All of Fang Muyang’s classmates knew he was married. The unmarried male students held a certain envy toward their married counterparts, especially during figure drawing classes.

It wasn’t hard to tell which male students were married during these classes. At that time, except for a few restricted films, even public movies didn’t show so much as a kiss. The unmarried students appeared awkward when facing the female models waiting to be drawn. Some didn’t know where to rest their eyes, unsure how to look without seeming inappropriate or coming across as a lecher. Fortunately, the female models were professional, and as the drawing progressed, the students’ unease gradually faded. The married men were notably more composed, and among them, Fang Muyang was exceptionally at ease, treating male and female models with equal professional detachment.

Not only did Fang Muyang’s classmates know he was married, but they also knew his wife was Fei Ni. She had gained some recognition for helping her professor translate an American poetry collection, where her name appeared in the credits. Many of Fang Muyang’s classmates were reading that poetry collection. Besides translating foreign poetry, she also helped domestic poets translate their works into English to reach a broader audience.

Fang Muyang’s introduction to poetry came entirely through Fei Ni. One day, while sitting on the back of his bicycle, she pressed against his back and softly recited an English love poem. The moonlight was beautiful that night, and Fang Muyang thought Fei Ni was expressing her feelings through a foreigner’s words, too bold and passionate to say in her native tongue. The kind of words that would make others blush if overheard. Even without others around, such things needed privacy. He responded with some tender words of his own, though in Chinese. Fei Ni pinched him, saying, “You’re shameless, how can you say such things?”

Fang Muyang found this puzzling, as his words weren’t any more intimate than hers. Perhaps it was because he spoke in Chinese, though no one was around to hear.

He laughed, “Why shouldn’t we speak what’s in our hearts?” Then he repeated his words in English.

This time, Fei Ni remained silent, either from embarrassment or something else.

On Fang Muyang’s birthday, the whole family gathered to celebrate. Unlike other families, in the Fang household, children were required to give gifts to their mothers on their birthdays, while they didn’t necessarily receive presents. This was Old Fang’s principle; he always turned his children’s birthdays into Thanksgiving occasions, specifically to thank his wife. In Old Fang’s mind, if not for his wife’s efforts, his children wouldn’t be celebrating birthdays at all.

Fei Ni naturally adopted this Fang family tradition, and she too prepared gifts for her mother on her birthday. Before Fang Muyang’s birthday, Fei Ni had planned to prepare two gifts: one for Fang Muyang and one for Teacher Mu. Fang Muyang told Fei Ni not to prepare anything for him, asking only that she grant him one condition. As for Fang Muyang’s gift to his mother, Old Fang had already decided – he required his son to paint a traditional Chinese painting. The quality didn’t matter as much as the sentiment, and he would add his inscription. Fang Muyang painted it in advance and gave it to Old Fang, who added a poem he was quite pleased with, then sent it for mounting.

Old Fang took his children’s birthdays very seriously. Even during times when they were separated and he had nothing, he remembered to show appreciation to his wife on their children’s birthdays, saving money to buy noodles and eggs for a modest celebration meal. Now that conditions were better, he had more opportunities to exercise his creativity. He composed another poem for his son and had Teacher Mu write it out, representing their joint wishes for their child. Teacher Mu, after admiring her husband’s poem, had to write it out under Old Fang’s watchful eye. Old Fang praised his wife’s improving calligraphy, noting it had taken on some of his style – what people called the similarity between husband and wife.

The birthday celebration concluded perfectly under Old Fang’s arrangement. Fei Ni played a piece on the piano, with Old Fang selecting the piece – though when he suggested it to Fei Ni, he presented it merely as a suggestion rather than a requirement.

Fang Muyang received a poem composed by his father and handwritten by his mother. He couldn’t help but marvel that all the popular contemporary poetry hadn’t influenced his father’s style at all. Fei Ni expressed admiration for Old Fang’s poem, largely out of respect for her elder. Old Fang, wanting to show he regarded Fei Ni the same as his son, specially promised to give her the same kind of gift on her birthday. Fei Ni was surprised by her father-in-law’s words. Old Fang misinterpreted her surprise as being overwhelmed by the honor and reflected on whether he had previously neglected his daughter-in-law, quickly assuring her that this was natural among family members. After the celebration ended, Fei Ni and Fang Muyang bid farewell to his parents and returned to their small courtyard.

