The first reaction of a wild beast when attacked is always to retaliate, and Fu Xuanliao was no exception.

Before his teeth, still entangled with flesh, could loosen their grip, he forcefully pulled his arm away, grabbed the man's neck with precise backhand, and with a sudden burst of strength, shoved the attacker against the opposite wall.

Staggering two steps, the violent impact forced out a muffled groan from his throat. The metallic smell that rushed into his nostrils made his vision blur for a moment. After taking a deep breath, the face in front of him gradually became clear, and Shi Meng slowly released his strength.

The pain from the back of his hand made Fu Xuanliao's face contort in agony. When he noticed Meng relaxing, he found it amusing: "You really thought I wouldn't dare touch you?"

A sliver of light shone down the corridor, and Fu Xuanliao stood backlit, his deep features casting long shadows on his face. Shi Meng squinted at him, her increasingly thin breaths concealing her longing and infatuation in the darkness.

When one side gives up the struggle, the fight loses its meaning. Fu Xuanliao loosened his fingers, turned his back to the light, raised his hand to look at the wound, and muttered something under his breath.

When Fu Xuanliao went downstairs to ask the auntie for the first-aid kit, he ran into Shi Sihui, who was wearing a bathrobe and carrying a glass of red wine. She found an empty seat, glanced at the injury on Fu Xuanliao's hand, and said with a smile, "It's bleeding, do you need a tetanus shot?"

Fu Xuanliao ignored him, cleaned the wound, applied iodine, and turned to go upstairs.

Shi Sihui's voice rang out from behind: "If my brother were still alive, this wouldn't have happened..."

The rest of the words stuck in his throat; Fu Xuanliao didn't want to hear them and stepped up the stairs.

Perhaps she had drunk too much, Shi Sihui became somewhat reckless, standing up to ask, "So you just admit it like that? Have you forgotten Shi Mu, forgotten what you promised him?"

Fu Xuanliao paused, but did not turn around.

“You’ve all forgotten,” he said calmly. “Why should I remember those things?”

Shi Meng was afraid of the cold, so he always turned the heating in his room very high during the winter.

Fu Xuanliao slammed the door shut as he entered the room. He threw his coat on the bed, looked around, and saw no one. They must be taking a shower.

The innermost room on the second floor is a suite, complete with a bedroom, a small living room, and a bathroom. It was originally the bedroom that the old master of the Shi family left for his most beloved son, but it was taken away a few years ago and became the place where Shi Meng went crazy.

After pondering the word "rob," Fu Xuanliao stretched out his legs, leaned back on the sofa, and gave a mocking smile.

It's all about robbing. He wants everything that Shi Mu has, whether it's inanimate or alive, he'll take it all first.

The bathroom was well soundproofed. When Shi Meng came out after showering, she saw Fu Xuanliao lounging on the sofa with his eyes closed, looking relaxed. She was taken aback at first, as if she hadn't expected him to come back so soon. Then her gaze went down, sweeping over Fu Xuanliao's hand resting on his knee, but she looked away after a couple of seconds and walked straight to the balcony.

When Fu Xuanliao opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a tall figure shrouded in the deep night.

Similar to sleeping under a quilt with the air conditioner on, Shi Meng likes to open the window and look at the night view in a well-heated room.

A not-so-gentle breeze lifted the empty sleeves of the bathrobe, revealing slender fingers that often held paintbrushes. The fingers brushed past the wet ends of the hair by the ear, revealing a fair neck covered with water droplets, where a few abrupt finger marks could be vaguely seen, like scattered scarlet spots on the snow.

It must be admitted that it is an extremely alluring scene.

So Fu Xuanliao stood up, strode forward, wrapped his long arm around her slender waist, and the two of them tumbled onto the soft bed and rolled around.

Taking advantage of the position, he first buried his head in the still dampness of her neck, roughly biting along the red marks with his half-exposed teeth. Fu Xuanliao suddenly raised his head and asked from above, "Does it hurt?"

The intention was to make Shi Meng back down, but to everyone's surprise, he readily admitted, "It hurts."

Fu Xuanliao was annoyed and, without thinking, tightened his grip on the hand covering her shoulder: "Then why are you still biting?"

The person beneath him squinted, as if pain was a form of enjoyment for him.

“However…” Shi Meng pressed against him, the rising heat obscuring his hoarse voice, “I will make you hurt even more.”

That night, it was impossible to tell who won and who lost.

When Fu Xuanliao woke up the next day, he saw that his body, which had been relatively intact the day before, now had several bruises. He tugged at the corner of his mouth, but then frowned because of the throbbing pain in his lips. His expression was quite terrible.

As he picked up his coat and put it on, he happened to catch a glimpse of the white shirt draped over the sofa armrest. Not wanting to miss the chance to provoke him, Fu Xuanliao turned to Shi Meng and asked, "Where did you get that?"

I was still half asleep in the messy blankets when I heard this, and I glanced at it lightly.

