Mu Jing started wearing the clothes over a decade ago again. She didn’t see any resemblance between herself and the girl in the painting, but Qu Hua didn’t seem to mind. She thought this was fine—pretending to be the perfect housewife had been exhausting anyway.
She no longer made a show of serving Qu Hua at the dinner table to demonstrate her care, and when they were alone, she stopped making perfunctory conversation. When they did talk, Mu Jing would ask Qu Hua about surgical procedures, giving him space to expound.
Her understanding of men began with her father. Her father loved explaining his discoveries and theories to her mother. For the sake of marital harmony, Professor Mu sometimes showed admiration for her husband, which would make Old Fang float on cloud nine. However, Professor Mu was usually too busy with work to humor him and none of their three siblings showed any interest in Old Fang’s theories. Fortunately, there were plenty of admirers outside the family. Though he held an administrative position, he still squeezed out time to teach when the urge struck. For a while, Mu Jing even thought all men had an inherent desire to lecture, and the only solution was for them to become actual teachers. Students, desperate for good grades, would parse every word of the lecture notes no matter how scattered the speaker was. As for men who weren’t teachers, at least half of their unsolicited opinions had to be bestowed upon their wives or girlfriends. Her brother enjoyed explaining physics to his wife, and her ex-boyfriend used to lecture her about modern drama. As for her younger brother, he not only hated being taught but also hated teaching others—but he was still a child, not a man.
She allowed Qu Hua to lecture at home; someone like him who loved staying at the hospital always had plenty to say about the surgery. But this approach didn’t work—Qu Hua preferred listening to Mu Jing talk while his fingers conducted a full-body examination, which was more in line with their daytime professions.
Qu Hua obtained a mimeographed mathematical biology textbook from somewhere and asked Mu Jing to explain it to him. Mu Jing was willing to help him with this, preferring it to having to humor him in other ways. During the day, Qu Hua was either standing at the operating table or sitting in outpatient consultations, sometimes working night shifts. When he came home, he only wanted to lie in bed and listen to Mu Jing’s lecture. While listening, Qu Hua would examine Mu Jing’s body with his fingers. When Mu Jing told him to stop, he said it was fine—it didn’t interfere with his listening comprehension. He was a medical student with some foundation in mathematics, having won first prize in the city mathematics competition during high school. This led him to self-study college textbooks in high school, but he realized his talent wasn’t sufficient and gave up quite decisively, directly applying to medical school for the college entrance exam. This foundation wasn’t enough for research, but it was sufficient for multitasking during lectures. Mu Jing’s lectures became increasingly difficult to deliver—she could hardly complete a sentence, yet she insisted on finishing her points, and Qu Hua kept interrupting with questions. Though her lectures started with thorough preparation, they often ended abruptly.
To thank Mu Jing for teaching him, Qu Hua asked if she had any requests. Mu Jing said being able to help him was satisfaction enough. After some casual conversation with Qu Hua, she brought up her brother. Although Old Qu had repeatedly offered to take in Fang Muyang, these were always vague promises—he had never considered which room the boy would stay in. While arrangements could be made after arrival, the intention seemed somewhat lacking. Mu Jing tactfully asked if there was a spare room, mentioning that her brother had won major awards in children’s art exhibitions and had been painting all these years. If Qu Hua wanted to discuss oil paintings, he could talk with her brother once he arrived.
Qu Hua remembered the art album from the train—perhaps it had been meant for her brother.
Qu Hua didn’t point out the inconsistency in Mu Jing’s words, remembering how she had once told him that her brother-in-law lacked even basic self-care abilities and relied entirely on others’ care—how could such a person discuss oil paintings? Even if he could, Qu Hua had no interest in discussing oil paintings with the Fang family’s third child; he was more interested in his medical condition. He had been waiting for Mu Jing to discuss her brother’s condition with him, as it had been a major topic in their first few conversations, but after meeting again a month later, Mu Jing never brought it up voluntarily. Beyond distrusting his character, she probably didn’t trust his professional expertise either. He couldn’t decide which bothered him more, though it was probably the latter. His grandmother’s condition was improving steadily; even if Mu Jing didn’t bring it up, he would mention it himself.
