Sun Rain Chapter 14

The first time Shi Meng heard someone say the word “like” to him, he should have been overjoyed, but he was too clear-headed, rationally knowing that the words were not meant for him.

Since there had been premonitions, Shi Meng only felt a dense, needle-pricking ache in his heart, far less exaggerated than the earth-shattering, unbearable pain described in books.

But it still took some time to recover. Shi Meng was not good at expressing himself. He silently rehearsed what he wanted to say in his mind, took a deep breath, and turned his head, just about to tell Fu Xuanliao, “You have the wrong person,” when he saw a drunken head resting on his left shoulder, eyes closed, breathing steady and long.

He had actually fallen asleep.

It took less than half a minute to think, and another half minute to try and fail to wake the drunkard. Shi Meng had no choice but to loop Fu Xuanliao’s arms over his shoulders and laboriously hoist the person up from the ground onto his back.

I should take him home first, Shi Meng thought. Sitting in the snow would make him catch a cold.

Fu Xuanliao was two years older than Shi Meng and very tall, standing out even among the seniors at their school. Therefore, although he wasn’t heavy, he was still too much of a burden for Shi Meng. After several attempts, Shi Meng couldn’t manage to scoop up his knees, so he had to grab his arms and drag him forward, letting his feet trail on the ground, making a rustling friction sound.

Just from the school gate to the roadside, he was already breathless. On a late night with bad weather, few taxis passed by. Standing and waiting was not an option, so Shi Meng switched to supporting him by the arms, carrying the stumbling Fu Xuanliao for another two blocks.

During this time, Fu Xuanliao woke up once, or perhaps he was dreaming, asking vaguely, “Then, when did you… realize you liked me?”

Shi Meng didn’t want to answer, nor did he have the strength to speak.

“Tell me,” Fu Xuanliao insisted, still unsteady on his feet. “If you tell me, I’ll… tell you too.”

After catching his breath a few times, Shi Meng replied somewhat helplessly, “Three years ago.”

The drunk man’s mind was slow. Fu Xuanliao calculated for a long time: “Then you were too… precocious.”

After a moment of silence, Shi Meng couldn’t help but ask, “What about you?”

Fu Xuanliao was completely drunk, swaying his head and mumbling, “Me? Around the same time. Don’t you remember? That time in the infirmary, you brought me…”

Before he could finish, a car approached. Lights flashed on the road behind them. Shi Meng turned his head and saw the green “Vacant” sign, quickly waving his free hand to flag down the taxi.

By the time they finally managed to get into the car, Shi Meng asked again, but Fu Xuanliao was already too muddled to know where he was.

“Mu Mu, stop bothering me…” Fu Xuanliao, unable to open his eyes, leaned against the car window. “Let me sleep for a bit.”

Shi Meng wasn’t without temper. He had carried this guy all the way and been mistaken for someone else. He puffed out his cheeks in displeasure and lowered his head to fiddle with his hands.

After a while, he worried that Fu Xuanliao wasn’t comfortable sleeping like that. He reached out and tugged his arm, making him lean over so his head rested on Shi Meng’s shoulder.

The cold, hard glass was replaced by a soft, human cushion. Fu Xuanliao yawned comfortably and slept even more soundly.

The Shi family mansion was located in the suburbs. Shi Meng promised to pay the empty-ride fee before the driver agreed to head that way.

After paying and getting out of the car, Fu Xuanliao’s phone in his pocket kept ringing. Shi Meng supported the man with one arm and reached for the phone with the other. Fu Xuanliao chuckled when Shi Meng touched him, causing Shi Meng to blush. When he answered, his voice was a mere whisper: “Hello, Auntie.”

“Is that Mu Mu? Did Xuanliao go to your house again?”

Everyone kept mistaking him. Shi Meng didn’t have time to explain: “Yes, it was too late, so I brought him back.”

“You really went to a lot of trouble,” said Jiang Rong, Fu Xuanliao’s mother, a gentle woman. “You should come over to our house often too. Auntie will buy dragon fruit for you.”

