It was obvious that Ye Feng’s parents looked down on her—they couldn’t even be bothered with basic courtesy.

His mother’s gaze suggested Fei Ni wasn’t here to meet the parents but rather desperately offering gifts to seek favors, and with such meager gifts at that, she couldn’t even be bothered to look at them.

It would take hundreds of people rushing to curry favor with the Ye family to cultivate such a dismissive, arrogant attitude as Ye Feng’s mother’s.

Though Ye Feng’s mother worked at the hospital, she wasn’t in a medical position. Her arrogance toward Fei Ni wasn’t that of a doctor toward a patient, but rather that of a logistics leader responsible for resource allocation toward those currying her favor. She didn’t need to say a word—a single glance was enough to convey her disdain.

Fei Ni didn’t feel she was marrying above her station Ye Feng. What separated them was merely a diploma—if she’d been allowed to take the college entrance exam, she certainly would have passed. Even without a diploma, she was self-sufficient; everything she wore and ate was earned by her efforts. But when their circumstances were weighed on the marriage scale, his parents found her wanting.

Ye Feng suddenly suggested to Fei Ni: “Didn’t you say you could play ‘Shajiabang’ on piano? There’s a piano right here—could you treat us to a performance?” Last time after watching the “Shajiabang” symphony, Fei Ni had mentioned she could play it on piano.

Fei Ni immediately understood Ye Feng’s intention. He wanted her to showcase her talents in front of his mother, to prove that his girlfriend wasn’t as uncouth as his mother assumed. Though she was only a middle school graduate and an ordinary factory worker, she could play piano and even sing selections from “Shajiabang” while playing.

Fei Ni had learned piano at school, practicing on the piano donated by Fang Muyang’s grandmother. During lunch breaks, while others rested, she would secretly practice, occasionally playing some less “progressive” pieces. Back then, she’d dreamed that once she started working and had her place, she’d buy a piano for her home. At the time, a piano seemed an impossible dream—she only had five fen for daily pocket money, while even the cheapest piano cost several hundred yuan, and her home was too small to fit one anyway. After she started working and had disposable income, she could have bought a used piano from the consignment store for just dozens of yuan, much cheaper than a new bicycle, but she still had nowhere to put it.

So she could only play at the consignment store, always choosing very “progressive” pieces. The store employees earned fixed salaries, unaffected by sales, and since pianos were too large to steal in broad daylight, they didn’t watch potential customers too closely. Fei Ni took advantage of this, practicing under the pretense of shopping. Since she played politically appropriate songs, nobody could complain. But after being recognized last month, she stopped going.

Fei Ni didn’t want to play “Shajiabang,” especially not to prove she was worthy of Ye Feng. Did her inability to play somehow justify their cold treatment?

Fei Ni smiled. “I don’t feel like playing right now.”

She caught the flash of disappointment in Ye Feng’s eyes and felt somewhat disappointed in him because of it.

Ye Feng’s mother interpreted Fei Ni’s “don’t feel like playing” as “can’t play,” assuming she was showing off after just a few music classes at school.

“Do you practice regularly at home?”

Fei Ni knew she was deliberately embarrassing her, knowing full well there was no piano at her home, but she answered honestly anyway: “We don’t have a piano.”

Her tone and expression showed no shame whatsoever.

Ye Feng’s mother put down her newspaper, becoming more talkative: “If you don’t play piano for a week, you get rusty. This piano was originally meant for Ye Feng’s sister’s dowry, but she said she’d want to play when she visits, so we had to keep it. Ye Feng helped a lot with his sister’s wedding—he handled all the permits for the record player, television, and radio.”

At first, Fei Ni found the latter part of his mother’s statement abrupt, but she quickly understood the subtext: the Ye family provided a generous dowry for their daughter, not just a piano but also a record player, television, and radio—unlike other families who expected the groom’s family to pay for everything.

Auntie Chen came out from the kitchen, and Mrs. Ye told her, “Don’t make the sweet and sour fish yet—that’s Ying Ying’s specialty. She’ll want to show off her skills when she arrives.”

Ye Feng asked, “Why is she coming?”

“I’ve always treated Ying Ying like my own daughter. This is her home too—she can come whenever she wants. I hope she can live with us permanently.”

Fei Ni finally understood why, despite their obvious unwelcome of her, the maid had been busy in the kitchen since early morning—it was for another guest. This Ying Ying must be their preferred daughter-in-law candidate.

Ye Feng could no longer tolerate his mother’s attitude, but wanting to avoid direct conflict, he said to Fei Ni, “Let’s go see if there are any books you’d like to read in my room.”

He knew Fei Ni had been hurt, but her face showed no sign of it, remaining gentle as ever. This gentleness was a form of subtle pride—compared to it, his mother’s obvious arrogance seemed crude. It was this gentleness that had first attracted him. He had been surprised to learn she worked at the Hat Factory, and even more surprised when he visited her home. It was so narrow, smaller than his bedroom, but for Fei Ni’s sake, he had repeatedly endured this cramped space.

The phone rang—from Mrs. Ye’s tone, it was Ying Ying calling.

Mrs. Ye told her on the phone that she’d specially saved some lychees for her to eat when she came.

