Mu Jing felt apologetic—there wasn’t much to eat in the cafeteria, just greens and potatoes. They didn’t even have the steamed buns Qu Hua had asked for.
She smiled at Qu Hua as she wiped his chopsticks clean. Even the cafeteria tables and chairs testified to the hardship of life here.
Mu Jing ate a few bites of vegetables, then said, “I have some canned food. Wait here while I go get it.”
“Keep it for yourself. I don’t want that.”
He lowered his head to eat from his bowl while Mu Jing watched him silently. When Qu Hua looked up, she quickly looked down.
Mu Jing didn’t ask where he was going afterward or where he would stay tonight. They ate their meal in silence. She walked him to the school gate, and though the distance wasn’t great, it felt long because neither spoke. Mu Jing watched him leave until he turned the corner, never looking back. She turned to look at the stars in the sky.
When Qu Hua turned around, Mu Jing had already gone through the school gate, becoming just a tiny dot in his vision.
Qu Hua’s mother had found an old monthly magazine her son had appeared in, and by chance discovered her daughter-in-law’s name in it. Looking back at the photograph, the features indeed resembled her daughter-in-law, but the expression was completely different—it carried that distinct quality unique to teenage girls. Of course, that belonged to Mu Jing’s teenage years, a face that hadn’t known hardship, not even the ordinary struggles of exams. It seemed she had effortlessly won first prize.
She showed the yellowed magazine to her son. “You two were truly destined—even your pages were next to each other. I used to flip through this issue often, yet I never made the connection to Mu Jing.” It seemed that no matter how much information one saw, they only absorbed what caught their attention.
He had been the same way back then. Annoyed by his father showing off his magazine appearance everywhere, he hadn’t even bothered to look through it, naturally missing Fang Mu Jing’s presence. It was Yanyan who first discovered Fang Mu Jing in the magazine, showing the photo to Qu Hua after he’d finished playing ball with her grandfather: “Don’t you think she’s beautiful?”
“Is she?”
“Look more carefully. I think she’s beautiful, more beautiful than movie stars, especially her eyes…” Yanyan thought Mu Jing looked like herself, so Qu Hua praising Fang Mu Jing would be like praising her, but she didn’t get the response she wanted.
It was Yanyan’s grandfather who spoke up: “Doesn’t this girl look a lot like Yanyan?”
Qu Hua replied, “I don’t think so. They’re completely different people.”
Yanyan looked disappointed. “I’ve asked many people, and they all say people who are good at math get prettier when they study.” Yanyan was poor at math; even Qu Hua’s tutoring didn’t help. She always found excuses to justify her temporary poor performance. “I wish I were her—not only good enough at math to win first prize and appear in magazines but also to be on the same page as you.” She stared at the face in the magazine and continued, “She looks like she’s read many books, and has more grace than me.” Qu Hua didn’t have a habit of criticizing one person in front of another, but he told Yanyan, “I don’t see how she has more grace than you. If anything, she seems more affected.”
Yanyan didn’t believe him. “That’s because you’re more familiar with me, and people tend to find familiar faces more attractive.” She pinched her baby fat. “When I lose this fat, I’ll probably look like her.”
He did think the magazine version of Mu Jing looked affected. Yanyan had no reason to feel inferior to others.
But Yanyan didn’t find Fang Mu Jing affected at all. Instead, she saw the photo as aesthetically beautiful—her ideal self. She would occasionally imitate it, like a face-changing performance in Sichuan opera, though she’d return to herself the next moment. The Fang Mu Jing in the photo smiled without showing her teeth, while Yanyan couldn’t help but show all of hers.
She even believed that Fang Mu Jing, who was also good at studying, could somehow bless her to excel in mathematics. She made Mu Jing her role model, posting her picture by her bed for daily inspiration. Behind Fang Mu Jing’s photo was information about Qu Hua. Fang Mu Jing represented Yanyan’s future self; despite their small age difference, this gap made Yanyan believe that given time, she would become someone like Mu Jing.
Qu Hua didn’t think Yanyan needed to become someone else, but he knew it was just childish behavior that would pass. However, Yanyan kept Fang Mu Jing’s photo up for over a year, until the college entrance exam was abolished and she no longer needed to study mathematics. Later, Yanyan took up dancing, quickly becoming the lead dancer, the center of attention, like a fish in water.
She no longer needed to idolize a woman who was good at mathematics; she had found herself. Until her last moment, she remained vivacious and playful, telling him: “Beautiful women, like famous generals, aren’t meant to grow old. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have grown up to be so beautiful. But being beautiful can’t be helped.” Yanyan’s usual toothy smile suddenly transformed into the pose from Fang Mu Jing’s magazine photo, but only briefly before returning to her natural self. “Back then, my greatest wish was to become a woman like Fang Mu Jing and marry you.
Thinking about it now, that was so foolish. I don’t think I ever really understood you. Brother Hua, you’ll meet someone who likes you and whom you like back.” After that magazine, she never saw Fang Mu Jing through any other channel. Back then, she had thought Mu Jing would become a mathematician.
“If—and I mean if—I don’t wake up before they wheel me out, please fix my face. I want Yuan Ling to see me at my best.”
Qu Hua only connected the woman before him with Fang Mu Jing from Yanyan’s desk when he saw the mathematics text peeking from her bag. Before that, he had just witnessed her hysterical cursing, completely different from his previous impression.
In truth, he had never really seen her before; most of what he knew about her came from Yanyan.
Time indeed changes many things. He thought about how when Yanyan could easily imitate Mu Jing’s former pose, Fang Mu Jing herself could no longer manage it. She either cursed without regard for appearances or remained guardedly silent.
They only shared one profile view. Fang Mu Jing wasn’t like Yanyan—not in the past, and even less so now. The more time he spent with her, the more apparent this became.