Shi Meng agreed.

It took more effort to carry the completely drunk man into the house. Everyone in the house was asleep. Only the maid who lived near the entrance hall heard the noise and came out to check. She was startled to see Shi Meng covered in snow. “Why didn’t you call the driver to pick you up so late?”

Shi Meng shook his head. “Taking a taxi is the same.”

The maid helped, and the two of them worked together, one on each side, to get Fu Xuanliao up to the guest room upstairs.

Not wanting to disturb those who were asleep, Shi Meng told the maid to go back to bed. He went to the kitchen, heated up the leftover soup, and carried it upstairs.

Drunk as he was, Fu Xuanliao still knew to seek warmth. He closed his eyes, fumbled onto the bed, lifted the blanket, and wrapped himself up tightly. When his head was pulled out, he complained with a drawn-out whine and drooping mouth: “So cold—”

It was the first time Shi Meng had seen him act spoiled. While finding it novel, he felt a new sense of responsibility on his shoulders. He scooped the hot soup with a spoon and brought it to Fu Xuanliao’s mouth, coaxing him like a child: “Drink this, and you won’t be cold.”

Fu Xuanliao obediently opened his mouth.

Only a nightlight was on in the room. The dim, yellow light enveloped Fu Xuanliao, making his facial contours, which were between a boy and a man, appear particularly deep and sharply defined, like a sculpture used for sketching in art class.

Shi Meng stared, lost in thought, until he heard Fu Xuanliao’s dissatisfied voice: “You poured it into my nose.”

This was not the first time Shi Meng had been this close to him. After seriously feeding him two spoonfuls of soup, Shi Meng hesitated before asking, “Do you still remember saving someone in the winter three years ago?”

Fu Xuanliao was drifting in and out of sleep. Perhaps due to the alcohol affecting his brain, he was more drowsy than awake and didn’t register a single word.

He couldn’t open his eyes and childishly pulled Shi Meng’s hand, shaking it back and forth. Then he frowned and said, “Why is it so icy?”

After walking in the snow for over an hour, it would be strange if it wasn’t icy.

Shi Meng had poor health since childhood. Not only was he shorter than his peers, but catching a fever or cold with every seasonal change was commonplace. The winter in Fengcheng could give him chilblains.

When he was little, he couldn’t tolerate pain. The chilblains on his hands made them hurt so much he couldn’t hold a pen. At night, when he put them under the blanket, they became incredibly itchy. Yang Youlan forbade him from scratching, saying his hands would rot if he did.

Young Shi Meng believed her implicitly. To be able to draw, he endured the discomfort without scratching. Later, when he came to the Shi family, every late autumn and early winter, he saw Li Bihan preparing a new pair of gloves for Shi Mu. He picked up a pair Shi Mu didn’t want and wore them. Sure enough, he didn’t get chilblains as easily.

Now, Shi Meng discovered something even warmer than gloves—Fu Xuanliao cupped Shi Meng’s hand, which was a size smaller than his own, warmed it in his palm for a while, and then rubbed it repeatedly.

The effect wasn’t obvious. The crease between Fu Xuanliao’s brows deepened. He mumbled, seemingly confused, “Still so cold.”

Shi Meng no longer felt cold. He was frozen there, allowing Fu Xuanliao to knead and rub his hand, then breathe warm air onto it, and continue rubbing.

Sensing the change in temperature, Fu Xuanliao giggled foolishly. “It’s warm now.”

It wasn’t just his hand that was warm.

Shi Meng suppressed his racing heartbeat, lowering his eyes, unsure where to look.

Drunk Fu Xuanliao was a contradiction, sometimes completely muddled, sometimes surprisingly coherent. Shi Meng, who had to lie next to him in the same bed, often turned his head to confirm if he was truly awake.

“I told you, this bed fits two people,” Fu Xuanliao burrowed closer to Shi Meng in the dark. “But you always insist on going back to your own room.”

This sentence was directed at someone else, and Shi Meng ignored it.

