That night, Shi Mengzhen had a dream.
He dreamt that he was lying on the cold ground, his eyes were covered, and he couldn't see anything.
His other senses, beyond sight, became acute in the darkness. He heard footsteps approaching and then felt a piercing pain in his right hand.
He tried to escape, but his hands and feet were bound and he couldn't move. He tried to call for help, but no sound came out when he opened his mouth.
He was jolted awake by the pain, raised his right hand, and found that, just as in his dream, he was powerless and couldn't even hold a pen. The fear, which he couldn't dodge in time, slowly spread, quickly expanding into a quantifiable wound. Shi Meng stared wide-eyed at it, panting heavily, as if he had reached a dead end and was warned that there was no way out, but he still insisted on struggling forward in his death throes.
How could you remain indifferent when your hand, which you use to draw, is injured?
The feigned nonchalance is not only for others to see, but also to deceive oneself.
Shi Meng buried her face in her bandaged palms, despising herself for being able to survive in such a state, while also convincing herself that since she had survived, why not just live on as best she could?
It's all deception anyway, so it doesn't matter how you do it.
When Shi Meng got up in the morning, she went downstairs and toasted two slices of bread, just like yesterday. She slowly fried an egg with her left hand, added a lettuce leaf, and when she bit into it, she couldn't taste the burnt flavor.
After eating, his complexion improved, and his body stopped trembling, as if his low blood sugar had been relieved. He had a reason to live again.
After making dumplings yesterday, there was still some meat left. The meat grinder shredded it, which was just enough for one stir-fry. Shi Meng planned to go buy some side dishes.
Before opening the gate, Shi Meng looked around through the iron fence. The streets were sparsely populated in the early morning. Several elderly people who got up early were practicing Tai Chi in the open space by the roadside. Everything was peaceful and as usual.
Xuncheng is located further north than Fengcheng, and it's a bit colder in autumn. Passing by a steaming breakfast stall on the street, Shi Meng watched the wisps of white smoke rising and couldn't help but wrap her coat tighter. She was greeted by the enthusiastic proprietress, and after a slight hesitation, she went in and ordered a cup of soy milk.
The shop is small, with three to five customers dining inside, and the tables are mostly set with steamed buns and noodles.
The proprietress had just served a table of wontons and was wiping her hands on her apron as she walked toward the cashier: "Don't you want some staple food?"
Shi Meng shook his head: "I've already eaten."
The proprietress understood. She picked up the kettle that was simmering on the stove, skillfully grabbed a paper cup, tilted the kettle, and poured the steaming soy milk into the cup from the spout until the pale yellow liquid reached the rim. She then put the lid on, put it in a bag, and inserted a straw.
As she handed over the bag, the proprietress still had a friendly smile on her face: "I heard from Aunt Pan that you can draw?"
Shi Meng was not good at communicating with people. When he held something warm in his palm, he was stunned for a moment. His slow reaction was taken as an admission by the other party.
The proprietress, who looked to be only in her forties, had a round face and two dimples when she smiled, making it inexplicably difficult to refuse her.
She pointed to the empty white wall in the small shop: "We're planning to renovate this shop, and we're worried that this wall is too empty. None of us in the family have any sense of aesthetics, so why don't you design something for us and paint a picture to hang here?"
On the way back from the supermarket, Shi Meng received a call from Jiang Xue and told her about it.
"You just agree to something when someone asks you for a favor?"
"Um."
"Have you discussed compensation?"
Shi Meng reported a number.
Jiang Xue rolled her eyes and said, "They probably don't know that your paintings start at seven figures at auction."
“It’s alright,” Shi Meng said. “I don’t paint as well as I used to.”
A painter whose hands are crippled is like a track and field athlete with a broken leg; no matter how much ambition they have, there's no use for it. There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone before he said, "As long as you still want to paint, that's fine. Taking on some low-pressure work is good too; consider it rehabilitation."
Shi Meng knew that Jiang Xue often called him to make sure he was safe, although he didn't know when he had shown suicidal tendencies.