Only upon arriving home did Fei Ni learn of Fang Muyang’s condition – having already agreed, she couldn’t back out now, and had to let him paint on the dress she was wearing.

It was an old dress, one she had grown attached to over time. Fang Muyang was also familiar with this dress, not just its appearance but its texture. Painting on a dress worn by Fei Ni was completely different from painting on ordinary canvas. His brush moved across this “new canvas,” sometimes light, sometimes heavy.

This “new canvas” was naturally soft, and became increasingly so as he painted, and unlike regular canvas, it wouldn’t stay still as he worked.

Fang Muyang asked Fei Ni to recite the English poem she had read to him that day.

“What poem?” Fei Ni had no recollection of reciting any poem to Fang Muyang.

Fang Muyang’s memory wasn’t bad, but his vocabulary was still limited, and he hadn’t fully understood it at the time. He could only remember keywords, which he offered as reminders to Fei Ni.

Fei Ni’s face suddenly flushed red. She would never have intentionally recited such a poem to Fang Muyang. That day, she had been contemplating the translation of this poem and had mumbled it aloud. She had been thinking about it for days, unable to find satisfactory phrases, so she’d been pondering it while walking to school. Later, the poem was deemed too direct and wasn’t included in the collection. She hadn’t expected Fang Muyang to understand – perhaps his vocabulary had improved during his American trip, and he had misinterpreted it as meant for him.

Fei Ni explained that someone else had written it.

Fang Muyang said he knew, but he just wanted to hear Fei Ni recite it.

Usually, Fei Ni would have been straightforward and told Fang Muyang it was all a misunderstanding. But today was his birthday, and she didn’t want to spoil his mood.

She had no choice but to recite it word by word, deliberately omitting what she considered the more passionate phrases.

Although Fang Muyang’s vocabulary was limited and time had passed, certain words had left a deep impression, and he noticed their absence now. He shared this observation with Fei Ni.

Fei Ni remained silent.

Fang Muyang then asked Fei Ni to translate what she had recited.

Fei Ni laughed, “Stop pretending, I know you understand.”

“But I want to hear your translation,” Fang Muyang said, continuing to paint on his “new” canvas.

“Figure it out yourself.” Fei Ni covered her eyes with her hands, slowly peeking through her fingers to let in light.

They both fell silent, and Fei Ni found this silence even more unbearable than before. Being a human easel wasn’t easy, even though the artist made no demands of her.

Fang Muyang rarely made mistakes in his brushwork, and when he did, he apologized to Fei Ni. She said it didn’t matter.

Fei Ni’s reassurance didn’t lower Fang Muyang’s standards for himself. To avoid mistakes, he became even more careful, which made Fei Ni particularly uncomfortable. She would have preferred him to make mistakes if it meant finishing sooner.

Her breathing became increasingly rapid, her chest naturally rising and falling.

Fang Muyang didn’t mind her movement making his painting more challenging; instead, he told her not to be nervous.

As he painted, he repeated the poem Fei Ni had recited, asking her to correct any errors in his memory.

Fei Ni covered her entire face, telling him his recitation was correct.

She was ticklish, but Fang Muyang paid no attention to this while painting on her dress. She asked him to be more careful, but the more careful he tried to be, the more ticklish she felt, causing her to squirm. The dress was sleeveless, and because of her movement, some of the paint intended for the dress landed on her arm. When Fei Ni looked at her arm, Fang Muyang touched it with his finger, saying, “I’ll wash it off for you later.”

Fang Muyang kept his promise, washing it off with gentleness, unlike his usual rough handling of his clothes.

The dress Fang Muyang painted for Fei Ni remained at home; she never wore it out.

Whenever she saw that dress, she couldn’t help but think of that night, though she never dwelt on it for long.

The detailed reminiscing came later. Although she had been married to Fang Muyang for several years, certain details still made her unconsciously touch her earlobes when she thought of them. But now she had to keep revisiting these memories, suspecting she was pregnant, unable to figure out what had gone wrong.

