phone.
The people inside didn’t chat for long. As their footsteps neared the door, their voices became clearer.
“Painting requires high precision in hand movements,” Li Bihan’s voice said. “I’m troubling you to take extra care.”
Then, the doctor offered some comforting words, such as “With good rehabilitation, recovery is promising,” before suddenly asking, “I remember your youngest son was named Mu Mu? Did he change his name?”
Shi Meng’s heart skipped a beat, and the footsteps inside also paused.
After a moment, he heard Li Bihan say through the door, “No, the previous one wasn’t him.”
“Meng Meng, the one you just saw, is my child.”
“I made mistakes before, and now I just want him to be well… As long as he’s well, I’m willing to shorten my life.”
The hospital was located in the suburbs, surrounded by continuous mountains. The air was crisp, though the temperature was slightly lower than in the city.
At noon, the two simply went to the hospital cafeteria. Paired with the snacks and fruit Li Bihan brought, it was a colorful, fragrant, and flavorful meal.
On the way back, Shi Meng looked out the car window at the gray sky and the mountains undulating like waves. Being immersed in it, he suddenly felt very small.
As if sensing his thoughts, Li Bihan also sighed. “They say nature concentrates the essence of creation. Only by being here can one truly feel the effect of broadening the mind.”
Shi Meng hummed in agreement.
He thought that the past was small, and the future was too. Only after leaving that damp, dark shell did he realize that a person’s life is but a drop in the ocean.
The smaller the space, the more people are content to stay put, and they involuntarily magnify love and hate, turning difficulties that could be solved into a disaster.
This was the victim mentality.
In fact, the world has no absolute victims and no absolute perpetrators.
In the past, he stood in the position of the victim, misunderstood and harmed by perpetrators surging from all directions, becoming someone who didn’t know how to feel wronged or cry, only knowing how to use forceful means to get what he wanted.
Now, the situation was reversed. Even if he had no subjective intention to harm others and never harbored thoughts of revenge, others still felt frustrated, even pained, because of him.
He had transitioned from a physical victim to a spiritual perpetrator. He made others live in fear and trepidation, and he burdened himself with pressure, leaving him exhausted.
No wonder the doctor always advised him to go out and look around. The majestic natural world always unexpectedly grants humanity a spiritual salvation, making one realize their own insignificance and teaching them to minimize themselves in future dealings.
So-called obsession is merely a severe punishment inflicted upon oneself. Those with bad luck self-torment until death without escaping; those with good luck get a second chance, and besides realizing it was “nothing much,” they also discover—so what if it was “nothing much”?
He was already so familiar with the world’s terrible aspects that he didn’t need to open his eyes to know what would happen next. Therefore, every piece of beauty he saw from now on was fresh and unprecedented.
From the grand, like restrained love, reckless pursuit, and apologies that admit mistakes and seek reconciliation, to the small, like a bowl of instant noodles after a long journey, fruit packed in a lunch box, the marigolds in the yard, and the light music playing in the car.
So many things, so many that Shi Meng let out a long sigh of relief.
After the hardships of the past twenty-plus years, for the first time, he felt that his luck wasn’t too bad after all.
Returning to the house, they ran into Auntie Pan, who was back from a walk. She exaggeratedly praised Li Bihan’s beauty, saying, “That boy Jiawei came back and told me that Young Shi’s mother looked like his sister, and I didn’t believe it. Now, seeing is believing! This isn’t a sister, she’s clearly a fairy descended to earth!”
Li Bihan was a well-bred young lady before the age of twenty and a devoted wife and mother afterward. She usually dealt with people who were highly educated. This was the first time she had been praised so genuinely to her face. Shi Meng saw her cheeks flush red, unable to even utter a polite platitude. She simplified her response, only saying she would treat them to a meal later to thank their family for taking care of Shi Meng.
The sky was overcast, threatening rain. Before entering the house, Auntie Pan reminded them to move the car into the garage. Shi Meng was about to get out and open the garage door, but Li Bihan took the keys from his hand.
She quickly opened the door, got out, and instructed Shi Meng, “Wait for me in the car.”
Watching her retreating back, Shi Meng, as if possessed, called out that word.
Li Bihan’s body trembled. She turned around, still uncertain. “You called me… what?”
Unaccustomed to saying the word, Shi Meng swallowed dryly before speaking again.
“Mom.” He used a somewhat stiff tone to issue an invitation for the future. “Next time, let’s go out and have fun together again.”
Li Bihan agreed.
She quickly turned away, but Shi Meng still saw her eyes suddenly turn red.
