Sun Rain Chapter 54

Shi Meng was trembling, body and soul, especially the palm touching the scorching skin.

He couldn’t understand. He had clearly expressed rejection, even saying the most awful things and doing the most excessive acts to prove his attitude, yet why could the person in front of him still persist so relentlessly, clinging to him without giving up?

Did he know?

The thought barely surfaced before Shi Meng suppressed it.

No, impossible. He couldn’t possibly know. He hadn’t even stepped inside before.

The clamoring heartbeat was temporarily soothed. Shi Meng lowered his eyes and bit his lip, using his tongue to lick away the taste that wasn’t his, only to find the metallic taste of rust spreading in his mouth.

He had bitten down hard, cracking the corner of Fu Xuanliao’s mouth. Bright red blood streamed down, which Fu Xuanliao wiped away with the back of his hand. His other hand still gripped Shi Meng’s wrist, his tall frame looming above, adopting a stance that suggested he wouldn’t let go until he got an answer.

With his final card played, his heart was pounding wildly, anticipation and fear running parallel, like a criminal awaiting judgment.

But Shi Meng said, “You don’t need to be like this.”

“You don’t need to do these things.”

You don’t need to become a lunatic.

“You haven’t done anything wrong in the first place, so you don’t need to seek forgiveness.”

I shouldn’t have poured my hatred onto you in the first place.

Fu Xuanliao’s heart leaped. “Then, you won’t…”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he couldn’t phrase it as a hypothetical; that was tantamount to giving the other party a way out of the situation.

Sure enough, Shi Meng followed his lead and completed his unfinished sentence: “Yes, I don’t love you anymore, and I don’t hate you either.”

Fu Xuanliao suddenly froze.

He hadn’t expected that Shi Meng, who had never expressed love verbally, would first utter the words “I don’t love you.”

No longer loving, no longer hating—everything had become an emptiness more ephemeral than passing clouds.

When he looked up, the confusion and bewilderment in Shi Meng’s eyes had faded, replaced by a calm rationality greater than before.

“For everything I did in the past, I should also say sorry to you.”

Sorry for clinging to you like a madman.

“No, you didn’t…”

Seeing Fu Xuanliao rush to refute him, Shi Meng broke his habit of speaking little and seized the initiative back.

“I have no promises to give you,” he finally answered that question. “And I don’t want anything you give me.”

A fierce crisis was resolved into nothingness.

Perhaps struck by the blow, Fu Xuanliao didn’t press him hard in the following days, but he also never left in anger. Occasionally, when Shi Meng went out to buy necessities or for a hospital follow-up, he could still catch sight of his figure in an inadvertent glance back.

The silence was so profound that even Pan Jiawei felt uneasy. Once, he asked Shi Meng, “That older brother… the one in the special profession, did he go back to work?”

Only then did Shi Meng realize the two of them had exchanged information about their backgrounds.

Unable to answer, Shi Meng said, “I don’t know.”

“Sigh,” Pan Jiawei lamented. “Seeing how fierce he was, I thought he’d hold out longer.”

His tone suggested a sense of meeting a worthy opponent and mutual respect between heroes, even though just two days prior, after their “life-and-death speed run,” he had been cursing, saying Fu Xuanliao was completely abnormal and regretting that he had ever spoken up for him.

After a while, Shi Meng asked, “He told you?”

Referring to the profession.

Pan Jiawei thought about it. “Not exactly. I guessed it, and he didn’t deny it. Didn’t you say before that you and he used to be… that kind of relationship?”

“Mm.” Shi Meng looked down at his palm.

People often use the term “nominal marriage” to describe a contractual relationship that is close in appearance but distant in heart. He and Fu Xuanliao also had a contract, but it was real in substance and nominal in name.

However, it was originally a difficult-to-speak-of entanglement that began with a flesh-and-blood transaction, so it could be defined in any way.

After his birthday passed, the year was drawing to a close.

Through these days of rehabilitation, Shi Meng’s right hand had recovered enough to use chopsticks normally.

Previously, because it was inconvenient, Jiang Xue had bought him a pair of children’s training chopsticks—two sticks connected, with finger loops, and small animal dolls embedded at the top.

Shi Meng didn’t find it embarrassing and used them for a long time. Now, he could successfully pick up peanuts with them.

That day, he tried transferring an entire plate of freshly fried peanuts from one plate to another. It took him less than five minutes, and his hand joints only felt slightly sore. He quickly sat down at the easel and, for the first time in a while, used his right hand to draw a quick sketch, the model being that plate of peanuts.

