Because his daughter-in-law helped organize his manuscripts, Old Fang gave Fei Ni the gold pen that an old friend had given him during a recent visit. When he had received the gold pen, he had reciprocated by giving his friend a pair of official kiln famille-rose-covered bowls he’d bought from an antique shop.
Fei Ni used this new pen to organize Old Fang’s manuscripts. When encountering uncertain parts, she naturally consulted Old Fang. Fang Muyang discovered that Fei Ni spoke more with Old Fang in a day than she did with him.
Several times, before dawn had fully broken, Fang Muyang woke to find Fei Ni writing at the desk. When he asked her to rest more, she said she’d had enough sleep.
Since moving in with his parents, their marital intimacy had increased in frequency due to the sound-insulated walls and floors, but in the past week, they hadn’t been intimate at all. Fei Ni started working before dawn and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow at night. Fang Muyang, concerned about her lack of sleep, didn’t express any dissatisfaction.
When Fei Ni first received this task, she was driven by a determination to prove herself. But gradually, she became captivated by the manuscript’s content. Old Fang was quite a show-off, but he certainly had the credentials to do so. He could expand a single sentence into two densely written pages, and for any given point, he could trace its origins not only to the early Zhou Dynasty but also to find sources among the ancient Greeks. Old Fang didn’t discuss national characteristics or differences; he only spoke of human universalities. Fei Ni greatly admired her father-in-law’s scholarship while concluding: that knowledge is easy, and practice is difficult. In his manuscripts, Old Fang occasionally reminded himself that misfortune comes from the mouth and that one should be slow to speak but quick to act, even listing numerous examples. Yet when it came to himself, he couldn’t resist showing off his knowledge at every opportunity and couldn’t help but critique his contemporary literati. In Old Fang’s words, each of his contemporary writers had their defects and offered no new constructions; Fei Ni need not read their books at all. The implication was that she only needed to read his works.
Old Fang advised Fei Ni not to rush with organizing the manuscripts, but Fei Ni said she was eager to finish reading them.
At this point, Old Fang couldn’t argue—who could blame her when his manuscripts were so captivating?
Fei Ni only spoke her true thoughts in front of Old Fang, remaining silent when she disagreed rather than agreeing perfunctorily. Old Fang overlooked this silence, feeling that his daughter-in-law’s praise was well-placed and her questions effectively highlighted his expertise, increasingly believing that his daughter-in-law showed great promise. His wayward son was truly fortunate.
Fei Ni’s urgency in organizing the manuscripts had another layer of consideration.
Old Fang had mentioned finding Fang Muyang a job comparable to the pictorial position, but there had been no movement on this front for days. She hadn’t felt comfortable bringing it up, but once she finished organizing the manuscripts, she would have more confidence to discuss Fang Muyang’s employment with Old Fang. She still felt somewhat guilty, believing that at least half of Fang Muyang’s reason for refusing the pictorial job was for her sake. If Fang Muyang could find a comparable position elsewhere, she could finally be at peace.
Another Saturday came, and Fang Muyang returned home with a record, thinking Fei Ni would like it. Previously, when they heard this song on the radio, Fei Ni would momentarily forget about the thin walls and want to turn up the volume. After a week of work, he wanted Fei Ni to relax. Seeing the record did bring some joy to Fei Ni’s face, but before Fang Muyang could put it on the record player, she said, “Why don’t you listen to it next door? I haven’t finished organizing this page.”
“The old man’s not in a hurry for it.”
“Still, better to finish it quickly.”
“Then let’s listen together tomorrow.”
Fang Muyang left Fei Ni and went next door to copy from his art book. Since Fei Ni started helping Old Fang organize manuscripts, Fang Muyang had been spending increasingly more time in this temporary studio. Being Saturday, Fang Muyang didn’t stay long this time, returning to the bedroom at ten.
He walked behind Fei Ni, squeezed her shoulders, and smiled, “Shouldn’t we go to bed early today?”
Fei Ni knew what day it was and immediately understood Fang Muyang’s implications. “Wait a little longer, I’ll finish writing soon. Why don’t you take a shower first?”
Fang Muyang bent down to kiss her cheek, his fingers slipping inside her collar. Fei Ni swatted his hand away, “Stop it, please?”
Fei Ni had said these words before, but Fang Muyang knew that back then it was mostly out of shyness. Now there was genuine annoyance, as if he were interrupting her important work.
When Fang Muyang returned from his shower, Fei Ni said, “Why don’t you rest first? I still have a bit left to organize on this page.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
Fang Muyang leaned on the bed, flipping through the manuscripts Fei Ni had organized. Through the words on paper, he could imagine the old man’s tone. He had to admit that the old man did have some skill.
At eleven, Fang Muyang asked, “Not finished yet?”
“Soon.”
Fang Muyang used a pencil to sketch small portraits of Fei Ni in the book, occasionally glancing at her.
Fei Ni fell asleep, her face pressed against the desk.
Fang Muyang smiled bitterly, got up, and carried Fei Ni from the chair to the bed, removed her clothes, and covered her with a thin blanket.
Listening to Fei Ni’s steady breathing and watching her sleeping face, Fang Muyang felt both concern and dissatisfaction amid his sympathy. It wasn’t just about unfulfilled physical needs; he felt completely ignored by Fei Ni.
