“Haven’t eaten yet?” The factory cafeteria’s food was better than the school’s. She pointed toward the cafeteria, showing Qu Hua around the factory grounds. Workers greeted Mu Jing as they passed, and she smiled back.
Qu Hua saw a new Mu Jing, relaxed now—except when facing him.
He had thought that after marriage, Mu Jing’s circumstances would improve and she’d become less tense, but the marriage hadn’t given her any sense of security. He had married an actress who dealt with him using the same techniques she’d used with her former boyfriend, except those words had been genuine then, and false with him. Marriage hadn’t changed her—work had.
“Let’s eat at the guesthouse.”
“The cafeteria here is much better than the branch school’s. No need to go so far.”
“I’m staying at the guesthouse tonight.”
Mu Jing couldn’t help but smile.
Qu Hua found the smile familiar.
Years ago, when Yanyan had shown him Fang Mu Jing’s photo, her face had been starkly divided—the lower half’s forced approachability couldn’t mask the disdain in her eyes. Though he’d never met her, strangely, he had sensed her arrogance at first glance. Despite this, he had acknowledged that Fang Mu Jing had some right to her intellectual pride. He couldn’t understand why Yanyan would admire such a person—misunderstanding seemed the only explanation. Yanyan had never captured the essence of her expression, only mimicking the smile of her lower face. Yanyan was different from them, always able to see the good in others.
When they met later, Fang Mu Jing had improved greatly, keeping her disdain for others hidden inside. Yet sometimes it showed through. Several times after marriage, late at night after intimacy, when he would kiss her face, he’d catch that smile in the ceiling light. Though she depended on him, even had to please him, she seemed to look down on him. The smile would vanish instantly, but it stayed in his eyes, driving him to kiss her more forcefully while she wrapped her arms around his neck.
If he were truly honorable, he should have told her earlier not to force herself, and now he should wait at home for her divorce petition after her career succeeded, content to have been a stepping stone. Let Mu Jing become a new person in her new environment. But he wasn’t that honorable.
He knew Mu Jing didn’t want to see him here. She had finally become a new self she liked, but his arrival immediately reminded her of Fang Mu Jing who had compromised her dignity for career opportunities.
He stood there studying Mu Jing, watching her fleeting smile.
“Wait a moment while I speak with my colleagues.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Mu Jing couldn’t find a reason to refuse.
Many of Mu Jing’s colleagues had received items from Qu Hua’s packages, which had never stopped coming. They all had a good impression of him. To them, the couple seemed very much in love, and it was natural for them to stay together during his rare visit.
Qu Hua didn’t recognize Old Wu at first—she had changed too much over the years, and they had only met once before. He only realized who she was when Mu Jing addressed her.
Old Wu recognized him immediately. When she heard Mu Jing’s husband was a surgeon named Qu Hua, she knew it was the one she knew. Years ago, Old Wu had tried to convince Qu Hua to choose computational mathematics, armed with a list of competition winners as potential recruits. She rarely met such a decisive child—others would consult their parents before accepting or refusing, but Qu Hua had firmly stated he would study medicine. When Old Wu mentioned that Fang Mu Jing had chosen computational mathematics, knowing that Mu Jing held some appeal for boys that age, even though being in the same major would make them just classmates, Qu Hua replied that others’ choices had nothing to do with him.
Old Wu would use any means to recruit the best students for her major. She immediately spotted the boy’s pride and smiled at Qu Hua: “Not choosing the same major as her—are you afraid of being outshone? Are you that insecure?” But Qu Hua had returned her smile: “Professor Wu, your reverse psychology seems rather clumsy.” Old Wu hadn’t expected to be so thoroughly rebuffed by a mere child and was even more surprised when Qu Hua paid for their tea. With her monthly salary of several hundred yuan and no family to share expenses with, she had always been the one treating others. When she tried to chase after him to return the money, he had already cycled away. She hadn’t given up on Qu Hua, trying to approach his parents, only to discover his father was impossible to communicate with—the man thought his son’s best option was to skip university and join the army, or at worst, attend a military academy.
