Madam Fu took out a box containing a pair of celadon-glazed teacups with white relief decoration. These cups were originally meant to be a wedding gift for the couple, but because Fang Muyang had left the city early, they hadn’t been given to them. This time, she gave them directly to Fei Ni.

Fei Ni expressed her thanks, and Madam Fu was quite happy to have her stay longer. She mentioned that Fei Ni’s timing was perfect, as she had just been discussing Fang Muyang with Ling Yi. She recalled how talented Fang Muyang was at painting from a young age. He had initially studied traditional Chinese painting before switching to oils, and he particularly loved painting living subjects.

Once, to keep a dog in a fixed pose for his painting, he carried it up to the fourth-floor rooftop. The little dog trembled in fear while Fang Muyang sat there sucking on ice cubes as he painted. The dog eventually made it down safely, lowered to the first floor in a basket, and was rewarded with two small sausages. Fang Muyang, however, was dragged home by his father – though no one knew if he received punishment.

Madam Fu remembered it was during winter when their families lived on different floors of the same building. The Fang family had donated their mansion and received an apartment in return, but they had given half of it to others, making their living space similar to the Fu family’s. Her impression of Old Fang was that he was quite dignified, except when disciplining his younger son. She felt grateful to the Fang family. During difficult times, it was their overseas remittance certificates that had helped her family get through the hardship.

She told Fei Ni not to worry too much about Fang Muyang, remembering that he had always been resistant to heat but impervious to cold. She had never seen him wear a padded jacket in winter, yet he ate ice year-round.

“Ask Ling Yi if you don’t believe me – they grew up together,” Madam Fu said.

Ling Yi laughed and said, “I can testify to that. He doesn’t fear the cold and loves winter the most. He practically lived at the skating rink. Once, he sold his family’s leather mattress to buy a pair of German ice skates. He got quite a beating for that, but never learned his lesson.”

“It seems skating was his second love after painting.”

The conversation meandered naturally, and Fei Ni learned that Ling Yi worked at a publishing house after graduation, suggesting possible future professional connections with Fang Muyang.

“He once painted a portrait of me,” Ling Yi said regretfully, “but I lost it. Actually, among the young painters of our generation, few could paint as well as he could.” She smiled apologetically, genuinely sorry about losing his painting.

Fei Ni wasn’t surprised, given that Fang Muyang had painted numerous portraits of even unfamiliar nurses.

She smiled and consoled Ling Yi, saying there was no need for regret. Since she and Fang Muyang were such good friends, she could ask him to paint another one when he returned.

Madam Fu asked Fei Ni about the diamond pattern on her vest. The vest had been knitted by Fei Ni’s mother; Fei Ni herself preferred simple stitches when knitting, though she understood more complex patterns. She demonstrated a few stitches for Madam Fu.

Checking her watch, Fei Ni said it was getting late and she should head home.

Madam Fu invited her to stay for dinner, but Fei Ni explained she had already made plans with her parents. Madam Fu didn’t insist but gave her a box of Suzhou-style mooncakes, saying they were freshly made by the restaurant’s chef, and asked her to share them with her parents.

Fei Ni accepted graciously and left the Fu residence.

The visit hadn’t been wasted – she had confirmed Fang Muyang’s safety and learned from Ling Yi that he didn’t fear the cold. Fortunately, she hadn’t bought the black wool yarn; Fang Muyang probably didn’t need her to knit him a sweater. Even if he did, she wouldn’t knit one for him. If the simple knit stitch was so easy, since he could paint young ladies, he could surely knit like one too.

September was ending, and Fang Muyang still hadn’t returned.

Next door, Wang Xiaoman asked Fei Ni why she hadn’t seen her husband once since they moved in so many days ago.

Fei Ni said he was away on business.

Wang Xiaoman asked where.

Fei Ni said Hebei.

Wang Xiaoman then asked where her husband worked.

Fei Ni said he was a painter and refused to elaborate further.

Her expression told Wang Xiaoman she had asked enough questions.

Wang Xiaoman guessed that Fei Ni’s husband probably painted screws at some small collective enterprise, certainly not a major state-owned factory – if he did, Fei Ni would have said so, and small collective enterprises didn’t provide housing, which explained why they lived in her factory’s housing. In short, he must be quite ordinary and probably didn’t treat Fei Ni well. She had seen the furnishings in Fei Ni’s apartment – never had she seen such a sparse home. As for why Fei Ni had given up the position at the Radio Industrial Bureau for her current situation, it was probably because she had been dumped. Wang Xiaoman didn’t feel grateful for the television voucher Fei Ni had given her, believing she could have gotten one anyway if she had given Fei Ting’s job opportunity to someone else. Instead, she felt Fei Ni should be grateful to her, but Fei Ni wasn’t someone who showed gratitude, merely nodding curtly when they met. She felt deceived by Fei Ni, but it was too late for regrets.

On Tuesday and Saturday evenings, Fei Ni would think of Fang Muyang at regular intervals.

The walls weren’t very soundproof. On their third night there, intermittent sobbing came from next door, mixed with other sounds. At first, Fei Ni thought Wang Xiaoman was being mistreated by her husband, but when Wang Xiaoman’s voice grew longer and higher-pitched, Fei Ni realized the true nature of the sounds. Her face burned with embarrassment, though their neighbors probably didn’t share her self-consciousness. Three days later, she heard the sounds again, louder this time. She guessed Wang Xiaoman didn’t know how thin the walls were; if she did, she would surely be more discreet. Though disturbed, Fei Ni felt too awkward to mention it. After two weeks, she discovered the pattern and knew to plug in her headphones and listen to the radio every Tuesday and Saturday.

Once the radio was on, it drowned out the neighbors’ sounds. While wearing the headphones, she would think of Fang Muyang, as he had bought her the radio.

Fang Muyang returned on the last Sunday of September, first stopping at the publishing house to submit his artwork. Director Fu barely recognized him – he had lost so much weight that his shirt hung loosely on his frame. Despite the weather, he wore only a thin shirt. His face had grown gaunt, his hair longer, with bloodshot eyes and an obvious five o’clock shadow. His upper lip showed several small red spots, probably from shaving with improper tools.

These illustrations had all been done at night; during the day, he had been working.

Director Fu was about to praise Fang Muyang’s dedication when Fang Muyang tactlessly brought up money, requesting an advance on his payment – at least half of it today.

After receiving the money, Director Fu invited him home for a meal. Fang Muyang declined, saying he needed to get home immediately.

Fei Ni had initially decided against buying wool yarn to knit Fang Muyang a sweater, but since she was buying some to knit one for herself this year, she bought a few extra balls of black yarn.

Leaving the store, Fei Ni spotted a man ahead whose back view strongly resembled Fang Muyang. Though thinner than before, not only was his height the same, but even his walk was identical to Fang Muyang’s. Most telling was his shirt – the same one she had packed in his travel bag.

Her mouth reacted before her mind could, calling out “Fang Muyang” clearly and loudly enough for the man ahead to hear.

She expected him to turn around, but there was no response.

She called out again, still with no reaction.

Fei Ni rubbed her eyes, doubting her judgment, but then became certain again. In this weather, only he would be impervious to cold, wearing just a single shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

They were only a few steps apart. Just as she was about to get on her bicycle to follow him, she saw him enter the public bathhouse.