All he could say was, "Sister Xue, I'm doing fine here, don't worry."
Jiang Xue pretended not to understand what he said: "I'm not worried about you right now, I'm worried about that shameless person who keeps bothering you."
Thinking back on yesterday's events, especially the brief conversation in the evening, a distraught face suddenly appeared in my mind.
Shi Meng looked down at the ground: "He's gone."
"……real?"
"Um."
"You've already seen him?"
"Um."
"Let me make this clear from the beginning: your whereabouts weren't revealed by me or Gao Lecheng; you found out on your own."
"Yes, I know."
As if finding it unbelievable, Jiang Xue asked again, "According to Gao Lecheng's description, he seemed quite determined when he went there... Did you really call the police?"
"No," Shi Meng replied.
Knowing he didn't want to talk about it, Jiang Xue didn't press him further and changed the subject: "But I heard that he met with your birth mother before he went there and also went to the Shi family. This guy went all that way and didn't bring you anything?"
Filled with questions, Shi Meng returned to his residence and walked around the courtyard twice. He carefully checked the windowsill, the fence, the stone table and benches, and even the temporary flower bed made of bricks, but found nothing.
Thinking that the man had also come empty-handed yesterday, Shi Meng didn't think much of it, assuming that he had just made a casual trip on a whim.
After all, today is Sunday.
I made stir-fried green peppers and pork for lunch. I added too much salt because I couldn't use my left hand, but it was very appetizing. Shi Meng ate half a bowl more than usual.
After the afternoon nap time, Aunt Pan from next door knocked on the door and handed me a round pomelo.
“Wei brought these back from Jiawei. They’re big, fresh, thin-skinned, and juicy. You should try them.”
Jiawei is her son, in his early twenties. His main job is a graduate student at Xun University, and his side job is playing rock music. Meng can hear his heart-wrenching singing every holiday.
Shi Meng accepted the heavy pomelo with both hands and thanked Aunt Pan. Aunt Pan smiled and said, "Don't mention it. I didn't expect the breakfast shop owner to actually ask you for a painting. I thought she was just joking."
That was the reason.
The most striking feature of living in an urban village the size of a town is the close-knit neighborly relationship; what happened in the morning is known throughout the entire street by the afternoon.
Shi Meng said, "She paid me."
"Did I give you a stack of breakfast vouchers to use as cash?" Aunt Pan could tell from Shi Meng's expression, "She's so stingy, even though I praised her for so long about how well you draw."
Shi Meng could roughly guess that she felt embarrassed and that she had caused him trouble, so he tried his best to tell her that it was not a trouble at all.
“Such a big sheet of paper.” Shi Meng gestured with his arm, indicating, “I’ve already drafted half of it.”
Aunt Pan had no idea what painting was all about. After hearing his description, she exclaimed in astonishment, "How long would it take to finish painting on such a big sheet of paper?"
Two people with completely different ways of thinking, through patient communication, eventually resolved the problem.
"You mean this canvas can't be used on a modern easel?"
Shi Meng nodded: "Yes, but I bought a new one, it will arrive soon."
Aunt Pan was relieved: "Such a big sheet of paper, and the easel must be quite large too, right? If it's inconvenient, I'll have Jiawei help you carry it!"
Shi Meng said no, he felt he could move into the house.
However, when the deliveryman brought the cardboard box, which was as tall as a person, to the door, Shi Meng tried to lift it with one hand but failed. Only then did she understand what other buyers meant by "very heavy" in the product reviews.
It was already evening, and the deliveryman, in a hurry to deliver the package, simply dropped it at the door and left. After trying several methods without success, Shi Meng turned back into the house, intending to retrieve the small cart.
Jiang Xue also prepared the stroller for him, saying that his hands were inconvenient and it would come in handy for grocery shopping or strolling around. Shi Meng was embarrassed to pull the stroller out before, but now that he really had no choice, he thought that borrowing its weight should work.
