Sun Rain Chapter 8
byThere was nowhere to sit, so the two of them found a sheltered corner by a wall outside the courtyard, standing face to face a short distance apart.
“Your dad… is he home?” Yang Youlan asked.
Shi Meng nodded: “Yes.”
The woman shifted a small step closer to the wall: “When you came out, did you alert anyone else?”
Shi Meng thought for a moment: “No.”
Yang Youlan belatedly realized she looked like a thief and quickly explained: “You know, your dad doesn’t want me getting too close to you.”
“Mhm.” Shi Meng acknowledged, “I know.”
The mother and son hadn’t seen each other in a long time, yet they had little to say. Yang Youlan awkwardly made small talk: “Have you been working hard lately? You look thinner.”
This was entirely unlike something she would say, so Shi Meng was stunned for a moment, only managing a meaningless sound from his throat: “Huh?”
Yang Youlan took this as dismissiveness and immediately frowned: “What do you mean, ‘huh’? You ungrateful little thing, you entered the Shi family, started living the good life, and now you don’t want your mother anymore.” She reached out and poked the fabric on Shi Meng’s chest. “Do you even remember who your real mother is? And here I came all this way just to celebrate your birthday!”
Her raised voice was sharp and shrill, but Shi Meng quietly breathed a sigh of relief—this was more like her.
It was already past midnight. Shi Meng hummed in response.
After her outburst, Yang Youlan felt she had misspoken. She looked away and huffed: “That woman, is she treating you well?”
She was asking about Li Bihan.
Shi Meng wasn’t sure what answer Yang Youlan wanted to hear. Once, when he returned from the Shi family as a child, Yang Youlan asked the same thing. He said “well,” and Yang Youlan grabbed a broom and beat him severely, cursing as she hit him: “How could she possibly treat you well? You little brat, you eat a little of their food and immediately turn against me! I raised you all this time for nothing!”
Another time he was asked, Shi Meng learned his lesson and answered “not well.” But who knew which nerve he had struck in Yang Youlan this time? She pushed and shoved Shi Meng, crying and laughing, muttering contradictory things—one moment saying, “How dare she treat you badly,” and the next, putting her hands on her hips and yelling that he deserved it, that it was retribution.
Tears streamed down her face as she laughed, like she had gone mad.
This time, Shi Meng still didn’t know how to answer, so he simply pursed his lips and remained silent.
Yang Youlan probably understood. She asked again: “What about your dad? Is he treating you well?”
Shi Meng nodded.
Yang Youlan finally relaxed, muttering: “That’s right, you’re the only son he has left. How could he possibly mistreat you?”
Shi Meng vaguely knew that Yang Youlan wasn’t asking these questions to find out if he was well, but to get a result, to find peace of mind.
For instance, this time she had again taken the liberty of bringing some things: a shirt, a dragon fruit, and a can of milk candy.
“They’re all things you like to eat.” Yang Youlan shoved these, along with the colorful plastic bags, into Shi Meng’s arms. “The shirt was handmade by your mother. Don’t you love wearing shirts? You even sleep in them.”
Shi Meng opened his mouth but ultimately didn’t refute her.
Before parting, Yang Youlan’s emotions stabilized, and she showed a rare moment of maternal affection.
“You must have heard from Teacher Sun, I adopted a cat.” She looked at Shi Meng, raising a hand to smooth the hair on his forehead, and smiled. “It jumps around all day and always loves to cling to me and meow. It’s especially like you.”
As she walked Shi Meng to the courtyard gate, the reluctance in Yang Youlan’s eyes was genuine.
This was one of the few times in the past twenty-plus years that the word “kindness” could be associated with her. The last time was four years ago, when she learned Shi Mu had late-stage leukemia and threw a fit, demanding to undergo Bone Marrow Matching.
At the time, Shi Meng felt confused, yet he also understood. After all, everyone liked Shi Mu; no one wanted him to die.
“Be quiet and gentle.” When the iron gate opened, Yang Youlan reminded him, “Don’t let your dad find out… he doesn’t want you seeing me.”
Walking a few steps inside, Shi Meng turned back on an impulse and saw Yang Youlan still standing at the gate.
She was undeniably beautiful, with two eyes like glass beads set in an oval face. Her lips, even without lipstick, possessed a delicate, moving fragility, which did not detract from the allure in her features. She loved wearing dresses, perhaps because she knew where her advantages lay.
But at this moment, the evening wind lifted the hem of her skirt, and her figure under the rusty streetlamp looked lonely. A sense of sadness inexplicably flowed through the air.
Before sleeping, Shi Meng placed the shirt beside his pillow, unwrapped a candy, and put it in his mouth, letting the sweetness spread.
Then, miraculously, he slept soundly.
The next day was bright and sunny. Shi Huaiyi, uncharacteristically, did not go out for “social engagements” but stayed home to have breakfast with his wife. Shi Meng was pulled along as a companion to sit at the dining table, which nearly brought Li Bihan to tears, truly making him the most inauspicious presence in the family.
Shi Huaiyi felt a headache and helplessness: “You still have Shi Sihui, and you have Xiao Meng. They are all your children.”
