Sun Rain Chapter 50
byThe farce concluded, Pan Jiawei muttered, confused, “Treasure… did that guy hide some kind of treasure in his pocket?”
Shi Meng’s hand touched his pocket through the fabric of his clothes. Inside was a wallet, and tucked inside that was a photo—he had seen it last time at the highway rest stop, so he naturally knew what it was.
He also vaguely knew that the “treasure” the man spoke of didn’t just refer to that one item.
“Are we still going for hot pot?”
Shi Meng heard Pan Jiawei ask.
He was stunned for a long while before remembering the plan.
“Yes, let’s go.” Watching the police car drive away and disappear at the end of the road, Shi Meng replied, “I promised I’d treat you.”
It was Shi Meng’s first time visiting the city center since moving to Xuncheng.
There was still time before dinner, so they first made a trip to the hospital.
They went to the city center hospital. His attending physician had advised him last week to switch to this hospital, saying that his mentor, who was highly experienced in hand rehabilitation, was consulting there.
Shi Meng registered and saw the doctor. The physician handed him a rubber band and asked Shi Meng to continuously stretch it with his injured hand. It was a simple movement for an ordinary person, but Shi Meng struggled, and after just a few repetitions, his hand started shaking violently.
Pan Jiawei broke out in a cold sweat just watching. When they got to the hot pot restaurant, he immediately ordered a nourishing broth base with lamb, saying it was to replenish Shi Meng’s strength.
But Shi Meng preferred strong flavors and couldn’t stomach overly bland food, so he still ended up mixing a heavily spicy dipping sauce.
He ate slowly, taking small bites. Pan Jiawei watched him from across the table, and his own eating speed unconsciously slowed down.
Shi Meng brought his habit of not speaking much to the dining table as well, leaving Pan Jiawei so bored that he ended up watching a child celebrating a birthday at another table, counting exactly how many flowers were on the cake.
Just as he was about to count them again, he suddenly heard a voice: “Aren’t you going to play on your phone?”
“Huh?” Pan Jiawei turned around, confirmed the person opposite was asking him, and replied, “No, it’s rude to play on your phone at the dinner table.”
“You can play,” Shi Meng said instead. “I know, eating with me is very boring.”
He thought back to the few times he had eaten out with that person; the scenes were similar—laughter and noise all around, but their table was silent. At the time, he hadn’t thought anything was wrong, but now, he realized that anyone would find such an atmosphere unbearable.
Thinking of that person again without warning, Shi Meng frowned unconsciously as he snapped back to reality.
Pan Jiawei, thinking Shi Meng was blaming himself, quickly said, “It’s not boring at all. When I came with classmates before, it was so noisy. This time it’s quiet, which is better for savoring the food.”
Shi Meng didn’t respond, lowering his head to poke at the meat slices in his bowl, making sure the other side was also coated in sauce.
Seizing the opportunity to talk, Pan Jiawei cleared his throat. While using a strainer spoon to drop a few meatballs into the pot, he asked casually, “That old… that Mr. Wei at your house today, is he your friend?”
“No,” Shi Meng kept his eyes down. “He bought my paintings before.”
“Oh, I see.” Pan Jiawei nodded, sounding relieved. “That makes sense. You’re a great painter.”
After a moment of silence, Pan Jiawei picked up a bun-shaped crab roe dumpling and used it as a segue. “I didn’t realize your paintings were so valuable. I thought you were a student still enrolled in the art academy.”
That wasn’t wrong. Shi Meng had indeed studied in the oil painting department of the art academy for four years, and he was currently studying under Teacher Ma.
However, Shi Meng didn’t mention these irrelevant details. Instead, he said, “I’m two years older than you.”
Perhaps not expecting him to bring up age, Pan Jiawei was startled, then suddenly felt embarrassed. “Two years older is nothing! You look young; people would believe you if you said you were a college freshman.”
Shi Meng was wearing a hooded sweatshirt today. The overcoat that didn’t belong to him was taken off and draped over his arm. When they entered the hot pot restaurant earlier, Pan Jiawei ran into a classmate who kept winking at him. The classmate immediately sent a WeChat message asking who the handsome junior he brought was and why he hadn’t seen him before.
Pan Jiawei replied with a “screw off.”
The current topic, which was leaning toward something ambiguous, made Pan Jiawei sit up straight. His mind raced, thinking of all sorts of things.
He was studying biology, surrounded by classmates who constantly looked miserable going in and out of the lab. The people he knew in the band were also peers in similar situations—they gathered to be wild and rebellious precisely because their lives were dull and monotonous.
Shi Meng was different from all of them.
The first time he saw him, Pan Jiawei couldn’t look away, even though Shi Meng was just squatting in the yard planting flowers, wearing soft-looking cotton loungewear.
Undeniably, good looks were a prerequisite for attraction, but Pan Jiawei had seen plenty of attractive people. The bassist in their band had a girlfriend who was a million-follower internet celebrity, the kind of beauty that made people turn their heads on the street. He admitted she was pretty, but that was all she was.
