Fang Muyang had someone move his family’s loft bed to the landlord’s storage room.
Fei Ni whispered to him, “What will we sleep on if we move this away?”
“Once we’re done moving, I’ll go with you to the furniture store to buy a new bed. This one is fine for one person, but it’s too inconvenient for two.”
Fei Ni said nothing, tacitly agreeing. Although the bed saved space, it really wasn’t very practical.
When the belongings were moved to the Fang family’s home, it wasn’t just furniture—even the potted plants they kept were brought along. Their bedroom was fairly spacious, accommodating a wardrobe, a desk, a sewing machine, and still having room for a large bed. The piano was placed in the living room.
Fang Muyang’s parents knew their rebellious son disliked playing the piano, so it was undoubtedly their daughter-in-law’s.
Teacher Mu asked Fei Ni who had taught her to play the piano, knowing full well her mother-in-law wasn’t asking about her school music teacher. Fei Ni smiled and said she just played casually, having learned from her elementary school music teacher, and was entirely amateur. She wasn’t like Fang Muyang, who had a principal orchestra musician teach him the violin.
Old Fang said, “Your mother plays quite well. She can teach you in the future.”
Old Fang treated the movers to soda and said to his son, “The soda isn’t even cold. It would be so much more convenient if we had a refrigerator at home.” The living room still didn’t have a television. Old Fang could have obtained a Television Ticket if he had been willing to swallow his pride, but he refused to humble himself to ask for a television purchase quota. Thus, a television, refrigerator, and the latest stereo recorder remained out of reach.
The household appliances he wanted couldn’t be bought without tickets, so he spent his money on calligraphy and paintings instead. He stored his purchases in the study. Unable to resist the urge to show off, he called his son and daughter-in-law into the study as soon as the movers left, without giving them time to tidy up. He brought out an album of landscape paintings by Shitao for them to see. Old Fang usually disliked associating art with money, but feeling he had gotten a good deal, he asked them to guess the price.
Fang Muyang deliberately quoted a high price, which pleased Old Fang, who smiled without saying a word. In the past, Old Fang would go hunting for calligraphy and paintings as soon as he got his salary. The only consolation his rebellious son gave him was that, although he often took household items to the secondhand store to sell for cash, he had never touched his paintings. These artworks hadn’t been traded for his younger son’s oil paints, snacks, or roller skates, yet they were gone anyway. It seemed material possessions were unreliable. Last year, Old Fang had been quite detached from such worldly goods, but this year, with money and the temptation to spend it, he couldn’t resist buying when he saw something he liked. Years of practice had taught him how to haggle, something he would have been too embarrassed to do before. He then invited his son to examine a hanging scroll he had bought. Although his rebellious son was terrible at traditional Chinese painting, he had a decent eye for appreciation. With no one else to discuss such matters with, Old Fang turned to his son for conversation.
He gave Fei Ni a flower-and-bird painting to take to her parents, suggesting they replace the rebellious son’s “Five Bats Bringing Blessings” piece.
Unexpectedly, Fang Muyang took a liking to a landscape painting by Zhu Da for his in-laws. “Dad, replacing just one would look odd. Why not change them all? You might as well give this one too.”
Hearing this, Old Fang felt a pang of heartache, inwardly lamenting how he had raised such a spendthrift. But he couldn’t show it in front of his daughter-in-law, so he maintained a smile while searching for a polite way to refuse.
Fei Ni, who knew of Zhu Da, felt the gift was too extravagant and said, “You should keep this painting. Their living room doesn’t need another painting—just a piece of calligraphy. My parents are still waiting for your calligraphy.”Old Fang recalled that he had indeed promised to give his in-laws a piece of calligraphy. Thankfully, his daughter-in-law remembered; otherwise, this painting would have been given away. He was deeply moved that his daughter-in-law chose his calligraphy over a painting by Zhu Da.
He asked Fei Ni to wait a moment, as he currently lacked high-quality paper and ink. The calligraphy couldn’t be written immediately—he would wait until he acquired satisfactory materials, have it mounted, and then send it to the in-laws.
Old Fang then showed his son and daughter-in-law the rare books he had purchased. He had anticipated that they wouldn’t understand them, and presenting the books to them was like playing the lute to a cow. Still, having an audience, even an uncomprehending one, was better than none. Fei Ni, however, understood a little. Over the years, she had been in a state of intellectual hunger, reading whatever books she could scavenge from the recycling station without being picky. Though her classical Chinese was poor, she even read rare editions of bibliographic records when she came across them.
The fact that Fei Ni understood even a little surprised Old Fang. He was well aware that the secondary education of her generation was quite superficial, so her grasp of textual criticism was unexpected. With a satisfied audience, Old Fang enthusiastically expanded on the topic, regardless of whether his rebellious son wanted to listen.
Fang Muyang sat in a chair flipping through the landscape album his father had bought. Since Fei Ni wanted to attend university, having someone at home eager to tutor her was a good thing.
The family hadn’t hired a housekeeper yet. Old Fang usually ate at small restaurants or had meals brought back by Teacher Mu from the cafeteria. When dining out alone, he mostly ordered just a bowl of noodles, occasionally one dish. Ordering more felt wasteful and embarrassing—having two dishes alone was too extravagant.
Now that his son and daughter-in-law were visiting, they could order more dishes at the restaurant. Old Fang insisted beforehand that he would pay for the meal. He first handed the menu to his wife, who passed it to their daughter-in-law, who then returned it to her in-laws. Amid this polite back-and-forth, Fang Muyang simply snatched the menu into his own hands.
Fang Muyang laughed, “With all this politeness, are we ever going to eat? Fine, I’ll decide. If anyone’s unhappy, speak up.”
Without asking for their preferences, Fang Muyang directly ordered two dishes each according to their tastes and added a soup. Old Fang was deeply touched, never expecting that after so many years apart, his rebellious son still remembered what he and his wife liked to eat.
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