Love Story in the 1970s

Fang Muyang's classmates all knew he was married.

Unmarried male classmates felt somewhat envious of their married counterparts, especially during life drawing classes.

It wasn't difficult to tell whether a man was married during these sessions. At that time, aside from the limited internal movies available to select audiences, mainstream films didn't even contain kissing scenes. Unmarried students tended to feel somewhat awkward when facing the female models waiting to be drawn—some barely knew where to rest their eyes, uncertain how to look without appearing disrespectful or avoiding the impression of being a pervert. Fortunately, the female models carried themselves with natural composure, and as the drawing progressed, the unease gradually faded. Married men were much more open and at ease, and among them, Fang Muyang stood out as exceptionally unselfconscious. To him, observing male and female models held no difference.

Not only did Fang Muyang's classmates know he was married, but they also knew his wife was Fei Ni. Fei Ni had gradually gained some renown after assisting her mentor in translating an American poetry collection, which bore her name in the credits. Many of Fang Muyang's classmates were reading that very collection. She not only translated foreign poetry but also helped domestic poets render their works into English to reach a broader readership.

Fang Muyang's introduction to poetry was entirely thanks to Fei Ni. One day, as Fei Ni sat on the back of Fang Muyang's bicycle, leaning against his back, she softly recited an English poem to him—it was about love. The moonlight was particularly beautiful that evening, and Fang Muyang thought Fei Ni was using a foreign language to convey her feelings, perhaps too bold and passionate to express directly in her native tongue, as it might have caused blushes even if overheard by strangers. Even with no one around, it felt necessary to avoid such directness. He responded with a few sentimental words of his own, though he spoke in Chinese. Fei Ni pinched him and said, "You're so shameless—how can you say such things?"

Fang Muyang found it strange; his words weren't any more sentimental than Fei Ni's, likely because he used Chinese, yet there was no one nearby to hear.

He laughed and said, "Why can't I speak from the heart?" Then he repeated what he had said in English.

This time, Fei Ni fell silent, whether out of embarrassment or something else.

On Fang Muyang's birthday, the whole family gathered to celebrate. Unlike in other households, in the Fang family, on a child's birthday, the child must give a gift to their mother, while the child themselves might not necessarily receive one. This was Old Fang's principle; he always turned the children's birthdays into a sort of Thanksgiving, dedicated to thanking his wife. In Old Fang's view, without his wife's efforts, how could his children even have birthdays?

Fei Ni naturally embraced this Fang family tradition, and on her own birthday, she would prepare a gift for her mother as well. Before Fang Muyang's birthday, Fei Ni had intended to prepare two gifts: one for Fang Muyang and one for Teacher Mu. Fang Muyang told her not to bother with a gift for him and simply agree to one condition instead. As for the gift Fang Muyang would give his mother, Old Fang had already decided early on: he required his son to paint a traditional Chinese painting for his wife—the quality didn't matter, as the important thing was the sentiment. Old Fang would inscribe a poem beside it. Fang Muyang had no choice but to paint in advance and deliver it to Old Fang, who then added a poem he was quite pleased with before sending it off for framing.Old Fang placed great importance on his children's birthdays. Even during the years they were separated, when he had nothing at hand, he still remembered to express his feelings to his wife on their children's birthdays. He would use his saved money to buy noodles and eggs, making a small improvement to their meals on that day. Now that conditions were much better, he had more opportunities to exercise his imagination. He composed another poem for his son and asked Teacher Mu to write it out, considering it a joint blessing for their child from both of them. After praising her husband's poem, Teacher Mu had no choice but to write it out under Old Fang's watchful gaze. Old Fang complimented his wife's calligraphy, saying it was getting better and better, with a touch of his own style—perhaps what people called the "couple resemblance."

The birthday celebration, organized by Old Fang, concluded successfully. Fei Ni played a piece at home, with Old Fang suggesting the repertoire. Of course, when Old Fang spoke to Fei Ni, he didn't specify but merely made a suggestion.

Fang Muyang received a poem composed by his father and handwritten by his mother. He couldn't help but sigh inwardly that the popular poems of the day had ultimately had no influence on his father. Fei Ni expressed her appreciation for Old Fang's poem, largely out of respect for her elder. Wanting to show that he treated Fei Ni the same as his own son, Old Fang specifically promised that he would give her a similar gift on her birthday. Fei Ni was quite surprised by her father-in-law's words, and Old Fang mistook her surprise for being overwhelmed with favor. He even reflected on whether he had previously neglected his daughter-in-law, leading to such a reaction, and quickly assured her that this was only natural for family. After the birthday party, Fei Ni and Fang Muyang bid farewell to his parents and returned to their own small courtyard.