Fu Xuanliao picked up the shirt and threw it on the bed: "I didn't look at it carefully yesterday. Put it on and let me see."

Half of her face was covered, and a section of her pale arm stretched out from under the covers. She casually lifted her shirt, turned over, and turned her back to the troublemaker.

Thinking of how this person had writhed and groaned beneath him last night, Fu Xuanliao walked to the bedside, leaned down on Shi Meng's side with one hand, pressed his ear against Shi Meng's thin earlobe, and said with a forced smile, "If you don't wear it, how am I supposed to know if you're surpassing your teacher or just imitating him poorly?"

On the morning of the fourth Sunday in October, Shi Meng got up and first tore off the calendar page marked with Saturday in red pen. Then she took out her craft scissors and cut the shirt she had only worn once into tiny pieces.

The top floor attic was cold in winter and hot in summer, and no one in the family wanted to go up there, so Shi Meng asked his father for it and decorated it into a studio.

The thin-painted canvas I finished last month has dried completely. As I gently brush my fingertips across the colorful patches on the canvas, my turbulent emotions finally settle down.

He took the canvas off the easel, rolled it up, and stuffed it into the backpack behind him.

When I went out and went downstairs, I ran into Shi Sihui, who was coming out of her room on the second floor. After a day of rest, she tied her hair up, put on her glasses, and resumed her capable and professional look.

Seeing the painting behind Shi Meng, Shi Sihui asked, "Are we going to Teacher Sun's?"

Shi Meng walked ahead and mumbled a "hmm".

"He's just someone who tutors art students preparing for college entrance exams," Shi Si said with a hint of sarcasm. "You can make money selling paintings all by yourself, why would you want to learn from him?"

"……Um."

The two went downstairs together and walked outside. When the sunlight shone on them, the marks on Shi Meng's lips and neck were clearly visible.

The surging resentment and indignation were forcibly suppressed, replaced by contempt and mockery. Looking at Shi Meng's overly delicate profile, Shi Sihui said, "Your mother lives nearby, doesn't she?"

Shi Meng reached out and opened the car door. Hearing this, she turned her head to look, her expression slightly confused.

"It's hard to change the habit of flirting with other women, especially when it comes to being a third party or stealing someone else's love." While talking about other people's affairs, Shi Sihui's eyes were fixed on Shi Meng. "You have to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn't bring shame to our Shi family again."

While waiting at a red light, I saw a child fall down on the roadside outside the car window, and a woman who looked like his mother was holding him and comforting him.

If crying when in pain is natural, then learning to be silent after enduring pain is a talent. Shi Meng saw that the child was still crying incessantly, his expression as indifferent as still water, and even found it noisy.

Teacher Sun lives in the east of the city, on the first floor of a multi-story building in an old residential area. Shi Meng parked the car under the north wall, walked into the courtyard with the iron gate half open, first pulled up the collar of his sweater, then went through the west-facing doorway and climbed the steps into the main house.

Older people living on the first floor often don't have the habit of closing their doors, especially since their own art class is right next door. Sun Yanfeng was pouring cat food into the bowl when she heard her cat meow, jump down from the dresser, and waddle to the door.

"Mengmeng is here." Upon seeing who it was, Sun Yanfeng waved and said, "Why are you standing there? Come in and sit down."

Shi Meng sat down on the chair furthest outside the table. The orange cat with its glossy fur rubbed against his trouser leg under the table. He subtly pulled his leg back.

“It’s quite attached to you.” Sun Yanfeng carried the teapot back to the living room and poured a cup for Shi Meng. “It usually disappears whenever someone comes to the house. It seems you two have a special connection.”

After taking the hot tea and holding it in his hands, Shi Meng finally had a moment to glance at the cat below. The cat was also looking up at him, silent and staring intently, as if confirming the word "fate".

Accustomed to his beloved student's taciturn nature, Sun Yanfeng turned to move the easel, chatting casually as he worked, like any elderly man: "Your mother recently got a cat, a stray, black and white, named Mumu, the Mu of wood. If you have some free time sometime..."

After setting up the easel and turning around, I saw that Shi Meng had already laid out the canvas he brought on the table and was applying varnish with a brush. It seemed that he hadn't heard a word of what I was saying.

Sun Yanfeng sighed, watched for a while, then went back into the house with his hands behind his back.

Next door is a painting class. On weekdays, Sun Yanfeng teaches art students in the school's art classroom, and on weekends he teaches at home. Sunday mornings are the busiest day for students.

Thus, Shi Meng had half a day of peace and quiet, carefully applying oil to the painting and mounting it in a narrow wooden frame, a task that took him more than three hours.

There was a brief interlude in the middle. While looking for a screwdriver, he opened the drawer of the dresser and found several paintings rolled up inside. One of them had unfolded, revealing a corner of the signature. The elegant character "沐" reminded Shi Meng of Fu Xuanliao's words that morning, "Dong Shi imitating Xi Shi".

