Auntie Fu brought out a box containing a pair of celadon-glazed covered cups with white decorations. Originally intended as a wedding gift for the couple, she had been unable to present them earlier as Fang Muyang had left the city soon after the wedding. This time, she directly gave them to Fei Ni.
Fei Ni expressed her thanks, and Auntie Fu seemed eager for her to stay longer. She remarked that Fei Ni’s visit was perfectly timed, as she had just been discussing Fang Muyang with Ling Yi. She recalled how talented he had been at drawing since childhood—starting with traditional Chinese painting before switching to oil painting, with a particular fondness for painting living subjects. Once, to keep his family’s dog in a fixed pose while he painted, he carried the dog up to the rooftop of their four-story building. The little dog trembled with fear on the rooftop while Fang Muyang chewed on ice cubes and painted. In the end, the dog was unharmed, safely lowered to the ground in a basket, and even rewarded with two small sausages. Fang Muyang, however, was hauled back home by his father, and no one knew whether he was punished or not.
Auntie Fu remembered it was winter at the time, and their family lived just above the Fangs. Originally, the Fang family had donated their large estate and been allocated an entire floor, but they later gave up half of it to another family, so the layout ended up being the same as hers. In her memory, Old Fang was a man of great poise—except when disciplining his youngest son. She remained deeply grateful for the Fang family’s kindness. During the difficult years, it was only thanks to the overseas remittance coupons the Fangs shared that her family managed to pull through.
She reassured Fei Ni not to worry too much about Fang Muyang, recalling that he had always been more tolerant of heat than cold. She had never seen him wear a padded jacket in winter; instead, he ate ice all year round.
Auntie Fu said, “If you don’t believe me, ask Ling Yi. They grew up playing together.”
Ling Yi smiled and said, “I can attest to that. He really isn’t bothered by the cold. In fact, he loves winter the most and practically lived at the ice-skating rink. Once, to trade for a pair of German ice skates, he sold his family’s fur mattress and got a good beating for it—but he never learned his lesson.”
“It seems besides painting, ice-skating is his greatest love.”
The conversation was casual and unstructured. From it, Fei Ni learned that Ling Yi had started working at a publishing house after graduation and might even have some professional overlap with Fang Muyang in the future.
Ling Yi sighed regretfully, “He painted a portrait of me once, but unfortunately, I lost it. Honestly, among the young painters of his generation, few could match his skill.” She smiled apologetically, genuinely sorry to have misplaced his artwork.
Fei Ni wasn’t surprised—after all, Fang Muyang had painted even unfamiliar nurses many times over.
She smiled and comforted Ling Yi, saying there was no need to feel regret. Since she and Fang Muyang were such good friends, she could always ask him to paint another portrait once he returned.
Auntie Fu asked Fei Ni how the diamond pattern on her vest was knitted. Fei Ni’s vest had been knitted by Fei Ma. Fei Ni herself preferred simplicity and usually stuck to plain stitches, but she was familiar with sweater knitting techniques. She demonstrated a few stitches for Auntie Fu as an example.
Glancing at her watch, Fei Ni remarked that it was getting late and she ought to head home.
Auntie Fu invited her to stay for dinner, but Fei Ni explained that she had already made plans with her parents. Auntie Fu didn’t press further and instead handed Fei Ni a box of Suzhou-style mooncakes, saying they were freshly made that day by the restaurant’s head chef and urging her to share them with her parents.
Fei Ni accepted without hesitation, thanked her, and left the Fu residence.Her trip wasn't in vain—not only had she confirmed Fang Muyang's safety, but she'd also learned from Ling Yi that he wasn't afraid of the cold. Thankfully, she hadn't bought black wool; Fang Muyang probably didn't need her to knit him a sweater. Even if he did, she wouldn't knit one for him. Plain stitch was so simple—since he could sketch young girls, he might as well learn to knit his own sweaters like them.
September was nearly over, and Fang Muyang still hadn't returned.