Bringing up Shi Meng only made things worse. Li Bihan became even more heartbroken: “How can they be the same? My Mu Mu was a Premature Baby. He was tiny when he was born, and before I even had a chance to see his face clearly, he was taken away… My poor Mu Mu.”
Since the topic of the premature birth was brought up, Shi Huaiyi felt guilty and had no choice but to give up on persuading her, continuing to gently comfort his wife.
On such a specific day, Shi Meng had only one thing on his mind—Fu Xuanliao hadn’t arrived. Was he deliberately not coming, or had he forgotten?
Shi Meng decided to go find him.
He changed clothes and hurried downstairs, only to remember halfway that he had forgotten something. Returning to his room and squatting by the bed to search, he caught sight of a half-eaten dragon fruit.
There had been dragon fruit on the breakfast table just now, but no one touched it; it seemed to be there just for show.
Shi Meng didn’t particularly like this strange-looking and not-very-sweet fruit. Thinking of how Yang Youlan had handed it to him last night, he decided not to throw it away. He wrapped it in a paper bag and tucked it into his pocket to take with him.
He first went to Fu Xuanliao’s residence.
The Fu family didn’t own many properties; the one they regularly lived in was a large, luxury apartment in a high-end community in the south of the city.
The community security was tight, making entry difficult. Shi Meng found an excuse and decisively pressed the number 001. The process of listening to the long beeping sound felt like waiting for judgment, and his heart rate sped up.
The person who answered the phone, however, was not Fu Xuanliao.
“Hello, who is it?”
The male voice sounded familiar. Shi Meng vaguely remembered it belonged to one of Fu Xuanliao’s friends, surnamed Gao, whose family was in the hotel business.
“I’m Shi Meng.” Although extremely reluctant, Shi Meng introduced himself, then asked, “Is Fu Xuanliao there?”
He heard a sound of surprise on the other end, followed by silence. It seemed the microphone had been covered by a hand.
After about half a minute, ambient noise carried another voice to his eardrums: “What is it?”
Fu Xuanliao’s voice was pleasant, low but not deep, rich but not heavy. Even his impatience carried a casual laziness.
Shi Meng’s ears felt warm. He switched the phone to his other hand, making the other party wait for about twenty seconds before speaking: “Yesterday was Saturday.”
“It was.”
“You didn’t come to find me.”
“Why?” Fu Xuanliao chuckled. “Am I going to have my wages docked?”
“No,” Shi Meng said decisively. “Make it up today.”
In a private room on the top floor of the Heting Club, the atmosphere was eerily quiet.
The Young Master Fu, who was enjoying a rare day off, was surrounded by dark clouds and extremely low pressure, as if he would combust at the slightest spark.
Gao Lecheng lamented: “I should have said you weren’t awake just now, and not let you take the call.”
Fu Xuanliao snorted: “It wouldn’t matter. He’d come anyway. Last time I was here discussing business, didn’t he track me down?”
“Then… why don’t you go home and hide?”
“He has my home address.” Fu Xuanliao ran a hand through his hair. “Forget it. If he wants to come, let him.”
Gao Lecheng was cautious and instructed the reception staff downstairs not to let anyone in easily.
The Fu residence was not far from Heting Club. Fifteen minutes later, Shi Meng arrived, slightly confused when a waiter stopped him at the door.
“I’m here to see someone,” he said.
Perhaps by coincidence, the person assigned to stop him was the waiter surnamed Xu whom he had given trouble to last time.
Xu Zhi’s mood had brightened after receiving the call from the top-floor Suite. Now, looking at “Young Master Shi” before him, he felt a hint of pity.
He possessed the shell of a wealthy young master, but inside he was insecure and fragile, constantly on edge at the slightest hint of trouble—his life was more miserable than that of fake young masters like them who took money for smiles without needing to invest their hearts.
However, he still had to block him. Xu Zhi asked: “Who are you looking for?”
“Fu Xuanliao.”
“CEO Fu? That’s unfortunate, he’s currently in a meeting with other guests.”
Meaning, he was unavailable.
“I’ll wait for him,” Shi Meng said.
Xu Zhi smiled: “I apologize, Heting Club only serves VIP guests…”
Shi Meng finally lifted his eyes and looked at the person in front of him. Xu Zhi shivered under his ambiguous cold gaze, nearly forgetting what he was supposed to say next.
“Non-VIP guests are kindly requested to wait in the lobby outside.”
He had expected that, upon hearing this, given Young Master Shi’s difficult temper, he would either leave or try to force his way in. After all, he had been allowed in last time; today’s obstruction was clearly deliberate.
Unexpectedly, Shi Meng remained silent for a moment, said nothing, and simply turned and walked out.
The waiting area outside the Heting Club lobby was actually reserved for doormen and drivers, allowing them to be on standby.
Shi Meng didn’t linger there but walked straight outside, standing beneath the portico.
This spot was close to the roadside sidewalk, allowing him to look up and see the large floor-to-ceiling windows on the top floor. Gao Lecheng, who loved a good spectacle, was peering down from the window and nearly made eye contact with Shi Meng, immediately shrinking back in fright.
