Love Story in the 1970s

Fang Muyang brought gifts for Martin and his family.

Martin warmly welcomed Fang Muyang's arrival and had specially prepared a room for him. Before becoming a stockbroker, Martin had always wanted to be a painter and was deeply pained when forced to acknowledge his lack of artistic talent. Mrs. Martin was a partner in an art gallery, and through Martin's mediation, Fang Muyang signed an agency contract with the gallery.

They regarded Fang Muyang as a rural painter—exactly how he had introduced himself to Martin. Before moving to the city to work as a waiter, Fang Muyang had farmed while painting on the side. He had even discussed American crops with Martin back then, but unfortunately, Martin had no rural life experience, so the topic didn't progress. Martin saw Fang Muyang as an innocent country boy, untainted by worldly influences—a young brother who knew nothing but painting—and arranged everything meticulously for him. He detected a childlike joy in Fang Muyang's paintings, which convinced him that Fang Muyang was both simple and naive.

Fang Muyang had originally intended to buy a map and explore on his own. He disliked troubling others and even more disliked being scheduled, but his first few days were completely filled with Martin's arrangements, leaving him no choice but to follow his host's lead. Since Fang Muyang had previously mentioned that half of his meat in the countryside came from hunting, Martin took him to a hunting club on Long Island. In his first week in New York, Fang Muyang didn't visit a single art museum. Instead, he spent his time hunting, boating, or sunbathing on the beach. Under Martin's supervision, he even got to drive a car. After a few days of "corruption by capitalism," the only thing Fang Muyang envied was owning a car—it didn't need to be as nice as Martin's, a secondhand Ford would suffice, so he could take Fei Ni wherever she wanted to go. Meanwhile, through hunting and boating, Fang Muyang demonstrated his robust country physique.

Fang Muyang declined Martin's further well-intentioned arrangements, stating that if he never got lost in the countryside, he certainly wouldn't in a place like New York. He bought a map and spent several days getting a general sense of the city. He couldn't afford restaurants and even hesitated to buy hot dogs or sandwiches from street vendors, opting instead for near-expired groceries from supermarkets, which he ate while wandering. Once he had a rough impression of the city, he focused his attention on art museums. He took the subway daily, spending entire days viewing paintings. The museum restaurants were, of course, not meant for someone as poor as him. He still ate near-expired food outside the museums, observing passersby as he ate—on fine days, people-watching was a pleasure. During these moments, he recalled his time in the countryside, where villagers ate by the fields after work. He felt much like them now, except they mostly squatted while he stood. After eating, he would return inside to continue viewing paintings. The artworks he and Fei Ni had only seen in catalogs were now before him in their original form, so he naturally lingered longer. Since Fei Ni wasn't with him, he looked a little extra on her behalf.

During the day, he visited art museums to view paintings; at night, he shared Chinese culture at Martin's home, finding time to teach Martin's children how to write Chinese characters. Though his formal education was limited, he had picked up some calligraphy fundamentals from Old Fang through osmosis. He taught the children to write "Fei Ni" in various scripts—small seal, clerical, running hand... Within days, the children could "draw" Fei Ni's name in multiple calligraphic styles.There were too many paintings waiting for Fang Muyang to see at the art museum. He went every day, sometimes copying paintings—not on canvas, but on T-shirts. He had found a type of white T-shirt with material very suitable for painting, bought cheaply at a charity market. He didn’t copy the paintings in a conventional manner; either he turned them into cartoons, transformed oil paintings into a freehand style, or abstracted them into lines. After finishing the front, he would ask Martin’s children to write characters on the back for him. Various fonts of "Fei Ni" crowded Fang Muyang’s back…

In the art museum far from home, Fang Muyang unabashedly wore T-shirts with "Fei Ni" written on the back, as if Fei Ni were also viewing the paintings from behind him. Martin’s children loved his T-shirts, and Fang Muyang also painted on their clothes—white T-shirts, white shirts, white skirts… Each design was different, but all had "Fei Ni" written on the back, though in varying fonts. Fang Muyang borrowed a camera and had them stand together so he could photograph their backs.

When Fang Muyang took Martin’s children to the art museum, their one-of-a-kind outfits gathered quite a bit of attention. The "Fei Ni" characters lined up on their backs were like a condensed history of Chinese calligraphy.

Most of the time, Fang Muyang still went alone. He preferred being by himself.

