Fei Ni knew she couldn’t handle much alcohol, so she deliberately drank slowly, afraid of getting drunk. Fang Muyang found her slow drinking frustrating and took it upon himself to help her drink, putting the cup to her lips several times until she felt dizzy. “I want to drink by myself,” she protested.

Fang Muyang poured her another small measure. “Then drink it yourself.”

Fei Ni took a small sip and smiled at Fang Muyang. “Wait here, I’ll go get the record player.” Now they finally didn’t have to worry about disturbing others.

“Let me get it.”

Fei Ni took off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the carpet Fang Muyang had bought, taking small sips of wine.

Soon, Fang Muyang returned with the record player and records, playing Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.”

Fang Muyang took the glass from Fei Ni’s hand and drained what was left in one gulp.

“Why did you steal my wine?”

Fang Muyang poured her another half glass, and they sat together on the carpet, looking up at the moon through the skylight.

Fei Ni walked barefoot to turn off the lights, then returned to Fang Muyang’s side in the moonlight.

“This Sunday, let’s go to the instrument shop and buy you a violin. Then you can play for me.”

Fang Muyang tapped her nose with his finger. “You certainly know how to enjoy life.”

Fei Ni imagined herself drinking wine and watching the moon while Fang Muyang played violin for her—it would be perfect. She smiled sheepishly, knowing she was indeed being indulgent.

Lying with her head on Fang Muyang’s lap, she gazed up at the moon, listening to the music from the record player while he stroked her hair, occasionally bringing the wine to her lips.

Life felt too good; Fei Ni thought she must truly be drunk.

Fang Muyang asked her, “Why did you marry me?”

“If we got married, we’d both have a place to live. Only by marrying you could I have a house of my own.”

“Wouldn’t you have a house if you married someone else?”

“But it wouldn’t be my own.”

“So if you had your own house, that would be enough for you?”

Fei Ni remained silent, which Fang Muyang took as confirmation.

“If you want a house so much, let’s buy this one.”

Fei Ni nodded then shook her head. “If you want to buy it, of course you can, but if we did, I wouldn’t feel right about asking for my own room anymore.”

“Isn’t this house better than the previous one?”

“It’s different.”

“How is it different? If we buy this house, it will be yours too.”

Fei Ni smiled. “It would feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“We’re married—I can live in your house for life too, so I’m not losing anything. Besides, I want you to take advantage of me. I only wish you’d take more advantage.”

Fei Ni counted his fingers. “You are a fool.”

Fang Muyang asked, “When you first agreed to marry me, did you want it to be real or just for show?”

Fei Ni didn’t answer.

“If it was just for show, weren’t you worried when you married me that I might try to make it real?”

“I knew you weren’t that kind of person. If I didn’t agree, you wouldn’t do anything.”

“But what if I was that kind of person? What would you have done? Didn’t you ever think about that?”

Fei Ni just repeated, “You wouldn’t.”

“You still don’t understand me well enough.” Fang Muyang took a drink from the bottle and asked, “Do you want some?”

In the moonlight, Fang Muyang’s fingers traced Fei Ni’s lips, which were slightly parted as if waiting for the wine.

“Or perhaps you thought that even if I did make it real, it would still be better than marrying someone else?”

Fang Muyang brought the bottle to Fei Ni’s lips, but though her lips touched the rim, no wine passed them. When she leaned forward to drink, Fang Muyang brought the bottle to his lips instead.

“Pour me some too.”

“Answer me, and I’ll pour you some.”

Fei Ni nodded. “You already know, so why ask?”

“You didn’t marry me just for the house, did you?”

“Being with you is more comfortable than being with anyone else.” Fei Ni smiled. “With others, I’d have to hide my books. Playing piano wouldn’t be for my enjoyment, but to prove I’m not worthless. It would be so meaningless. And marrying me benefited you too—you didn’t have to go to the countryside.”

“So you’re saying part of why you married me was for my sake?”

“Of course, it had to benefit you too. If it was too unfair, you wouldn’t have agreed, right?” Fei Ni shook her empty glass. “Didn’t you say you’d pour me some wine if I answered?”

“You’ll get drunk if you drink more. Let me peel you a pomegranate instead.”

Fang Muyang fed Fei Ni pomegranate seeds one by one. She closed her eyes, opening her mouth whenever his fingers touched her lips, waiting for the seeds.

Fang Muyang moved too slowly, pushing each seed into her mouth one at a time.

Fei Ni grabbed the pomegranate. “You’re too slow, let me do it.”

