Old Fang’s meals had noticeably improved lately. Previously, his dinners mostly consisted of food Teacher Mu brought from the cafeteria, but now he had three sources: his wife’s cafeteria, his daughter-in-law’s cafeteria, and his son’s restaurant kitchen. The best dishes came from his son’s restaurant—being a waiter’s father had its advantages.

Old Fang’s old friend from America was visiting China and had requested to see him through the reception staff. This friend was quite a character—when Old Fang first met him, he was American, but by their next meeting, he had become a French citizen living in Paris. The city he’d once imagined had been too close, becoming mundane over time, so he’d returned to settle in America.

The department notified Old Fang to prepare for the meeting once arrangements were finalized.

The meeting location was only revealed that morning, with the Volga waiting downstairs to transport Old Fang.

He knew the restaurant well, not from frequent visits, but because his son worked there.

Though it was a meeting between old friends, reception staff accompanied them, including an English interpreter.

In the past, Old Fang would have switched to another language with his friend, deliberately choosing words the interpreter wouldn’t understand. But he’d been reformed, understanding the consequences. With an interpreter present, he made full use of their services. He greeted his friend in Chinese, asked the interpreter to translate, and continued speaking Chinese throughout. His friend was puzzled why Old Fang, whose English rivaled a native speaker’s, insisted on using a language he didn’t understand and requiring translation. The confusion prompted him to ask.

The interpreter translated this to Chinese, and Old Fang replied in Chinese: “When I studied in America, I used your country’s language. Now that you’re in China, you should speak Chinese.”

The interpreter glanced at the officials, silently asking, “Should I translate this?” Fearing where the conversation might lead, the accompanying official said, “Professor Fang, everyone knows your English ability. Please consider our foreign guest’s situation.”

Given this hint, Old Fang agreed and switched to English, making the young interpreter’s proficiency seem somewhat lacking in comparison.

Years of conditioning had made Old Fang more cautious. He controlled his speaking pace to prevent misunderstandings among the accompanying staff who might not fully understand.

Though they hadn’t met in over a decade and should have had much to discuss, the presence of others limited their conversation mostly to family matters. His friend recalled their families meeting when he was still French, mentioning Old Fang’s younger son. Back then, the whole family had greeted him in fluent English. Fang Muyang and his siblings attended schools offering continuous education, learning Russian from first grade, and later switching to English, which they learned well. Even without school instruction, in their household environment, not knowing English would have been unusual. Fang Muyang had learned some English at school but insisted on greeting in Chinese, saying he represented the Chinese people welcoming their foreign friend. Old Fang proudly had this translated for his friend. Unexpectedly, Fang Muyang added in halting English that foreigners visiting China should adapt to local customs and speak Chinese, at least for greetings.

Knowing Fang Muyang studied oil painting, his friend asked why, by that logic, as a Chinese person living in China, he would study Western oil painting. Fang Muyang replied, “Who says oil painting belongs to you foreigners? Art belongs to the whole world, regardless of nationality. Like Peking duck—everyone can enjoy it. Let my parents and I treat you to Peking duck; you’ll surely love it.” Old Fang approved of his wayward son’s first statement, translating it for his friend with a more elegant term than “foreigners.” Fang Muyang demonstrated hospitality, offering not just Peking duck but also hot pot, chestnut chicken, steamed fish… and various dim sum, both Cantonese and Suzhou styles. Unable to express these in English, he drew a detailed, categorized illustration. Old Fang felt both annoyed and amused seeing his son’s opportunistic food promotion, knowing he must be starving after recent lean times. But having made the offer, they couldn’t withdraw it. Before leaving, his friend received a drawing of Peking duck from Fang Muyang, which he still keeps at home.

His friend asked if Fang Muyang was still painting.

Old Fang said he was, omitting that it was now just a hobby while working as a waiter.

It was then that Fang Muyang appeared, serving their table. The menu had been pre-arranged, and after serving, he briefly introduced each dish. After working at the restaurant for some time, he had become skilled at describing menu items.

Neither showed surprise at their unexpected workplace encounter—Old Fang because he knew his son worked there, and Fang Muyang maintained professional composure.

Father and son tacitly maintained their respective roles, choosing not to acknowledge their relationship.

Old Fang sensed his son must feel embarrassed about today’s encounter—serving as a waiter at the restaurant where his father was meeting people, though Fang Muyang showed no outward sign of discomfort.

His friend was satisfied with the waiter’s introductions and left a generous tip.

Old Fang felt a pang watching his son accept the tip.

The friends enjoyed their conversation, and his friend insisted on meeting Old Fang’s family again before leaving the country.

After bidding farewell, Old Fang kept thinking about his son’s occupation. At home, he didn’t mention encountering his son at the restaurant. His grave expression made Teacher Mu think something unpleasant had happened during the meeting, and she asked what was wrong.

Old Fang avoided discussing the meeting, saying only, “If not for my situation, our son wouldn’t be working as a waiter now.”

Teacher Mu consoled him: “Being a waiter is fine—there’s no shame in being self-sufficient.”

“People should utilize their talents though.” Although his son performed well as a waiter, it pained Old Fang. He respected servers but maintained prejudices against service industry work.

While Old Fang had always disdained pulling strings and calling in favors, seeing his son’s situation made him reconsider. But principles held for decades weren’t easily abandoned.

That evening, when his son brought home food from the restaurant kitchen, the usually delicious dishes tasted bland to Old Fang.

During dinner, Old Fang announced he’d found a housekeeper who would start tomorrow, so his son and daughter-in-law needn’t bring food home anymore.

Since Fei Ni and Fang Muyang moved in, Fei Ni had made them share dishwashing duties. After several times, Teacher Mu had urged Old Fang to find a housekeeper. Having anticipated this, he’d quickly found someone to start the next day.

After dinner, Old Fang called his wayward son to the study. “Stop working as a waiter. If you need money, I can provide it.”

“Are you serious?”

Old Fang’s silence expressed his contempt for his son’s doubt—questioning whether a father would lie to him.

“Then lend me a thousand yuan first.”

Old Fang hadn’t expected his son to agree so quickly and directly ask for money—a thousand yuan wasn’t a small sum.

“What do you need the money for?” After thinking, he added, “Living here, you don’t pay for food. You shouldn’t have other expenses, but if you do, tell me and I’ll consider whether to give you money.”

Fang Muyang smiled, “If borrowing money is this complicated, better keep it yourself. I knew your offer to lend money was just pretense—if I became unemployed, you wouldn’t give me a cent.”