After finishing, he took a photo and sent it to Jiang Xue and Teacher Ma. Jiang Xue immediately declared she would start preparing for his comeback exhibition tomorrow, and Teacher Ma was also very pleased, saying, “At this rate of recovery, you might even make it to the finals.”

The portrait Shi Meng drew with his left hand had passed the preliminary selection with a high score. However, he wasn’t optimistic enough to believe his left-handed technique was already flawless and had won the judges’ favor; it was likely due to the appropriate subject matter.

Thinking of the subject of that painting, Shi Meng hesitated for a moment, but ultimately followed his heart, carefully rolling up and folding the painting—which represented his recovery—and placing it in a box padded with foam paper, mailing it to the address that often sent him things.

The response was surprisingly fast. On the third day after sending it, Shi Meng received a reply.

Li Bihan wrote in the letter: From childhood, you have always been a strong and decisive child, able to stick to your passion no matter what others say. While I am happy for you, I also feel ashamed for the past twenty years of drifting along. If I had made up my mind earlier, I wouldn’t have to be running around busy for external things now. I truly brought this trouble upon myself.

As the correspondence increased, Li Bihan’s tone in her letters became more familiar. Initially, she was somewhat reserved, but now she seemed to treat Shi Meng like an old friend she had known for years, sharing everything from heartfelt confessions to everyday family matters.

Seeing her describe the divorce lawsuit as “bringing trouble upon herself,” Shi Meng smiled faintly, knowing in his heart that her efforts to maintain her marriage with Shi Huaiyi were largely for the sake of her children.

Now, escaping that marriage was also for the sake of her children.

She possessed all the characteristics of a mother described in elementary school extracurricular readings—a beauty and tenderness that ignored the passage of time and remained fresh. It was so gentle that Shi Meng’s heart softened. He stared at the phone number left at the end of the letter for a long time before finally picking up his phone and clicking the plus sign on the WeChat interface.

In less than three minutes, the verification passed. Just as Shi Meng’s finger hovered over the keyboard, debating how to greet her, the other side sent a photo first.

It was the peanut sketch he had just sent, framed in good quality wood and hung on a blank wall.

Immediately after, Li Bihan sent a text message: The greatest regret is not watching you grow up. Fortunately, it’s not too late to start now. I have prepared a house for you, and from now on, all your practice works will be hung inside. Don’t rush to improve; you can take it slowly. Mom will always be with you.

A few days later, Shi Meng learned how to make video calls under Pan Jiawei’s guidance. He originally wanted to call Jiang Xue to practice, but Jiang Xue was busy with work and didn’t reply. On an impulse, he clicked on the chat box with Li Bihan and asked if she was free.

The video call came through quickly. Shi Meng wasn’t ready and accidentally pressed connect with a shaky hand.

The image appeared. Li Bihan was dressed smartly today, and judging by the background, she was sitting in a car, on her way somewhere.

Even so, she was in high spirits. When she saw Shi Meng’s face appear on the screen, a smile spread across her eyes and brows.

Shi Meng was wearing the down jacket she had bought him today, hood up, looking like a college student fresh out of school.

He was just too thin. Li Bihan wondered where all the food she sent went to and said with heartache, “I’ll be done here in a few more days, and then I’ll have time. I’ll make different soups for you every day.”

Shi Meng was still unaccustomed to receiving unconditional care and felt uneasy being so close to Li Bihan.

“No need,” he said, looking away. “I can take care of myself.”

Through their recent interactions, Li Bihan knew this was his nature, so she wasn’t in a hurry to mend their relationship to that of a normal mother and son. Instead, like in her letters, she used the video call opportunity to chat about daily life.

She mentioned that the shares originally belonging to Shi Meng had been recovered and would be transferred to his name along with her own, including parts of the Shi family assets that were still under negotiation but were certain to be secured. Shi Meng shook his head. “I don’t need those things. You don’t have to…”

You don’t have to go through all this trouble for me.

As if hearing his unspoken words, Li Bihan was first stunned, then smiled.

“Whether you want it or not, what belongs to you cannot be missing a single part.”

She looked at Shi Meng in the small screen, showing a rare stubbornness as a loving mother: “Perhaps reconciling with the past is something I can only achieve when everything returns to its original place.”

Prompted by her words, Shi Meng later asked himself countless times if he had truly let go, if he was truly consistent in his words and actions, and if he had reconciled with the past.