Qu Hua seemed very supportive of having his brother-in-law come over, telling Mu Jing, “I’ll discuss this with my parents; you don’t need to worry about it.” When his mother heard Qu Hua’s reasoning, she couldn’t help saying that it was inappropriate to bring in one’s brother-in-law just to study his condition, and even if that was the intention, they shouldn’t say so to Mu Jing—it would hurt the child’s feelings. Feeling guilty toward her daughter-in-law, Qu Hua’s mother specially arranged a large, sunny room for her brother. Although both in-laws agreed to take in Fang Muyang, their reasons differed: Old Qu admired Fang Muyang’s character, while his wife simply considered him her daughter-in-law’s brother—just one more pair of chopsticks at the table.
Even the ticket purchase was handled by Qu Hua, who specifically bought Mu Jing a sleeper berth ticket. During the preparations to bring Fang Muyang over, the couple talked much more. Mostly it was Mu Jing speaking, as she naturally didn’t want anyone to dislike her brother during his stay. She focused on her brother’s good qualities.
While other sent-down youth complained about rural hardships, her brother wrote saying that the villagers had lived there their whole lives, so how could he complain about staying just a few years? He was doing well, with locals making him lard-fried pancakes and fried eggs.
“He finds joy in life wherever he goes. He only gets to eat eggs a few times a year, but he mentions it in every letter as if it’s a daily occurrence. He likes the countryside and feels he could stay there indefinitely.” Mu Jing privately felt there was something wrong with this—no matter how poor the locals were, they were born and raised there, while he was just a rootless drifter. But she never wrote this in her letters, and not just because it wasn’t correct. She understood her brother’s nature—he could find the countryside more appealing than home for the first few months, but if he had to stay there without moving for too long, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. But what else could he tell her besides good news? Should he tell her that even getting a pancake depended on the villagers’ kindness? Even if he wanted to complain about hardships, could she help? If he wanted to put down roots there for life, he wouldn’t be taking leave to stay at someone else’s home when he had nowhere else to go. If he hadn’t taken leave, he wouldn’t have saved that person, and he wouldn’t still be in the hospital now.
Mu Jing tried to emphasize her brother’s positive aspects to Qu Hua. Fang Muyang had mailed her several paintings back then, all very cheerful—either plump sorghum heads from the countryside or a big goose flapping its wings with ducks following behind… She had mailed all these paintings signed by Fang Muyang to the art academy teachers, hoping to secure him a chance at university admission, but there had been no response, and the paintings were never returned. Otherwise, she could have shown them to her brother.
Mu Jing didn’t mention the incident with the art album, and neither did Qu Hua. Qu Hua asked if she wanted him to accompany her, but Mu Jing said she could go alone. It was one of the rare times the siblings could spend time together privately, but she was still grateful to Qu Hua and became more detailed in her lectures to him, though she never seemed to finish them in bed.
The day before returning to her hometown, Mu Jing received a letter from her brother.
The letter said he had gotten married, and included a picture of him and Fei Ni.
Mu Jing was very happy for her brother—he had recovered his memory, his wife was good to him, and she came from a politically reliable background. Along with the happiness came a slight melancholy, though it was insignificant.
The prepared room and purchased sleeper ticket had lost their purpose.
Since the Qu family had prepared to welcome her brother, she naturally had to explain the situation. She showed Fang Muyang’s letter to Qu Hua and spoke about Fei Ni: “I never expected there would be such a girl who would stand by him through everything.” She wasn’t that kind of person, nor would she meet someone like that. She turned to Qu Hua and said, “Thank you.”
She had never believed that spouses like her and Qu Hua had any obligation to help each other; whenever he helped her, she saw it as an unexpected blessing, just like when she first met him on the train. That was their first meeting—gratitude was appropriate, but it was just gratitude.
That night, Qu Hua didn’t ask Mu Jing to lecture, but she volunteered to do so. He still had night shifts every week, and if they didn’t make the most of their time, they wouldn’t finish before she left. She wasn’t sure how useful this was to Qu Hua, but it was all she could do.
