Sun Jingcheng didn’t wait until the evening after work. He went back to the family compound at lunchtime, freeloaded a meal, then drove Feng Yiqun and Grandmother back to the marital home. He worried bathing at night would be cold—if they bathed in the afternoon, they could enjoy some sun afterward.
Zhou Yu wasn’t grateful at all for his unauthorized decision. A whole long afternoon—how was she supposed to get along with Feng Yiqun? Moreover, last week the mother-daughter interaction hadn’t been very pleasant. She refused to admit she married Sun Jingcheng because she had feelings for him—marriage was simply wanting to leave the family compound. In other words, she didn’t want to live under the same roof as Feng Yiqun anymore.
Feng Yiqun made no comment on this.
After Sun Jingcheng brought them over, he went back to the office in the new district. Zhou Yu went to the master bedroom to run the bathtub, but Feng Yiqun heard the sound and came over saying: “Grandmother is tired. Wait until she wakes from her afternoon nap before bathing.”
Zhou Yu turned off the faucet.
Feng Yiqun glanced at the master bedroom, then returned to the living room to take care of Grandmother. The old lady rarely went out, so changing environments made everything look fresh to her—touching this, looking at that.
Originally there had been two comforters on the master bedroom bed. An hour ago, Zhou Yu had put one away. Two or three months ago when Feng Yiqun came to the house, she didn’t know how she detected the clues, but she was convinced something was wrong between her and Sun Jingcheng.
Later she guessed it was probably early September when school had just started and she was busy—the house was a bit messy. It happened that Feng Yiqun came in the evening that day, and unwashed breakfast dishes were still on the dining table. Sun Jingcheng also wasn’t home at the time—he was on a self-driving trip on the Sichuan-Tibet Highway.
Feng Yiqun was obsessive about certain things. No matter how tired, she wouldn’t eat takeout. No matter how late she got off work, she would cook herself a bowl of noodles. If viewed through modern values, she was the so-called person who was particular about life.
Starting from middle school, Feng Yiqun had taught her cooking skills—teaching a bit whenever there was time, teaching a bit whenever there was time. Not for anything else, but knowing some cooking skills would always help her take care of herself. In her concept, the atmosphere of daily life was three meals a day; it was the sounds of chopping and stir-frying in the kitchen at mealtime; it was family members sitting around the dining table eating together. Because Grandmother often said these things, saying that girls knowing cooking skills was a remarkable thing. From this, it was clear Grandmother had instilled plenty in Feng Yiqun too.
In Zhou Yu’s memory, Grandmother’s cooking skills were poor—for years she only knew how to cook those two dishes, and those two dishes were learned during her most difficult years. When young, she had written in an essay “My Grandmother,” writing that Grandmother was a cultured and kind person. She was noble but not delicate, able to teach children in soft tones how to write poetry, and also able to roll up her pant legs in the courtyard to make coal briquettes in the coming cold winter.
Grandmother lay down to sleep in the second bedroom. To keep herself from being idle, Zhou Yu began hanging the curtains she’d picked up from the dry cleaner. Tomorrow was Little New Year’s Eve, and a week later would be New Year’s Eve.
When she heard sounds from the kitchen and went over, Feng Yiqun was helping her wash dishes—dishes she had painstakingly accumulated together, planning to wash in the dishwasher. That idiot Sun Jingcheng—with just two people in the house, he bought the largest dishwasher set.
Feng Yiqun washed dishes while saying gently: “If you find that one too big, just buy a small dishwasher.”
Zhou Yu said: “Mainly there’s nowhere to put it.”
Feng Yiqun bent down to place the dishes in the cabinet, wiped her hands and said: “If you move this big one to the clinic, that solves it.” Then she surveyed the living room, praising the window decorations she’d put up as beautiful, praising the newly bought sofa cover for matching the living room style. Zhou Yu gave her hand cream, saying everything was bought online.
After applying hand cream, Feng Yiqun sat on the sofa and casually picked up a book from the coffee table to flip through. Zhou Yu made her a cup of black tea and also washed some fruit, then turned on the TV and sat there watching.