The answer was unknown.

He hid inside a sturdy shell, and even when people outside knocked and told him the sky was clear, he still dared not venture out easily. Only when he felt safe enough would he tentatively poke his head out and look around.

He was afraid that once he felt the sunlight, he would never want to return to the cold, damp place.

Tragedies are often created by stubbornness and greed. He would rather foresee his death in despair than be slowly consumed by time and revert to his former, detestable self.

So he desperately denied the past, denied the memories, all to prevent future trouble and not give tragedy a chance to repeat itself.

Even if reality often disregarded his wishes and threw unexpected situations his way.

This year’s winter came earlier than usual. Just past the middle of December, Xuncheng’s temperature dropped below zero.

Although the house had floor heating, Li Bihan was still worried Shi Meng would catch a cold. She found time to buy and send two new down comforters, telling Shi Meng to keep one upstairs and one downstairs so that if he got tired of drawing and was too lazy to go up, he could lie down on the sofa.

When buying them, she specifically asked, “Are you living alone now?”

Shi Meng said yes, and Li Bihan didn’t ask further. Thinking back later, Shi Meng realized Li Bihan was probably inquiring if he was dating.

Shi Meng had no such plans anytime soon, but the thought that that person hadn’t left made him feel unsettled.

Pan Jiawei invited Shi Meng to an art exhibition that weekend, and he accepted.

Even though Pan Jiawei said it was perfectly normal for ordinary friends to have a meal and visit an exhibition, telling him not to feel burdened, Shi Meng still felt a strange sense of guilt. On Saturday, he specifically went to the supermarket to buy some snacks, choosing puffed foods and carbonated drinks that young people liked.

On his way back with the items, he ran into the courier. The quilts sent from Fengcheng were on this delivery.

Li Bihan had mentioned in advance that the quilts had been aired out and were fluffy, but Shi Meng hadn’t expected them to be such a huge volume.

The hurried courier still left the package at the door and left. The box, which was more than half a person tall, wasn’t heavy but was awkward to move. Shi Meng hung the shopping bags on his arm and picked up the box, which blocked his view of the path. He stumbled over a remaining brick near the flower bed, and his center of gravity immediately shifted sideways.

He didn’t fall. Another pair of hands, appearing from nowhere, steadied him.

A deep voice reached his ears from behind the box: “Let go, I’ll take it.”

Immediately, the weight in his hands lightened, and the box was lifted horizontally. When Shi Meng recovered, he only saw a tall, straight back.

This time, he entered the house openly. Standing in the middle of the living room, Fu Xuanliao asked, “Should I take it upstairs?”

Shi Meng, holding the key, didn’t hear clearly and uttered an “Ah,” which Fu Xuanliao took as confirmation. He carried the box toward the stairs.

He could probably guess that it contained bedding, but he hadn’t expected two such substantial quilts. When Shi Meng opened the box, the compressed quilts sprang up and hit his face, leaving him slightly bewildered. He first took one out and placed it on the bed in the bedroom. He wasn’t sure what to do with the rest.

Fu Xuanliao guessed, “Should these be taken downstairs?”

Shi Meng stood with his back to him, turning the spread-out quilt over and folding it back, saying nothing, as if waiting for him to leave on his own.

Fu Xuanliao intentionally stalled and asked, “Did Aunt Li send these?”

Shi Meng still didn’t answer.

However, the neighbor’s window across the way opened, and Aunt Pan shouted over, “I made some rice cakes at home, Young Master Shi, come over and take some back to eat!”

Shi Meng responded, straightened up, and faced Fu Xuanliao with a cold expression, practically writing “Go away” on his face.

“Can I borrow the restroom?” Fu Xuanliao held up his dust-covered hands. “I’ll leave after washing up.”

Shi Meng was in a hurry to go out. He glanced at Fu Xuanliao’s hands, gray from moving the package, and ultimately said nothing, turning and heading downstairs.

That was consent. Fu Xuanliao walked straight to the bathroom connected to the master bedroom. He spent a full five minutes washing his hands, almost memorizing the ingredients list on the back of the hand soap bottle, but Shi Meng still hadn’t returned.

In truth, he didn’t know what else to say to Shi Meng.

It was like facing an impenetrable fortress; cannonballs couldn’t pierce it, and all attacks failed. He exerted all his strength, yet couldn’t shake it even slightly.

After that day, Fu Xuanliao was quite dejected for a while, because Shi Meng not only stopped loving him but also stopped hating him. Shi Meng had said it himself, and he had no choice but to believe it.