It was only after arriving home that Fei Ni learned of Fang Muyang's request. Having already agreed earlier, she couldn't go back on her word now and had to let Fang Muyang paint on the dress she was wearing.

It was an old dress, one she had worn for so long that she had grown quite attached to it. Fang Muyang was also very familiar with this dress—not only its appearance but also its texture. Painting on a dress worn by Fei Ni was completely different from painting on a regular canvas. His brush moved across the "new canvas," sometimes lightly, sometimes with more pressure.

This "new canvas" was already soft to begin with, and as he painted, it grew even softer. Moreover, unlike a regular canvas, it didn't remain still and quiet under his brush.

Fang Muyang asked Fei Ni to recite the English poem she had read to him that day.

"What poem?" Fei Ni had no recollection of reading any poem to Fang Muyang.

Fang Muyang's memory wasn't bad, but his vocabulary was still limited, so he hadn't fully understood it at the time and could only remember key words. He reminded Fei Ni with a few of those words.

Fei Ni's face instantly flushed red. She would never recite such a poem to Fang Muyang. That day, she had been thinking about the translation of the poem and had softly recited it aloud. She had been pondering over that poem for several days but hadn't found a translation she was satisfied with, so she had been thinking about it while studying and walking. Later, because the poem was too explicit, it wasn't selected for the anthology. She hadn't expected Fang Muyang to understand it—perhaps his trip to America had expanded his vocabulary a bit—and he had mistaken it as something she had intended for him.

Fei Ni said it was written by someone else.

Fang Muyang said he knew, but he only wanted to hear Fei Ni recite it.

Under normal circumstances, Fei Ni would have confessed and told Fang Muyang that it was all a misunderstanding. But today was his birthday, and she didn't want to disappoint him.

She had no choice but to humor him, reciting it word by word, deliberately omitting the words she considered too explicit.Although Fang Muyang had a limited vocabulary, after so many days, some words had left a deep impression on him, yet he hadn’t heard them now. He shared this confusion with Fei Ni.

Fei Ni remained silent.

Fang Muyang then asked Fei Ni to translate the poem she had recited.

Fei Ni laughed, "Stop pretending, I know you understand."

"But I want to hear your translation." Fang Muyang spoke without interrupting his painting on the "new" canvas.

"Figure it out yourself." Fei Ni covered her eyes with her hands, slowly parting her fingers to let the light seep through.

Neither of them spoke again, and Fei Ni felt this silence was even more unbearable than before. Being a human easel was not easy, even though the painter made no demands of her.

Fang Muyang made a rare mistake with his brush and apologized to Fei Ni. She said it was fine.

Fei Ni’s words didn’t ease Fang Muyang’s self-imposed standards. To avoid errors, he became even more deliberate with his strokes, which made Fei Ni increasingly uncomfortable. She would rather he made mistakes if it meant finishing sooner.

Her breathing grew more rapid, and her chest naturally rose and fell.

Fang Muyang didn’t complain about her movements making his painting more challenging. Instead, he told her not to be nervous.

As he painted, he repeated the poem Fei Ni had recited to him, asking her to correct any mistakes in his memory.

Fei Ni covered her entire face and told him he had recited it correctly.

She was ticklish, but Fang Muyang paid no mind as he painted on her dress. She asked him to be more careful, but the more careful he was, the more ticklish she felt, and she couldn’t help but squirm. The dress was sleeveless, and because of her movements, the brushstrokes meant for the dress ended up on her arm. Fei Ni looked at her arm, and Fang Muyang touched it with his finger, saying, "I’ll wash it off for you later."

Fang Muyang kept his promise. He washed her arm meticulously, unlike the rough way he washed his own clothes.

The dress Fang Muyang painted for Fei Ni remained at home; she never wore it outside.

Whenever she saw that dress, she couldn’t help but think of that night, though she never dwelled on it deeply.

It was only later that she revisited the details. Even though she and Fang Muyang had been married for years, certain moments made her unconsciously rub her earlobes. But now she had to recall everything repeatedly—she suspected she was pregnant and couldn’t figure out where things had gone wrong.

They hadn’t graduated yet, and she wasn’t prepared to have a child. Before going to the hospital for a check-up, she discussed it with Fang Muyang. Though he wasn’t ready either, he said if they were having a child, they couldn’t just reject it. They had tried to prevent it, yet the child insisted on coming; it wouldn’t be right to turn it away.