“It’s so much warmer with two people sleeping together…” Fu Xuanliao sighed. “Don’t you agree?”

This sentence had no specific target, so Shi Meng responded with an “Mhm.”

Fu Xuanliao smiled again. His voice was low in the darkness, making Shi Meng’s ears buzz and his earlobes feel hot.

“That time we went to the Amusement Park,” Fu Xuanliao whined, “Why did you stand me up?”

Shi Meng mumbled, “I didn’t.”

“Oh.” As if he hadn’t heard at all, Fu Xuanliao let it go. “Don’t ever stand me up again.”

After a long pause, Shi Meng hesitantly asked, “Do you… still want to go?”

“Yes, I do, if it’s with you.”

“…Mhm.”

They lay hand in hand for a while. When the old grandfather clock downstairs chimed, Fu Xuanliao offered a blessing within the sound of the bells: “Merry Christmas.”

Shi Meng waited until the twelfth chime finished, then said, “Merry Christmas.”

“Did you open the gift?” Fu Xuanliao asked with his eyes closed.

Shi Meng shook his head, thinking, that wasn’t meant for me anyway.

Fu Xuanliao yawned. “Open it and see if you like it.”

Shi Meng reached for the bag by the bedside, took out the blue box, opened it, and felt a wristwatch inside.

“Didn’t you say the clock in the art studio is always broken? With this, you won’t… won’t have to worry.” Fu Xuanliao caught Shi Meng’s wrist under the blanket, squeezed it, and frowned again. “Why are you so thin?”

Afraid of being discovered, Shi Meng quickly pulled his hand back and turned away.

“You need to eat more, no picking food,” Fu Xuanliao threatened. “If you keep picking food, I won’t… play with you anymore.”

Shi Meng, who never picked food, felt annoyed and muttered, “Then don’t.”

Fu Xuanliao stuck to him again, wrapping his arm loosely around Shi Meng’s waist, an intimate yet non-crossing posture.

“Don’t be like that,” he naturally whined, seeking forgiveness. “I was wrong, can’t you forgive me?”

His consciousness gradually drifted away. Just before completely falling asleep, Fu Xuanliao hugged the person in his arms tightly and mumbled, “You’re not heavy at all. I was just too nervous when I caught you, that’s why I lied… You’re too thin, you need to gain some weight.”

At 12:30 AM, steady breathing came from behind him.

Shi Meng gently wiped the corner of his eye with his hand. The back of his hand was damp and cold, perhaps from the recently melted snow.

He couldn’t sleep. His now clear vision stared at the swaying tree shadows outside the window in the wind and snow, wishing in his heart that dawn would never break.

But a few hours later, the snow slowly subsided, drifting down like scattered confetti. The pitch-black sky also turned a streak of white. Reluctant as he was, Shi Meng still lifted the blanket and tiptoed out of bed.

Fu Xuanliao was sleeping soundly. Shi Meng tidied the blanket and tossed the extra pillow onto the carpet.

Carrying his school bag to the door, Shi Meng glanced back. Everything was quiet, as if nothing had happened.

Passing Shi Mu’s room, he placed the beautiful blue gift box by the door.

Inside was a card, and it didn’t have his name written on it.

On Christmas afternoon, the west side of the art studio was open as usual. Shi Meng sat back in his corner spot. When Shi Mu walked in, Shi Meng looked up and immediately saw the digital watch on Shi Mu’s wrist.

A classmate shouted, “Shi Mu, did you buy a new watch?”

“No, a friend gave it to me,” Shi Mu said with a smile. “You know the clock on the wall in the East Studio is always broken.”

“You should have just bought a phone, the new gold one.”

“Be careful the teacher doesn’t confiscate it.”

“If you don’t tell, and I don’t tell, who will know?”

…

The subsequent voices faded from Shi Meng’s ears.

He turned his head to look out the window. The snow had stopped.

The dream should end now.

But the snow outside the dream was still falling, hitting the car’s front window with a faint, inaudible sound.