Shi Meng’s beauty was different; he was unknown, mysterious, like a chemical reaction you’d never know the result of until you poured in the reagent.
This was enough for Pan Jiawei to develop a deep interest. Everyone around them praised Shi Meng’s painting skills, but only Pan Jiawei felt that Shi Meng was more beautiful than any of his artworks. He was vibrant, spirited, and captivating even from afar.
So, as the conversation reached this point, Pan Jiawei naturally assumed the final layer of pretense was about to be broken.
Unexpectedly, Shi Meng spoke again, bringing up an unrelated topic: “Is Auntie Pan not home today?”
After a long pause, Pan Jiawei nodded blankly. “Yeah, she went shopping with her best friend.”
Shi Meng put down his chopsticks and looked at the person opposite him. “Then, does she know you asked me out to dinner?”
Pan Jiawei was stunned again and hesitated. “She probably doesn’t, but I’ll tell her when I get back…”
“How will you tell her?” Shi Meng interrupted. “Will you tell her you asked me out because I’m willing to listen to you sing?”
“Do you think she’ll believe that?”
Shi Meng either remained silent or spoke with shocking directness, leaving Pan Jiawei speechless.
He knew Shi Meng could probably guess his intentions, but he hadn’t expected to be confronted with such a direct confession.
“You also want to ask who that person surnamed Fu is to me, right?” The frustration Shi Meng had been holding in since the afternoon finally found an outlet. “He was about your age when I used tricks to tie him to my side.”
Like giant waves surging across a calm surface, Shi Meng continued without stopping. “Do you know what I’ve done?”
“I stole someone else’s painting. I’m an illegitimate child, and the person who raised me was a prostitute.”
“I just slandered him and had him sent to the police station. Aren’t you afraid?”
“Everyone is afraid of me, they all keep their distance. Why… why do you still try to get close?”
As the final question mark concluded the statement, the atmosphere at the table froze to an absolute zero.
Shi Meng lowered his head, his chest heaving violently with his breath. After the brief impulse passed, a great emptiness followed.
He felt like he was walking in a vast desert, heavily weighed down by the sandstorm, unable to breathe, yet unable to escape.
He thought that after saying all this, the person opposite him would finally be scared and keep a wide berth. Even if they could tolerate his coldness, taciturn nature, and unpredictable moods, they couldn’t possibly endure his past.
However, when Shi Meng looked up again, the person was still sitting there.
Pan Jiawei’s expression showed surprise and worry, but none of the disgust or fear that Shi Meng was familiar with.
He poured Shi Meng some water, then worried that cold water would be bad for him, so he asked a passing waiter for a fresh pot of hot water.
When the steaming cup was handed to him, Pan Jiawei looked at Shi Meng and asked cautiously, “Saying so much all of a sudden, do you feel unwell anywhere?”
It wasn’t until they were walking along the brightly lit streets at night, with the cool breeze hitting his face, that Shi Meng snapped out of his daze and apologized to Pan Jiawei for his earlier aggressiveness. “I’m sorry, I…”
“Hey, hey, stop right there.” Pan Jiawei didn’t let him finish. “How can you be so polite? We’ve already reached the stage where we’ve mutually revealed our deepest secrets.”
Shi Meng’s secrets were clearly laid bare, as for Pan Jiawei’s…
Knowing what Shi Meng was thinking, Pan Jiawei grinned. “I’m interested in you, of course. I’ve been hiding it for days, and I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
This counted as a confession. Shi Meng looked away, feeling uncomfortable. “In that case, I’m still sorry.”
Pan Jiawei scratched his head. “Was I just rejected?”
Shi Meng couldn’t answer.
“Just think about it some more. No rush, anyway.” Pan Jiawei campaigned for himself. “Although I’m not as handsome as the guy who drives the Land Rover, and I’m not as rich as that old… *cough*, that Mr. Wei, I’m young. I have infinite possibilities.”
Shi Meng was still puzzled. “You know my past, aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of what? A hero is judged by his deeds, not his origins. I’m from the countryside, and I don’t see anyone looking down on me.” Pan Jiawei shrugged. “As for what you said about stealing paintings… honestly, I don’t really believe it. You paint so well and you’re so dedicated to it. You even draw a picture of buns for a breakfast stall as seriously as if it were going to a competition. How could you steal someone else’s work?”
Shi Meng suddenly froze, struck by this trust that required no explanation or defense.
“There must be a misunderstanding, just like with that Land Rover Big Brother today…” Pan Jiawei said, then became confused about the known situation. “But if you forced him, why is he chasing you now?”
Shi Meng had a natural aversion to the word “chasing” and instinctively denied it. “He came to see me make a fool of myself.”
“Huh?” Pan Jiawei looked surprised. “I don’t think so.”
Recalling his previous interactions with Fu Xuanliao, Pan Jiawei pondered for a moment. “Let me state clearly that I’m not trying to speak up for him, but I just feel like he might have come to apologize?”