Qu Hua had resisted not only her persuasion but also his father’s.
Old Wu didn’t bring up their past connection. She specifically granted Mu Jing half a day’s leave, though Mu Jing protested it as unnecessary. Old Wu declared she wouldn’t approve any leave requests from Mu Jing the next afternoon. Then she told Qu Hua, “You must bring Mu Jing back by noon tomorrow—we have a scheme discussion that can’t proceed without her. She’s as important to us as she is to you. No, more important!” When Mu Jing tried to speak again, Old Wu cut her off: “Hurry up and go, what are you waiting for?”
“I’ll change my clothes.” It wouldn’t be appropriate to enter the guesthouse in factory work clothes.
Qu Hua accompanied her to the dormitory. On the way, Mu Jing walked quickly, habitually removing her cap, her hair cascading down. Qu Hua saw her newly cut hair and reached out, but Mu Jing instinctively put her cap back on.
Qu Hua returned his hand to his pocket and stopped at the dormitory entrance, letting Mu Jing go inside to change. He watched people passing by, all wearing the same work clothes as Mu Jing. She changed quickly, faster than he expected.
Qu Hua asked how many people shared her dormitory. She said ten—the factory had opened its doors for education, and as temporary staff, they were housed in two converted offices. Though ten shared the space, it was still quite spacious.
Her expression showed she was quite content here.
They took a bus to the guesthouse, Mu Jing sat while Qu Hua stood beside her. Neither spoke during the journey. Mu Jing closed her eyes, mentally screening coding schemes, gradually pushing Qu Hua from her mind. Halfway there, it began to rain—autumn rains brought cold, and they had been falling continuously lately. Mu Jing usually carried an umbrella but had forgotten today. She’d forgotten not only her umbrella but also her medicine.
After getting off the bus, Qu Hua took off his thick coat and offered it to Mu Jing as shelter from the rain.
“I don’t want it.”
“Hurry, it’s just a few steps to get there.”
Qu Hua walked ahead of Mu Jing, who followed. It was much farther than a few steps; half of Qu Hua’s shirt was soaked. Though Mu Jing had the coat for cover, she still got wet.
“Go up and change your clothes first.”
Mu Jing couldn’t help but laugh. “This isn’t the factory.” Where could she change?
“I brought clothes for you. Take a shower first, then change into them.”
“You shower first.”
“If you keep being polite, we could shower together. It would save time. What do you think?”
Mu Jing immediately fell silent.
Qu Hua looked at her. “Not going in? Are you waiting for me to join you?”
Mu Jing closed the bathroom door. Qu Hua opened his suitcase to get clothes, then went to the bathroom with them, only to find the door locked. He knocked, standing sideways and staring fixedly at the window. “Your change of clothes.” Mu Jing took them, softly saying thanks.
Outside, the rain fell steadily as Qu Hua stood by the window smoking.
It was a long time ago.
One of Qu Hua’s classmates had asked if he’d received any letters from Fang Mu Jing.
Qu Hua was surprised by the question—he had no connection to Fang Mu Jing.
Later he learned why. The classmate had seen Mu Jing’s photo in the newspaper and was instantly smitten, immediately writing her a letter. After a month without a response, he wrote another long letter using Qu Hua’s name, thinking Mu Jing would remember Qu Hua from their appearance in the same magazine. Still no response. Undeterred, he sent two more letters in Qu Hua’s name, again receiving no reply. He suspected Mu Jing might have sent responses directly to the school rather than his given address. After much internal struggle, he finally decided to ask Qu Hua. Qu Hua found it extremely tedious, wondering how much nonsense had been written in his name.
That person had written boring letters in his name to Fang Mu Jing, not just one but three. He could imagine her expression opening them, those same eyes, but her whole face would have been consistent—her mouth surely curved in disdain, mentally laughing at what an idiot this Qu Hua was.
