When Fang Muyang stepped out, someone in the hallway was making tomato sauce. Tomatoes were cheap in summer but became a rarity in winter, as seasonal vegetables were scarce in the northern winters. Some people would buy a large batch of tomatoes in summer while they were inexpensive, wash them, cut them into pieces, steam them, and then fill sterilized IV bottles with the sauce. After sealing them tightly with rubber stoppers, they would wait until winter to enjoy them. The bottles had been sterilized by boiling in water, and now, filled with tomato sauce, they were lined up on a table. Someone else was frying small yellow croakers, the aroma wafting strongly through the air.
The evening breeze rustled the leaves, and cicadas chirped incessantly. A family on the first floor had set up a table under the shade of a tree for dinner, gathered together. An older man dipped his chopsticks into draft beer and offered a taste to a child.
Fang Muyang stood at the doorway for a long while before taking a photo. Then, as a girl appeared in his viewfinder, he snapped several shots in quick succession.
Fei Ni kept a slight distance from her bike seat as she rode, the evening wind slipping into the back of her collar and billowing her white shirt. She wore a short-sleeved white blouse paired with work pants, a typical factory worker’s outfit, and on her feet were Warrior brand white sneakers—not the bright white of new shoes, but the faded white that comes from repeated scrubbing.
She parked her bike and immediately spotted Fang Muyang. He was also in a white shirt, the top two buttons undone. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a style that usually accompanied a full-steel Shanghai brand watch, but he wore no watch—only sturdy forearms, holding a camera, smiling at her with a grin that hovered between warmth and roguishness. Fei Ni smiled back, and Fang Muyang’s camera captured the moment. She bent to lock her bike, a mesh bag holding a watermelon dangling from the handlebars.
As Fang Muyang approached Fei Ni, her features grew clearer in his eyes.
He pulled a folded paper from his pants pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her. "The crabapple blossom you gave me is blooming beautifully. Since I didn’t have a camera, I drew it for you to see."
Fang Muyang had originally sketched it in pencil, but someone in the painting had requested color, so he bought paints specifically for it. Thus, the crabapple bloomed in hues.
From the painting, Fei Ni could discern the weather when Fang Muyang had drawn it and his watering habits—dewdrops clung to the crabapple leaves as if about to slide off. She had told him not to pour water directly over the flowers.
"How did you know?"
"Your painting told me. You’ve been painting all these years, haven’t you?"
Fei Ni remembered a year when Fang Muyang won a major award for his art, and his grandmother had even invited classmates over. Fang Muyang often boasted that his great-grandfather had been a ragpicker, but when Fei Ni visited his maternal grandmother’s home, she realized how partial facts could differ vastly from the truth. Fang Muyang’s grandmother lived alone in a small Western-style house; her sons had settled abroad, and her only daughter—Fang Muyang’s mother—rarely visited, criticizing her as a bourgeois who lived off fixed interest without engaging in productive labor.
Fang Muyang had grown up under the red flag, born into an era when capitalists had already softened their demeanor, at least superficially. Having never witnessed their oppression of the masses firsthand, he harbored no deep-seated hatred for them, viewing them instead as potential allies. Thus, he often visited his grandmother’s home to play.Although times had changed and his grandmother had become more frugal, this frugality merely meant dismissing the family gardener and having the male servant take over the duties. The roses in the garden still bloomed just as brilliantly, the German car was still ridden in, coffee was still sipped, the latest records were still listened to, and the home remained just as exquisitely furnished. The only unconventional touch was hanging Qi Baishi’s paintings alongside her grandson’s scribbles.
Later, when Fang Muyang’s grandmother passed away, the house was left to him. But before the first-week memorial had even ended, his mother donated it, and now no one knew who the owner was. Last year, when Fei Ni cycled past that courtyard, she glanced through the crack in the iron gate—there were no roses in sight anymore. Bees alighted on cucumber blossoms, presenting an entirely different scene.
"Did I used to paint too?"