Next door, Wang Xiaoman asked Fei Ni why she hadn't seen her husband even once since moving in.
Fei Ni said he was on a business trip.
Wang Xiaoman pressed for where he'd gone.
Fei Ni said Hebei.
Wang Xiaoman then asked which factory her husband worked at.
Fei Ni said he was a painter. When questioned further, she fell silent.
Her expression told Wang Xiaoman, "You've asked enough."
Wang Xiaoman guessed Fei Ni's husband probably painted screws in some small collective enterprise—definitely not a major state-owned factory, or Fei Ni would have said so. Besides, small collectives didn't provide housing, which explained why they lived in her factory's quarters. In short, he was surely an ordinary man who didn't treat Fei Ni well. Wang Xiaoman had toured Fei Ni's apartment and had never seen such a shabby place. As for why Fei Ni had given up the one from the Radio Industry Bureau for her current husband, it was most likely because she'd been dumped. Wang Xiaoman felt no gratitude for Fei Ni giving her the Television Ticket—if she'd given Fei Ting's job opportunity to someone else, she could have bought a television anyway. On the contrary, she thought Fei Ni should be grateful to her, but Fei Ni wasn't the type to repay kindness, merely nodding indifferently when they met. Wang Xiaoman felt deceived by Fei Ni, but what was done was done, and regret was useless.
On Tuesday and Saturday nights, Fei Ni would think of Fang Muyang at fixed times.
The walls weren't very soundproof. On her third day living there, intermittent sobs came from next door, mixed with other noises. At first, she mistakenly thought Wang Xiaoman was being mistreated by her husband, but when Wang Xiaoman's moans grew drawn-out, Fei Ni realized the true nature of the sounds. Her face flushed with embarrassment—even the people next door probably weren't as ashamed as she was. Three days later, she heard the sounds again, louder this time. She guessed Wang Xiaoman must not know how thin the walls were; if she did, she'd surely restrain herself. Though disturbed, Fei Ni was too embarrassed to confront them directly. After two weeks, Fei Ni figured out the pattern: every Tuesday and Saturday, she needed to plug in her headphones and listen to the radio.
With the radio on, the noises from next door were drowned out. Wearing the headphones, she'd think of Fang Muyang—because he was the one who had bought her the radio.
Fang Muyang returned on the last Sunday of September. He first went to the studio to submit his drawings. President Fu almost didn't recognize him—he had lost significant weight, his shirt hanging loosely on him. In such weather, he still wore only a thin layer, his cheeks hollowed, hair grown out, eyes bloodshot, stubble clearly not properly shaved, with a few small red spots on his upper lip, likely from nicking his skin with whatever he'd used to shave.
These drawings were all done by Fang Muyang at night; during the day, he had been working.
President Fu lowered his head to flip through the sketches. Just as he was about to praise Fang Muyang for his dedication, Fang Muyang rather undedicatedly brought up money, requesting an advance on his fee—at least half of it today.After receiving the money, President Fu invited Fang Muyang to his home for a meal. Fang Muyang said he would take a rain check, as he needed to return home immediately.
Fei Ni hadn't originally planned to buy yarn to knit a sweater for Fang Muyang, but since she was going to knit a new one for herself this year, she bought a few extra balls of black yarn.
As she stepped out of the shop, Fei Ni saw a man ahead whose back looked very much like Fang Muyang's. Though his build was slightly thinner, not only his height but even his walking posture seemed carved from Fang Muyang's mold. Most importantly, the shirt he was wearing was the one she had placed in her luggage bag.
Her mouth reacted before her brain could, and she called out "Fang Muyang" clearly and crisply—loud enough for the man ahead to hear.
She expected him to turn around, but there was no response.
She called out again, yet still no reaction.
Fei Ni rubbed her eyes, doubting whether she had mistaken him, but she quickly reaffirmed her belief: on a day like this, only he wouldn't fear the cold, wearing just a single layer and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.
They were only a few steps apart. Just as she was about to pedal her bicycle to catch up, she saw the man enter the public bathhouse.
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