Sun Rain Chapter 7
byThat night, Fu Xuanliao slept extremely restlessly.
When he woke up with a start in the middle of the night, the words “don’t forget me” still echoed in his ears. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face twice before he truly cleared his head.
Returning to the suite, he picked up his phone and saw several messages from his mother, Jiang Rong.
—Are you asleep?
—Mom just wanted to let you know that I’ve already discussed it with your father. We will visit the Shi family next month when we return to the country. You don’t need to worry.
A drop of water from his damp hair hit the screen. Fu Xuanliao wiped it away with his thumb, then exhaled a sigh.
He replied to his mother: Not so fast. Things aren’t that simple.
This wasn’t an exaggeration. Fu Xuanliao had long noticed that Shi Huaiyi cared about Shi Meng more than outsiders realized; otherwise, he wouldn’t have intervened four years ago to help Shi Meng force him to sign the contract. The guidance and care the Shi family had shown him over the years, as well as the collaborations between the two families, were mostly inseparable from Shi Meng.
Perhaps thinking he only had one son left, or perhaps wanting to compensate for past neglect… Fu Xuanliao pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding not to waste energy thinking about these irrelevant matters.
He didn’t have time for deep thought anyway. After returning from an hour-long run at the gym, the “impromptu performance” arranged by his friend Gao Lecheng was already in place.
Today’s piece was a landscape painting. When the waiter carefully carried the frame in, Fu Xuanliao raised an eyebrow: “Is this also an auction item from last night?”
“No, I bought it from an art exhibition and just had it shipped here.” Gao Lecheng smiled slyly. “It’s a masterpiece by your ice beauty.”
Fu Xuanliao’s expression darkened, and he glanced at the flowers in the painting. From the meticulous brushwork to the color palette, it was indeed extremely similar.
“Although we missed out on the one called… oh right, The Flame, don’t be discouraged.” Gao Lecheng said generously, “Consider this one a gift from your brother. Take it and vent however you like.”
Fu Xuanliao scoffed: “Burning money.”
Gao Lecheng said, “It wasn’t much money. I know you’re holding in a lot of anger, so I found you a legal way to retaliate, didn’t I? He loves stealing things, but you can’t exactly break his hands.”
Taking a sip of wine, Fu Xuanliao swirled the glass, the color in his eyes darkening with the liquid inside: “How do you know I’ve done that before?”
After Shi Mu passed away four years ago, Fu Xuanliao had repeatedly sought the painting from Shi Meng.
After extensive coordination and effort, the outside world generally accepted that The Flame was authored by Shi Mu, but Shi Meng was utterly stubborn and refused to hand over the painting no matter what.
The last time was in the Shi family’s Attic/Loft. This studio, which originally belonged to Shi Mu, was now occupied by Shi Meng. When asked where the painting went, Shi Meng turned his head, his voice and eyes equally cold: “Sold it.”
Fu Xuanliao’s heart leaped into his throat: “Sold it to who?”
“A collector.”
“That was Shi Mu’s painting. What right did you have to sell it?”
“The owner of the artwork has the right to dispose of the artwork itself.” As if unaccustomed to face-to-face communication, Shi Meng spoke slowly, “I didn’t want to see it, so I sold it.”
According to regulations, the recipient of a gift is the owner of the artwork, and after the author’s death, they indeed have the right to perform any action on it. Shi Meng exploited this loophole, allowing him to dispose of the painting freely even without being recognized as the author.
And he refused to say who he sold it to.
“I forgot, I don’t think they were local.” Shi Meng turned his head to stare at the drawing board, charcoal sketching a contour on the canvas. “It should have been shipped away by now.”
A painting made for him by the person he loved, created by their own hand, sold to a stranger—Fu Xuanliao could not bear such a result.
In a fit of rage, he strode forward and grabbed the hand Shi Meng was holding the pen with.