Fang Muyang asked casually, but to Fei Ni, it didn’t sound that way at all. He still hadn’t remembered—she had misunderstood. Gazing at the painting, Fei Ni thought, muscle memory runs deeper than anything. He hadn’t regained his memories, but he had regained his ability to paint. She looked up at him. This person didn’t even know what it meant to be sad, and then she thought, with his current state, there was nothing to be sad about. All his worries were forgotten; he had food and drink every day, could paint, and even had spare money to take photos and wander around. Remembering everything might not necessarily be a good thing.
Seeing Fei Ni staring intently at the painting, Fang Muyang thought she genuinely liked it and generously offered, "I get to see real flowers every day anyway. You can keep this painting. If you like it, I’ll paint another one for you."
Only then did Fei Ni’s thoughts drift away from the painting. "Why did you come down?"
"There are too many people in your family. I was afraid you wouldn’t see me."
Fei Ni couldn’t help but laugh. "How could I miss someone as tall as you?"
"Look at all these people around, but when I take photos, I only see you. Everyone else is just background."
Fei Ni somehow felt there was an underlying meaning to his words, but then dismissed it as overthinking and directly shifted the topic to the camera. "Where did you get your camera?"
"I bought it at a trust store. If you like it, I’ll give it to you once I take out the film."
"Keep it yourself. Don’t just give everything away. What made you think of buying a camera?"
"I wanted to take more photos of you."
For a moment, Fei Ni was at a loss for words. It was Fang Muyang who broke the silence: "It’s so hot. Why are you buttoned up all the way? Undo a couple of buttons."
Without overthinking it, Fei Ni simply said, "I’m not hot."
Fang Muyang wasn’t taking photos, just smiling as he looked at her. His gaze was like an evening breeze sweeping over her—wherever it touched, others couldn’t see it, but Fei Ni could feel it. The wind had cooled him down, but his gaze made her ears burn. She felt uncomfortable all over.
"Really not hot?" Fang Muyang remembered a red mole on Fei Ni’s collarbone, but it was hidden by her shirt now.
"I said I’m not hot, so I’m not hot. Stop bothering me." Fei Ni stubbornly refused to unbutton her shirt, so Fang Muyang had no choice but to let it go.
Thinking of Fang Muyang’s uncertain future, she asked, "What are you planning to do from now on?"
"I haven’t thought about it yet." Fang Muyang looked at Fei Ni’s eyes through the viewfinder and casually brought up Ling Yi. "Do you know Ling Yi?" Hearing his old classmates mention Ling Yi too often, Fang Muyang couldn’t help but be curious.
The camera captured Fei Ni’s startled expression.
"Why are you asking that?"
"Was I close to her?""We're very familiar, extremely familiar. She used to be your girlfriend, and you liked her so much that you gave up your university admission spot for her." Fei Ni had learned from others that Fang Muyang had indeed relinquished his university opportunity for Ling Yi. When she heard it, she wasn't moved by his devotion but found him childish and ridiculous. "If you wanted to be with her back then, you shouldn't have given her your spot. If you had gone to university while she remained in the countryside as an Educated Youth, and you were willing to marry her, she would have been grateful. But by giving her the spot, she went to university while you stayed in the countryside earning work points—she'd end up looking down on you as unworthy. Her not visiting you now, though heartless, is hardly surprising. If it were me, I'd never give up a spot I'd already secured to anyone. Helping others shouldn't be done that way. You pushed her away yourself. If you had kept the spot for yourself, she might be tirelessly caring for you right now..."
Fang Muyang didn't feel he had missed out on anything important and spoke of Ling Yi with a hint of indifference: "I have you now, I don't need her to take care of me."
This didn't comfort Fei Ni in the slightest; instead, it irritated her. "Do I owe you something? She took your university spot—she should be the one looking after you. Why should she get all the benefits while you suffer the consequences..." Fei Ni caught herself before saying more, realizing her words were becoming hurtful.
Fang Muyang completely missed the point: "Do you really want to go to university that badly?"
"You're just a fool." Thinking him a fool made her even more compelled to lecture him. "The hospital probably can't cure you, so don't stay there any longer. Have the Office of Educated Youth quickly sort out your job and dormitory. Aren't you good at drawing? In the propaganda team, there aren't many your age who draw better than you. Be more assertive—if it doesn't work the first time, go back again. If you get a formal job, there might still be a chance for you and Ling Yi..."
