Sun Rain Chapter 44
byAlmost without hesitation, Fu Xuanliao said, “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” Shi Meng said. “Five years ago, did you forget?”
“That wasn’t you who drugged me.”
Shi Meng was taken aback by his decisive tone. It took him a moment to speak again: “If it wasn’t me, who else could it be?” Receiving this answer made him feel even more ironic. “Back then, you certainly didn’t say that.”
Fu Xuanliao explained, “Back then, there was originally no evidence to prove it was you. It was just a coincidence that I ran into you, so I jumped to the conclusion that it was you.”
Shi Meng let out an “Oh,” maintaining his indifferent attitude. “So, is there evidence now?”
“No,” Fu Xuanliao answered truthfully. “But I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”
If it were you, there would have been no need to choose that moment, and certainly no need to use such a sordid method to force me—this was what Fu Xuanliao had figured out the night before coming to Xuncheng.
As if touched by something, Shi Meng’s eyes flickered slightly, then he evasively lowered his gaze to the countertop of the island. “Did you forget who tied you to their side with a contract?”
Fu Xuanliao slowly shook his head and said, “I only remember who helped the Fu family overcome their difficulties.”
The completely unexpected direction of the conversation stunned Shi Meng for a moment, then he let out a scoffing sound, a half-smile on his face. “Help? So this is how CEO Fu treats those who offer help.”
Resisting the fulfillment of obligations during the contract period, even biting the hand that fed him.
Called CEO Fu in an unfamiliar tone, Fu Xuanliao lowered his voice. “It was my fault…”
“Besides, this wasn’t help.” Shi Meng continued before he could finish. “It was opportunistic exploitation.”
The person who actually offered assistance was Shi Huaiyi. He merely leveraged the contract for his own benefit. Strictly speaking, it was taking advantage of someone’s misfortune.
So it was reasonable for Fu Xuanliao to want to escape; no proud person would willingly be bound.
Yet, just as Shi Meng finally understood the situation with normal human reasoning, Fu Xuanliao said, “Then I was the one taking advantage of you.”
“You are so good, and not only did I fail to cherish you, but I hurt you recklessly. This is the first thing I came here to apologize for,” he took a deep breath. “Misunderstanding you, and doing so many excessive things to you… I am sorry.”
Shi Meng began to regret bringing up the drugging incident.
He had been avoiding recalling the past, but the door to the past was like Pandora’s box; once opened, it unleashed endless troubles.
He should have stopped caring about these things long ago, and he shouldn’t be moved by the reversal of someone else’s attitude or the so-called “truth coming to light.” But in that moment, he had to admit that his previously calm state of mind had been stirred.
Language is far more powerful than text, and the unconditional concession within Fu Xuanliao’s words was glaringly obvious.
The irony was that his original purpose in bringing up the matter was to provoke Fu Xuanliao, thereby forcing him to leave and ideally never appear again.
For Fu Xuanliao, however, it was a stroke of luck. Shi Meng’s initiative provided him with an opening to express the apology he had been brewing for a long time.
Even though he knew gaining forgiveness wouldn’t be easy, at least judging by Shi Meng’s reaction, there was no sign of softening.
Since yesterday, Shi Meng’s attitude had been extremely cold. On the surface, he completely compromised and accepted everything, letting things happen, but internally, he had raised all his defenses, his very breathing striving to convey resistance.
Shi Meng ignored Fu Xuanliao’s apology, picked up the coffee cup that had been neglected for a long time, and placed it on the coffee machine base.
With the sound of flowing water, two steaming cups of coffee were placed on the counter. Shi Meng stood at one end of the island and slowly sipped one cup.
Fu Xuanliao walked over and picked up the other.
Perhaps because of the proximity, Shi Meng noticed two dark scars on Fu Xuanliao’s right index and middle fingers and looked at them for a couple of extra seconds.
“Burned by a cigarette,” Fu Xuanliao immediately answered without being asked when he noticed. “It hurt a little.”
But I know this is far less than the pain you suffered.
Shi Meng seemed not to understand his words, or perhaps didn’t want to understand. Lowering his gaze again, Shi Meng put down the cup, pursed his lips, and clasped his hands on the countertop.
This reminded Fu Xuanliao of the first time he saw Shi Meng more than ten years ago. At that time, he was ten and Shi Meng was eight. Faced with his friendly approach, Shi Meng was just like this, sitting quietly and politely, but his tightly clasped fingers revealed his timidity.
