Sun Rain Chapter 45
byThis was not the first time Shi Meng had heard those six words.
When he first arrived at the Shi family, he once missed a step on the stairs and bruised his leg. Fu Xuanliao, who was visiting, saw it. Unable to find a bandage immediately, he leaned close and gently blew on the wound, speaking softly like he was comforting a child, though he was still a child himself: “Blow on it, and the pain will fly away.”
The reappearance of those words now, whether intentional or not, was undoubtedly a reminder to Shi Meng that the person before him was born into a happy family and was using his own methods to make those around him happy.
He possessed a complete system of understanding right and wrong, good and evil, and consistently did what he believed was correct.
And it was this very happiness that had attracted the penniless Shi Meng back then, causing him to indulge in becoming an obsessive who couldn’t attain what he desired—a complete and utter madman.
It felt as if one foot had stepped back into the mud; the slightest shift in balance would lead to repeating the past. Shi Meng took a step back, retreating from the center of the storm.
“I’m not angry,” he insisted. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you don’t need to apologize.”
Fu Xuanliao observed his expression: “Really?”
Shi Meng forced himself to say: “Yes.”
“So, next time…” Fu Xuanliao’s embarrassment came and went quickly, “I can still touch you?”
Shi Meng froze, stunned by the man’s peculiar thought process, his eyes widening.
Then he remembered that Fu Xuanliao was always like this—saying whatever he thought, with a straightforward honesty that Shi Meng had once yearned for, but now only wished to avoid.
“No,” Shi Meng flatly refused.
“Oh,” Fu Xuanliao said, sounding slightly disappointed. “Then I’ll try harder.”
With that, he let go of his hand.
The iron gate slammed shut. Shi Meng turned around and heard Fu Xuanliao say from behind him: “Good night.”
The reassurance he had desperately sought in the past was now easily obtained, yet Shi Meng only felt lost.
Entering the house, taking a shower, and getting into bed, Shi Meng habitually lay on his side, crossing his arms to hug his body.
He suddenly felt a desire to communicate with someone, or rather, to seek advice. He felt for the letters tucked under his pillow, opened one, and read it line by line under the bedside lamp.
He read Li Bihan’s explanation of family and love, which said that when fate arrives, no one can predict whether it will bring clear skies or a storm.
Although he didn’t find an answer, Shi Meng felt an unwarranted sense of relief.
He closed his eyes and told himself that everyone encounters such problems.
It was just that he was facing a sun shower—first the dazzling sunlight that gave him no place to hide, then the biting, torrential rain mixed within it. Once the cold front passed, the sun would once again shine fiercely overhead.
Someone was urging him to put down the umbrella, not to be afraid, but the Shi Meng in his dream didn’t believe it, nor was he willing to look up. He still gripped the umbrella handle tightly, hugging himself.
The story should have ended on the sea that day, but someone was always sailing a small boat, disturbing the calm surface, trying to twist the ending.
Fu Xuanliao hadn’t left on Sunday. Perhaps he had spent another night roughing it in the car. In the morning, he looked haggard and exhausted, yet when his eyes met Shi Meng’s, he smiled brightly and cheerfully wished him good morning.
Shi Meng figured Fu Xuanliao hadn’t yet enjoyed his downfall enough. After all, this was the man who had once wanted to twist his hand off. Now that he had gotten his wish, why wouldn’t he take a few more glances for amusement?
Then let him look.
Anyway, there was nothing left to lose.
Thinking this, Shi Meng actually felt a strange sense of relief. He went about his business, letting Fu Xuanliao follow behind him.
When he went to the breakfast shop to deliver the finished painting, Shi Meng saw Fu Xuanliao standing on a stool, helping the owner’s wife hang the artwork on the wall. He heard him and the owner’s wife praise the painting in unison, saying it was so good that even the steamed buns looked adorably lifelike.
When he went to the barbershop for a haircut, while the busy owner went to help another customer with hair dye, Fu Xuanliao stood up from the waiting area and leaned close to Shi Meng’s ear: “You don’t need to cut your hair short, you look great as you are.”
Back at home, when he heard a knock, Shi Meng deliberately pretended not to hear it. When he came out to take out the trash that evening, he saw a paper bag placed on the platform outside the yard. A large character for “Chestnut” was visible, and underneath it was a note. Reading it under the streetlamp, it contained two short sentences.
One was an imperative: Eat the chestnuts while they’re hot, or wait until next time and I’ll peel them for you.