“Christmas eight years ago.” Fu Xuanliao was eager for an answer, repeating the question word by word. “Where were you?”

Originally intending to use silence to gloss over it, as he had before, it seemed that wouldn’t work this time. Shi Meng withdrew his gaze from the window, looked at Fu Xuanliao, and countered, “Where do you hope I was?”

Fu Xuanliao was startled at first, then found it amusing. “Just answer the question. What do you mean, ‘hope’? Do you know the answer I want to hear?”

Of course, Shi Meng answered in his heart.

Perhaps realizing his question was redundant and exposed his true thoughts, Fu Xuanliao slapped the steering wheel in annoyance.

“Forget it, I was just asking casually. You can say no…”

“I forgot,” Shi Meng suddenly interjected. “I forgot.”

Staring blankly ahead, Shi Meng said words he didn’t even understand himself: “Who remembers something from eight years ago?”

Since the last time they celebrated his birthday at the Amusement Park, they had tacitly agreed that if they stayed out too late, they would go directly to the Fu house. Tonight was no different.

Whether it was his imagination or not, Shi Meng felt that Fu Xuanliao was very aggressive tonight.

He looked at him aggressively, pressed him onto the bed aggressively, and thrust into his body aggressively.

When it hurt, Shi Meng lay on the bed, biting his own arm, trying not to make a sound. Because hearing his cries of pain would make Fu Xuanliao more excited, making him try every means to inflict more pain.

Shi Meng often angered Fu Xuanliao, but the one who was angered in the end didn’t get off easy, as Shi Meng was vengeful, scratching with his hands and biting with his teeth, returning as much as he received.

Afterward, Fu Xuanliao went out to get the first aid kit and casually brought back a pack of cigarettes Gao Lecheng had left there. He tossed it next to Shi Meng, who swiped it onto the floor with his arm.

Fu Xuanliao raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “Did you really quit?”

Shi Meng ignored him.

Fu Xuanliao bent down, pulled a cigarette out of the box, and waved it in front of Shi Meng. “Aren’t you craving it?”

Shi Meng slapped his hand away. When Fu Xuanliao sat back on the edge of the bed, Shi Meng thought he was going to tease him with the cigarette again and impatiently raised his foot to kick him.

Fu Xuanliao hadn’t been wasting his time all these years. He easily caught Shi Meng’s slender ankle and placed it on his own lap. “Stop messing around. Let me apply some medicine, or I won’t have the face to see my parents tomorrow.”

Lying down, Shi Meng blinked. “Are Uncle and Auntie coming back?”

“What, are you scared?” Fu Xuanliao, in a good mood after his release, joked, “Are you afraid I’ll complain to them that you always bite me?”

His leg was pinned and he couldn’t pull it out. Shi Meng gave up struggling and turned his head, pretending he hadn’t heard anything.

This night, Fu Xuanliao still fell asleep first.

Once the surroundings were silent, Shi Meng quietly turned over to face Fu Xuanliao.

Sleeping Fu Xuanliao was like a large cat whose fur had been smoothed, his breathing shallow, just like before.

Shi Meng couldn’t resist raising his hand. As his fingertip brushed the fresh wound on Fu Xuanliao’s lip, a look of confusion crossed his eyes, as if he didn’t understand how he could bear to hurt him.

Yes, he couldn’t bear it, which is why he absolutely couldn’t let Fu Xuanliao know the cruel truth that he had mistaken him for someone else.

Like all his peers, Shi Meng in his youth once longed for some extraordinary ability.

Compared to others who wanted to leap over walls, possess immense strength, or foresee the future and achieve immortality, his wish seemed somewhat useless and superfluous—he wanted the ability to create dreams.

This wish had now been realized. Through silence and lies, Shi Meng had successfully reconstructed a dream for Fu Xuanliao, allowing that past event to become exactly what he wanted to see.

Gently exhaling, Shi Meng placed his palm lightly on Fu Xuanliao’s forehead, casting a spell.

The truth that the dreamer didn’t care about, the dream-maker would remember.