He should have taken his hand back then and told him not to be afraid.
Now, having lost the right to do so, Fu Xuanliao’s hand only reached the point of almost touching the bandaged back of Shi Meng’s hand before he restrained himself, curled his fingers, and quietly withdrew.
Fu Xuanliao raised his cup and took a sip of coffee, admitting, “Although I was prejudiced against you because of that incident back then—it was the beginning of all the bad things—I am still grateful that it was you who broke in that day.”
As he spoke, he exhaled, trying to keep his words from sounding too heavy.
“If you don’t want to think about the past, then we won’t,” Fu Xuanliao turned his head to look at Shi Meng. “From now on, anything you give me, even if it has poison in it, I will willingly drink it.”
This unverifiable statement was forcibly dismissed from Shi Meng’s mind the moment Fu Xuanliao left.
He closed the front door tightly, locked it, and moved the half-finished painting upstairs to the new easel located on the downstairs balcony. He grabbed a piece of beef jerky from the nearby windowsill and popped it into his mouth, the chewing neutralizing the bitterness of the coffee left on his lips.
Shi Meng had been painting this piece for five full days. During this time, even when he went out to buy groceries, his steps were hurried. When he ran into Aunt Pan at the supermarket, he couldn’t chat for long, giving the excuse that he was rushing to finish the painting.
On Friday night, there was a knock at the door. Shi Meng inexplicably didn’t want to open it. Only after recognizing the voice calling from outside did he hastily put down his brush, stand up, and walk to the door.
When he opened the door, the first thing that caught his eye was a bag of bright yellow oranges. A head popped out from behind the bag, grinning widely and making a face, startling Shi Meng into taking half a step back.
“Was that so scary?” Pan Jiawei muttered as he wiped his feet on the doormat and walked in, placing the oranges on the table. “My mom told me to bring these for you. She said you should eat more, and there are plenty more at home.”
His mother was Aunt Pan next door. Shi Meng thanked him. Pan Jiawei waved his hand, saying it was nothing, then unceremoniously dragged a dining chair over, sat on it backward, draped his arms over the backrest, and asked, “I heard you haven’t left the house all week. What are you cooped up doing?”
Guests rarely came to the house. Shi Meng followed his own idea of hospitality, poured a cup of hot water, placed it on the table, and then returned to his easel to sit down.
His answer was concise: “Painting.”
“Is it still that one for the breakfast shop wall?” Seeing him struggle to paint with his left hand, Pan Jiawei advised, “That proprietress doesn’t understand these things. She probably thinks your painting is like elementary school art homework and can’t tell good from bad. Why are you putting so much effort into it?”
Shi Meng used a freshly washed brush to mix a low-saturation creamy yellow and applied it to the steamed bun skin. “The difference between seriousness and perfunctory work can be seen with the naked eye.”
Pan Jiawei pouted, swiped an orange from the table, and leisurely began to peel it.
“I didn’t expect you to really be a painter. Before, I thought…”
Shi Meng had been living here for over a month. Earlier, when Pan Jiawei came home on weekends, he had visited a few times with Aunt Pan. Now that he said this, it naturally piqued Shi Meng’s curiosity.
He stopped painting and turned to look toward the dining area. “Thought what?”
Pan Jiawei was also looking at him. Suddenly, their eyes met, and he felt an inexplicable guilt under the gaze of those clear eyes that seemed to see through everything. He quickly looked away, his voice weakening and becoming muffled. “I thought you were… a celebrity.”
It took Shi Meng a long time to realize that Pan Jiawei was saying he was good-looking.
Due to painting indoors year-round and having little contact with people, Shi Meng had rarely been complimented to his face, except for Jiang Xue occasionally using his looks as a selling point in public.
Therefore, being told he looked like a celebrity was unexpected. He then reconsidered: he was often called a fox spirit before, which, although derogatory, likely contained an acknowledgment of his appearance.
The reason for the vastly different descriptions was the difference in background.
In Fengcheng, he was the illegitimate son of the Shi family, the son of a prostitute, and thus naturally a little fox spirit born of a big fox spirit. In Xuncheng, no one knew his background, so they judged him by his appearance, assuming he was a “celebrity” living in seclusion here.
Grasping this layer of meaning, Shi Meng gained a new understanding of the absurdity of the world.
However, he knew Pan Jiawei was just speaking his mind; he thought it, so he said it, with no intention of teasing.
“I am not a celebrity,” Shi Meng could only say.