His thumb web pressed against Shi Meng’s wrist joint, and as he applied force with his knuckles, the charcoal pencil clattered to the floor. Shi Meng was forced to meet Fu Xuanliao’s gaze again.
It should have been painful, yet his expression was stern and utterly fearless: “You want to crush my hand?”
Fu Xuanliao gritted his teeth, involuntarily increasing the pressure. Shi Meng was very thin, his wrist bones protruding. Under such violent treatment, one could almost hear the faint crunching sound between bone and flesh caused by the intense squeezing.
Hatred nearly peaked. Fu Xuanliao growled, “You think I wouldn’t dare?”
“Even if it breaks, I still have the other hand.”
Shi Meng endured the pain until his face was pale, yet far from begging for mercy, his expression held a kind of pleasure, as if he were about to be liberated.
He lifted his chin, looking at Fu Xuanliao, his eyes even hinting at provocation: “Even if it breaks, he’s already dead. He can’t come back to life.”
After hearing this past event, Gao Lecheng shivered: “He really doesn’t care about his life.”
Fu Xuanliao let out a “hmph” through his nose, noncommittal.
While pouring wine, Gao Lecheng found it increasingly absurd: “You say someone whose thought process is so different from a normal person, who doesn’t even care about his life, what else could he possibly care about? Money? But he bought a painting for ten million without batting an eye.”
Fu Xuanliao slumped onto the sofa, shaking his head while looking up at the ceiling, as if saying no, or perhaps saying he didn’t know.
Gao Lecheng suddenly chuckled: “I know.”
Fu Xuanliao tilted his head, giving him a “spit it out” look.
Gao Lecheng slapped his thigh: “The only thing he cares about is you.”
After two seconds of silence, Fu Xuanliao burst out laughing: “He calls that caring?”
Gao Lecheng spoke logically: “Using every means to tie you to his side, stopping at nothing to sever your feelings for your ex. That’s how it goes in TV dramas…”
“That’s called possessiveness,” Fu Xuanliao interrupted him. “It’s called selfishness, greed, and self-interest at the expense of others. It’s not called caring.”
How could such an absurd relationship be called caring?
What kind of caring forcefully restrains someone against their will? What kind of caring means wanting everything someone else has, snatching it regardless of the consequences?
Fu Xuanliao suddenly sat up straight and downed the wine on the table.
Then he stretched out his arm and opened his hand: “Lighter.”
As he handed the item over, Gao Lecheng was slightly puzzled: “Don’t you not smoke?”
Taking the lighter, Fu Xuanliao stood up and walked over to the painting that had just been brought in.
“This painting is mine to dispose of?” he confirmed one last time.
“Of course,” Gao Lecheng said. “You can throw it on the floor and step on it if you want…”
His voice trailed off as Fu Xuanliao pushed open the lighter cap with one hand, his thumb spinning the flint wheel. A flame instantly shot up before his eyes, causing him to squint.
He wasn’t without hesitation, but the voice in his dream was persistent, reminding him of the regret Shi Mu carried to his death, and reminding him of the cruel person who created the painting before him.
This solidified Fu Xuanliao’s resolve. He moved the blazing heart of the flame to the center of the painting. The sprawling white petals curled inward, first forming a charred hole, then rapidly spreading until the entire delicate flower was consumed by fire.
The fire raged, like a menacing demon baring its fangs.
Fu Xuanliao watched with cold eyes, but the expected sense of satisfaction did not arrive. He remembered the focused look on that person’s face when he painted.
But he never did anything he regretted, so he turned around and said casually, “That was quite stress-relieving. Next time there’s something good like this, remember to call me.”
The night before Saturday, Shi Meng could always sleep more soundly.
Even if he had a nightmare—a dream where his paintings were used as flagstones, trampled by thousands of people…—when he sat up and flipped over the calendar by his bedside, the conspicuous red circle served to soothe his panic, successfully calming him down.
There was also an inconspicuous little star in the upper right corner of the date. Shi Meng stared at it for a while, then poked it a few times with his finger.
