Old Fang remained silent, a silence that conveyed his unabashed fondness for money, despite its vulgar connotations.
He called his son into the study and took out a thick envelope containing one hundred ten-yuan bills.
"This is to cover your past living expenses."
Fang Muyang took the envelope and, with a single touch, gauged the amount inside. Smiling, he said to his father, "There's no rush to give me the rest. I'm not in a hurry."
But Old Fang had no intention of handing over more cash. He had set aside some money for his wayward son, but it was meant to be dispersed through daily expenses.
Just as Old Fang was about to explain his intentions, Fang Muyang asked him, "How is the organization of your manuscript coming along?"
Old Fang sighed. The doctor had advised him not to strain his eyes, yet he was reluctant to entrust the manuscript to outsiders. After a month, he had made little progress.
"Would you like me to help you organize it? Didn't the doctor advise you not to overuse your eyes?"
Old Fang hadn't expected his wayward son to show such filial piety. However, considering his capabilities, he could only decline tactfully: "You're so busy with work, and you still paint when you come home. I'll manage on my own."
"No matter how busy I am, I can't neglect my duty to you. If you don't trust me, you could let me try with the pages you've already transcribed. If you're satisfied, I'll continue. If not, we'll drop it."
Old Fang called his son into the study and showed him a page of the manuscript. Pointing to one of the traditional characters on the page, he asked, "Do you recognize this character?" Old Fang held no expectations for his son, who was the black sheep of the family. Not only had he not received a proper university education, but he hadn't even finished middle school. Even during his years of schooling, he hadn't taken his studies seriously, and his literacy level was likely limited to common characters.
"You really underestimate me."
Old Fang defended himself: "I meant the characters are small, and I was afraid you might not see them clearly."
"No need to worry about that. My eyesight is excellent."
After giving extensive instructions, Old Fang finally handed his son a page of the manuscript, urging him to prioritize his work and return it if he no longer wished to transcribe it. He had already rewritten that page in larger characters.
Hearing the door open, Fei Ni immediately composed herself. She didn't want Fang Muyang to think she was even slightly unhappy about his new job at the pictorial. He had finally found work that suited his talents—how could she not be happy for him? If Fang Muyang had listened to his parents and given up the job at the pictorial, she would have felt guilty, knowing he had done it solely to spare her feelings, as he had no other reason to refuse. Though Fang Muyang didn't view his profession as a matter of pride like others did, having worked as a waiter for so long, he had no reason to turn down an opportunity to try something new.
Fang Muyang didn't mention the job. Instead, he handed her the envelope.
Fei Ni opened it and saw the money inside.
"Where did this money come from?"
"Didn't I tell you? My father insisted on reimbursing me for my living expenses before I came of age."
Fei Ni handed the envelope back to Fang Muyang. "We both have jobs now. If we can avoid using our elders' money, we should."
Fang Muyang smiled. "That's what I said too, but he insisted on giving it to me. Refusing would only create distance. I was thinking, since the old man is busy transcribing his manuscript and his eyes aren't great, I could use this money to hire someone to help him. What do you think?"
Fei Ni recalled that Ling Yi had also offered to help with the manuscript. "Who are you planning to ask?"Fang Muyang unfolded Fei Ni’s palm and pressed the envelope into her hand. "I wonder if you have time to help me out? If you take this money, I might be able to benefit from your generosity."
Fei Ni took the manuscript Fang Muyang handed her, studying the small characters on the page. "I can help, but does your father trust me?"
"We’re family—why wouldn’t he trust you? If you’re unsure about anything, just leave it blank. He’s very cautious these days and doesn’t dare let outsiders handle written materials. It’s just that my skills are limited, so I have to trouble you. When you have some free time in the coming days, you can start by transcribing this page for him."
Fei Ni lightly scratched Fang Muyang’s ear with her finger. "Since when have you become so polite?"
"Then put the money away. From now on, paying the rent will be up to you."
"What if your father isn’t satisfied?"
"He’ll definitely be pleased."
Fei Ni didn’t consider the money her own, but she didn’t trust Fang Muyang with finances either, suspecting that once the money was in his hands, it would quickly vanish. She placed the envelope in a drawer and locked it.
Fei Ni hadn’t forgotten about the magazine matter: "When are you starting at the pictorial?"
"I still prefer my current job. I doubt the cafeteria at the pictorial is any good."
"Is that the only reason you don’t want to go?" Fei Ni naturally didn’t believe Fang Muyang’s excuse.
"Isn’t that important enough? Do you think food isn’t important? If I went to the pictorial and lost weight because of the bad food, you’d feel sorry for me, wouldn’t you?" Fang Muyang pinched Fei Ni’s cheek with his fingers. "I’d feel sorry too—I’m afraid I’d hurt you if I got too bony."
"If there’s anything you want to eat, I’ll buy it for you. But about this matter—you haven’t given the Ling family a definite refusal, have you? If they urge you again to join the pictorial, you should go."