Feng Yiqun flipped through for a while, then closed the book, saying this translated version was mediocre, lacking some artistic conception and aesthetic appeal. She had a version translated by a Taiwanese writer.
“I think it’s pretty good.” Zhou Yu replied.
“It’s not bad either.” Feng Yiqun didn’t insist. “If you have time, you could read both versions.”
“Okay.” Zhou Yu responded.
“Does Jingcheng still play piano often?” Feng Yiqun looked toward the piano.
“He plays. Recently he plays every day.”
“That’s a good habit.”
The mother and daughter had nothing to say. After about two minutes of silence, Zhou Yu invited her to drink the black tea on the table. Feng Yiqun picked it up and sipped in small amounts. During this interval, Grandmother woke up. Zhou Yu took the opportunity to go to the bathroom to run the bath water, then stared blankly at the water in the bathtub and never went back to the living room.
After helping Grandmother bathe, Sun Jingcheng also got off work. He bought groceries on the way, and when he returned, Feng Yiqun took them to the kitchen to cook. Zhou Yu took the washed clothes out to hang. In the living room on the sofa, Grandmother chatted with Sun Jingcheng, saying in the past she and Yan Xishan were neighbors. During the time when people were starving to death, she even went to his house’s kitchen to steal grain.
Sun Jingcheng listened with his jaw dropped, asking her: “Grandmother, the Yan Xishan you’re talking about—is he from the Republic of China…”
“Not the Republic of China, before the founding. Later he lost the battle and fled to Taiwan.” Grandmother spoke with vivid detail. “Before he fled, he even instructed me to help look after his family.”
…
Sun Jingcheng went to the master bedroom to ask Zhou Yu for confirmation. Zhou Yu replied: “Yes, my grandmother really was neighbors with Yan Xishan. He was from the Nationalist Party faction, later fled to Taiwan.”
“You mean Yan Xishan?”
“Yeah, I mean Yan Xishan.”
“Wasn’t he from Shanxi?”
“I’m not clear about that. Anyway, my grandmother and he were neighbors.”
“And you’re a teacher—how did you study history…” Sun Jingcheng saw there was only one comforter on the bed. He froze for a moment, then muttered: “Didn’t even ask my opinion.” After speaking, without giving her a chance to respond, he went out in a cheerful mood.
…
After dinner, they sent Feng Yiqun and Grandmother back to the family compound. When he returned preparing to take a fragrant bath, there was already another comforter on the bed. He instantly understood what was happening. Without saying anything, he went to wash up feeling dejected.
After finishing the kitchen cleanup, Zhou Yu went to deep clean the living room. When tidying the balcony, she saw several empty flowerpots in the corner, stuffed them all in a large bag and threw them out.
After washing up, Sun Jingcheng curled up his legs and lay very obediently on the sofa, his eyes wandering everywhere, completely not looking at the person bent over mopping the floor. To make it look like he was doing something proper, he picked up a book and read seriously.
After Zhou Yu finished mopping all the floors, she stood with her hands on her hips catching her breath. Sun Jingcheng turned his back and buried his head in reading. She didn’t plan to let him off, asking: “Do you know why I’m mopping the floor?”
“Because it’s dirty.” Sun Jingcheng answered honestly.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because the robot mop you bought is broken.” Zhou Yu looked at him.
“Sorry, I’ll take it to be repaired tomorrow.”
Zhou Yu looked at him, suppressed the fire in her heart, and took the mop to the bathroom. Sun Jingcheng wisely followed: “Let me wash it.”
Zhou Yu didn’t bother with him, rinsing the mop bucket by bucket.
Sun Jingcheng felt inexplicably uncomfortable. He had long figured out the pattern—whenever she spontaneously deep cleaned at night, her mood couldn’t be good. He wasn’t clear what had happened and wasn’t good at comforting people. He could only say: “I’ll never deliberately upset you again in the future.”
He regretted even more that when he came back earlier and passed a crossroads, he saw an old-brand roasted goods shop. He had really wanted to get out and buy Zhou Yu a bag of sugar-roasted chestnuts and frosted hawthorn, because in the cold winter night, they looked so appetizing.
He thought he should have bought them. Zhou Yu would definitely have been very happy to see them.