“Your Ice Beauty is glaring up from downstairs.” He patted his chest and drew the curtains. Halfway through, he remembered something and asked Fu Xuanliao, “Want to take a look?”
Fu Xuanliao casually picked up a magazine from the table: “No.”
“How long do you think he’ll wait?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tsk, a husband-gazing stone,” Gao Lecheng sighed, shaking his head. “My heart was offered to the bright moon, but alas, the bright moon shines upon…”
Fu Xuanliao couldn’t stand it: “Shut up.”
Gao Lecheng shrugged and fell silent.
After a while, he got restless again, went to the window, pulled open the blinds, and glanced up: “Look at the sky, it seems like it’s going to rain.”
Fu Xuanliao paused his hand movement and flipped a page: “Didn’t the sun come out this morning?”
“Yeah, it’s not even summer, but the weather changes in an instant,” Gao Lecheng puzzled.
When the rain started falling, the people inside grew irritable.
Fu Xuanliao flipped through seventeen or eighteen pages in less than a minute, not absorbing a single word. He threw the magazine aside, stood up, and paced back and forth in the room.
Gao Lecheng found his behavior amusing: “It’s fine, Lao Fu. There are umbrellas at the front desk on the first floor, he won’t get soaked. Besides, isn’t his name ‘Meng’ (濛, meaning drizzle)? Maybe he likes playing in the light rain?”
Fu Xuanliao replied impatiently: “He doesn’t like rain.”
Gao Lecheng raised an eyebrow: “Oh, you know him quite well.”
Fu Xuanliao couldn’t quite figure out how he knew Shi Meng disliked rainy days. Perhaps it was because he always found him hiding under the table in the Attic whenever it rained, but when the sun was shining, he would see him leaning against the window, gazing up at the sky.
He wasn’t even afraid of the sunlight stinging his eyes.
Thinking of this, Fu Xuanliao ran a hand through his hair again, regretting that he hadn’t just gone on Saturday. It would be better than being forced to comply now using “absenteeism” as an excuse.
And that painting was still in his hands.
The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became. Fu Xuanliao strode to the door, taking a long black umbrella with him before leaving.
Gao Lecheng laughed unrestrainedly behind him: “When it comes to cherishing the fairer sex, it has to be our Lao Fu.”
Fu Xuanliao snapped: “I’m worried he’ll stand there and interfere with Heting Club’s business.”
“Don’t worry about that. Your Ice Beauty’s face is a living advertisement standing at the door.”
“Get lost.”
Beside the sidewalk downstairs, Shi Meng listened to the sound of the rain dripping. Before he could count to a hundred, he saw Fu Xuanliao’s tall figure emerge from the club entrance, his steps carrying a hint of exasperation.
Shi Meng curved his lips—I won this round again.
Fu Xuanliao, now standing in front of him, didn’t bother with pleasantries and cut straight to the chase: “Where to?”
Shi Meng couldn’t think of anything immediately and countered: “Where do you want to go?”
Fu Xuanliao sneered: “I don’t want to go anywhere. Can you let me stay here?”
Shi Meng shook his head without hesitation.
“Then fine, take your time thinking.” Fu Xuanliao opened the umbrella, covering both of them. His other hand was in his pocket, looking indifferent. “You have one whole day, you can decide how to spend it.”
The darkness overhead gave him a strange sense of security. Shi Meng looked up at the underside of the umbrella, then lowered his gaze to Fu Xuanliao.
Stared at by the scrutinizing gaze, Fu Xuanliao glared back: “Why are you looking at me? Isn’t today your birthday too?”
He was never one to swallow his anger or submit easily. The word “too” was a reminder to Shi Meng—it wasn’t that he wanted to remember, but that Shi Meng shared a birthday with him, making it impossible to forget.
Shi Meng naturally understood.
He lowered his head slightly. Having been caught in a bit of rain, his thick eyelashes were wet, making the corners of his eyes strangely red. Fu Xuanliao was half a head taller than him, and from this angle, he could clearly see Shi Meng’s open collar and a section of his pale, slender neck, where marks from violent pinching were visible on the skin.
Just the night before last, this guy was nearly choked to death by him, yet today he came looking for him as if nothing had happened, and was now being made to look like he was about to cry by a few words.
Damn it, Fu Xuanliao cursed internally. When did this guy learn how to play the victim?
In reality, Shi Meng was unaware of the psychological turmoil of the person opposite him. Although the word “too” had stung him, it was only a small, light prick that didn’t hurt much. Moreover, Fu Xuanliao only had a bad temper and spoke harshly, but his heart was extremely soft, which was evident from the umbrella tilted towards him.
What Shi Meng needed to do now was take advantage of that soft spot and maximize the benefits for himself.
There were still fourteen hours left until the end of the day.
After some thought, Shi Meng looked up: “Let’s go to the Amusement Park.”
Afraid of being rejected, and afraid Fu Xuanliao hadn’t heard clearly, he repeated stubbornly before waiting for an answer: “I want to go to the Amusement Park.”