"I already turned them down very firmly earlier. They definitely won’t ask me again."
Fei Ni swatted his hand. "How could you do that? Why didn’t you discuss it with me before refusing? Didn’t I say I support you working at the pictorial? Why don’t you understand? I truly mean it—it’s not just empty politeness." She knew that Fang Muyang’s refusal to join the pictorial ultimately came down to her; otherwise, he wouldn’t have rejected the offer so quickly. It was one thing for her own career to stagnate, but she couldn’t let Fang Muyang miss a better job opportunity because of her. What kind of person would that make her?
Her own preferences were trivial compared to future prospects.
Fei Ni spoke so urgently that her voice carried a hint of tears.
"I understand. How could I not?" Fang Muyang suddenly wiped the smile from his face. "Because the Lings introduced this opportunity, you’re even more insistent that I take it. Even if only one percent of my reason for refusing is because of you, you’d think you were hindering my future, so you feel you must support me going to the pictorial. But in reality, my future has nothing to do with whether I work at the pictorial or not."
Fei Ni’s thoughts were laid bare. She turned her face away to look at the night outside the window.
"I don’t think working at the pictorial is much better than being a waiter. Besides, if I accept their favor, I won’t be able to leave easily if I don’t like the job later." Fang Muyang wrapped his arms around Fei Ni from behind. "Believe me, I’m not sacrificing anything for you. I simply think this job isn’t as good as my current one."
He turned Fei Ni’s face toward him and kissed her reddened eyes. Fei Ni closed her eyes, and a tear fell, landing at the corner of Fang Muyang’s lips.
Fei Ni didn’t entirely believe Fang Muyang’s words, but it was precisely because she didn’t believe him that she felt moved.Fang Muyang leaned in to kiss Fei Ni, who responded with fervent passion. Pushing and jostling, they stumbled toward the bed and collapsed onto it, crumpling the bedsheet beneath them. Fang Muyang’s fingers deftly worked to undo the buttons of Fei Ni’s blouse, but she snapped out of her daze and firmly clutched her shirt. "Not today. I need to transcribe your father’s manuscript."
Fang Muyang pressed a kiss to the mole on her collarbone. "No rush." The mole seemed to redden under his touch. Summer had not yet faded, and beads of sweat dotted Fei Ni’s nose. Breathing heavily, she knew from past experience that at moments like this, she would usually yield to whatever Fang Muyang wanted.
Yet this time, Fei Ni resolutely refused. "I must finish it today." She suspected that if not for consideration of her feelings, Old Fang might have asked Ling Yi to help organize the manuscript. Now that he had sought someone else’s assistance, she felt obliged to contribute. Moreover, she needed to prove that she was more than just a worker at the hat factory, where she had taken over her parents’ positions—she had other abilities and was truly worthy of Fang Muyang.
Fang Muyang watched as Fei Ni tidied the hair he had tousled, and he could only offer a wry smile. Even his father’s manuscript held more appeal for her than he did.
Fei Ni spent two days transcribing a page of Old Fang’s manuscript for him. To make it easier for him to read, she wrote in large, neat block characters. She converted all phonetic transcriptions of English into actual words. For two uncertain passages, whose language she couldn’t identify, she left blanks. She handed the finished pages to Fang Muyang, who passed them on to his father.
He asked Old Fang, "Are you satisfied with my work?"
Old Fang turned the pages over and over, nodding occasionally, but his expression soon turned stern. "Who did you get to help you?"
"Why would you think that?"
"Your handwriting isn’t like this."
"Have you ever seen me write? How can you be sure this isn’t my writing?"
"Your mind is too restless to produce characters like this." He had once tried to make his rebellious son practice calligraphy, but the boy could never sit still.
Old Fang thought to himself that, given his son’s abilities, he couldn’t have organized the material so accurately. Though Fang Muyang spoke English fluently, his vocabulary was limited to everyday conversations, mostly in restaurant settings. He wouldn’t recognize, much less write, more obscure words. Some anecdotes had been intentionally misspelled in the original, yet the transcriber had corrected them. He knew his son’s limitations well—though the boy might know a thing or two about art history.
Fang Muyang said, "Fei Ni helped a little."
"There must be someone else."
"In two days, who could I have found?"
"Did my daughter-in-law really transcribe this?" Old Fang examined the handwriting closely—elegant yet unadorned, much like Fei Ni herself.
Fang Muyang laughed. "I contributed some effort too."
"What did you do?"
"I handed your manuscript to her. Are you satisfied with my contribution?"
Old Fang sighed and smiled. "I never thought you’d be so fortunate." The wife he had married was not only devoted and principled but also remarkably talented.
"Would I be any less fortunate if Fei Ni hadn’t transcribed your manuscript? It seems our fortune lies in serving as your scribes." Fang Muyang didn’t consider transcribing his father’s manuscript any kind of blessing—for the past two days, Fei Ni had eyes only for the manuscript, not for him.
"Don’t twist my words."
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