Sun Rain Chapter 56
byReturning to the dwelling, the things that had been tossed onto the floor were no longer in their original spot.
When the door opened, Meow Meow was using its paws to bat at the chestnut shells on the floor. Seeing the person following Shi Meng, it twisted its head and bolted upstairs as if it had seen a ghost.
Shi Meng’s attention was entirely on the box. He stepped forward to pick it up. The already wilted rose stems had been ravaged by the cat and couldn’t stand straight. The chestnut shells were dusty, so he picked one up and blew on it near his mouth.
Only after tidying everything up did he remember the person behind him. His hands paused, and Shi Meng awkwardly closed the lid, turning to try his usual trick of slipping away unnoticed.
When Fu Xuanliao grabbed his arm, he thought he was about to be trapped again, forced into involuntary interrogation. However, Fu Xuanliao merely held his hand and led him to the bathroom door.
“Go take a hot shower first,” Fu Xuanliao squeezed his icy fingertips. “I’ll make you something delicious.”
Shi Meng maintained his last line of defense, using the shower as an excuse to escape.
The steam in the enclosed space created a hazy, unreal feeling for the person inside.
Everything that had happened today was too bizarre.
So bizarre that he couldn’t react. Like someone lost in a dream, he raised his hand to touch his chest, feeling the raised scar from the surgery on his ribs, confirming that he was still himself and his heart was still beating regularly before finally settling down.
When he finished showering and pushed the door open, Fu Xuanliao was, as expected, still there. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, and he was looking down at the fresh cigarette burn on his chest, seemingly contemplating how to deal with it, his expression slightly troubled.
Hearing the movement, he quickly pulled his shirt closed, as if afraid of startling Shi Meng, and turned away to ask, “Finished? Do you want something to eat?”
No one knew better than Shi Meng what food was available in the house.
Therefore, when he saw Fu Xuanliao completely ignore the piles of ready-made food in the fridge and the leftover fried rice from last night, choosing instead to thaw chicken wings and use strange ingredients to make two dishes, Shi Meng pursed his lips, momentarily speechless.
Fu Xuanliao pushed a plate toward him: “Try this, cola chicken wings.”
He could have just used sugar, but he insisted on pouring out an entire bottle of soda.
Then he pushed the other plate forward: “Potato chip chicken wings, salty and crispy.”
There were breadcrumbs in the kitchen, but he insisted on crushing a bag of puffed snacks, not minding the trouble.
Perhaps knowing his intentions were too obvious, and that he was performing the awkward act of offering borrowed flowers, Fu Xuanliao braced himself and said, “Two kinds… choose whichever you like.”
Shi Meng never went against his own stomach. He picked one up and took a bite. The taste was surprisingly good.
“I learned it from my mom,” Fu Xuanliao read his micro-expression and said excitedly. “If you like it, I’ll make it for you often in the future.”
Shi Meng didn’t say anything, silently finishing the chicken wing.
After the meal, Fu Xuanliao timely handed him a glass of water and casually asked, “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“A painting exhibition,” Shi Meng said.
“I’ll go with you…”
“I already made plans with someone,” Shi Meng interrupted before Fu Xuanliao could finish. “The snacks were bought for him, too.”
Fu Xuanliao immediately felt a surge of anger: “He has ulterior motives toward you…”
“What about you?” Shi Meng asked. “Don’t you?”
“Of course not, I just like…”
This time, Fu Xuanliao stopped himself, remembering the chain of disasters, like a rear-end collision, caused by that ten percent share of stock.
However, Shi Meng had seen through his tricks and mastered his routine, seizing the initiative before Fu Xuanliao could react.
“Like me?” Shi Meng’s smile was chilling, shattering the little warmth that had been painstakingly gathered. “I seem to recall you saying you could never like me?”
Like being struck on the head by a bell hammer, ringing loudly, Fu Xuanliao suddenly realized the reason, or the crux, of Shi Meng’s disbelief.
Time waited for no one. He shot up, following Shi Meng’s steps upstairs. Just before the bedroom door could close, he propped the door open with one hand and grabbed the person who was running faster than a rabbit with the other, using his height and physical advantage to trap Shi Meng between his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he told Shi Meng. “I’m sorry, I never knew… that was you.”
The chill of the winter night brought in from outside seemed to linger. The moment he touched something warm, Shi Meng shivered violently.
Pushing with both hands and twisting his body, he couldn’t break free; the wall was right behind him. Shi Meng bit his lip. The emotional turmoil that had just calmed down surged again.
“You didn’t know in the first place.” Although he had said it before, Shi Meng couldn’t help but repeat, “You didn’t know anything.”
The lack of force in his voice made Fu Xuanliao’s heart soften, followed by a spreading bitterness.
When he entered the door earlier, he remembered: the blue cardboard box filled with old items was the one he had used to wrap a gift on Christmas Eve nine years ago.
That gift, hung on the Christmas tree, was meant for Shi Mu. In the end, Shi Mu took the watch inside, but the useless packaging box, discarded in the trash, was picked up by Shi Meng and treasured until now.
Fu Xuanliao hated his past self, and he hated his later self who, despite having suspicions, never pursued the truth.
He kept repeating “I’m sorry,” leaning forward, pressing against Shi Meng’s cheek and ear, conveying both his apology and his warmth.
