Old Fang's recent meals had noticeably improved. Previously, his dinners mostly consisted of food Teacher Mu brought back from the cafeteria, but now he had three sources: his wife's cafeteria, his daughter-in-law's cafeteria, and his son's restaurant kitchen. The best dishes came from the restaurant where his son worked—being a waiter's father wasn't without its perks.
An old friend of Old Fang's from the United States was visiting China and requested to see him through the reception team. This friend was quite a character; when Old Fang first met him, he was American, but by their next meeting, he had switched to French citizenship and was living in Paris. The city he once imagined felt too close and ordinary after seeing it for so long, and now he had returned to settle in the U.S. again.
Once arrangements were confirmed, the ministry notified Old Fang to prepare for the meeting.
The meeting location was only disclosed to Old Fang on the day itself. A Volga car was parked downstairs early in the morning, waiting to take him there.
Old Fang was very familiar with the restaurant they were heading to, not because he had frequented it before, but because his son worked there.
Although it was a reunion between old friends, there were accompanying personnel from the reception team, including an English translator.
In the past, given Old Fang's temperament, he would have switched to another language with his friend, deliberately choosing one the translator couldn't understand. But now, reformed and aware of the consequences, he made full use of the translator since one was provided. He greeted his friend in Chinese and asked the translator to interpret for him, continuing the conversation entirely in Chinese. His friend was astonished that Old Fang, whose English was near-native, insisted on speaking a language he didn't understand and even requested translation. Puzzled, he voiced his confusion. The translator relayed the question to Old Fang, who replied in Chinese, "Back when I studied in the U.S., I used your country's language. Now that you're in China, you should speak Chinese." The translator glanced at the accompanying official, his eyes asking, "Should I translate this?" Fearing the conversation might spiral out of control if interpreted, the official interjected, "Old Fang, who doesn't know your English proficiency? Please be considerate of our foreign guest."
With that, Old Fang had no choice but to agree. He immediately switched to English, and compared to his fluency, the young translator's English seemed somewhat unpolished.
After years of re-education, Old Fang had become more cautious in his dealings. He deliberately controlled his speaking pace to ensure the accompanying staff could understand, avoiding any unnecessary misunderstandings.Though they hadn't seen each other for over a decade and should have had much to talk about, the presence of others meant their conversation mostly revolved around family. The old friend reminisced about their previous meeting when he was still French, mentioning Old Fang's youngest son in passing. Back then, the entire family had greeted him in fluent English. Fang Muyang and his older siblings attended schools with a continuous education system where they started learning Russian from first grade. Later, when Russian was replaced by English, they still excelled. Even if schools didn't teach it, in such a household environment, not knowing English would have been rare. Fang Muyang had also learned some English phrases at school, but he insisted on greeting in Chinese, explaining that he was representing the Chinese people in welcoming this foreign friend from afar. Old Fang was quite proud of his rebellious son's remark and translated it for his friend. Unexpectedly, Fang Muyang then added in somewhat broken English that when foreigners came to China, they should follow local customs and speak Chinese, or at least greet in Chinese.
Knowing Fang Muyang was learning oil painting, the friend remarked, "By your logic, since you're Chinese and live in China, why study Western oil painting?" Fang Muyang replied, "Who says oil painting belongs to you foreigners? Art belongs to the whole world, transcending nations. Just like Peking duck—anyone in the world can enjoy it. Let me and my parents treat you to Peking duck—you'll definitely like it." Old Fang was pleased with his rebellious son's first statement and translated it for his friend, replacing "foreigners" with a more elegant term. Demonstrating hospitality, Fang Muyang not only wanted to treat the guest to Peking duck, hot pot, chestnut chicken, and steamed fish with his parents but also to various dim sum—Cantonese, Suzhou-style, all kinds. Unable to name these in English, he specially drew a categorized, simple, and clear illustration. Seeing his son seize every opportunity to promote local cuisine, Old Fang felt both exasperated and amused, knowing the boy had been craving food after recent hunger. But since he'd offered, they had to follow through. When the friend departed, he received a gift from Fang Muyang—a drawing of a Chinese Peking duck, which he still keeps at home.
The friend asked if Fang Muyang was still painting.
Old Fang said he was, painting as a hobby and working as a waiter professionally—though he left the latter part unsaid.
It was then that Fang Muyang appeared to serve the foreign friend. The dishes for this table had been pre-ordered, and after serving them, Fang Muyang briefly introduced each one. Having worked at the restaurant for some time, he was now skilled at explaining the menu items.
Running into his father at his workplace, Fang Muyang showed no surprise. Old Fang, already aware his rebellious son worked at this restaurant, wasn't too startled either.
Father and son each accepted their current roles, tacitly agreeing not to acknowledge each other.
Old Fang felt his son must be embarrassed by today's encounter—appearing as a waiter at the restaurant where his father was meeting someone, even if he didn't show it.
The friend was very satisfied with the waiter's introductions and left a substantial tip when settling the bill.
Watching his son receive the tip, Old Fang felt a pang of heartache.
The two chatted happily, and the friend suggested meeting Old Fang's family before returning to his home country.
After bidding farewell to his friend, Old Fang pondered his son's career path. Back home, he didn't mention running into his son at the restaurant. His solemn expression led Teacher Mu to assume he was upset about the meeting and ask what was wrong.Old Fang, however, avoided discussing the meeting entirely, saying only, "If it weren't for my issues, my son wouldn't have ended up as a waiter."
Teacher Mu comforted him, "Being a waiter is fine too. As long as he can support himself, there's nothing to be ashamed of."
"People should still make use of their strengths." Although his son was indeed doing well as a waiter, Old Fang felt deeply saddened by it. He respected waiters personally, but he still held a bias against the service industry.
Old Fang had always despised the practice of relying on connections and favors, but seeing his rebellious son in such a state, he couldn't help but entertain the idea. However, his principles had been firmly established for decades, and he found it difficult to abandon them so easily.
That evening, Old Fang once again ate the dishes his rebellious son had brought home from the restaurant's kitchen. The food that had once tasted delicious now seemed bland and unappetizing.
During the meal, Old Fang announced that he had already found a housekeeper who would start the next day, and he told his son and daughter-in-law not to bring food home anymore.
Ever since Fei Ni and Fang Muyang had moved in, Fei Ni had forced Fang Muyang to share the responsibility of washing the bowls with her. After a few instances of this, Teacher Mu had asked Old Fang to hire a housekeeper. Old Fang, having already made preparations, quickly found one and arranged for her to start work the next day.
After the meal, Old Fang called his rebellious son into the study. "You should stop working as a waiter for now. If you're short on money, I can lend you some."
"You mean it?"
Old Fang responded with silence, expressing his disdain for his son's question—how dare he doubt his own father's sincerity?
"Then give me a thousand yuan first."
Old Fang hadn't expected his rebellious son to agree so quickly and to mention money so directly. A thousand yuan was no small amount.
"What do you need the money for?" Old Fang thought for a moment and said, "You're living here with me, so you don't have to pay for food. Logically, there shouldn't be any other expenses. If there are, you can tell me, and I'll consider whether to give it to you based on the circumstances."
Fang Muyang laughed. "Borrowing money is such a hassle. You should keep it for yourself. I knew your offer to lend money was just a pretense. If I really lost my job, you wouldn't give me a single cent."
OpenNovel