Sun Rain Chapter 52

And the snow that day, the scent of wine lingering in his nose—though a long time had passed, Shi Meng still remembered it clearly.

He was like a hyperthymesia patient who had lost the ability to forget, his mind crammed with these memories that should have been packaged and thrown into the sea. The sudden awakening made him feel annoyed: “You don’t know… you really don’t know.”

Remembering how he was mistaken for someone else back then, Shi Meng instantly lost the interest to speak with Fu Xuanliao.

He also didn’t care whether Fu Xuanliao had eaten or not. Even if he starved and fainted at the door, what did that have to do with him?

He turned and walked toward the house, not bothering to close the courtyard gate.

Fu Xuanliao chased after him: “What else is there that I don’t know?”

Shi Meng didn’t answer, so Fu Xuanliao persisted: “Then let’s pretend it’s not concern… Aren’t you curious how I got out?”

He was clearly unaware that Shi Meng had played a part in his release.

Shi Meng didn’t want him to know, and silently slammed the door, intending to shut him out.

However, the door met resistance. Shi Meng tried several times but couldn’t close it. He widened his eyes and looked at Fu Xuanliao through the hand-span gap: “What exactly do you want?”

“That’s what I should be asking you.” Perhaps realizing that the softer and more yielding he was, the more rebellious Shi Meng became, Fu Xuanliao questioned him pointedly, “Falsifying evidence, getting me arrested as a suspect and taken to the police station—what exactly did you intend to do?”

Shi Meng was stunned by the question. In that brief moment, Fu Xuanliao pushed the door open and squeezed into the house through the gap beside him.

The door slammed shut with a bang. Fu Xuanliao sat down on the chair closest to the kitchen.

He had rushed here immediately after leaving the police station, forcing himself to stay awake until now. The last bit of energy was completely depleted in the struggle just now.

He closed his eyes, exhausted, and asked without much hope: “Is there anything to eat? Anything will do.”

Perhaps truly believing Fu Xuanliao was here to demand an explanation, Shi Meng found the leftover dinner in the refrigerator, heated it in the microwave, and placed it on the table.

Fu Xuanliao was genuinely starving. With half-closed eyes, he didn’t even look at what it was, picking it up with chopsticks and stuffing it into his mouth.

This time, Shi Meng was not in the mood to provoke him, nor did he ask if Fu Xuanliao was afraid of it being poisoned. Fu Xuanliao also no longer rushed to state his attitude, nor did he say anything about being willing to eat it even if it were poisoned.

Everything was slow, like a silent movie, yet fast, like a sudden summer squall.

Whether fast or slow, it was not enough to make people easily forget.

Shi Meng sat down at the table after heating the food, choosing a spot neither too close nor too far from Fu Xuanliao.

Therefore, the moment Fu Xuanliao put down his chopsticks, Shi Meng’s opening was timely.

“I gave false testimony to retaliate against you,” Shi Meng said. “You framed me for stealing a painting before, so I’m returning the favor.”

He was answering Fu Xuanliao’s question from before entering the house. However, Fu Xuanliao was stunned for a long time after hearing it, as if he had forgotten asking it. After realizing, he said: “I know.”

Perhaps afraid of being blocked again by Shi Meng’s “You don’t know,” he continued: “That’s why I admitted it. It was my own choice, so it doesn’t count as false testimony. I was talking nonsense just now.”

“…Talking nonsense?”

“Yes.” Fu Xuanliao nodded. “I was too hungry, starved dizzy, just rambling.”

“…”

Shi Meng was speechless for a moment, seemingly pondering whether he had been tricked, and the price was one meal.

Pan Jiawei had told him before that scumbags were best at playing dumb, making you punch cotton, unable to vent your frustration.

He only found out what “scumbag” meant later by searching online. It meant “a man who toys with others’ feelings.” Shi Meng felt Fu Xuanliao didn’t qualify, at least not unless he was like Shi Huaiyi.

But the discomfort of suppressed anger was real. Shi Meng stewed for a long time and then said, “I don’t believe you.”

Fu Xuanliao was somewhat surprised by Shi Meng’s reaction today.

Previously, Shi Meng had shown strong resistance to his presence, even resorting to lying to keep him away. Now, he was able to sit down and openly discuss the past. Although his attitude remained firm, he was at least no longer refusing communication.

To be honest, Fu Xuanliao was in a terrible mood. Although he willingly went to the police station and endured the pressure of interrogation, facing such an inexplicable disaster, he had to protect Shi Meng while simultaneously extricating his innocent self. Exhaustion was secondary; the agony of being constrained and powerless was the true torment.

This reminded him of Shi Meng back then. Even though Shi Meng had never suffered imprisonment, the invisible ropes binding him were far heavier than visible bars.

How did he treat Shi Meng back then?