“He acts like a child who made a mistake in front of you. He listens to whatever you say, and he comes over with just a hook of your finger. He doesn’t look like he’s being forced at all.”
That night, Shi Meng slept restlessly.
He woke up the next day feeling groggy. When he answered Jiang Xue’s call, he was still confused, accidentally dropping the eggshell into the pot along with the egg.
Jiang Xue couldn’t see him, so she didn’t know he was distracted. She asked directly over the phone, “I heard that guy surnamed Fu was taken into custody for theft?”
When Shi Meng asked how she knew, she replied, “That guy didn’t dare alarm his family, so he called Gao Lecheng and asked him to help look into something.”
Shi Meng didn’t ask what he was looking into, only saying, “Oh.”
There was silence for a while. When Jiang Xue spoke again, she made a bold guess: “Did you report him?”
Shi Meng said, “He admitted it himself.”
So that was it.
Jiang Xue sighed. “I knew it. Was he crazy to run off to Xuncheng to steal something?”
Shi Meng didn’t speak, using his chopsticks to pick out the broken eggshells from the pot.
“If he’s watching you too closely and making you uncomfortable, you can call the police, but reporting him like this…” Jiang Xue trailed off, sounding quite troubled. “Doing this only proves that you still have feelings for him…”
Shi Meng suddenly spoke, interrupting her. “He admitted it himself. I didn’t call the police.”
He didn’t want to continue the topic, so he hung up the phone, citing that he had something to do.
Having something to do was originally just an excuse, but unexpectedly, after breakfast that morning, he received a call from the police station.
It was the police officer he had met yesterday, asking if Shi Meng had time that morning and if it was convenient for him to come to the station.
“We still have some unclear points regarding the stolen painting, and we hope you can cooperate with the investigation.”
Shi Meng had plenty of time, so he went.
Upon arrival, the police took his statement, thoroughly and meticulously documenting when the painting for the breakfast shop was started, when it was finished, and when it was hung on the shop wall.
Shi Meng guessed that the information collected this time would likely be used to investigate whether that person’s statement was true or false.
He didn’t know what Fu Xuanliao had told the police during the interrogation. Based on the current situation, he hadn’t refuted Shi Meng’s accusation, as the police hadn’t pursued the flawed “testimony” from yesterday.
After giving his statement, Shi Meng handed the paper bag he was carrying to the police officer on his way out, asking him to pass it on. Inside was the folded overcoat.
The officer looked busy. He closed his notebook and pointed to the interrogation room at the end of the corridor. “He’s in there. Just leave it by the door.”
Shi Meng hesitated, then walked over.
The door to the interrogation room was ajar, suggesting the next shift of officers hadn’t arrived yet.
He put down the paper bag and looked up. His gaze passed through the gap in the door and the sparse iron bars, meeting the eyes of the person sitting inside.
Bloodshot eyes signaled a sleepless night, yet they were now fixed on Shi Meng, making him flinch violently, feeling as if his every thought had been seen through.
“Did you come to see me?”
Shi Meng heard Fu Xuanliao ask.
He was sitting on a chair, his shirt slightly wrinkled. He wasn’t handcuffed, as the solid, floor-to-ceiling bars were enough to restrict his movement.
The renowned head of the Fu family in Fengcheng, confined to a cramped interrogation room like a prison cell due to alleged theft—it would be another piece of gossip for people to chew on.
Despite being reduced to this state, Fu Xuanliao still wore a smile.
And in times like this, the more fearful Shi Meng felt, the more he had to command himself not to run away.
He pointed to the floor. “Your clothes.”
Fu Xuanliao looked at him through the bars. “Then where is my treasure?”
Shi Meng gritted his teeth, wanting to say there was no treasure, that he wasn’t any treasure.
But he couldn’t say it, because once the words left his mouth, it would be an admission that he knew Fu Xuanliao hadn’t come here to mock him, but to be good to him, to protect him.
He was resisting almost blindly—even if a stable, healthy relationship were to begin, that person could absolutely not be Fu Xuanliao.
“I didn’t touch your things.”
Shi Meng turned to leave, but then heard Fu Xuanliao say, “Wait a moment.”
The moment he was called back, the stone weighing on Shi Meng’s heart finally seemed about to drop.
He thought Fu Xuanliao would question him, would explode in anger. Then everything could return to normal; he wouldn’t have to lie anymore, wouldn’t feel guilty, and wouldn’t have to worry about the uncontrollable developments ahead.
But Fu Xuanliao didn’t.
“Don’t water the flowers in the yard so often. It rained for a week before, the soil is wet enough.”
He was talking about the marigolds Shi Meng had planted in the yard, which had already grown flower buds half a finger high.
The corridor was near the window, and the thin morning sunlight fell upon Shi Meng.
Fu Xuanliao, behind him, spoke in the most ordinary tone, saying the most common words: “That’s a flower that grows toward the sun. Like my treasure, it doesn’t like being rained on.”