After the farce ended, Pan Jiawei muttered, bewildered, "Honey... what kind of treasure did this guy hide in his pocket?"
Shi Meng touched his pocket through the fabric of his clothes. There was a wallet inside, and a photo tucked inside that. He had seen it at the highway service station before, so he knew what it was.
I also vaguely know that the "treasure" that person was talking about was not just this one thing.
"Shall we go eat hot pot again?"
Shi Meng heard Pan Jiawei ask.
He was stunned for a while before he remembered that such a thing had happened.
“Go ahead.” Watching the police car drive away and disappear at the end of the road, Shi Meng replied, “It’s a promise, I’ll treat you.”
This was the first time Shi Meng had come to the city center since moving to Xuncheng.
Since it was still a while before lunchtime, I went to the hospital first.
He went to a hospital in the city center. Last week, his attending physician advised him to switch to this hospital, saying that his mentor, who was very experienced in hand rehabilitation, was practicing there.
When Shi Meng registered for a consultation, the doctor gave him a rubber band and asked him to stretch it continuously with his injured hand. What would be a simple action for an ordinary person was difficult for Shi Meng to do, and his hand began to shake violently after just a few repetitions.
Pan Jiawei broke out in a cold sweat watching this. He went into the hot pot restaurant and ordered a health-preserving broth with lamb, saying it would help Shi Meng recover.
Unfortunately, I have a strong palate and can't stomach bland food, so I ended up having it served with a very spicy dipping sauce.
He ate slowly, taking small bites. Pan Jiawei, watching from the opposite side, couldn't help but slow down his own eating.
Shi Meng brought his quiet nature to the dinner table, which bored Pan Jiawei so much that he watched the children at other tables celebrating their birthdays and even counted the number of flowers on their cakes.
As I was idly counting again, I suddenly heard a voice: "Aren't you using your phone?"
"Huh?" Pan Jiawei turned around, making sure the person opposite him was asking him before answering, "No, it's impolite to play on your phone at the dinner table."
“Go ahead and have fun,” Shi Meng said. “I know it’s boring to eat with me.”
Thinking back to the few times I ate out with that person, the scenes were similar: everyone around us was laughing and making noise, but their table was completely silent. At the time, I didn't think anything was wrong, but now I realize that no one could stand that kind of atmosphere.
Without warning, the thought of that person came to mind again, and Shi Meng unconsciously frowned.
Pan Jiawei, seeing his self-reproach, quickly said, "How can it be boring? When I came with my classmates before, it was so noisy. This time it's quiet, so we can savor it properly."
Shi Meng didn't reply, but instead looked down and fiddled with the slices of meat in the bowl, making sure the other side was also covered in sauce.
Taking advantage of the conversation starting, Pan Jiawei coughed lightly, and while using a slotted spoon to scoop a few meatballs into the pot, he asked casually, "That old...that Mr. Wei at your house today, is he your friend?"
“No.” Shi Meng’s eyes were still downcast. “He bought my paintings.”
"Oh, I see." Pan Jiawei nodded, as if relieved. "That's right, you are a great painter."
After a moment of silence, Pan Jiawei picked up a crab meat bun shaped like a steamed bun and said, "I didn't know your paintings were so valuable. I thought you were a student at the Academy of Fine Arts."
That's not wrong. Shi Meng did study in the oil painting department of the Academy of Fine Arts for four years and is now learning to paint with Teacher Ma.
However, Shi Meng didn't mention these unimportant things. Instead, he said, "I'm two years older than you."
Perhaps not expecting him to mention his age, Pan Jiawei was taken aback at first, and then suddenly became embarrassed: "Being two years older is nothing. You look young, and people would believe you if you said you were a freshman."
Shi Meng was wearing a hooded sweatshirt today, and he had taken off his coat, which didn't belong to him, and draped it over his arm. He ran into a classmate when he entered the hot pot restaurant, winked at Pan Jiawei for a while, and then sent a WeChat message asking who the handsome junior he brought was, as he had never seen him before.
Pan Jiawei replied with a single word: "Get lost."
The current topics are taking an ambiguous turn, causing Pan Jiawei to sit up straight, his mind racing with all sorts of thoughts.
He studied biology, and his classmates were always going in and out of the lab with long faces. The people he met in the band were all his peers in similar situations. They gathered together to be rebellious and manic because their lives were so dull and boring.
Shi Meng was different from all of them.
The first time Pan Jiawei saw him, he couldn't take his eyes off him, even though he was just squatting in the yard planting flowers, wearing a soft-looking cotton loungewear.
Undeniably, good looks are a prerequisite for attracting people, but Pan Jiawei has seen plenty of good-looking people. His band's bassist's girlfriend is an internet celebrity with millions of followers. People turn around to look at her beauty when she walks down the street. He admits that she is pretty, but that's all she is.