Fei Ni thought his reasoning made sense.

"But we haven’t graduated yet."

Fang Muyang didn’t see this as a big deal. He said he could take a leave of absence to care for Fei Ni and resume his studies once the child was older.

"You make taking a leave sound so simple." Fei Ni didn’t want Fang Muyang to interrupt his studies, even temporarily. She couldn’t help but feel troubled, though Fang Muyang made every difficulty seem easy.

Although Fang Muyang also felt a child would intrude on their space, seeing Fei Ni worried, he naturally emphasized the positive. He said he had been an easy child to raise, content and never clinging to his parents, and he believed their child would be the same.

"I was often sick as a child." Otherwise, she wouldn’t have ended up in the same elementary school as him.Fang Muyang said it was nothing—having endured the hardships of illness in childhood, wasn’t he perfectly healthy now?

Fei Ni laughed at Fang Muyang’s blind optimism, always looking on the bright side, yet his optimism did bring her comfort.

Fang Muyang began sketching their future child, continuously rearranging and combining features from his own and Fei Ni’s faces—though in a highly abstract, distorted manner. At first, Fei Ni couldn’t help but laugh, but when she realized he was drawing their child, she grew serious. "Is this any way to draw your own child?"

In two minutes, Fang Muyang drew another sketch and showed it to Fei Ni. She looked at it, both amused and annoyed. "That’s your child, not mine."

Fang Muyang chuckled, "How could that be? I don’t have that ability. If you’re not satisfied, draw one yourself."

Fei Ni took the sketchbook and seriously drew a picture. She studied Fang Muyang’s features and combined them with her own to create a simple sketch—first a girl, then a boy, since they didn’t know whether their child would be a boy or a girl.

After finishing, she refused to let Fang Muyang see it, but he snatched it away. "How can you not let me see my own child?"

Though Fei Ni’s drawing was somewhat naive, it was drawn with care. Fang Muyang could see traces of himself and Fei Ni in the sketch, and he couldn’t help but smile.

He stopped abstracting his child and began imagining more concretely.

He asked Fei Ni to rearrange and combine their features again. Following her combinations, his brush produced various young children—the same set of features looked different on a boy’s face versus a girl’s. Fang Muyang drew quickly, not in great detail, but each matched Fei Ni’s descriptions. Some of these imagined children were quite beautiful, while others were less so, but Fei Ni didn’t pay attention to that. She only found it magical—she knew in her heart that a child could take countless forms, but seeing concrete sketches was another matter entirely. Fei Ni exhausted her imagination, conjuring dozens of images, only to realize that some were quite similar, yet the subtle differences hinted at infinite possibilities. She rubbed Fang Muyang’s wrist, urging him to rest and stop drawing.

The two of them gazed at their "children," and Fei Ni couldn’t help but smile. Fang Muyang pinched her cheek and asked her to choose, out of all these possibilities, which one their future child was most likely to resemble.

Fei Ni thought seriously and finally decided that any of them would be fine—they were all combinations of her and Fang Muyang.

Fang Muyang felt the same, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to predict. He numbered the sketched children and picked one to make a bet with Fei Ni: if their future child looked like that one, she would have to agree to one condition.

Fei Ni laughed at his frivolity, saying no other father would act like this.

Yet this frivolous father completely dispelled her worries, making her feel that although having a child would bring short-term troubles, they were not insurmountable.

The next day proved it was a false alarm—perhaps the child found them too unreliable and wasn’t willing to visit this frivolous couple who bet on their child’s appearance just yet. To earn the child, they would need to pass a period of testing.When Fei Ni learned the results, she first breathed a sigh of relief. That day truly hadn’t left any possibility of pregnancy—there weren’t so many uncontrollable accidents. One accident was acceptable, but too many would be unbearable. She hoped their child would come as planned and not disrupt her and Fang Muyang’s studies. Yet, amid the joy, there was a faint sense of loss. She and Fang Muyang had been so efficient—not only had they imagined their child’s appearance, but they had even planned how to decorate the child’s room.

On the day they learned the child wouldn’t be coming, the two went out for a midday meal to celebrate not having their studies disrupted. In truth, if the child had been confirmed, they would have gone to the same restaurant to celebrate. Fang Muyang could always find a reason to celebrate.

The sketchbook remained, and Fang Muyang would occasionally add a page based on Fei Ni’s ideas. Their bet never went out of style.