Fang Muyang handed it to her, and she ate some herself while feeding him too. Through the floor-to-ceiling window, they could see the moon partially hidden behind the peach tree.

“Let’s go outside to look.”

“Can’t we look from inside?”

“It’s not the same.” Fei Ni, already quite tipsy, forgot to put on her shoes and went outside barefoot with the pomegranate. Fang Muyang followed.

Fei Ni stood in the moonlight, looking up while eating pomegranate seeds, still finding time to stand on tiptoe to feed some to Fang Muyang.

Fang Muyang’s lips sought hers, but whether due to insufficient moonlight or something else, he kept missing, only brushing her mouth’s corner. Tickled, Fei Ni had to stand on tiptoe and steady herself on his shoulders to help him find his target, still holding the half-eaten pomegranate. Slowly, her hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his neck, the pomegranate still unfinished.

Forced to look up at the moon, Fei Ni felt Fang Muyang’s lips on the mole on her collarbone. The sounds from outside were particularly clear. For the Mid-Autumn Festival, neighbors were moon-gazing in their courtyard.

She heard a child say, “I don’t want the red bean paste one, I want the flaky mooncake.”

Looking up, Fei Ni saw not only the moon but also a pair of cat eyes, brighter than the moon in the darkness. The cat perched on the peach tree in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, meowing with a high pitch and long trailing notes.

Fei Ni bit her lip to prevent any inappropriate sounds from escaping. “Let’s go inside.”

“But didn’t you want to watch the moon outside? I prefer being outside now too.”

The cat suddenly jumped down from the tree and crawled to Fei Ni’s feet, playing with the pomegranate she had accidentally dropped.

Barefoot, Fei Ni felt the cat’s paws brush against her toes, scratching and then grooming itself, occasionally showing off its musical talent.

Fei Ni curled her toes, but the cat continued to brush against them occasionally, undeterred.

“Let’s go inside,” she pleaded.

“If we go inside, I won’t be able to control myself. Is that okay?”

Fei Ni didn’t respond, so Fang Muyang made no move to go in.

Only when Fei Ni finally murmured assent did he carry her into the studio.

Fei Ni’s hands pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, still able to see those cat eyes, ignoring even the moon. She closed her eyes to shut out everything.

She could still hear the outside sounds from the studio. Children were looking for the cat, their voices loud enough for the whole hutong to hear.

Fei Ni guessed it was the cat that had come to their house.

But the cat didn’t leave, climbing the tree and still watching inside, occasionally meowing, no longer in such high pitches but even more unsettling.

Fei Ni freed one hand to pull the curtains, completely separating the studio from the outside.

The only light source left in the studio was the moonlight through the skylight.

Even drunk, Fei Ni instinctively bit her lip, and Fang Muyang offered his fingers for her to bite instead.

Fei Ni seemed reluctant to bite hard, and sounds escaped, broken and tuneless.

Outside, the cat, responding to its owner’s call, leaped down and left Fei Ni’s house. Meeting its young owner, it rolled over to show its soft belly, was scooped up, and started meowing again, this time with a distinctly spoiled tone.

On the morning of the sixteenth, Fang Muyang showed Fei Ni his painting of the moon—the moon through the skylight.

It looked like something captured by an amateur photographer, the lens shaking, unclear. It didn’t match the traditional meaning of reunion and perfection.

But this was exactly the moon as Fei Ni had seen it, and looking at it now still gave her that dizzy sensation—the kind of moon one sees when drunk and unable to maintain balance.

“What do you think about giving this to my sister as a wedding gift?”

Fei Ni’s face darkened. “Not good.”

“Are you saying the painting isn’t good?”

“Let’s give something else.”

“How about giving them the pen I bought for you?”

“Is one pen enough?”

“I bought one for myself too, so we can give them both.”

Fei Ni knew Fang Muyang would never buy a pen for himself, so this gift had been prepared in advance. The painting was just a pretense.

The moon painting, once framed, ended up hanging in Fei Ni’s bedroom, forcing her to experience that dizzying sensation every night before sleep.

Old Fang had wanted to meet his in-laws, but before he could, he was assigned a new position—though merely a nominal one that didn’t require regular office attendance. He didn’t use the car his work unit provided; when he occasionally went to meetings, he took the bus.

The house became lively again, though Old Fang, who used to complain about loneliness, now found it too noisy—nothing seemed to satisfy him. His wayward son’s paintings hung in the living room, and when visitors praised them, Old Fang would respond modestly that they were just casual sketches. When people asked about Fang Muyang’s work, Old Fang candidly said he was a restaurant server, not avoiding the topic—his son’s job choice demonstrated his lack of self-interest.