Fei Ni hadn’t seen any lychees during her entire visit. She remembered her first time eating lychees—Fang Muyang had given them to her, saying no one in his family liked them and they would spoil soon. Many classmates had received lychees from him; she was just one of them.

“No, thank you. I should be going now.” Since she wasn’t welcome, Fei Ni had no desire to stay.

“Weren’t we planning for you to have dinner here? Afterward, I can accompany you wherever you’d like to go.”

“I’ll eat at home.”

As Ye Feng tried to persuade her to stay, his mother spoke up: “If she has things to do, don’t force her.”

Mrs. Ye finally showed a slight smile, pointing at the pastries and tea Fei Ni had brought: “You should take these back for your parents.”

Fei Ni didn’t refuse, directly picking up the pastry box and tea canister. Halfway through turning around, she suddenly said, “I didn’t drink from the teacup, so you can just pour it out—no need to specially disinfect it.”

Earlier, when Auntie had served tea, Ye Feng and his mother had white porcelain cups, while Fei Ni was deliberately given a glass one.

Fei Ni left without any reluctance, and Ye Feng chased after her. He grabbed her arm, his tone both pleading and beseeching: “Let’s go back—just give me face on this.”

His parents hadn’t given her any face, but Fei Ni didn’t want to point this out. She still smiled: “I prefer eating at home. If I use your family’s bowls and chopsticks, your mother would have to specially disinfect them—that would be too much trouble.”

“The cup was just what Auntie Chen grabbed randomly—it’s not what you think.”

“It’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with being hygienic. After all, she doesn’t know if I have any infectious diseases. She just didn’t need to make it so obvious, as if afraid I wouldn’t notice.”

Though Ye Feng knew his mother had done it deliberately, he insisted it was a misunderstanding. He didn’t want Fei Ni and his mother to be at odds—after all, they would have to live together after marriage. If he insisted on moving out to start his household after marriage, his work unit would give him a room, but seeking limited housing when he had plenty of space at home would harm his reputation. Besides, conditions at home were far better than outside.

Fei Ni didn’t want to argue anymore, her voice betraying undisguised weariness: “Right, your mother didn’t mean it. Go back and eat.”

“Weren’t we going to eat together? Let’s go for Western food—my treat.”

Ye Feng followed Fei Ni downstairs without saying goodbye to his family.

Seeing that Ye Feng was going with her, Fei Ni’s tone softened: “Go back. I don’t want to eat out today.”

“Wherever you’re going, I’ll go with you.”

“Ye Feng, I think we both need to reconsider.”

“I have nothing to reconsider. My mother’s attitude doesn’t represent mine. I’m the one marrying you, not my parents. Isn’t it unfair to reject me because of them?”

Ye Feng had a face suited for being a husband—handsome and reliable. As section chief at the Radio and Electronics Bureau, in an era when televisions, record players, and radios all required permits, many people sought his help, yet he showed no trace of arrogance. Fei Ni felt he was different from his parents and decided to give him another chance.

Fei Ni ended up eating with Ye Feng at the same restaurant where she had first gone with Fang Muyang.

It took her several seconds to confirm that the young man two tables away was Fang Muyang.

She knew exactly what he looked like, but couldn’t understand why he was here again. Sitting across from him was a man in blue casual clothes, his white hair indicating he was at least fifty.

Fang Muyang also saw Fei Ni, and they made eye contact for several seconds before she looked away first.

The man across from him asked, “See someone you know?”

The man was Director Fu from the publishing house, an old classmate of Fang Muyang’s mother. The publishing house ran a Worker-Peasant-Soldier Art Creation Training Class, which produced most of the influential comics in circulation.

“A friend.”

Fang Muyang called over the waiter and ordered for Fei Ni’s table: one butter-baked fish, one pot-stewed beef, and two plates of ice cream.

He told the waiter, “Put these additions on my bill.”

Director Fu asked him, “Want to go over and say hello?”

“She probably doesn’t want to talk to me right now.”

Director Fu couldn’t help but admire this young nephew of the Fang family a bit more. After a decade of changes, only Fang Muyang, despite years of education from the poor and lower-middle peasants, still maintained his playboy ways—if he had two coins today, he definitely wouldn’t save them for tomorrow. Even when someone didn’t want to acknowledge him, he’d still deliberately order dishes for them just to get their attention.

He wanted to talk with Fang Muyang about his mother—back then, he and his mother had been university classmates, and she had taken him to eat at a Western restaurant where the food was much more authentic than here. But there were too many taboo subjects in past events, many inappropriate for public discussion, so he could only pick and choose his words carefully.

Years of ups and downs had taught Director Fu to speak privately in a way that only his intended listener could hear. His voice reached Fang Muyang’s ears precisely, while others couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Your parents thought there were too many intellectuals in the family, so they wanted you to become a worker after finishing middle school. If you can get into a factory now, you’d be fulfilling their wishes.”

What Director Fu said was true, but what he didn’t explicitly state was that Fang Muyang could only join the training class as a sent-down youth now, risking a return to the countryside at any time. If he became a factory worker first, then transferred to the training class to draw comics, it would be a completely different situation.

“The training class can’t provide dormitory accommodation. See if the Youth Office can help you appeal to the Housing Management Bureau to allocate you one room from your family’s original house.”