In her hazy consciousness, Fei Ni felt someone kissing her. From her skin’s memory, she knew these were Fang Muyang’s kisses. She thought she was dreaming and felt shy about the dream. Unlike Fang Muyang, she didn’t always have those desires; she only wanted to unite with him when he kissed and held her. She responded to Fang Muyang following instinct rather than reason.
After a while, Fei Ni realized this was real. Fang Muyang’s kisses grew more intense, even hurting her with his bites, though in contrast, his hands remained gentle. Having gone several times without such intimate contact, Fei Ni was also excited. His fingers always managed to ignite her passion, and this time was no exception. Her fingers threaded through Fang Muyang’s hair as she breathed rapidly, waiting for his further initiative.
But Fang Muyang seemed unhurried, neither rushing to satisfy Fei Ni nor himself.
“I know you don’t want to, I won’t force you.” Fang Muyang’s words were as gentle as his fingers as he spoke to Fei Ni about decorating their future home. “Remember that painting I drew for you that day? I plan to buy a frame and mount it, then hang it in our bedroom. What do you think?”
Fei Ni bit her teeth to prevent other sounds from escaping her lips. She recalled that day’s scene when Fang Muyang had studied her while sharpening his pencil before drawing.
“You haven’t forgotten what I drew, have you? Let me help you remember.”
Fang Muyang’s fingers became brushes, and Fei Ni became drawing paper.
The small of Fei Ni’s back became part of this paper. The paper was soon damp with sweat.
Fang Muyang kept his promise, not forcing Fei Ni at all.
“If you don’t want to, I absolutely won’t force you.” Although Fei Ni’s body showed no sign of refusal, unless she said something, Fang Muyang wouldn’t take further initiative.
Fei Ni embraced Fang Muyang, slightly extending her tongue to lick his dry lips. “Are you thirsty? I’ll get you some water.”
Until dawn, Fang Muyang never got the water Fei Ni offered to fetch. Fei Ni rarely slept this late, and Fang Muyang’s fingers traced the contours of her face. Last night, Fei Ni had been quite excited for a while, responding to him passionately, but after only once, she had fallen asleep again.
Fang Muyang didn’t know whether to feel sorry for Fei Ni or himself.
Fang Muyang discovered that the manuscripts’ appeal was indeed powerful; Fei Ni had not only neglected him but also their rental house plans. The previous tenant had moved out, and the landlord had notified them they could move in. Because the house needed a thorough cleaning, Fang Muyang hadn’t told Fei Ni about it. He wanted to get everything completely ready before telling her, to give her a surprise. He had received new manuscript fees and used them to buy furnishings, riding his bicycle to their future little courtyard after work to clean up, telling his family he was working overtime and not to wait for him for dinner.
Fei Ni hadn’t forgotten her primary job despite organizing the manuscripts; she still went to work punctually, making hats dutifully. The only difference from before was that she no longer queued at the factory’s public bathhouse.
One day, while female workers from Fei Ni’s workshop were bathing, someone suddenly asked, “Why haven’t I seen Fei Ni here lately?”
At this point, everyone realized that Fei Ni indeed hadn’t been there for a while. Previously, she would always come to bathe on bathhouse days.
Someone mentioned Fei Ni’s recent housing change.
“Maybe Fei Ni’s new place has bathing facilities.”
Fei Ni couldn’t have suddenly stopped bathing; the only possibility was that her new place had bathing facilities.
Wang Xiaoman, Fei Ni’s former neighbor, happened to be there and said, “I heard Fei Ni’s new place has a bathroom, but the previous tenants told me they also bathed outside.”
One female worker suggested, “Could it be that Little Fei’s husband hurt her?”
Sister Liu defended Fei Ni and her husband: “Don’t spread rumors without knowing. I’ve seen Little Fei’s husband several times; he doesn’t seem like that type at all.”
“You can’t judge a book by its cover. Little Yang’s husband wears glasses and looks educated, but he hits people too. A while back, he beat Little Yang, and she also didn’t come to the bathhouse for days.”
“Really? Isn’t Little Yang’s husband in the hospital now? How could he beat anyone?”
“After Little Yang got beaten, she went to her family home to find her three brothers. When they heard about it, they went straight over and beat her husband so badly that he ended up in the hospital. I heard he still can’t get out of bed.”
The conversation turned back to Fei Ni. Wang Xiaoman didn’t believe Fei Ni had been beaten by her husband—those two were so lovey-dovey it made her sick. But she couldn’t think of another reason.
Sister Liu was the first to ask Fei Ni about this, as Fei Ni’s group leader, she couldn’t ignore if Fei Ni was being abused by her husband.
Noticing something unusual about Fei Ni’s high-necked blouse, she asked directly, “Little Fei, why haven’t we seen you at the bathhouse lately?”
“I bathe at home now.”
Sister Liu certainly couldn’t imagine that Fei Ni could take hot baths at home. Since Fei Ni hadn’t bathed at home before but suddenly stopped coming to the bathhouse, Sister Liu couldn’t help suspecting that Fei Ni might be suffering abuse from her husband.
“Are things still good between you and Little Fang?”
“They’re fine, why?”
“If you’re having problems, don’t hide them from me. The factory will stand up for you.”
Fei Ni couldn’t understand Sister Liu’s meaning for a moment: “What do you mean?”
“Has Little Fang been hitting you?”