After tidying up the room and removing the cloth bags from the cart to make room for the suitcase, he dragged it to the door. Just as he pushed open the half-closed door, he saw a tall man carrying the suitcase that he couldn't lift on his shoulder, and the two bumped into each other face to face.
Fu Xuanliao was actually panicked.
He stood guard by the wall outside the courtyard. When he saw the deliveryman arrive, Shi Meng opened the door and came out. He watched as Shi Meng circled the box several times, unable to lift it for a long time. He was eager to help, but he waited until Shi Meng went back inside before daring to come out from the corner of the wall.
He had planned to grab the things and run away before the door was closed, but Shi Meng returned so quickly. With one foot dangling outside, Fu Xuanliao slowly put it on the ground. Suddenly, Fu Xuanliao blurted out, "I'm here."
Compared to Fu Xuanliao's panic, Shi Meng appeared extremely calm. He glanced at the person in front of him, then at the box that was easily carried on his shoulder. He lowered his eyes for a moment as if weighing the pros and cons, but in just a few seconds, he stepped aside to make way, clearing the passage into the house.
It wasn't until he placed the box in the center of the room and stood up straight that Fu Xuanliao realized what a stupid thing he had said.
"I slept in my car last night." After clarifying the situation, he quickly added, "I forgot to give you something."
Shi Meng ignored him, took out a utility knife from the drawer next to him, and squatted down to unpack the package.
At first, Fu Xuanliao was worried that he would cut his hand. He wanted to help him but couldn't find the right tools. After watching for a while, he was sure that Shi Meng was quite skilled at unpacking. He told him to go to the car to get something and then went out.
Fu Xuanliao's car was parked in a paid parking lot on another street, and it took more than ten minutes to go back and forth, even if he ran. Fortunately, when he returned, the door was still open, and Shi Meng was still squatting in the same spot, staring intently at a page that looked like an assembly instruction manual.
Overall, the technical difficulty is not high, but it requires two strong hands.
Fu Xuanliao put down his things, leaned over to look at it for a while, and asked, "Is it an easel?"
Shi Meng still didn't answer, so Fu Xuanliao stopped asking, quickly scanned the installation guide, rolled up his sleeves, squatted down, and picked up the screwdriver on the ground.
The easel was simple in construction, but some parts were quite heavy. When the assembled frame was put on the easel, the force was uneven on both sides due to the force of tightening the screws. Fu Xuanliao couldn't reach out to press it down. At that moment, Meng walked over and stepped on the raised leg of the easel, making it easier for him to move.
It was installed in less than ten minutes. Holding the frame, Fu Xuanliao stood the easel upright and leveled it. He then adjusted a few tight spots to make it more stable and tightened the last screw. When he looked up, he saw Shi Meng had returned to his squatting position and was looking down at the insulated bag on the ground.
Even though it was clearly meant for him, he just stared at it. He was clearly curious about what was inside, but he didn't even touch the zipper.
Fu Xuanliao's heart clenched painfully. Long ago, many times, Shi Meng had silently observed like this, wanting to speak but daring not to.
These things clearly belonged to him.
Fu Xuanliao stood up, walked over, and lifted the insulated bag along with the blindfold onto the table. He quickly opened it and took out the food from inside, placing it on the table one by one.
“It’s cooked food that Aunt Li and Aunt Fang prepared for you,” he explained. “The car’s heating wasn’t on, and the ice packs inside hadn’t melted yet. You can just put them in the microwave to defrost them before eating.”
As she spoke, she picked up another bulging bag: "These are your autumn and winter clothes; I brought everything you can wear at home."
Shi Meng glanced at it, then looked back at the food, seemingly unaware that the "home" Fu Xuanliao mentioned referred to the Fu family where they had lived together.
Undeterred by the cold reception, Fu Xuanliao asked, "Where do you plan to put the easel?"
Following Shi Meng's eye signal, Fu Xuanliao moved the easel to a position in the living room near the balcony.