Shi Meng's beauty is different; it is unknown and mysterious, like a chemical reaction that will never occur until the reagent is poured in.
This was enough to pique Pan Jiawei's interest. Everyone around him praised Shi Meng's painting, but only he felt that Shi Meng was more beautiful than any other painting. He was vivid, lively, and captivating even from afar.
So when the conversation reached this point, Pan Jiawei naturally assumed that the final layer of mystery was about to be revealed.
Unexpectedly, Meng spoke again, but the topic was unrelated: "Is Aunt Pan not home today?"
After a long pause, Pan Jiawei nodded blankly and said, "Yes, she went shopping with her best friend."
Shi Meng put down her chopsticks and looked at the person opposite her: "So, does she know that you invited me out to dinner?"
Pan Jiawei was taken aback again, and hesitated before saying, "She probably doesn't know, but I'll tell her when I get back..."
"How do we tell her?" Shi Meng interjected, "Tell her you asked me out because I wanted to hear you sing?"
Do you think she'll believe it?
Shi Meng either remained silent or uttered surprising remarks that left Pan Jiawei speechless.
He knew that Shi Meng could probably guess what he was thinking, but he didn't expect him to confess face to face in this way.
"You still want to ask who that guy surnamed Fu is to me, right?" Shi Mengzi, who had been holding back his anger since the afternoon, finally found an outlet. "When I used my methods to keep him by my side, he was about the same age as you are now."
Like a series of huge waves churning up a calm surface, Shi Meng continued relentlessly, "Do you know what I've done?"
“I have stolen other people’s paintings. I am an illegitimate child. I was raised by a prostitute.”
“I just slandered him and sent him to the police station. Aren’t you afraid?”
"Everyone is afraid of me and keeps their distance, so why are you all sticking up to me?"
As the last question mark marked the end of the gathering, the atmosphere froze to freezing point.
Shi Meng lowered his head, his chest heaving with each breath. The brief impulse passed, followed by a profound emptiness.
He felt like he was walking in a vast desert, weighed down by the sandstorm, unable to breathe, yet unable to find his way out.
He thought that after saying all this, the person on the other end would be afraid and would back down. Even if they could tolerate his coldness, taciturnity, and unpredictable moods, they couldn't bear his past.
Unexpectedly, when Shi Meng looked up again, the person opposite him was still sitting in the same spot.
Pan Jiawei's expression showed surprise and worry, but not the familiar disgust and fear that Shi Meng displayed.
He poured water for Shi Meng, but then worried that the water would get cold and be bad for his health, so he asked a passing waiter for a fresh pot.
When the steaming cup was handed to him, Pan Jiawei looked at Shi Meng and asked cautiously, "Does talking so much all of a sudden make you feel uncomfortable?"
Only when they walked along the brightly lit streets at night, a cool breeze blowing against their faces, did Shi Meng snap out of her daze and apologize to Pan Jiawei for her earlier aggressive behavior: "I'm sorry, I..."
"Hey, hey, stop it." Pan Jiawei interrupted him, "We've already exposed each other's secrets, why be so polite?"
Shi Meng has clearly revealed all his secrets, as for Pan Jiawei's...
When Pan Jiawei found out what Shi Meng was thinking, he grinned and said, "It's because I'm interested in you. I've been keeping it a secret all this time, and I thought you hadn't noticed."
This was a confession. Shi Meng looked away, somewhat uncomfortable, and said, "Well, I'm sorry."
Pan Jiawei scratched his head: "Did I get rejected?"
Shi Meng couldn't answer.
"Let me think about it some more, there's no rush." Pan Jiawei campaigned for himself, "Although I'm not as handsome as that guy who drives a Land Rover, nor as rich as that old... cough, that Mr. Wei, I'm young, and I have unlimited potential."
Shi Meng was still puzzled: "You know about my past, aren't you afraid?"
“What’s there to be afraid of? A hero’s origins don’t matter. I’m from a rural area, and they haven’t looked down on me.” Pan Jiawei shrugged. “As for what you said about stealing paintings… to be honest, I don’t really believe it. You’re such a good painter, and you’re so dedicated to your art. You even painted a picture of steamed buns for a breakfast stall as if you were submitting it to a competition. How could you possibly steal someone else’s painting?”
Shi Meng was suddenly stunned, overwhelmed by this trust that required no explanation or defense.
“There must be some misunderstanding here, like that Land Rover guy today…” Pan Jiawei said, still confused about the known situation, “But if you forced him, why is he chasing after you now?”
Shi Meng has a natural aversion to the word "chase," and subconsciously denies it: "He came to see me make a fool of myself."
"Huh?" Pan Jiawei looked surprised. "That can't be right."
Recalling his previous interactions with Fu Xuanliao, Pan Jiawei pondered for a moment and said, "Let me clarify that I'm not trying to speak for him, but I just feel that he should be here to apologize?"