Neither she nor Fang Muyang had graduated yet, and she wasn’t prepared to have a child. Before going to the hospital for a check-up, she told Fang Muyang. Although he wasn’t prepared either, he said they couldn’t reject a child that was already coming. They had tried to prevent it, yet the child insisted on arriving – it wouldn’t be right to turn it away.

Fei Ni thought he had a point.

“But we haven’t graduated yet.”

Fang Muyang didn’t see this as a problem, saying he could take a break from school to care for Fei Ni, and return to his studies when the child was older.

“You make dropping out sound so simple.” Fei Ni didn’t want Fang Muyang to interrupt his studies, even temporarily. She couldn’t help feeling worried, though all complications seemed simple in Fang Muyang’s words.

Although Fang Muyang also felt a child would limit their personal space, seeing Fei Ni’s concern, he naturally emphasized the positive aspects. He said he had been an easy child to raise, self-entertaining, never clingy with his parents. He believed their child would be the same.

“I was often sick as a child,” she said. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have attended the same elementary school.

Fang Muyang said that didn’t matter either – the suffering from illness happened in childhood, and look how healthy she was now.

Fei Ni laughed at Fang Muyang’s blind optimism, his tendency to see only the bright side, yet his optimism did comfort her.

Fang Muyang began drawing portraits of their future child, endlessly combining their facial features in various arrangements, though in abstract, extreme distortions. Fei Ni couldn’t help laughing at first, but then grew serious thinking these were drawings of their child. “How could you? Drawing our child like this.”

Fang Muyang drew another in two minutes for Fei Ni to see. She laughed and grew exasperated, “This is your child, not mine.”

Fang Muyang laughed, “How could that be possible? I’m not capable of that. If you’re not satisfied, draw it yourself.”

Fei Ni took the notebook and drew one. She studied Fang Muyang’s features, combined them with her own, and sketched simple drawings. She drew a girl first, then a boy, not knowing which their child would be.

She wouldn’t let Fang Muyang see, but he snatched the notebook, saying, “How can I not see my child?”

Though Fei Ni’s drawings were amateur, they were done with great care. Fang Muyang could see traces of himself and Fei Ni in them, and couldn’t help smiling as he looked.

He stopped abstracting their child and began imagining more concretely.

He asked Fei Ni to recombine their features again, and following her combinations, different children emerged under his pen. The same set of features looked different on male and female faces. Fang Muyang drew quickly, not too detailed, but all matching Fei Ni’s descriptions. Some of these imagined children were beautiful, others less so, but Fei Ni didn’t notice these differences. She only found it magical – she knew intellectually that a child had countless possibilities, but seeing specific drawings before her eyes was different entirely. Fei Ni exhausted her imagination, conjuring dozens of images, finally realizing some were similar with subtle differences, these variations revealing endless possibilities. Fei Ni massaged Fang Muyang’s wrist, telling him to rest and stop drawing.

They studied their potential children, and Fei Ni smiled involuntarily. Fang Muyang pinched her cheek, asking her to choose which of the dozens of possibilities their future child might most resemble.

Fei Ni thought seriously about it, finally deciding any would be fine – all were combinations of her and Fang Muyang.

Fang Muyang agreed any would do, but that didn’t stop him from trying to predict. He numbered the children in the drawings and chose one to make a bet with Fei Ni, saying if their future child looked like this one, she would have to grant him a wish.

Fei Ni laughed at his silliness, saying no other father was like him.

Yet this silly father had completely dispelled her worries, making her feel that while having a child would bring short-term difficulties, they weren’t insurmountable.

The next day proved it had been a false alarm. Perhaps the child thought they weren’t reliable enough, unwilling to immediately join these silly parents who were betting on their child’s appearance. To have this child, they would need to pass more tests over time.

When Fei Ni learned the result, she first felt relief – that day indeed hadn’t left the possibility of pregnancy. There weren’t so many uncontrollable accidents; one accident was acceptable, but too many would be overwhelming. She hoped the child would come according to plan, without disrupting her and Fang Muyang’s studies. Yet amid the joy was a touch of loss – she and Fang Muyang had been so efficient, planning not just the child’s appearance but even how to arrange the nursery.