At the opening reception of his art exhibition, Fang Muyang also wore his self-made T-shirt. It wasn’t a solo exhibition but one shared with several other emerging artists. He was the most marginal among them, unlike the others who had already gained some reputation—one even shared a critic with a renowned painter. Fang Muyang guessed he was probably crammed in as an afterthought. Having visited over twenty galleries in the past two days, he had a sense of the current trends in the art market. The paintings he brought didn’t align with the prevailing collection tastes. He didn’t feel regret; painting was a personal endeavor, and the most enjoyable part was always the act of creation itself. As for others’ evaluations, they neither affected his mood nor his self-assessment—only his housing situation.

The gallery had set his painting prices very high—unattainable for a young artist with no reputation. Fang Muyang thought it unlikely they would sell at that price. He would have preferred lower prices, enough for him to buy a courtyard back home. If not a courtyard, even a fully automatic washing machine would be good—freeing his and Fei Ni’s hands. A new fully automatic washing machine had just been released domestically. But since his agent was inflating his value, he didn’t want to dampen their enthusiasm. Anyway, after so many days viewing and copying paintings at the museum, the trip hadn’t been in vain.

Whether the paintings would sell would be clear at the opening reception. Having spent a lot of time with Martin’s family, Fang Muyang’s accent was much more fluent than when he first arrived. Not only could he converse without issue, but he could even tell jokes in English. With no expectations for his paintings to sell, he was in a particularly good mood to sample the reception’s drinks and food. He neither lowered himself nor acted aloof, not initiating conversations but engaging freely with anyone who approached him, chatting about everything under the sun while eating. More people approached Fang Muyang than he had anticipated. Compared to the paintings he had hung in the gallery, people were more interested in him and the paintings on his clothes. His displayed works were too realistic, and in this era, realism meant outdated.A well-dressed middle-aged man said to Fang Muyang, "I've seen you before." The man had seen Fang Muyang at the art gallery, where he and his self-made clothes were particularly eye-catching. At the time, however, Fang Muyang had eyes only for the paintings.

If Fang Muyang were a woman, he might have suspected the person before him was trying to flirt with him. He had no recollection of the man, but that didn't stop him from explaining the characters on the back of his clothes and even teaching the man how to pronounce Fei Ni's name in Chinese.

The man wanted to secure the design rights for the painting to use in mass-produced clothing.

Fang Muyang replied formally, "Let my lawyer discuss the specific terms with you." He didn't actually have a lawyer, but that didn't prevent him from immediately asking Martin to find one for him.

If Martin had been there, he would have suspected that this simple country boy had been corrupted by capitalism after just a few days in New York.

Fang Muyang hadn't sold any of his serious paintings, but he managed to earn a sum of money from the patterns he'd casually drawn on his clothes. The amount far exceeded his expectations.

As an admirer of Fang Muyang's paintings, Martin, seeing that no one was interested in them, proactively bought one of them. Fang Muyang once again demonstrated his uncorrupted simplicity by saying, "Why buy it? I'll just give it to you." Although Martin was a shrewd businessman, he couldn't take advantage of this generous country boy and insisted on writing Fang Muyang a check. Since Martin insisted, Fang Muyang accepted it—haggling over money wasn't his style.

With money in hand, Fang Muyang immediately treated Martin and his family to a lavish meal at the city's most expensive Chinese restaurant and bought gifts for them as a token of gratitude for their hospitality over the past few days.

After spending a few more days copying paintings at the art gallery, Fang Muyang bought a plane ticket to California to visit his sister.

He delivered the gifts from their parents and Fei Ni to his second sister, but for Mu Jing, he gave a check.

The amount on the check was beyond Mu Jing's imagination.

His sister would never think of him as a simple country boy, so Fang Muyang had to recount his stroke of luck once again.

Mu Jing said she didn't need the money at the moment and told Fang Muyang to keep it for himself.

Fang Muyang laughed and said, "If you really don't need the money, you could add some more and buy my paintings from a gallery to help boost my reputation."

Mu Jing hadn't expected him to say that and couldn't help but smile.

Fang Muyang then took out an envelope.

Before his trip, he had called his second brother-in-law to ask if he wanted him to bring anything for his sister. His brother-in-law was practical and gave him only an envelope. Inside were U.S. dollars, which he said were for Mu Jing to subscribe to magazines. Fang Muyang hadn't opened the envelope, even when he was eating near-expired food.

When Mu Jing saw the money, her first reaction was how much there was.