Since it was a holiday, they didn’t need to have breakfast together. Shi Meng went upstairs and hid in the studio, staying there for half a day.
During this time, he received a call from Teacher Sun, who said a buyer had been found for the previous painting, quoted a price, and asked Shi Meng what he thought.
Shi Meng replied without hesitation: “That’s fine.”
Sun Yanfeng agreed, then asked how he was doing recently. Shi Meng said he was doing well.
“Then are you coming over on Sunday?” the middle-aged man asked tentatively over the phone. “I’ll buy some of your favorite dishes, and we master and apprentice can have a couple of drinks at home?”
Shi Meng lowered his eyes, seeming hesitant.
Seeing his silence, Sun Yanfeng persuaded him: “It only happens once a year. Besides, staying in that house is… restrictive.”
The word “restrictive” was a euphemism. Since four years ago, this specific day every year had been difficult to endure.
Shi Meng ultimately did not accept his teacher’s invitation, because Fu Xuanliao might come over tonight to stay, and might leave later tomorrow.
After all, it only happened once a year.
However, by evening, he still hadn’t seen that familiar car drive up from a distance.
There was a large table in the studio used for spreading out drawing paper. Shi Meng built a new three-story tower next to a half-meter-tall tower of Tiles. When the housekeeper knocked on the door to call him for dinner, his hand trembled, and the two adjacent towers, large and small, instantly collapsed, leveled together.
Shi Sihui had also returned. She changed her clothes in her room and came out to see the cake on the table. She first paused, then understood: “A day early is fine, saves us from bad luck.”
Shi Meng acted as if he hadn’t heard, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
Everyone was served a slice of cake.
Li Bihan sat opposite Shi Meng and said unhurriedly, “It was supposed to be tomorrow, but since we have other things tomorrow, we might as well celebrate Mumu’s birthday early.”
Shi Huaiyi’s expression was displeased: “What kind of birthday is it, celebrating a day early?”
“Yes, a proper birthday,” Li Bihan said slowly. “If Mumu were still here, he would be twenty-four this year.”
The whole table fell silent.
Shi Meng looked down at the beautifully sliced cake on his plate, remembering a time when he was very young, before he came to the Shi family, when he wrote the wish “I want cake for my birthday” in his dirty diary.
“Eat, Shi Meng,” Shi Sihui called out. “I remember you loved sweets when you were little.”
Shi Meng remained seated, motionless.
Back then, he couldn’t eat it. Now, he didn’t want to.
Suddenly, he heard Li Bihan scoff: “Is Xiao Meng waiting for his own cake? In the past, I would prepare one cake for each of you brothers.”
Shi Meng looked up. When he looked across the table, the smile on Li Bihan’s face had vanished.
“Identical cakes. Mumu had one, and you had one.” She looked at Shi Meng, her eyes filled with pain and hatred, but no warmth. “Why did you still have to steal his? Was I not good enough to you?”
Before Shi Meng could answer, Shi Huaiyi shouted, “Enough! Just eat, why bring up all that?”
“All that?” Li Bihan laughed again. “Do you only have this one son? Then what about Mumu, my Mumu who died in the hospital at twenty?”
Shi Huaiyi’s face darkened, and he said impatiently, “Who said Shi Mu wasn’t my son? Everyone did their best back then. Shi Meng also had the Bone Marrow Matching test. What could we do if it didn’t match?”
“The lab reports are missing, so of course, whatever you say goes.”
“You—” Shi Huaiyi threw down his chopsticks. “Would I wish for my own son to die?”
…
Since four years ago, the Shi family would erupt in a farce during these few days every year.
The fruitless arguments usually ended with Li Bihan covering her face and weeping, and Shi Huaiyi coaxing her helplessly.
“My Mumu, my poor Mumu…”
Li Bihan kept muttering, crying until she nearly hyperventilated. Shi Sihui was busy pouring water for her mother, and as she passed Shi Meng’s seat, she kicked his chair: “Why are you just sitting there?”