When she studied computational mathematics, it was still an emerging field in China. If her background had been politically reliable, she would have had opportunities to participate in important projects. Or if she had been born a few years earlier, even with her poor class background, she might have had opportunities like her brother who had already achieved results. But she had neither advantage and now that she was married, it was like having half an admission ticket. When Qu Hua kissed her ear, her whole body trembled, even her voice shook, and she asked him, “Could you wait until I finish the lecture?”
Qu Hua told her, “Whatever we don’t finish tonight, we can continue tomorrow morning.”
In the morning, Qu Hua suddenly brought up the unfinished topic from last night’s lecture at the family breakfast table. While it seemed perfectly proper to others, it made all of Mu Jing’s subsequent movements with her chopsticks unnaturally awkward.
Qu Hua’s mother interjected at this point: “Our second son won first prize in the mathematics competition and almost went into the mathematics department. The Middle School Monthly even reported on him—I still keep that issue. Your father bought about thirty copies at the time and gave them all away.”
Old Qu spoke up then: “Your memory is faulty—how could I have bought that many copies?” Though he had been educated about women’s liberation, he was still very traditional at heart and felt his son was diminishing the family’s male dignity. However, he had been quite pleased with the time; although his son hadn’t followed his wishes, at least he could get into university on his own merits, without riding on his coattails, unlike some people he knew whose children’s academic performance was abysmal, unable to qualify even for the worst schools, yet still occupied a university spot—shameful. If he had such an unworthy son, he would send him wherever was most difficult for some tempering.
Mu Jing remembered that she had also been featured in that magazine, also for winning the competition. Her coverage had been the most extensive, including her photograph. She had won first prize, and her segment was the longest because the magazine’s publisher was in her hometown, and the editor-in-chief happened to know her father, so they had interviewed her extensively. She had been young then, focused entirely on herself, thinking the photo made her look very affected—she didn’t even want to look at it and had no interest in anyone else in the magazine, so she didn’t know if Qu Hua had participated in the same year as her.
She didn’t mention this experience at the breakfast table—it was from so many years ago. Besides, for a medical student, winning a mathematics competition was indeed something worth mentioning. For someone of her profession and age, bragging about a middle school award would seem petty.
Mu Jing privately sent a letter to her former Professor Wu, who had been transferred from the farm to a branch school two years ago. Though his rank wasn’t high, he was in charge of a project. She inquired about the branch school’s situation and included some wedding candy from her marriage to Qu Hua. The reply came quickly, and the message was direct—she had been trying to arrange Mu Jing’s transfer there as the project team needed people, but since Mu Jing was now married, she could only wish her a happy marriage. Mu Jing read the letter with a bitter smile; after all these years of being battered by fate, Old Wu was still so direct, unlike her who had changed too much. She understood from the letter that she had a chance of being transferred there; though there were difficulties, now that she was married, Old Wu assumed she wouldn’t leave her comfortable situation to transfer there.
She immediately wrote back to Old Wu, expressing her determination to transfer.
Old Wu replied promptly—they had someone who wanted to transfer to Mu Jing’s city but couldn’t find anyone to exchange positions with. If Mu Jing wanted to come, there was a position available. As long as both parties agreed, cross-regional job exchanges within the same system weren’t difficult, and Mu Jing’s background issues were now resolved—it just depended on working things out with her family. Although Old Wu herself remained unmarried, she still advised Mu Jing to think it through carefully, as her current family situation could help solve many problems, and she might not find better opportunities in the future.
Mu Jing didn’t mention the transfer to anyone in the Qu family, continuing to perform all her usual duties.
She couldn’t help thinking of Qu Hua while teaching or preparing lessons. These moments weren’t frequent, but each time made her blush—not from shyness, but from embarrassment. Her profession had become his daily bedroom flirtation, and what embarrassed her more was that whenever Qu Hua posed a perfectly serious question, she would naturally think of that aspect, even though sometimes he was simply trying to have a genuine discussion. Qu Hua’s mathematical foundation was much better than most of her current students, who rarely had a complete middle school education. Of course, at Qu Hua’s level, Mu Jing found it difficult to engage in equal discourse, but he was a doctor—and a professional one at that—so she was more tolerant of this aspect.
In the evening, she continued giving Qu Hua lessons. Feeling the pressure of time, she spoke faster than usual, but Qu Hua always seemed to fragment her words.