She knew Qu Hua's salary and bonuses couldn't possibly add up to that much. He must have sold his Stamps collection—she knew it was quite valuable.

Besides the money, there was also a letter in the envelope.

Holding the envelope, Mu Jing asked her brother, "What else did he say?"

"Whatever he wanted to say is in the letter."

Every time Qu Hua sent a letter, Mu Jing suspected he was going to bring up divorce.Mu Jing had originally come as a visiting scholar, but after arriving, she felt that she must pursue a Ph.D. to make the trip worthwhile. With only an undergraduate degree, the university organized a defense committee to evaluate her academic qualifications. Only after passing the evaluation could she officially register as a doctoral student. Passing the defense was not the hard part; the real difficulty was telling Qu Hua about it. She had previously told him she would return home after her visit, but now she intended to pursue a doctorate. The journey from registration to graduation was a long one. For an undergraduate to earn a Ph.D. in the U.S., it was rare to finish in less than five years, and six or seven years was not uncommon.

Each time she started writing the letter, she would tear it up halfway and start over. She sent Qu Hua a few photos of herself, in which she looked quite presentable, as if waiting for someone like her was worth it. In her letter, she asked him to wait for two years, promising to return as soon as she earned her Ph.D. If she didn’t return within two years, he could divorce her or do as he pleased. She also asked him to send her a small photo so she could see how he looked.

Completing a Ph.D. in the U.S. within two years was nothing short of a pipe dream. But she couldn’t let Qu Hua wait too long because he was a man with normal physical needs, longing for a regular married life. His kindness to her stemmed from her being his wife, not because she was Fang Mu Jing, and the law allowed him to divorce and find another wife.

Along with the letter, she sent Qu Hua a subscription to a neuroscience journal, as he needed to stay updated on what his international peers were doing. She eventually received his reply. Qu Hua didn’t explicitly say whether he would wait for her or not, but he did send her a photo as she had requested. Unlike her formal pictures, his seemed casually taken, as if he had just stepped out of the operating room. She kept his photo close to her at all times.

After that, Mu Jing began sending Qu Hua her diary entries along with the neuroscience journals. In her diary, she wrote about a day when she wore a loose dress. As the wind blew, the fabric clung to her body and then billowed away, almost as if Qu Hua were caressing her. The sensation was so pleasant that she deliberately walked slower to prolong the feeling. These were words she could never say to his face, yet she felt no embarrassment writing them in a letter. To relive that sensation, she even bought a shirt made of the same material.She didn't tell Qu Hua that the shirt was bought for one dollar and twenty cents at a flea market—a price quite expensive for her, as the second-hand small men's shirts she used to wear only cost fifty cents. She spent eighteen hours a day studying, yet still squeezed out time to iron her clothes. She saved up a pile of small questions to ponder while ironing, and her shirts didn't have a single wrinkle. Uninformed people thought her clothes were expensive. There were plenty of suitors at school, one of whom was the football team's quarterback, very popular among girls and much younger than her. This boy misunderstood her completely—not only her age but also her identity. Mu Jing couldn't be bothered to explain anything else; facing those blue eyes, she simply said she was married and that her husband was a neurosurgeon. She could only appreciate a certain type of Eastern face. If Qu Hua hadn't matched her aesthetic preferences, she would have needed a lot of time to convince herself to marry him, yet back then, she agreed almost without thinking. At that time, she needed him in every possible way, and she hated such a beginning—choosing him under circumstances where she had no other options, making "her choosing him" seem utterly worthless.

She jotted down scattered thoughts every day, always during meal breaks. Besides earning credits and writing papers, she had too many things to do and couldn't spare dedicated time to write letters. Once she accumulated enough, she mailed them to him. She never wrote about others pursuing her; whether their intentions were genuine or fake, using it as a boastful asset was tasteless. Moreover, Qu Hua wasn't that kind of man—some men might feel jealous but also take pride in others pursuing their wives. Qu Hua wasn't like that. If she specifically mentioned such things in her letters to flaunt her value, he would probably look down on her and find her boring.

She also included magazines in the mail. Subscribing to magazines was a significant expense, but she never mentioned it in her letters, as it would seem like she was fishing for praise. She was also afraid Qu Hua would insist on giving her money for the subscriptions. She didn't want the two of them to keep such clear accounts.

In the end, Qu Hua still gave her the money for the magazine subscriptions, and even added extra.

Mu Jing unfolded the letter. At first, she didn't dare to read it, but as she went through it line by line, she couldn't help but smile.