The balcony faces south, so it should get plenty of natural light during the day. After adjusting the easel to a position that provided ample light without being directly exposed to the sun, Fu Xuanliao straightened up with satisfaction. His gaze inadvertently fell on a thermos with a cartoon rabbit design on the windowsill, containing some beef jerky.
Remembering that Li Bihan had mentioned that Shi Meng liked these things when he was a child, Fu Xuanliao couldn't help but smile, thinking that he really hadn't changed.
The memory experience of an event lies in the comparison of two images. In the past, Shi Meng expressed her liking by watching the same cartoons and eating the same things every day. Now, Shi Meng expresses her care by looking at her eyes and taking actions. It seems that different times and spaces have interacted in some way, making two seemingly completely different people overlap.
How could I only just realize that he's always been so adorable?
To delay, Fu Xuanliao stayed in the bathroom and washed his hands three times.
When he came out, he smelled the aroma of food, looked up at his watch, and suddenly realized that it was already dinner time.
The kitchen here is open-plan, and a tall, slender figure was busy back and forth in front of the stove, which made Fu Xuanliao stop and stare.
When Shi Meng turned around while holding the plate, he hurriedly looked away, bent down to pick up the coat he had casually tossed on the chair while assembling the easel, and draped it over his arm.
"Then I'll go first..."
"Want to eat?"
A sentence that wasn't from the heart was interrupted by two words. Fu Xuanliao looked up at Shi Meng with almost surprise. The latter was also looking at him, but still had no expression.
Shi Meng raised the plate in his hand and asked again, "Want to eat?"
Although still shaken by yesterday's inability to defend himself, Fu Xuanliao had no reason to refuse Shi Meng's invitation.
Dinner consisted of leftover dumplings from yesterday, along with a piece of braised beef that I had just taken out of an insulated bag. The rest was placed in a glass bowl, sealed, and stored in the refrigerator.
When Fu Xuanliao realized that he had more dumplings on his plate than Shi Meng, he belatedly realized that he had been invited to stay for dinner simply because he had helped carry supplies, and it was just Shi Meng's way of expressing gratitude.
The scene unexpectedly overlapped with the scene at the Fu family's house on New Year's Eve last year. Thinking of how Shi Meng cracked the last two eggs into his bowl, intending to leave something precious for someone he cherished, Fu Xuanliao felt a surge of bittersweet nostalgia in addition to his sense of loss.
He took clean chopsticks and put the dumplings back in the bowl, explaining, "I'm not hungry, I can't eat this many."
Then he sincerely praised, "It tastes delicious and looks great. You even cook noodles better than me."
Most of the time, it was because they found it troublesome, so Shi Meng didn't refuse.
After finishing the dumplings, Fu Xuanliao stood up to clear the dishes. The kitchen had a dishwasher, so he looked up how to use it online on his phone, threw in all the pots and pans, pressed the start button, and breathed a sigh of relief. He turned around and saw Shi Meng standing by the island not far from the kitchen counter, fiddling with the coffee machine on it.
His bowed head revealed a section of his neck hidden in the collar of his sweater—fair, slender, a neck that Fu Xuanliao had violently pinched and kissed countless times.
They should only kiss. He's so good, how could anyone bear to treat him badly?
Fu Xuanliao repeatedly and silently questioned himself in his heart.
Just as the urge to rush forward and embrace that frail body was about to reach its peak, he saw Shi Meng turn her head, holding a coffee cup, and say in that same cool voice: "Want some?"
Fu Xuanliao replied without hesitation: "Drink."
Upon receiving an affirmative answer, Shi Meng paused for a moment, then tugged at the corners of her lips, revealing a faint smile.
In fact, he rarely smiled, or rather, he rarely smiled because he was happy. Just like now, he knew perfectly well that Fu Xuanliao had come prepared, with a purpose and a plan, and might even have calculated the exact moment when he wavered.
But he had already lost once.
Once is enough.
He has no intention of giving anyone any further opportunity to take advantage of him.
Raising the cup in his hand, Shi Meng looked at Fu Xuanliao with a cold and mocking smile: "Aren't you afraid that I'll drug it again?"
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