“Then what are you hiding here for?”
“…I’m not hiding.”
“I don’t believe it.” Pan Jiawei broke off a segment of orange and put it in his mouth, closing his eyes because of the sourness. “The only people who live in this urban-rural fringe are old folks or people hiding from debt.”
Shi Meng gave a perfunctory “Mhm.”
After finally swallowing the orange, Pan Jiawei took a deep breath to recover and pressed, “Is it money debt or love debt?”
He asked casually, but Shi Meng seriously considered it.
The conclusion was that there was no debt; both kinds had long been repaid. Moreover, there was no such thing as “love” between them.
Pan Jiawei was used to Shi Meng’s taciturn nature. Not getting an answer, he assumed Shi Meng hadn’t heard. After finishing the orange, he clapped his hands and stood up.
“You’re busy, I’m heading off.”
Shi Meng stood up again and saw him to the door.
Pan Jiawei was walking ahead. When he turned around, Shi Meng, who was lost in thought, nearly bumped into him.
He realized then that Shi Meng was only slightly shorter than him, his forehead level with his eyes. His hair was very black, and he carried a natural, clean scent of soap.
It made Pan Jiawei blush inexplicably.
Turning his face away and clearing his throat, Pan Jiawei said, “Next weekend, I’ll bring my guitar back and sing the new song I wrote for you.”
Shi Meng was stunned, as if unsure why he would sing it for him, but he didn’t refuse, giving a soft “Mhm.”
Reaching the courtyard gate, Pan Jiawei turned back again, like he was instructing a child left alone at home. “My mom said she’s been seeing foreign cars around here lately, acting suspiciously. Be careful when you’re home alone, and don’t open the door to strangers.”
Shi Meng took this advice to heart. Early the next morning, he went out to find a locksmith.
Jiang Xue’s house had been renovated in a hurry, and the courtyard gate hadn’t been locked yet. For safety, Shi Meng planned to install one.
Almost immediately after stepping out, he noticed footsteps following him.
It was Saturday again.
Fu Xuanliao, who had driven to Xuncheng overnight, had bloodshot eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept. Just a few hours ago, he was in a meeting with employees at the company, and he drove off without even having time to eat.
Fortunately, he made it. Fu Xuanliao hurried forward. After repeatedly asking “What are we doing today?” and “Where are we going?” and receiving no answer, he stopped with Shi Meng and looked up at the small advertisements on the utility pole.
Before he could make sense of anything, Shi Meng pulled out his phone, dialed one of the numbers, quickly agreed on a time with the master over the phone, and turned to walk back.
“Locksmith?” Fu Xuanliao followed him, asking, “Is the lock broken? Should I try to fix it first?”
Shi Meng naturally ignored him. It wasn’t until the locksmith arrived and pulled out a square, heavy-looking lock from his toolbox that Fu Xuanliao suddenly understood.
As the master clanged and banged installing the lock on the courtyard gate, Fu Xuanliao asked Shi Meng, who was supervising, “Is this… to keep me out?”
Everything was unspoken.
Shi Meng kept the courtyard gate tightly locked even during his lunch break. The sun was high at noon, but the wind was fierce. Fu Xuanliao, standing guard at the gate, was dizzy from the wind. He stared at the iron fence, which was easily climbable, for a long time, but ultimately didn’t want to scare the person inside, so he endured and didn’t climb over.
He was always impatient. When he was little, he never lasted more than a week learning piano, basketball, or painting. But for Shi Meng, he had to summon all his patience.
Only Shi Meng in this world was worth all his patience.
Autumn in Xuncheng changed faster than turning a page. By the afternoon, when Shi Meng left for the hospital, the sky had already darkened.
The air conditioning on the Route 21 bus they were riding was broken, and wind was seeping in from all directions. Fu Xuanliao pulled out the prepared heat patches from his coat pocket and handed them to Shi Meng.
“Put these on. Stick them wherever you feel cold.” He remained standing, bending over to shield Shi Meng. “I’ll block you, no one will see.”
Coming out of the consultation room, Shi Xuanliao saw that Fu Xuanliao had acquired something like a hand warmer. Seeing him emerge, he immediately pressed it into Shi Meng’s hand, saying it could relieve muscle stiffness caused by the cold and had a miraculous effect on blood circulation in the finger joints.
On the way back, Shi Meng held it and tried it out. The heat flowed through his skin. Warm hands were indeed much easier to move than frozen ones. The few rehabilitation exercises he learned last time didn’t hurt as much this time.