“He acts like a child who has made a mistake in front of you. He listens to everything you say, and comes over as soon as you beckon him. He doesn’t seem to be forced at all.”
That night, Shi Meng didn't sleep very well.
The next day, I woke up feeling groggy and was still in a daze when I received Jiang Xue's call. I accidentally threw the eggshells in my hand into the pot as well.
Jiang Xue couldn't see him, so she had no idea he was out of his mind. She asked directly on the phone, "I heard that guy surnamed Fu went to jail for stealing?"
When asked how she knew, the person on the other end replied, "That guy didn't dare to disturb his family, so he called Gao Lecheng and asked him to help find someone to check some things."
Shi Meng didn't ask what he was looking for, he just said "Oh".
After a long silence, Jiang Xue boldly guessed when she spoke again: "Did you identify him?"
Shi Meng said, "He admitted it himself."
That's it.
Jiang Xue sighed: "I knew it, is he crazy to go to Xuncheng to steal things?"
Shi Meng remained silent and used chopsticks to remove the broken eggshells from the pot.
“If he’s watching you too closely and it makes you uncomfortable, you can call the police, but identifying someone…” Jiang Xue paused halfway through her sentence, looking quite troubled, “Doing this just proves that you still have feelings for him…”
Shi Meng suddenly spoke up, interrupting her: "He admitted it himself, I didn't call the police."
He didn't want to continue the conversation, and hung up the phone, saying he had other things to do.
Originally, having something to do was just an excuse, but unexpectedly, after having breakfast in the morning, I received a call from the police station.
It was the policeman I met yesterday. He asked if I had time in the morning and if it was convenient for me to come to the police station.
"There are still some things we don't understand about the stolen painting, and we hope you will cooperate with the investigation."
Time flies, and so it passes.
Upon arrival, the police took his statement, gaining a comprehensive and detailed understanding of when the painting for the breakfast shop was started, when it was completed, and when it was hung on the shop's wall.
Shi Meng guessed that the information collected this time might be used to investigate whether that person's statement was true or false.
It is unclear what he said when questioned by the police, but judging from the current situation, he at least did not refute Shi Meng's accusations, because the police did not pursue his flawed "testimony" from yesterday.
After giving his statement, as he was leaving, Shi Meng handed the police the paper bag in his hand, asking them to pass it on. Inside was a neatly folded coat.
The police officer looked busy, closed his notebook, and pointed to the interrogation room at the end of the corridor: "The person is inside, just leave him at the door."
Shi Meng hesitated for a moment, but still went over.
The interrogation room door was ajar, indicating that the replacement police officer had not yet arrived.
As I put down the paper bag and looked up, my gaze met the person sitting inside through the crack in the door and the sparse iron bars.
The blood-red eyes revealed that he hadn't slept all night, yet they stared intently at him, causing Shi Meng to flinch, as if his thoughts had been laid bare.
"You came to see me?"
Shi Meng heard Fu Xuanliao ask.
He sat in a chair, his shirt slightly wrinkled, without handcuffs, as the towering, sturdy railings would have been enough to restrict his movements.
The powerful head of the Fu family, who was once a prominent figure in Fengcheng, was imprisoned in a cramped interrogation room on suspicion of theft, which became another source of amusement for gossip.
Despite his destitution, Fu Xuanliao still wore a smile.
At times like these, the more timid Shi Meng felt, the more he had to command himself not to run away.
He pointed to the ground: "Your clothes."
Fu Xuanliao looked at him through the railing: "Where is my baby?"
Shi Meng gritted his teeth, wanting to say that there was no treasure, and that he was no treasure.
But he couldn't say it, because once he did, it would be tantamount to admitting that he knew Fu Xuanliao had come here not to laugh at him, but to be kind to him and to protect him.
He resisted almost blindly—even if he were to start a stable, healthy relationship, that person could never be Fu Xuanliao.
"I didn't touch your things."
After Shi Meng finished speaking, he was about to leave when Fu Xuanliao said, "Wait a moment."
The moment he was called back, the weight on Shi Meng's heart finally began to lift.
He thought that Fu Xuanliao should question him and lose his temper, then everything could get back on track, he wouldn't have to lie anymore, he wouldn't have to feel guilty, and he wouldn't have to worry about the uncontrollable development that would follow.
But Fu Xuanliao did not.
"Don't water the flowers in the yard too often. The soil is moist enough after a week of rain."
It refers to the marigolds that Shi Meng planted in the yard, which have already sprouted flower buds as tall as half a finger.
The corridor is by the window, and the thin morning sunlight shines on you.
Behind him, Fu Xuanliao spoke in the most ordinary tone, saying the most common words: "It's a flower that grows towards the sun, just like my baby, it doesn't like to get wet in the rain."
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