He refused to listen to explanations, immediately concluding that Shi Meng had stolen the painting. He hated him so much that he grabbed Shi Meng’s hand, trying to twist it off. He hurt Shi Meng again and again for the sake of that painting, making Shi Meng sit on the windowsill facing the wind, making Shi Meng clutch that painting like a life-saving straw.

Such pain, where he couldn’t defend himself, such day-after-day torment—no wonder Shi Meng, after falling into despair and giving up hope, didn’t hesitate to burn the painting to ashes.

What Shi Meng burned was not only the source of his pain but also a pure, vibrant heart.

And only today did Fu Xuanliao have the chance to tell him face-to-face: “I know. Flame was painted by you, painted for me.”

Shi Meng’s fingers, resting on the tabletop, curled inward toward his palm.

“You were the one who slipped the painting into my desk back then. You were the one who came to the classroom looking for me. You were the one who came to the infirmary to see me. And the one who took me back on Christmas Eve… was also you.”

Shi Meng listened and then said, “It wasn’t me.”

Fu Xuanliao was startled by his rebuttal.

“That person is already dead,” Shi Meng looked at him, stating word by word. “Died in the heavy rain that day.”

Knowing it in his heart was one thing; hearing it mentioned directly was another.

The fear he felt when he saw Shi Meng covered in blood and barely clinging to life in the hospital seemed to rush back. Hearing the person involved discuss life and death with such a detached tone felt like ten thousand arrows piercing his heart. Fu Xuanliao was so pained that his breathing froze, and from then on, he became terrified of the word “dead.”

He even suspected he had gone mad back then, to be able to utter such cold words.

If he had the chance to go back in time, and couldn’t prevent the incident, he might choose to strangle his past self directly.

Shi Meng gave up the will to live because of him. He personally extinguished the flame burning in Shi Meng’s heart, and now he was trying to reignite it. How could there be such a good thing in the world? Why should he be allowed to call the shots and act recklessly, yet also be given the chance to regret and mourn the past?

Just based on his belated apology and deep affection? Just based on his feeling of being retaliated against?

But he still wouldn’t give up.

“There must be a way,” Fu Xuanliao whispered. “There must be a way to bring him back to life.”

Such self-deceiving words made Shi Meng curl his lips, as if looking at his own past stubborn self, leaving only the desolate emptiness in his heart.

He said, “Of course there is.”

Hearing this, the light in Fu Xuanliao’s faded eyes reappeared.

And what Shi Meng had to do was destroy that last hope.

Like an outsider speaking about something irrelevant, Shi Meng’s gaze drifted into the distance: “Only by restoring the burned painting to its original state.”

After a long silence, Fu Xuanliao asked, “Is that the only way?”

Shi Meng watched the light in his eyes dim again, took a deep breath, and affirmed: “Yes, that is the only way.”

The rain only lasted until midnight. When morning came, the person who had barged into the house yesterday was gone.

The bowls were washed and placed in the cupboard, and the unfinished dishes were sealed with plastic wrap. The empty dining room was left with only a cat stretching.

Strangely, the cat had become extremely well-behaved since Shi Meng adopted it. It used to run wild everywhere, but now, whenever someone came home, it hid out of sight. Except for the time it hissed when provoked by Pan Jiawei, it was always quiet. If it weren’t for the food bowl by the wall, no one would know there was a cat in the house.

As if sensing the human gaze, the cat, renamed Miaomiao, walked over, twisting its rear end and rubbing affectionately against Shi Meng’s pant leg with its tail raised.

Shi Meng squatted down and stroked its sleek, shiny fur, murmuring, “He probably won’t come back.”

Miaomiao let out a “meow.”

When alone, Shi Meng occasionally treated the cat as a confidant. Whether it understood or not, speaking it out was better than bottling it up.

“Do you also think I’m heartless?”

There was no response this time. Miaomiao looked at Shi Meng, puzzled, clearly not understanding what he was saying.

Shi Meng thought to himself, I am so heartless. I knew it wasn’t his fault, yet I made him stand in the rain, made him go to jail, seemingly pointing him toward a clear path, but in reality, cutting off all possibilities.

This is better, Shi Meng thought again. Instead of dragging things out and getting entangled, it’s better to part ways early.

He and Fu Xuanliao were never meant to be together. He was inherently stubborn, and Fu Xuanliao was proud and strong. Forcing them together would only result in mutual destruction.

Now that he had carried out so much revenge, not only was there no imagined satisfaction, but a vague confusion had arisen instead.

Not to mention adding new injuries before old wounds healed, this unsolvable vicious cycle must be ended by his own hand.

Shi Meng slowly exhaled, looking toward the chair where Fu Xuanliao had sat yesterday.

The feeling of being hugged from behind seemed to linger. Shi Meng looked out at the faint morning light and muttered to himself, “Fortunately, he didn’t come in.”

Fortunately, he didn’t know.