The other was also an imperative: That kid next door keeps peering into your room through the window. Draw your curtains when you sleep tonight.
Later, when Fu Xuanliao heard the chestnuts had been thrown into the trash, he looked crestfallen, but quickly smiled again: “Just throw them away, they’re cold anyway.”
Then, after Shi Meng turned and walked away, he shamelessly chased after him, saying, “It’s my birthday today. If there’s a cake at the door later, could you please not throw it away?”
He also leaned against the car door, rubbing his temples to relieve the exhaustion from days of labor and travel, unable to keep his eyes open. Yet, the moment Shi Meng appeared, he instantly adopted a vibrant, energetic demeanor and asked Shi Meng if he was tired of taking the bus and if he wanted to try an off-road vehicle.
Shi Meng said he didn’t need it. Fu Xuanliao would then breathe a sigh of relief at getting a response, smiling as he said: “You’ll need it eventually.”
In truth, Shi Meng didn’t accept those accommodating and flattering words.
He believed there must be an ulterior motive behind them, but he didn’t want to confirm it, nor did he want to be systematically conquered.
But all he could do was dodge and avoid, passively resisting, while simultaneously hoping the sunlight would reach the dark corners, yet willingly remaining in place, soaking in the rain.
Only when he occasionally received letters from Fengcheng could he temporarily hide safely under the umbrella. Most of the time, the decisions about the path ahead had to be made by himself.
For instance, when he received a call from Fengcheng that day. The caller identified themselves as staff from a pet store, saying, “You have a cat boarded here. When will you come to pick it up?”
Shi Meng was initially confused. When he heard the cat was named Mumu, and the owner’s phone number on the tag was his, he suddenly understood. Yang Youlan and Sun Yanfeng were likely detained by the police, and the cat had been temporarily sent to the pet store. Now that the boarding period had expired with no one inquiring about it, the call naturally came to him.
When Jiang Xue heard about this, she was the first to object: “Don’t those two bastards have any shame? First, they raised Shi Mu and messed up your life, and now they leave behind a cat named Mumu to bother you? Are they doing this on purpose?”
Shi Meng lowered his eyes to the scar on his palm: “I don’t know.”
“That cat even scratched you. You’re lucky you didn’t get sick even without finishing the vaccine.”
“Yang Youlan must have vaccinated the cat,” Shi Meng said. “That’s why I was fine.”
The person on the other end pondered for a moment: “Do you want to keep this cat?”
Shi Meng didn’t speak. He just suddenly recalled that night of the heavy rain. He had searched many places, and when he finally found the cat, besides the numb desolation in his heart, there was a faint surge of relief.
He also thought of the panic he felt one day while painting, when a cat unexpectedly jumped onto his lap.
“I’ll go see it first,” Shi Meng said. “A cat is a cat, and a person is a person.”
After all, some people were worse than cats; they shouldn’t be lumped together.
Shi Meng had intended to take a taxi. With a five or six-hour round trip, surely some driver would be willing to go if he offered extra gas money.
But he forgot it was Sunday, the traffic was heavy, and it was raining. He waited at the intersection for over ten minutes, then walked two blocks to wait at the crossroad, but still couldn’t find an empty cab.
The disadvantage of rarely going out was now apparent. Shi Meng suddenly remembered Jiang Xue saying he could hail a car online. He held his umbrella with one hand and his phone with the other. Raindrops were blown onto the screen by the wind, and his fingers kept slipping, unable to open the app.
Just then, a black Land Rover turned the corner and slowly stopped in front of Shi Meng.
Fu Xuanliao got out of the driver’s seat without an umbrella and walked up to Shi Meng: “Going into the city?”
Shi Meng shook his head, continuing to fiddle with his phone.
“Then are you going back to Fengcheng?” Fu Xuanliao immediately said. “Get in. I happen to be heading back to Fengcheng too.”
Shi Meng looked up, eyeing him suspiciously.
Fu Xuanliao lost his nerve under Shi Meng’s gaze and conceded: “Look, it’s hard to get a cab right now. How about you just commandeer my car? We can calculate the fare by mileage, how does that sound?”
Since he wouldn’t find a car anytime soon, refusing now would only seem overly sensitive. Shi Meng told himself he just wanted a ride to go and return quickly, with no other intentions. After weighing the options, he nodded in agreement.
Once inside, Fu Xuanliao first pulled out a few tissues and handed them to Shi Meng: “Wipe your face.”