Fei Ni had a serene and delicate face, but her current expression didn't quite match her features. Fang Muyang's camera happened to capture that very look.
"Stop taking pictures of me all the time." Fei Ni's shirt was still buttoned up to the top, and she raised a hand to cover her face, light seeping through her fingers.
Fang Muyang reached out and poked her cheek through the gaps in her fingers, laughing. "Alright, no more pictures."
"Stop being so handsy. I don't like it when you do that." Fei Ni turned her face away, avoiding his gaze. "How did you know I live here?"
"If I want to find something, I'll find a way. Are you free tomorrow? I'll treat you to ice cream, same place as before."
"I'm busy." Fei Ni couldn't help but advise him, "Save your money. It'll only dwindle the more you spend. You'll need it for plenty of things later."
"Your dad said you've been busy going to the movies with someone lately. Were the movies any good?"
Fei Ni wanted to argue that she wasn't "busy" going to the movies with anyone, but what came out was: "They were alright." In truth, she had already seen one of the movies with Fang Muyang before, and during the second viewing, she had no interest in the plot.
"Is that why you didn't come to see me? Because you were watching movies with someone else?"
"What if it is?" Fei Ni detected an accusatory tone in his words. She didn't owe him anything—she could watch movies with whomever she pleased, spend time with whomever she wanted, and had no obligation to visit him constantly.
Fang Muyang smiled tolerantly. "If you want to watch a movie, I can go with you."The wind grew stronger, shaking leaves down to the ground.
Fei Ni cursed "idiot" once more in her heart, her gaze shifting from one cloud to another. "Do you know how to get back to the hospital?"
"Yes."
"Then you should go back. Any later and the cafeteria will be out of food."
They stood in silence for a long while, both saying they should leave yet neither turning away. It was Fang Muyang who finally broke the silence: "You should go upstairs now."
Fei Ni took a few steps forward. Just as she was about to enter the building, she looked up at the sky - it was going to rain. Turning back, she saw Fang Muyang still standing there, camera in hand.
She called out to him: "Wait for me, I'll go get you an umbrella!"
Fei Ma saw Fei Ni rushing upstairs in a fluster and asked, "Weren't you going to buy watermelon? Where is it?"
Fei Ni ran into the room as if she hadn't heard, grabbed an umbrella from behind the door, then went straight to the bookshelf next to the hand-cranked gramophone. Kneeling on the floor, she searched for the sequential pictures her father often read. Many quite famous artists were drawing sequential pictures these days - only knowing how to paint crabapple flowers had no future.
She wrapped the collected small sequential picture books in newspaper and hugged them as she headed for the door, forgetting there were still guests sitting in the living room.
Just outside the door, she saw Fang Muyang standing at the stairwell landing with his camera bag and a string bag. He had probably been there for a while but hadn't taken another step forward.
"Your watermelon."
"Your best way out right now is to draw sequential pictures. Take these back to study."
Garlic and chili peppers hung on the wall as the two silently exchanged the scattered sequential picture books and watermelon in the narrow hallway.
"You know how to use an umbrella, right?"
"I'm not that stupid." Fang Muyang smiled at her, popping open the umbrella with a bang that covered both their heads in the most peculiar way.
Fei Ni said, "I'm going back now."
"Mm, you go ahead."
Fei Ni wanted to wait until Fang Muyang left before turning around, but he just stood there motionless, so she could only stand there too.
The window was closed, the air stuffy, and the atmosphere between them seemed to have stopped flowing.
It was Fang Muyang who grew impatient first, urging Fei Ni to leave. "Aren't your arms tired carrying that watermelon? You should go back now."
Fei Ma watched her daughter standing at the stairwell landing and let out a long sigh.
Fei Ni turned first. She carried the watermelon to the metal bucket, filled it with cool water, and immersed the watermelon to cool. When she entered the room, she glanced back at the stairwell landing just in time to see her second sister and brother-in-law coming upstairs.
Fang Muyang had already disappeared.
Fei Ma scolded her youngest daughter for lacking social grace: "He's been here all this time, how could you not even invite him to stay for dinner?"
"Weren't you afraid he would ruin things for me?"
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