Afterward, Shi Meng’s life returned to how it was when he first arrived in Xuncheng: methodical and solitary.

There were slight differences, such as more neighbors occasionally greeting him when he went out. People looked at him with curious and respectful eyes, yet smiled broadly and tried their best to flatter him. They had heard that Shi Meng was a painter and wanted to make connections. Even those who had previously minded that he was an outsider changed their attitude.

That day, another neighbor brought their child to ask Shi Meng to take them on as a student. After Shi Meng politely declined and saw them out, Aunt Pan next door was cracking melon seeds in her yard and sighed, “In a few more days, Young Shi might forget our kindness.”

Shi Meng quickly said he wouldn’t. He had received a lot of care from her when he first arrived, and he would always remember the taste of Aunt Pan’s steamed buns.

Aunt Pan said, “I’m just joking. I’m happy to see everyone getting close to you. When I saw you moving here alone, I wondered, ‘Whose child is this? So well-behaved and handsome. How could their family bear to let you run off here alone?'”

Shi Meng thought for a moment and said, “I ran away myself.”

Aunt Pan chuckled at his seriousness, waving her hand and saying, “Then you must have been bullied to run away from home. Alas, let’s not talk about unhappy things. Come over for dinner tomorrow night. I bought too much pork belly and was worried about not finishing it.”

Shi Meng didn’t agree because tomorrow was his birthday, and Jiang Xue had promised to come over.

In the end, a large bowl of braised pork was still delivered to his house. Paired with the cake Jiang Xue brought all the way from Fengcheng, and a few small dishes they made, the two enjoyed a sumptuous dinner.

“Gao Lecheng originally wanted to come too,” Jiang Xue was on a diet, stuffing braised pork into her mouth while desperately drinking water to alleviate her guilt. “I didn’t let him. This is a gathering for us siblings. What business does he have interfering?”

Shi Meng licked the cream from the corner of his mouth and nodded: “Mhm.”

After eating, the two squatted on the floor, opening the packages—all birthday gifts Shi Meng had received.

Li Bihan sent a new pair of shoes, saying in the letter that they could be worn with the down jacket from last time. Teacher Ma sent a set of out-of-print art books. Pan Jiawei, busy with experiments at school, sent a box of paints via same-city express. Even Mr. Wei, whom Shi Meng had only met once, somehow learned of Shi Meng’s birthday and sent a highly ornamental art piece.

Jiang Xue sighed repeatedly, lamenting the decline of morality: “Our little Meng Meng has learned to juggle two boats.”

Shi Meng tried to explain that he hadn’t, but Jiang Xue quickly laughed and comforted him: “Okay, okay, I know. I’m just happy that so many people like you and treat you well now.”

She hadn’t seen Shi Meng for a long time. Upon arriving, she noticed that Shi Meng’s temperament had softened considerably compared to the past. At least he no longer instinctively avoided or fled when others approached.

Later, Jiang Xue realized that this was actually Shi Meng’s original self, like the sharp edges of an iceberg slowly melting in a warm current, revealing a gentle and serene interior.

Only those who possess love become soft. No one is born with a body full of thorns, and no one is born loving solitude.

Jiang Xue looked at Shi Meng kneeling on the carpet, carefully putting away the gifts one by one. She smiled until her eyes stung, and she turned away to wipe the moisture from her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she felt that being alive was such a good thing.

The next day was a workday, and Jiang Xue had to rush back in the evening.

After saying goodbye and getting into the car, Jiang Xue couldn’t resist rolling down the window and sticking her head out: “Did that guy not come for your birthday?”

Shi Meng hummed in affirmation.

“Wasn’t he released? Why…”

“He won’t come,” Shi Meng said.

Seeing his certainty, Jiang Xue couldn’t find an opening to persuade him. Considering Shi Meng’s reaction after sending Fu Xuanliao in a while ago, she remained silent for a moment before conceding: “It’s fine as long as you’ve decided. I’m leaving now. Remember to call if anything happens.”

Watching Jiang Xue’s car drive away, seeing the taillights flicker on the dark, long road until they disappeared, Shi Meng wrapped his new down jacket tightly around himself and turned back into the house.

Early winter arrived a little sooner in Xuncheng than in Fengcheng. Fog rose at night, and visibility was low. Therefore, when Shi Meng saw the person standing at the courtyard gate, he almost thought he was seeing things.

As if eager to tell Shi Meng he wasn’t mistaken, the person stepped forward, the streetlamp casting his shadow long.

After several days apart, Fu Xuanliao looked more haggard than when he left. Coupled with his travel-worn and exhausted appearance, it was hard for Shi Meng not to guess that he might not be able to eat without him.

Fu Xuanliao was naturally unaware of Shi Meng’s thoughts. A faint smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and he spoke first to justify his presence: “Who said I wouldn’t come?”