The wind and rain outside were strong; even with an umbrella, half of his body was damp. Shi Meng took the tissues and haphazardly wiped his face. Just as he turned to look for a trash can, the crumpled tissues were taken away and replaced with a thin blanket.
“Cover up, you’re wet.”
Fu Xuanliao calmly made arrangements. As he started the car, he turned up the air conditioning temperature and adjusted the vent toward Shi Meng.
Perhaps everything happened too quickly. It wasn’t until the car was smoothly driving on the road that Shi Meng realized Fu Xuanliao’s seamless actions were actually remnants of old habits.
Even during the worst of their fights, no matter how angry Shi Xuanliao was because of Shi Meng’s provocations, he would still walk over with an umbrella when it rained, and turn up the heat in the car because Shi Meng was sensitive to the cold.
The wind and rain were sealed outside, and the thin blanket locked in the warmth. Shi Meng looked out the window, blurred by water streaks, and exhaled very softly and slowly. His heart, emptied along with the cold air, lost its footing and slowly sank.
It was noon when they set off. They left in a hurry, and it wasn’t until they were on the highway that Fu Xuanliao remembered to ask Shi Meng if he had eaten.
Shi Meng, fearing trouble, said he had. Fu Xuanliao nodded: “That’s good. I haven’t eaten yet. I’ll grab something at the service area later.”
At the service area, whether intentionally or not, Fu Xuanliao bought far more food than one person could eat: eggs, grilled sausages, oden, corn, rice dumplings, and grilled squid. The plastic bag he carried also contained various biscuits, drinks, and snacks—a variety so rich it seemed he had cleared out everything edible in the service area.
The smell inside the car became incredibly intense. Although Fu Xuanliao usually didn’t fuss about food, he rarely indulged like this for health reasons. He pulled out a piece of grilled squid and waved it in front of Shi Meng: “Smell this. Doesn’t it smell like the grilled skewers outside the school gate back in high school?”
Shi Meng was forced to inhale the oily, spicy aroma and pursed his lips: “Yes.”
“Try it. Maybe it tastes similar too.”
Since it was offered right to his mouth, Shi Meng took the skewer and bit into it.
“It’s very similar, right?”
“Yes.”
One bite led to another. Over the next ten minutes, Shi Meng unknowingly ate the food Fu Xuanliao offered for various reasons, including but not limited to one egg, one sausage, half an ear of corn, and several savory snacks.
It wasn’t until his full stomach signaled satiety that Shi Meng realized he had clearly said he had eaten lunch. Now, most of the food had ended up in his stomach, which was quite embarrassing.
Shi Meng immediately felt uneasy. He crumpled the trash bag in his hand, ready to get out and throw it away.
Fu Xuanliao beat him to it, snatching the trash from his hand, quickly consolidating it into one bag. Before opening the door and getting out, he simply instructed: “Stay put, don’t wander off.”
Shi Meng naturally wouldn’t wander off. This service area was in a county under Xuncheng’s jurisdiction. He was unfamiliar with the place, and besides the highway, there were only endless fields. Where could he possibly go?
But Fu Xuanliao seemed genuinely afraid he would run. He rushed to throw away the trash, didn’t bother with an umbrella, and was soaked to the bone. Returning to the car, he shook his head, splashing water droplets onto Shi Meng’s face.
“Sorry.”
He knew he was being reckless and reached for tissues to wipe Shi Meng’s face, but Shi Meng turned his head away. Fu Xuanliao still smiled: “Why don’t you move to the back seat? You can lie down for a bit.”
Fed and then coaxed to sleep, as if he were raising a pig. Shi Meng subtly frowned, thinking that distance was better than proximity. In the end, he didn’t refuse the suggestion.
Shi Meng, who was no longer cold, neatly folded the blanket and turned to put it in the back seat.
As he turned back, he met Fu Xuanliao’s direct gaze.
The rainy day was dim, and the car lights were off. The atmosphere, established since they got in the car, was inextricably linked to warmth and dampness.
A one-sided approach was enough to quickly close the distance. They were so close that their breaths mingled.
And at this moment, Shi Meng thought inappropriately: If he had stayed in that vast ocean back then, would he not be constantly stirring up memories, no longer instinctively clinging to the other person’s warmth?
It was like something lifeless desperately wanting to cling to a bit of vibrant vitality.
It was like the scattered memories of that cat, which shouldn’t exist in his mind after he had died once. He should have moved on, no longer troubled by these things.