The day they learned the child wasn’t coming, they went to a restaurant for lunch, celebrating that their studies wouldn’t be interrupted. In truth, had they confirmed the child was coming, they would have celebrated at the same restaurant. Fang Muyang could always find reasons to celebrate.

They kept the sketchbook, and sometimes Fang Muyang would add another page based on Fei Ni’s imaginings. Their bet never expired.

Fang Muyang’s paintings hung in a New York gallery for almost a year without selling, but he didn’t mind. He cared even less about what the foreign art market preferred, focusing only on painting what pleased him.

He had no expectations about selling his paintings, so when his agent informed him one had sold, he was surprised. After the surprise came joy, because of the money. He could live without money, but with it, he had no trouble spending it. He had none of an artist’s restraint; learning his painting had sold, he thought only of purchasing power. He also believed that someone willing to pay a high price for his painting probably didn’t think poorly of his work.

Converted to yuan, the sum seemed even larger. He spent enough money to buy a courtyard house on a new piano for Fei Ni and bought gifts for his parents, siblings, and Fei Ni’s family. In his mind, money couldn’t be kept; it had to be spent. When Fei Ni heard the piano’s price, she thought Fang Muyang had gone mad. She wasn’t a professional; she didn’t need such an excellent instrument.

Fang Muyang laughed, “You think too little of yourself. Don’t your hands deserve this piano? Please set higher standards for yourself.”

Besides, the piano could be passed down to their child, though this child didn’t yet exist.

Whether psychological or otherwise, Fei Ni quickly experienced the benefits of an expensive piano. Yet she kept the piano Fang Muyang had previously traded furniture for, playing it occasionally.

To live up to the new piano, Fei Ni notably increased her practice time. Fang Muyang, as her patron, enjoyed the benefits of his sponsorship – most times, he was her only audience.

Fang Muyang’s gallery paintings sold one after another, some reselling at auctions for high prices, though this remained unknown in China. He now viewed fame lightly, since he had money without it. From birth, his father had been famous, and their home was never quiet from visitors, which had interfered with his play. With his father’s example before him, he felt lacking fame wasn’t necessarily bad. He couldn’t even be bothered to participate in domestic exhibitions, puzzling his classmates who thought his skill level deserved at least minor awards.

He couldn’t win if he didn’t participate.

As Fei Ni’s translated poetry collection gained more readers, it seemed few students around them didn’t read poetry. Painting, especially oil painting, remained a minority interest. Outside the small circle of painters, Fang Muyang was less known than Fei Ni. As her fame grew, Fang Muyang gained another title – Fei Ni’s husband. Some thought he lived in Fei Ni’s shadow, yet he seemed perfectly content.

Fang Muyang didn’t reject this title. He spent freely on art supplies; though he earned no salary as a student, his wife did. He said his brushes were bought with Fei Ni’s money. This was true – she managed their household finances. Some even suspected his canvases came from Fei Ni’s translation fees.

After he said this three or four times, everyone accepted it without hesitation. Upon careful analysis, he did have the qualifications to be supported by his wife.

When Fang Muyang told Fei Ni this, she studied him and smiled, saying, “You do have the qualifications. I’ll work hard to support you. But you’ll have to wait a while.”

“I can wait.”

Two years later, they had a child. The child didn’t look like the drawing Fang Muyang had bet on.

However, that day Fang Muyang barely had time to examine his child closely, being mostly concerned with the child’s mother.

The child was more beautiful than the father had imagined.

Fei Ni’s mother adored the child, though the only imperfection was the child’s excessive energy – to say something potentially offensive, the child was a bit troublesome. She said Fei Ni hadn’t been like this as a child. Fang Muyang said genetic recombination had countless possibilities; parents could only accept what came. Fei Ni agreed with his view.

Old Fang didn’t see it this way; he only saw the stubborn persistence of his wayward son’s genes. He was delighted his daughter had given him a granddaughter, though the only shortcoming was that the granddaughter looked more like the Qu family. While he was very satisfied with his son-in-law, he felt some regret. His younger son’s child, however, was exactly like himself as a child, which suggested future challenges in raising the child. Though his wayward son had many flaws, he had to maintain his son’s image before his daughter-in-law, saying his son had been quite different from the little grandson, actually rather well-behaved as a child.

This was a father’s duty.

(The End)