Coupled with the fact that the painting he had stayed up several nights to create was burned by Shi Meng without a blink, even an iron heart would ache.

After his final card was declared ineffective, Fu Xuanliao even considered taking out the contract and forcibly demanding the execution of its terms. He still had five years; if five years wasn’t enough, he would renew it for another five. He was sure he could eventually wear down Shi Meng until he relented.

But while he was fearless enough to do such a crazy thing, Shi Meng might not be able to handle it.

His little mushroom had suffered a great ordeal. His newly pieced-together body was not yet sturdy; it would shatter at a touch. He needed both a strong medicine and moderate, gentle conditioning.

Perhaps it was better to leave for a while, Fu Xuanliao thought. Staying here was useless anyway, only inviting cold stares.

Recalling the conversation he had openly overheard about Pan Jiawei inviting Shi Meng to an art exhibition tomorrow, Fu Xuanliao gritted his teeth, restraining the impulse to rush next door, grab that kid, and beat him up.

He didn’t want fair competition, because he should have won at the starting line.

He wasn’t afraid of being mocked for winning unfairly, as long as he could rely on a tiny bit of lingering affection, as long as Shi Meng still had a little bit of…

Before he could sink into self-reproach, Fu Xuanliao stepped on something soft.

A sharp cat meow sounded. Before he could react, a white spherical object darted out from under the bed, crashed into the bedside table, and then hurriedly shot between Fu Xuanliao’s legs, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

It was the cat.

Understanding the situation, Fu Xuanliao breathed a sigh of relief and, still shaken, put down the quilt in his hands. His gaze accidentally fell upon a small box resting against the bedside cabinet.

It was a cardboard box, about the size of his palm. It had been placed neatly in the corner but was knocked over by the frantically fleeing cat, and the lid had fallen off.

Fu Xuanliao squatted down, looking at the blue paper box on the floor. He hadn’t intended to pry, but the box was very light, and the contents weren’t heavy, scattering everywhere when the cat hit it.

Thinking of helping Shi Meng tidy up, Fu Xuanliao reached out and first picked up the somewhat worn paper box. Just as he felt a sense of familiarity with the faded pattern on the surface, his eyes were drawn to the items at the bottom of the box.

A thin piece of coated paper, printed with a Ferris Wheel design, from an amusement park in Fengcheng.

Beneath it was an identical admission ticket, even the date was the same: November 21st last year, Shi Meng’s birthday. Fu Xuanliao remembered it had rained that day.

Below that were a few slips of paper. Two were from the memo pad he kept at home. One read, “I’m off to work,” and the other read, “Call me if you need anything.”

The next two were in newer handwriting, containing two cheeky remarks. One said he would peel chestnuts for him, and the other told him to close the window carefully, warning him about the “pervert” next door.

Fu Xuanliao couldn’t mistake his own handwriting.

At the very bottom was an A5 sheet of paper folded in half. Fu Xuanliao only remembered that he was so sleepy at the time that he could barely keep his eyes open, and he had been extremely perfunctory with Shi Meng’s request, quickly drawing a mushroom and handing it back.

He didn’t even know what the drawing looked like, yet Shi Meng had kept it until now.

Scattered on the floor because they had some weight were not valuable items—a sapphire bracelet, a rose stem that had failed to survive, and two dried chestnut shells.

These were all of Shi Meng’s treasures, wiped clean and stored in an unknown corner. If not for this accidental discovery, they might never have seen the light of day, only to be secretly taken out and held by Shi Meng in the dead of night.

For a moment, Fu Xuanliao’s breathing hitched. The overwhelming shock that washed over him, almost drowning him, was a sour, numb sensation deep in his heart.

He trembled all over, his senses seemingly failing, so much so that he didn’t hear the footsteps coming up the stairs.

It wasn’t until Shi Meng pushed the door open, saw the person squatting by the bed, and then looked at the items in his hand, that the bag full of food slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a thud. Fu Xuanliao slowly turned his head, meeting the pair of suddenly wide eyes.

In them was panic, confusion, and an intense emotion that had erupted too quickly to be concealed.

In contrast, Fu Xuanliao’s heart felt very empty at that moment, as if the oxygen had been sucked out, leaving him only enough time to think of two things.

So, what he had given Shi Meng was only this light, this little.

And everything Shi Meng had said to him was insincere. What he had secretly hidden away was a heavy, never-extinguished love.