The boy, discouraged and warned by Qu Hua, never wrote to Mu Jing again. Qu Hua felt no need to clarify the situation—explaining would only make it more foolish.
Later, when Yanyan wrote to her cousin, she decided to write to Mu Jing as well, since they lived in the same place. She didn’t mind whether Mu Jing replied, assuming she received many letters, being so talented and beautiful. Because she resembled Mu Jing, and people who don’t dislike themselves tend to like those similar to them, Yanyan saw Mu Jing as more beautiful than others. In her letter, she introduced herself, expressed complete admiration for Mu Jing, and shared her love and interest in mathematics, writing that she dreamed of becoming a girl like her.
Qu Hua had said: “Getting her to reply wouldn’t be difficult.”
“How could she have time to reply to everyone?”
“But she’ll reply to you. Don’t put stamps on it—I’ll mail it for you.”
Sure enough, Yanyan received Mu Jing’s reply. Seeing Fang Mu Jing’s name on the envelope seemed incredible—she truly hadn’t expected a response. The envelope bore a red-crowned crane stamp. Mu Jing’s handwriting was unlike her photo—very free-spirited—but the content was gentle. Yanyan’s formal name was more stern than her nickname, so Mu Jing simply dropped her surname and addressed her as “Student So-and-so.” Mu Jing wrote a full page of study methods. Though Yanyan couldn’t fully understand them, she was excited, feeling she’d received secret knowledge, as these methods hadn’t appeared in the magazine. Mu Jing ended by saying she would send two books and welcomed Yanyan to write again for discussion.
Yanyan told Qu Hua this news, but he wasn’t particularly surprised.
“Brother Hua, how did you know she would write back?”
“Because your letter was sincere. She was moved by it.”
Qu Hua didn’t tell Yanyan that he’d used a Mei Lanfang stage art miniature sheet for postage—these were typically for collecting rather than mailing, and the Mei Lanfang edition was particularly rare and extravagant. The stamp’s face value could have mailed over a dozen registered letters. Such a large miniature sheet on an envelope, especially of Mei Lanfang, couldn’t go unnoticed; stamp collectors knew its rarity. Through Yanyan’s constant information sharing, he knew Fang Mu Jing collected stamps. He had also included a set of red-crowned crane stamps for her reply.
Two days later, Yanyan received two books she couldn’t understand at all from Fang Mu Jing, along with an envelope containing another envelope—the inner one addressed with Yanyan’s formal name and bearing the Mei Lanfang miniature sheet. Feeling the stamp too precious, she returned it, though its postal cancellation might have reduced its collection value.
Qu Hua hadn’t expected the stamp to be returned. Her letter to Yanyan was gentle, perhaps unrelated to the stamp. This proved Fang Mu Jing did reply to letters—just not to that fool writing as Qu Hua.
When Yanyan asked why he’d used such a stamp, Qu Hua didn’t answer directly, only saying he had more than one.
Yanyan didn’t pursue it further and gave Qu Hua the envelope with the Mei Lanfang stamp. She didn’t particularly like Mei Lanfang, though she knew his excellence. She preferred drama and ballet; Qu Hua had once given her a set of Soviet ballet stamps, which she loved.
Yanyan never contacted Mu Jing again, partly feeling she was too busy to disturb, and partly because she couldn’t understand the books Mu Jing had sent and couldn’t discuss them. She wanted Qu Hua’s help to write to Mu Jing with questions, proving she could learn and wasn’t hopelessly stubborn. Qu Hua firmly refused, taking away the books Mu Jing had sent Yanyan for safekeeping, saying that at her level, reading them would only confuse her more—she’d do better studying her textbooks, possibly improving her scores. Yanyan had to cut off contact with Mu Jing, and later, when dancing became her main pursuit, Mu Jing disappeared from her life.