Shi Meng snapped back to reality and turned to look at the grandfather clock in the living room.
It was half past seven, and Fu Xuanliao still hadn’t arrived.
Perhaps it was because of yesterday’s incident.
Shi Meng sat by the studio window for over an hour, nearly falling asleep, vaguely recalling everything that happened at the hotel last night.
He had argued with Fu Xuanliao, no wonder he wasn’t coming.
But Shi Meng also felt that Fu Xuanliao shouldn’t be angry, after all, he was the one who was choked, and the marks were still clearly visible even after a night had passed.
The second night was also drawing to a close.
Leaning against the glass window, a solitary light shone in the courtyard outside, and the surrounding trees swayed in the wind. Shi Meng suddenly thought that tomorrow, he would also be twenty-four.
The twenty-year-old Shi Meng once had nothing, while the twenty-four-year-old Shi Meng possessed everything he desired.
Even if everyone used the word “snatch” to describe his actions, Shi Meng still believed that these things rightfully belonged to him.
Like the casing and gears of a machine, they were one unit from the factory; neither could exist without the other.
In the current situation, Fu Xuanliao clearly didn’t know that he was that crucial gear.
Shi Meng pulled out his rarely used phone, opened his contacts, and hovered his finger over the number labeled “001” for a long time without tapping it.
He didn’t want to be as impatient as last time, which easily triggered his smoking habit. He tried to relax, took a few deep breaths, counted from one to a hundred in his mind, and then counted backward from a hundred to one. He didn’t wait for the person, but he did have a brief dream.
It was also in this Attic/Loft. The Shi Meng in the dream was very small, easily able to hide under the table.
Little Shi Meng loved this place and often sneaked up to stay for a while when no one was around. His luck was bad today; less than five minutes after he arrived, someone else came in. Shi Meng hugged his knees and huddled under the table, watching two pairs of legs swing back and forth before his eyes, listening to the two people talk about school, becoming quite engrossed.
Suddenly, a pair of long, slender legs belonging to a young man stopped in front of the desk. Shi Meng immediately bit his lip, not daring to breathe.
“Hey, didn’t you say you bought a new game console abroad last time?”
“Yeah, you want to play?”
“Mhm, you go plug it in first, I’ll make a call and be right there.”
Footsteps and the sound of the door opening and closing faded away. Just as Shi Meng quietly waited for the person to finish their call and leave, a face he had seen many times suddenly appeared before him.
The young Fu Xuanliao already had a handsome, spirited face. At this moment, his peach blossom eyes curved slightly upward, revealing a playful smile.
He extended a hand under the table, palm up. Fu Xuanliao said, “No one’s here. Come out quickly. Isn’t it cold staying in there?”
But this time, when Shi Meng raised his hand, he only touched the hard glass window.
He shivered from the cold, and his heart rate involuntarily sped up. As if hearing some kind of summons, Shi Meng looked out the window. At that moment, a figure flashed past the fence outside the courtyard downstairs. He didn’t think about anything, turned around, pushed open the door, and ran downstairs.
The Shi family mansion had a hundred-square-meter courtyard. Passing through the deep, lush shrubbery and past the rippling landscape pond, when he pushed open the iron gate, he came face-to-face with a person who had nowhere to hide in the wide open space.
The older woman wore a thin dress, her figure graceful and still charming. Her bright face, enveloped by the moonlight, lost some of its sharpness and gained a gentle softness, causing Shi Meng to momentarily freeze.
Seeing the door open, her eyes first lit up, but upon clearly seeing who opened the door, they quickly dimmed.
Perhaps she hadn’t expected to be discovered, the woman’s gaze flickered: “It’s you, Mengmeng.”
Although Shi Meng was somewhat disappointed, he hadn’t forgotten the kindness of his birth mother.
He lowered his eyes and softly called out: “Mom.”