Fu Xuanliao saw the expression on Shi Meng’s face and knew he had bought the right thing. He happily said they should celebrate by buying something delicious.
“Do you remember the sugar-roasted chestnuts I bought you?” he said. “There’s a branch of that shop in Xuncheng. Wait, I’ll buy some for you.”
Shi Meng seemed not to hear, silently lowering his head to play with his hand.
This trip to the hospital, besides receiving rehabilitation guidance, also included removing the fixed bandage on his hand. The wound had healed, and the doctor said it no longer needed to be wrapped.
However, the thick scar running across his palm was extremely obvious, a shocking sight.
Shi Meng, though, looked indifferent. He even played with the scar in his seat, rubbing it with his fingertip and picking at it with his nail, making the Fu Xuanliao beside him nervous and almost prompting him to intervene.
Fortunately, Shi Meng grew bored after a while. He rested his hand on his knee, leaned against the bus window, and fell asleep amid the rocking motion of the bus.
Later, when Shi Meng recalled this day, he still found it hard to explain.
Due to his personality, he had almost never slept in public places since childhood. Falling asleep on a noisy bus that stopped and started was truly a rare occurrence.
He naturally refused to attribute the reason to the person sitting next to him, assuming he was just too tired lately, and with the heat on the bus, feeling drowsy was normal.
He just hadn’t expected that a mere ten minutes of “slack” would allow someone to take advantage.
Opening his eyes from the brief sleep, the first thing he saw was Fu Xuanliao’s profile.
Shi Meng had known for a long time that he was handsome. As his vision slowly focused, that half-face with its smooth lines, even though it was already deeply etched in his heart, was still captivatingly beautiful when viewed purely from an aesthetic perspective.
Perhaps subconsciously feeling that this person shouldn’t be here, no matter how Shi Meng looked, he felt a sense of travel-worn exhaustion about him.
Now, those deep eyes, which had experienced so much, were gazing at the wound on Shi Meng’s palm, making him feel a tangible heat and weight.
Outside the window, the streetlights were beginning to turn on, casting a hazy glow around them.
Shi Meng was momentarily stunned, unable to distinguish reality from illusion, watching as Fu Xuanliao gently lifted his wrist, bowed his head, and covered the ugly scar with his warm lips, as devoutly as if kissing his lifelong faith.
They had been delayed at the hospital today, and it was already dark when they got off the bus.
Shi Meng walked ahead, his steps extremely fast, so fast that the wind brushing past his ears made a whooshing sound.
The person behind him also quickened his pace to keep up. It seemed that ever since he admitted defeat, he had become shameless, willing to do anything embarrassing.
Nearing his home, Shi Meng walked and fumbled for his key in his pocket. Perhaps because the sky was too dark, he fumbled for a long time trying to insert it into the keyhole.
The person behind him stepped forward and said, “Let me do it.”
Shi Meng twisted away from him, insisting on doing it himself.
After struggling for a while, he finally opened it. Shi Meng stepped inside sideways, and just as he was about to close the door with his backhand, he saw the person behind him propping the door frame, relentlessly saying, “I was wrong, don’t be angry.”
He had answered the same way when he was caught on the bus just now, self-assured and open.
Shi Meng didn’t want to get entangled with him. “I’m not angry.”
“You are angry,” Fu Xuanliao said with certainty. “I can tell.”
“Why should I be angry?”
“Because I… secretly kissed you.”
The atmosphere became subtly awkward as two people who had done everything discussed such a pure topic. Shi Meng’s right hand clenched into a fist where it couldn’t be seen; a strange warmth seemed to linger in his palm.
“Actually, it wasn’t exactly a secret kiss,” Fu Xuanliao thought for a moment and added. “When we were little and fell or got hurt, the elders would always blow on it like that.”
“Blow, blow, pain go away.”
Uttering these six words meant for coaxing children, Fu Xuanliao belatedly felt embarrassed, and from this, he realized that when you love someone, besides possessing a burst of reckless courage, you also breed timidity.
He realized that Shi Meng had approached him with such feelings back then, making a big show of it, yet worrying and fearing in places he couldn’t see, terrified of being disliked.
The emotional entanglements of this world were truly locked in a circle; no matter how they changed, they always inadvertently returned to the starting point.
Now that the words were out, he was stuck. Fu Xuanliao looked at Shi Meng with near-anxiety. “Do you feel… a little better?”