"Oh? A person like that would be perfect for battles on the mainnd; no need to invent rockets or missiles. He just has to spit his phlegm!" Xiao Tong ughed. "I don't understand why this book with poisonous snakes and phlegm is considered good. It's just disgusting."

  "Hmph, you haven't seen it. Once you do, you'll understand its charm!" Xiao Bai said, a little displeased.

  The doorbell rang again. This time, it was Ming Yuan coming back. Xiao Bai quickly flipped over, sitting up and stuffing the martial arts novel into his backpack, then casually pulled out an English textbook and started flipping through it.

  Xiao Tong hurriedly went to prepare the cup of tea her father always insisted on. Ming Yuan entered the room, walked across the tatami mat, and absentmindedly passed by Xiao Bai, frowning slightly as he leaned back in the rattan chair, lost in thought. Xiao Bai jumped up and, as if reporting breaking news, shouted, "Dad, our P.E. teacher said he wants to select me for the basketball team!"

  "Mm." Ming Yuan casually hummed, gncing at Xiao Bai. Xiao Tong walked over with the cup of tea, and seeing her father's expression, she knew he had something on his mind. She quietly pced the tea on the coffee table and softly said, "Dad, tea."

  "Mm," Ming Yuan hummed again, then looked up, staring absently at the logo on Xiao Bai's sports shirt. Suddenly, as if remembering something, he asked, "Xiao Bai, where's your mom?"

  "In the kitchen."

  "Is the meal not ready yet?"

  "It's almost done," Xiao Bai said. "I'll go help Mom set the table!"

  Xiao Tong slipped into the kitchen, where Meng Zhu had already finished stir-frying the dishes. While helping set the table, Xiao Tong quietly said, "Dad's back, but he looks a bit different."

  "Oh? How so?" Meng Zhu asked.

  "It's like he has something on his mind."

  "Is he happy? Or is he upset?" Meng Zhu asked, pcing the chopsticks on the table.

  "It's like he's both happy and upset."

  Meng Zhu looked thoughtfully at Xiao Tong, then finished setting the bowls and chopsticks. She called for Xiao Tong to invite Ming Yuan to the table. Ming Yuan picked up his bowl but sat staring at Meng Zhu, not eating a single bite for quite a while. Meng Zhu waited, knowing Ming Yuan couldn't hide things from her—he had something to tell her. But Ming Yuan remained silent, his thin face and deep eyes reflecting a faint light. What could have excited him? Was it a promotion? A raise? That seemed impossible. Even if it were, he wouldn't show it with such a look.

  "What's wrong? Is something going on?" Finally, Meng Zhu couldn't hold back and asked.

  "There's something you'd never expect," Ming Yuan began, staring at Meng Zhu. "I ran into someone at the station today."

  "Who?" Meng Zhu instinctively felt a bit tense, confused by Ming Yuan's mysterious attitude.

  "Wang Xiaocheng."

  "What?" Meng Zhu said in surprise. "Wang Xiaocheng is in Taiwan? Is it really him?"

  "Of course, it's him. He's just the same as before, except he's at least ten kilograms heavier. I couldn't believe I'd run into him. We talked for a while at the station. He came to Taiwan from Hong Kong in 1952. And there's something else you won't believe!"

  "What is it?"

  "Have you ever heard of Mo Fei?"

  "Mo Fei?" Meng Zhu said, puzzled. "I think he's a painter, right?"

  "That's right," Ming Yuan nodded. "He's a painter, a very famous one. And guess who he is? Wang Xiaocheng."

  "What?" Meng Zhu asked, incredulously. "Wang Xiaocheng?"

  "That's right," Ming Yuan said. "You wouldn't have guessed, would you? Do you remember when we were in Chongqing, all wild and carefree, singing songs and drinking wine, full of ambition? At that time, I always said I wanted to be an excellent artist. And he? Every time, he'd shrug nonchantly and say, ‘An artist won't starve, but it's better to be a successful entrepreneur. Painting is just something you learn for fun!’ And yet, he became a great painter, and me..." He gnced at the dish on the table, the only one with meat—stir-fried shredded pork with dried tofu. Xiao Bai had already finished it all. He bit his lip, sighed, and gave a wistful smile. "Fate is a strange thing."

  Meng Zhu understood the underlying meaning in Ming Yuan's words, and she quietly gazed at him. But inside, she felt a bit mixed up.

  Wang Xiaocheng, she still remembered his carefree attitude, always ughing and pulling Ming Yuan and her to travel and enjoy life without a worry. Was he still the same? She remembered his philosophy on love: "Marry all the beautiful women in the world, or don't marry at all!" She gnced at Ming Yuan.

  In just this short time, his mood had clearly dropped. The furrowed brow and the mencholic eyes showed that his habitual sadness had returned. She carefully asked,

  "Did Wang Xiaocheng get married?"

  "Yes," Ming Yuan said, suddenly becoming quiet and desote. "He got married not long ago. To a local girl. Xiao Cheng is a smart man. He waited until his career was stable before marrying. Now everything is going well. I ran into him at the station today, but we were in a hurry, and he had other appointments, so we couldn't talk much. I've invited him and his wife to come over for dinner this Saturday."

  "Oh!" Meng Zhu softly excimed.

  After her soft excmation, a sense of anxiety followed. Instinctively, she looked around the room. The old paper doors hung haphazardly, revealing the wooden frames behind them. The tatami mats had already turned yellow, and the purple-red cloth edges were torn. Water stains and grease marks covered the walls, and cobwebs filled the corners.

  Piles of the children's books y scattered across the tatami, with no pce to be put away. Taken together, it all conveyed a sense of chaos, hardship, and shame. For years, their home hadn't hosted any guests for a meal. Wang Xiaocheng, though an old, carefree friend, had become a successful artist, and they couldn't afford to entertain him! Moreover, he had a wife who had only recently married.

  "Mm, I really didn't expect this," Ming Yuan, completely unaware of Meng Zhu's feelings, was lost in his thoughts. "Almost twenty years of friendship! We really need to catch up. Back then, we both loved to have fun, remember? Ah, if only I hadn't given up on painting, or..." His words trailed off, and the unfinished sentence hung in the air, leaving a sense of desotion.

  Meng Zhu quickly gnced at him, her mood growing heavier. She could understand his disappointment—his old friend had found success, while he still had nothing in hand! Ming Yuan's sense of loss felt like a heavy burden pressing on her, and in front of her bowl of rice, she had completely lost her appetite.

  "Saturday, it's dinner, so just prepare something casually," Ming Yuan concluded his mencholy thoughts with a pragmatic statement.