After counting to about a hundred, Shi Meng, who had been told to wait in the car, couldn’t sit still. Thinking that his hand should be able to grip the steering wheel now, he decided to drive the car to the garage entrance, saving Li Bihan the trouble of running back and forth.
So Shi Meng opened the door and got out. As his foot touched the ground, his nose suddenly felt cold.
Then his forehead, his cheek, then the back of his hand, and the corner of his lip.
Shi Meng looked up at the sky. The gray curtain of the heavens seemed to have torn open countless tiny holes, allowing white snowflakes to squeeze out and drift down to the ground.
It wasn’t going to rain after all; it was the first snow.
Shi Meng remembered that during the first snow last year, he was queuing in front of a chestnut stall, catching the sound of that person calling his name amidst the noisy crowd, thinking it was a hallucination.
And the first snowy night many years ago, he climbed the tall Christmas tree to retrieve the unclaimed gift, only to slip and fall into that person’s arms.
Every kind of weather carried its own unique memories.
And the first snow was always inextricably linked to that person.
Just as he was thinking, the world seemed to be covered by a giant dome, blocking the ice and snow—a black umbrella held over his head.
The person holding the umbrella was panting. Lately, for some reason, every time they met, he seemed to be rushing, arriving in a hurry from somewhere unknown.
It certainly matched his name, which was as scorching as the sun.
His opening words were also rushed and nonsensical. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the car? Why did you get out?”
He was eavesdropping again.
Shi Meng glanced at him. In less than two seconds, Fu Xuanliao’s imposing manner deflated. “I just arrived too. I saw you two come back and planned to knock after you went inside.”
After all, he wasn’t the owner here.
Shi Meng was somewhat speechless at his rare clarity of self-awareness and adherence to etiquette, as if the person standing before him wasn’t the one who had frequently barged in uninvited before.
Fu Xuanliao also belatedly felt embarrassed.
He vaguely sensed that the atmosphere between him and Shi Meng had changed and that he should adopt a corresponding mode of interaction.
Speaking of interaction, if he traced it back, they were initially ordinary friends, then contractual lovers, and then one chased while the other avoided. Now, the little mushroom was just showing signs of softening…
While he was thinking, Shi Meng pushed Fu Xuanliao away, as if he were blocking the path, and walked around to the driver’s side door.
Fu Xuanliao quickly followed, holding the umbrella. Seeing Shi Meng grip the steering wheel, he exclaimed, “Your hand can drive? Let me do it.”
The car window was open, and Shi Meng said irritably, “I can drive.”
“Then, then that note I left,” Fu Xuanliao seized the opportunity to ask. “Did you see it?”
Shi Meng said, “No.”
Fu Xuanliao was a little disappointed, but then he thought the note wouldn’t run away; Shi Meng would see it sooner or later.
He bent down to face the person in the car, using the umbrella to block the snow that might blow in.
“Can I… knock on the door later?”
He had already made up his mind, yet he insisted on asking first, an unnecessary step. Fu Xuanliao felt he was a bit flawed.
But he wanted to know, he wanted confirmation. If there was a scoring mechanism for this kind of thing, Shi Meng was the most authoritative appraiser who could verify whether his efforts were useful.
The three visits to the thatched cottage were finally showing initial results. Yesterday, when leaving Master Ma’s house, Fu Xuanliao experienced the courtesy of being escorted to the door by the host for the first time.
After explaining the rules of art appraisal, the old man spoke calmly about other things. “This apprentice of mine is dull and stubborn. If I correct a flaw, he can stay silent for half a day, and if you ask, he hasn’t taken it in. But his taste is quite good, whether in art or in people. I think there must be a reason why he chose you.”
Fu Xuanliao urgently wanted to know what that reason was so he could stop fumbling blindly, play to his strengths, and firmly capture Shi Meng’s heart.
What he didn’t know was that shortly after he left, Shi Meng also received a message from Master Ma.
The old man, who had weathered many storms, said: Although I told you not to confine yourself, not to hang yourself on one tree, if this is a smart tree that knows its mistakes and corrects them, hanging on for a bit isn’t unacceptable.
When this tree grows tall and strong, the person sitting on it might be able to see more and better scenery.
Right now, Fu Xuanliao, standing outside the car door, looked somewhat like that “tree.”
To shelter someone from the wind and rain, one also needs fertile soil and fertilizer—a little encouragement.
So Shi Meng subtly curved his lips where Fu Xuanliao couldn’t see and told him, “Wait until you knock, then we’ll talk.”