Fang Muyang’s paintings hung in a New York gallery for nearly a year without selling, but he didn’t mind. As for what the international art market preferred, he cared even less, painting only for his own enjoyment.

He had no expectations about selling his work, so when his agent informed him one day that a painting had sold, he was genuinely surprised. After the surprise came delight, because now he had money. He could manage without money, but having it didn’t worry him—he knew how to spend it. Devoid of any artist’s pretensions, upon learning his painting had sold, his first thought was the purchasing power of the money. At the same time, he believed that anyone willing to pay a high price for his work probably wouldn’t treat it poorly.

Converted to RMB, the sum seemed even larger. He spent what could buy a courtyard on a new piano for Fei Ni and bought gifts for his parents, siblings, and Fei Ni’s parents and siblings. In his mind, money wasn’t meant to be saved—if you had it, you spent it. When Fei Ni heard the price of the piano, she thought Fang Muyang had gone mad. She wasn’t a professional; she didn’t need such an expensive instrument.

Fang Muyang laughed at her, “You underestimate yourself too much. Are your hands not worthy of this piano? Please set higher standards for yourself.”

Besides, the piano could be passed down to their child, even though that child was still nowhere in sight.

Whether it was psychological or not, Fei Ni soon felt the benefits of an expensive piano. However, she still kept the piano Fang Muyang had previously traded furniture for, playing it from time to time.

Not wanting to let the new piano go to waste, Fei Ni noticeably increased her daily practice time. As her patron, Fang Muyang reaped the rewards of his sponsorship—most of the time, he was Fei Ni’s only audience.

The paintings Fang Muyang had hung in the gallery sold one after another, some even resold at auctions for high prices, though this news didn’t reach China. He now regarded fame lightly, as he had money even without it. He had been born into a family where his father was already a celebrity, with guests constantly coming and going, leaving no quiet days for him to play. With his father’s example before him, he felt that lacking fame wasn’t a bad thing at all. He couldn’t even be bothered to participate in domestic art exhibitions, leaving his classmates puzzled. Given Fang Muyang’s skill level, it was unlikely he couldn’t even win a minor award.

But if he didn’t participate, of course he wouldn’t win.Fei Ni's translated poetry collections were gaining an increasing readership, and as far as the eye could see, it seemed rare to find anyone in school who didn't read poetry. Painting, especially oil painting, remained a hobby for only a few. Outside the small circle of painters, Fang Muyang was actually less famous than Fei Ni. As her reputation grew, Fang Muyang acquired another title—Fei Ni's husband. In the eyes of some, he seemed to live entirely in Fei Ni's shadow, yet he managed to find great joy in it all the same.

Fang Muyang didn't reject this title. He was also quite generous when it came to spending money on art supplies. Though he received no salary as a student, his wife did, and he claimed his brushes were bought with the money Fei Ni gave him. He spoke nothing but the truth—the household finances were entirely managed by Fei Ni. Some even suspected his canvases were funded by her translation royalties.

After repeating this three or four times, everyone accepted it without any issue. Upon closer analysis, he did seem to have what it took to live off his wife.

When Fang Muyang relayed these comments to Fei Ni, she studied him, smiled, and said, "You certainly have the qualities for it. I'll work hard to let you live off me. But you'll have to wait a bit."

"I can wait."

Two years later, they had a child. The baby didn't look much like the painting Fang Muyang had picked out.

However, on that day, Fang Muyang didn't have much time to examine his child closely—he was mostly preoccupied with the child's mother.

The baby turned out better-looking than the father had imagined.

Fei Ni's mother was very fond of the child, though she found one flaw: the baby was overly energetic. To put it bluntly, even a bit annoying. She remarked that Fei Ni had been nothing like this as a child. Fang Muyang explained that genetic recombination offered endless possibilities, and parents simply had to accept them with equanimity. Fei Ni agreed with him.

Old Fang, however, didn't see it that way. He only saw the stubborn persistence of his wayward son's genes. He was delighted that his daughter had given him a granddaughter, but the one regret was that the baby resembled the Qu family more. Though he was very satisfied with his son-in-law, he still felt a twinge of disappointment. His younger son's child, on the other hand, was the spitting image of his own childhood self—he dreaded how difficult it would be to raise. Despite his son's many flaws, in front of his daughter-in-law, he felt obliged to defend his son's image, insisting that the wayward one had been entirely different from his grandson as a child—comparatively well-behaved.

Such was a father's duty.

(The End)