Ten days later, Mu Jing received several large packages. Besides jars of jam and canned food, the largest package contained thirty jin of flour. The school’s food rations were limited, prioritizing students over faculty, and even then, the rations were mixed with sweet potato powder. For most people, having enough to eat wasn’t difficult, but having a satisfying meal was rare. For northerners, getting wheat-based food here was particularly challenging. Her roommate was from the north and hadn’t had flatbread since returning from visiting family. Even getting steamed buns in the cafeteria was difficult.
Mu Jing gave her roommate three jin of flour, though her roommate protested it was too much as if flour were some precious commodity. The roommate used her treasured sesame oil to make scallion pancakes, and even with the door closed the aroma spread. She shared half with Mu Jing. With the remaining flour, she made dumplings and a large bowl of fried dough drops.
Many northern faculty members received portions of Mu Jing’s flour, and though each person’s share was small, flour being scarce made it precious. Everyone who received things from Mu Jing’s “husband’s” packages felt embarrassed and reciprocated with their own mailed goods. Though the cafeteria’s dishes were limited, Mu Jing never lacked food.
Mu Jing had no time to contemplate Qu Hua’s feelings for her, with hundreds of coding schemes waiting for her manual calculations. Old Wu said in meetings, “Don’t fear difficulty—difficulty shows our value. Our generation processes data with human brains, but once we complete our task, the next generation can use computers.”
Old Wu was no longer the same person Mu Jing had met over a decade ago. Back then, she wouldn’t have cursed so freely, but she was still unique at the school. No one else dared to be as unconventional, though this was Old Wu being restrained. Before Mu Jing’s college years, people often saw Old Wu walking quickly through campus wearing a loose long dress under a coat, her hair in a bun, one hand holding a cigarette, the other in her pocket.
She was a campus fixture. Her siblings were all abroad, regularly sending her money and supplies. She donated all the dollars, living alone on her monthly salary of several hundred yuan plus overseas remittance certificates, living more freely than anyone.
After returning to work, unlike others who became cautious after setbacks, Old Wu’s temperament grew more explosive and crude, punctuating every sentence with curses. Since recovering from tuberculosis and nearly dying, she no longer chain-smoked as before, replacing cigarettes with tea—the bitterer the better. She drank from a large enamel mug, constantly taking swigs. Whenever she gulped her tea, Mu Jing suspected she was craving a cigarette and using tea to suppress the urge.
“If we succeed in this, we’ll be making history, not just witnessing it. How boring to just witness history. Our generation has been given an opportunity by the times, and we must seize it.” Old Wu would take another gulp of tea after speaking. Though older than others in the research group, she always included herself with twenty-something Mu Jing the same generation.
Mu Jing was no longer the person Old Wu had known. Back then, Mu Jing had the greatest weakness of clever people—always looking for shortcuts, disdaining simple methods, her face bearing an arrogance that could wound those not strong inside. Time had somehow sculpted her features. Her face no longer showed pride that could hurt others; instead, it seemed capable of accepting everything, including others’ harm toward her.
Mu Jing had also developed a tea-drinking habit. She felt time was insufficient, sometimes staying in the office all night, drinking tea when tired, as if opportunities might be taken away at any moment. Even the hardworking Old Wu couldn’t bear to watch, actively telling Mu Jing to rest: “If you keep this up, you’ll break your body before achieving results.”
Mu Jing was the youngest in the group, but she felt more urgency than anyone. Old Wu understood Mu Jing; she had felt the same way when first returning to work.
Her mother-in-law called asking her to visit home, but she always said she’d come later. She bought local specialties at high prices from villagers in the market and mailed them to the Qu household, along with fabric. Every time her mother-in-law called, she would send something. She received packages regularly each month, containing both food and daily necessities, most of which she shared with colleagues. Even Old Wu praised Qu Hua: “Your husband is really good, supporting your work like this.” Every time she heard this, Mu Jing would take another gulp of tea.
When Old Wu casually asked about Mu Jing’s husband, Mu Jing described Qu Hua as an excellent neurosurgeon. Her most vivid image of him was when he emerged from the operating room, his hair half-soaked with sweat. As she said this, even Mu Jing found it strange. She had thought it didn’t matter to her whether Qu Hua was a doctor, worker, or anything else, as long as he provided some protection, like when he had brought her from standing-room-only to a sleeper car on the train.
She had married him just for such protection, and Qu Hua had sensed this. He had agreed to marry her but didn’t respect her. His Yanyan would never have done such a thing for a better life; he had been forced to realize this early on. She had wanted to leave him decisively, to maintain her dignity, but her ideals wouldn’t allow it.
Mu Jing saw Qu Hua again at the machinery factory. She received packages monthly, containing not only food but clothes that fit perfectly. She had once visited a store but couldn’t find suitable clothes for Qu Hua, so she bought gray wool yarn instead. She had heard about an auntie nearby who did knitting work to supplement her income and had excellent craftsmanship, so she asked her to knit a sweater. When it was finished, Mu Jing mailed it to Qu Hua.
Mu Jing went to the factory with other colleagues. Just out of the workshop, still wearing her factory-issued work clothes, she had cut off most of her hair herself after arriving at the branch school, carelessly pinning up what remained under a cap. Her thin face made her large, bright eyes even more striking. Her face was red, not from shyness—she had taken fever medicine that morning.
She spent her days conducting technical analysis at the factory and nights in the factory-provided dormitory, screening coding schemes, and drinking tea when tired. She greeted others and walked toward Qu Hua with a smile, but up close, she didn’t know what to say. She figured he must have gone to the school looking for her to know she was there.
They stood facing each other.
“I received everything you mailed. Thank you.” Beyond thanks, there seemed nothing else to say.