But he had gotten into the car without having time to prepare fully, so he had no choice but to face it.
Just as Fu Xuanliao was about to lean in, Shi Meng raised his hand and pressed down on his shoulder, stopping his movement.
The next moment, Shi Meng saw an almost cold person reflected in Fu Xuanliao’s dimmed pupils.
A person so cold that no wavering could be seen with the naked eye.
That person asked: “What do you want to do?”
What do I want to do?
Fu Xuanliao asked himself the same question in his heart.
There were many things he wanted to do, such as declaring his feelings, telling Shi Meng that he had won—if the person who spoke of love first was the loser, then it would definitely be him.
He also couldn’t help but want to kiss him, to protect him with all his might, ensuring that no matter how heavy the storm outside, not a single corner of his clothes would get wet.
But Shi Meng didn’t believe him.
He viewed every approach Fu Xuanliao made with suspicion.
“Didn’t you want to twist my hand off?” Shi Meng asked. “Why are you doing this now?”
The romantic tension instantly dissipated. The torrential rain swept in, bringing with it painful memories that tore at every nerve steeped in the past.
And all Fu Xuanliao could say was, “I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you or use you again.”
He felt heartache and a need for compensation, but Shi Meng couldn’t trust him.
He said: “Shouldn’t there only be hatred between us?”
There should only be life-and-death struggles, endless suspicion, and continuous resentment.
To this, Fu Xuanliao replied: “You can hate me. For as long as you want.”
This time, Shi Meng understood, and he found him utterly cunning.
Hatred and love were always separated by a thin line.
In the past, Shi Meng relied on provoking the other person to prove he was loved, even believing that if he wasn’t suffering, he would lose that attention.
Now, Shi Meng still felt pain, but instinctively, he only wanted to distance himself.
He couldn’t let Fu Xuanliao continue to manipulate the situation with such ease.
Click. The seatbelt unbuckled. Shi Meng reached for the car door handle.
Fu Xuanliao pressed the door lock button, stopping him: “Where are you going?”
He seemed terrified of Shi Meng disappearing, but Shi Meng was too preoccupied with his own distress. He only said, “I need to get out.”
The door latch wouldn’t open. Shi Meng turned his head toward the center console, frantically searching for a button that would open the door, as if another second inside was unbearable.
Before he could find one, his wrist was suddenly grabbed.
“If you don’t want to see me,” Fu Xuanliao’s voice was low, “you stay in the car, and I’ll get out.”
With that, the grip on his wrist loosened. By the time Shi Meng recovered and turned his head, he only caught the sight of Fu Xuanliao’s back as he opened the door and stepped out.
It was a rare heavy rain for autumn.
Perhaps due to the drop in temperature, even though the heating was on in the car, a chill permeated his body, cooling him from his palms outward.
Shi Meng spent the long minutes counting. He counted from one to a hundred, then backward, listening to his tumultuous heartbeat return to calm, though the speed at which he silently recited the numbers grew faster and faster.
The windshield wipers stopped working, and the rain coalesced into drops, sliding down the glass.
Through this wet curtain, he could vaguely see a figure standing outside the car.
Since he couldn’t make out the expression, Shi Meng could only guess wildly that he must be angry.
The Fu Xuanliao in his memory always lost his temper with him. Consequently, after being exposed to his gentle side, Shi Meng felt afraid and was eager to escape.
After counting to a hundred again, Shi Meng opened the door and stepped out. The moment his foot touched the waterlogged ground, the person who had been standing motionless like a statue for a long time strode toward him: “Wait, don’t move.”
Fu Xuanliao ran to the driver’s seat to grab the umbrella, circled around to the passenger side, and opened it. As Shi Meng stepped out, he held the umbrella securely over Shi Meng’s head.
Looking through the moist air, his lips were purple from the cold, and white mist escaped his breath, yet there was no trace of anger or dissatisfaction in his expression.
This left Shi Meng feeling hollow, like a play that ended before the climax. Besides the disappointment, it made him wonder about the meaning of being here.
Even if he was already exhausted, if he didn’t hate, it would evolve into another terrifying emotion.
Shi Meng was involuntarily pushed onto the stage, where the subtitle displayed the narration: The pleasure of revenge.
His soul felt drained. The desire not to repeat the past still dominated. Shi Meng looked almost numbly at the person in front of him, who was soaking wet and trembling.
Then he heard himself ask: “Fu Xuanliao, aren’t you pathetic?”
His voice cut through the pattering rain, colder still.