Shi Meng's slightly parted lips trembled a few times, her hands clenched and unclenched, but ultimately, remembering that it wasn't hers, she forcibly suppressed her destructive urges.

Before noon, Shi Meng was about to leave.

There was no way to keep him here, so Sun Yanfeng quickly washed his hands and came out of the classroom: "The painting is still the same. I'll see how it goes and help you sell it?"

Shi Meng nodded and said, "Thank you, teacher."

Not wanting anyone to leave empty-handed, Sun Yanfeng reached for a pack of cigarettes on the dresser and stuffed it into Shi Meng's bag: "A gift from an old friend. He didn't know I have lung problems; even a weak one can't smoke..."

The backpack zipper was zipped up tightly, and Shi Meng didn't put anything in the bag.

“I’m not smoking anymore,” he said, tossing the empty bag over his shoulder.

Sun Yanfeng was momentarily stunned, and only after seeing the person to the door did he remember to ask, "Why did you stop smoking?"

As far as I remember, Shi Menggang had only been smoking for about six months, and he was really addicted. When he came here last month, he still had Ms. Bao's cigarettes in his pocket. Moreover, this kid is very stubborn. He won't listen to any of his elders' advice. The only thing that can make him change is his own command.

However, Shi Meng did not want to answer the question, and simply said "I've given it up" before continuing to walk away.

“Your mother hasn’t been feeling well lately.” Sun Yanfeng followed after her, as if afraid she wouldn’t have a chance to say it. “She misses you a lot. If you have time, go see her.”

When an elder made such a request, Shi Meng showed no sign of being moved.

At noon, the sun was high in the sky. He looked up at the sky and saw the sun's rays spreading out in circles, seemingly endless, shining on his pale, bloodless face, making him dizzy.

It was evening again, and Shi Meng had a dream.

It was pitch black, with only sounds—fragmented sounds: the jarring crash of dishes falling, the booming of tables and chairs toppling over, the thunder, the rain—all growing wildly in the dark, sunless corners, like mold spreading uncontrollably.

He heard his mother's hysterical cries, his companions' innocent laughter, and the sound of drawing paper being torn apart drifting far away.

"My name is Shi Mu, and I'm your older brother," came the child's innocent voice.

"In this family, you must know your place." —The authoritative man.

"Save him, save him, please, Mom begs you." A shrill female voice cried out.

"Why wasn't it you who died?" she accused, her voice trembling with tears.

"You think that just because you've entered this house you're a member of the Shi family?" A detached reminder.

"Just wait, you'll get your comeuppance, you'll all get your comeuppance." A barrage of curses.

...

Sometimes, I would cover my ears in my sleep, curl up in a chair, and when I woke up, I couldn't even tell where I was.

Slowly reaching out her hand, she landed in the hazy darkness outside the window. As her mind cleared, Shi Meng remembered that today was the most hated Sunday, and listlessly closed her eyes again.

Another six days to go, until next Saturday...

"Awake?" A deep voice came from behind, interrupting Shi Meng's thoughts.

At first, she shrank her shoulders, and when she realized who was in the room, Shi Meng almost immediately turned around and stood up barefoot.

The last voice in my dream came from a boy, unlike anyone else's. He said, "You draw so beautifully."

He also said, "Don't be afraid, no one here will bully you."

In order to protect this safe territory, Shi Meng rushed forward without hesitation, and only when he held the person in his arms did his panicked heartbeat return to calm.

A soft chuckle sounded in her ear, and the person she was hugging spoke very close by: "So happy to see me?"

Shi Meng remained silent and motionless.

Seemingly amused by his reaction, Fu Xuanliao chuckled again: "Where are your shoes?"

Not wanting to listen any longer, Shi Meng used the same trick again, leaning back to shut him up.

This kiss was gentler and less forceful than yesterday's, perhaps because I was hurt yesterday and had to restrain myself.

Also, because it's Sunday, anything more would be considered stolen.

Restraint and unbridled behavior are both contradictory and harmonious. As their lips entwined at the end, Fu Xuanliao looked down and saw Shi Meng's two legs climbing up his waist. He couldn't help but scoff, "You really have no manners."

Slender ankles crossed at her lower back, the bare insteps swaying and rising with her breath. Shi Meng wrapped her arms around Fu Xuanliao's neck, her back pressed against the cold white wall, but her eyes were filled with warm colors.

The moment their eyes met, Fu Xuanliao paused, his expression a mixture of surprise and gloom, before quickly returning to his carefree smile.

His warm breath brushed against her neck as Fu Xuanliao leaned closer, asking half-jokingly, "Shi Meng, you don't actually like me, do you?"

I heard long ago that only memories acknowledged by both parties can be considered a true story, while those forgotten by one party are at best nothing more than a sensational one-person show.

At this moment, Shi Meng suddenly remembered the sun he had seen at noon, scorching and dazzling, yet still making people want to get closer.

So he chose to close his eyes, tighten his arms, and remain silent despite the pain.