“Now I know, I know it was you.” Fu Xuanliao’s voice involuntarily trembled, for the missed moments of affection, and even more for his own blindness and folly. “I know it’s you, my darling… my little mushroom.”
The stagnant water in Shi Meng’s eyes suddenly churned. He opened his mouth, stunned as if struck dumb, and only after a long silence did he rasp, “But you said I wasn’t worthy.”
Another wound was torn open, raw and bloody.
The chilling, heart-piercing words, repeated verbatim by Shi Meng, undoubtedly made Fu Xuanliao feel more directly and clearly how much of a bastard he had been in the past.
This could no longer be simply summarized as “vicious” or “excessive,” nor could he easily absolve himself with the word “misunderstanding.” It was a sharp knife that had pierced Shi Meng’s thin chest from front to back, adding a fatal blow to his already riddled heart.
It was plunged too deep to pull out, and the bleeding couldn’t be stopped. The only way was to hold him, letting the same knife stab his own heart.
Fu Xuanliao grabbed Shi Meng’s arms, pulled him close, and held him securely in his embrace.
“I’m the one who isn’t worthy, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”
The knife finally pierced Fu Xuanliao through and through. But it wasn’t enough, far from enough. What he owed Shi Meng was much more than this.
He was distraught, giving himself random ideas: “I should repay you, how should I repay you…”
Shi Meng let out a sigh-like laugh, as if he, too, found himself difficult to deal with, stubborn and unwilling to listen or believe any kind words.
“Are you thinking, this person is really troublesome, it would have been better if he had died there back then…”
His body shook violently, and Fu Xuanliao sharply retorted, “No!”
He gasped a few times, terrified that this assumption might be true: “You are not troublesome, not at all. You barely, barely survived. I was the one who harmed you.”
“You didn’t harm me.” Shi Meng’s voice was surprisingly calm. “I chose the path myself. You also said that my life and death had nothing to do with you.”
It was as if he was dragged back to that rainy evening, the French window blurred by rain, the chill soaking into his body. Fu Xuanliao watched himself receive a call from Shi Meng, thinking the other person was playing some kind of threat game again, and his thumb pressed the hang-up button without hesitation.
The sound of the rain stopped. Fu Xuanliao reached out, trying to snatch the phone that could still connect him to Shi Meng.
But he couldn’t go back. The past, like the injury, was irreversible.
Just escaping from the painful memory, he was dragged into a vortex of guilt mixed with inexplicable hatred. Fu Xuanliao spoke incoherently, uncontrollably: “No, it has everything to do with me… You live, you live well. I’m the one who should die.”
Shi Meng probably wouldn’t believe that when he said such absurd things to others, he genuinely harbored the resolve to die at any moment.
He didn’t see it as a sacrifice; at most, it was an exchange.
An exchange of equal value, as long as Shi Meng felt satisfied, as long as Shi Meng could smile genuinely.
Believing he had finally found an effective way to repay the debt, and holding the conviction to give everything, Fu Xuanliao took a deep breath, released the arms that had long confined Shi Meng, and retreated backward, gritting his teeth.
“If you want me to die, then I will…”
He couldn’t leave. His wrist was grabbed.
It was caught by a hand that was slightly damp in the palm, yet cold, and even trembling.
“Who told you to die?” Shi Meng asked.
His voice was very low, making it hard for Fu Xuanliao to discern its meaning—was it mockery, or did he genuinely not want him to go?
So Shi Meng used a more direct method. His other hand also circled around, joining forces to restrain Fu Xuanliao, and commanded, “Don’t you dare go.”
The long-lost domineering tone made Fu Xuanliao momentarily stunned, thinking the old Shi Meng had returned.
The Shi Meng who would use every method to ensure he couldn’t escape, who would demand that he look only at him, who was unreasonably possessive yet utterly adorable… the Shi Meng who loved him more than his own life, had returned.
It was Fu Xuanliao’s turn not to believe.
He turned around in a daze. When he saw Shi Meng looking straight into his eyes, his heart, like a feather blown high by the wind, slowly settled after aimless drifting.
Before this, no matter what he did, Shi Meng had been avoiding him. Only now was he truly willing to face him.
Shi Meng said, “Don’t you dare go,” but there was little ferocity in his wide-open eyes. The moisture swirling within them was a torrent of emotion hidden beneath the calm surface.
The precarious eye sockets finally couldn’t hold back, releasing two large teardrops that slid down his cheeks.
This was the first time Fu Xuanliao had ever seen Shi Meng cry.
His heart constricted almost reflexively. Fu Xuanliao wanted him to stop crying, wanted to reach out and wipe his tears, and wanted to say, if you don’t want me to go, then I won’t go yet… With so many things to do, he ultimately decided to apologize first.
“I…”
He wanted to say, I was wrong, please don’t cry, but he only managed to utter one word before his lips were sealed by a soft covering.
Shi Meng’s hands had somehow moved to Fu Xuanliao’s collar. He forcefully tugged at both sides of the shirt, compelling him to lower his head, while he himself tilted his face up, aggressively closing the distance.
It was as if he was forced into a corner, and the only way was to use this method to make Fu Xuanliao swallow all his nonsensical words.
Everything was instinctive. Before the brain could issue a command, the body had already acted.
Instinctive attraction, instinctive obsession, instinctive need for warmth… and the instinctive desire for him to live, that was all.