It's just that they have money.

Fang Chen arrived home at 10 a.m.

The yard was piled high with woven bags and cardboard boxes, like a small logistics transfer station.

Xiang Pingping was squatting in the middle of the main room, with a pile of things spread out in front of her. She picked them up one by one to look at them, then put them down, then picked them up again, as if she were saying a final goodbye to each of them.

Fang Yuan is not here.

He dismantled all the items that could still be sold and took them to the scrap yard to sell, but he hasn't returned yet.

Fang Chen stood at the entrance of the main room, looking at the pile of things on the ground, unsure which foot to step with.

Xiang Pingping looked up at him and said, "What are you standing there for? Help me out."

Fang Chen went inside and squatted down next to the pile of things.

A stack of bowls, the printed patterns on the bottom worn away, with a few chips on the sides, were neatly stacked and wrapped in newspaper; an enamel teapot, a piece of the spout chipped off, revealing the black iron core inside.

"Mom, the spout of this teapot is chipped, why are you still keeping it?"

"It's not like it can't be used."

"I remember using these when I was a child."

"Buying a new one is free?"

"Didn't we give you the money?" Fang Chen muttered softly.

Xiang Pingping ignored him and pulled out another item from the pile of things.

It was a child's blue dress. The collar was worn white, one button was missing, and it had been sewn up, with loose threads sticking out. It wasn't machine-sewn; it was hand-sewn.

"This is what you wore when you were three years old. You were chubby back then, and you couldn't fit into it for more than two months." Xiang Pingping shook out the garment and looked at it. "Keep it, it'll be for your son to wear later."

Fang Chen opened his mouth, wanting to say that he didn't even have a girlfriend, but he swallowed the words back.

The garment was too small; when folded, it wasn't even the size of a palm. Xiang Pingping folded it into a neat little square, like a handkerchief, placed it on top of the pile of things she had left behind, and pressed it down with her hand to flatten it.

"Is this radio still usable?" Fang Chen picked up an old radio from the pile of junk.

Xiang Pingping glanced at it. "It's been broken for a long time. Your dad tried to fix it several times, but he couldn't."

"Then what's the point of keeping it?"

"What if it gets fixed someday?"

Fang Chen placed the radio next to the pile of things that were left behind, and Xiang Pingping took it back and placed it next to the pile of things that were left behind.

Fang Chen rummaged through the pile of junk and found another iron box. The box was rusted and couldn't be opened, but he pried it open with force, and the lid popped open. Inside was a stack of coupons: grain coupons, cloth coupons, oil coupons, all colorful, some of them stuck together and inseparable.

It has no value anymore.

"Are these still kept?"

"It was saved up by your grandfather. He couldn't bear to use it, so he saved it up until it became unusable."

Fang Yuan pushed the door open and came in, carrying an empty woven bag. His clothes were covered in a layer of dust, his shoulders and cuffs were dusty, and even his eyebrows were covered in dust.

He put the woven bag on the ground, squatted down by the water vat, filled a ladle with water, gulped down most of it, and poured the rest on his face. The water streamed down his tanned face and dripped onto his collar, washing away the ash and leaving streaks.

"How much did you make?" Xiang Pingping asked.

Fang Yuan wiped the water off his face and shook it off. "Eighty-three yuan."

"So much stuff for only eighty dollars?"

"Scrap metal is worthless. Copper is valuable, but where would we find so much copper?"

Fang Chen squatted down, his hands on his knees, watching Xiang Pingping wrap and stack the items one by one.

"Mom, we really don't need these."

Xiang Pingping paused for a moment.

She looked up at Fang Chen, her eyes holding something Fang Chen had never seen before.

It's not anger, it's resentment. It's not about arguing with him, it's about arguing with myself.

She wanted to keep these things, not because she thought they were useful, but because she felt they shouldn't be thrown away.

"If your mother wants to keep it, then let her stay. It's not like we don't have room for her."

"The new house is finished, where do we put all these things?" Fang Chen asked.

Fang Yuan didn't reply.

Xiang Pingping didn't respond.

The courtyard was quiet for a moment.

"Put it in the storage room," Fang Yuan said. "Isn't there a storage room in the new house?"

"How big would a storage room need to be to hold so many?"

Xiang Pingping stood up, rubbed her lower back. She had been squatting for too long and couldn't straighten up. She held onto the door frame for a while, and her back slowly straightened.

"If your dad says to keep it, then keep it. If I say to keep it, then keep it too. If you think it shouldn't be kept, then take it."

She then washed her hands and turned to go into the kitchen.

"Dad, is Mom unhappy?"

"It's not that I'm unhappy, it's that I'm reluctant to part with it."

Fang Chen stood in the yard for a while. The sound of a spatula stirring came from the kitchen. The smell of chili and oil mixed together wafted out from the crack in the door, making him cough.

"Mom, I'll take you to look at furniture this afternoon."

Xiang Pingping paused as she was ladling food onto a plate. "Why are you looking at furniture? Isn't the new house still a long way off?"

"Look around first, then decide. It'll be too late to decide once the house is built."

Xiang Pingping put down the spatula, turned around with the plate in her hand, and looked at Fang Chen.

"Your villa is all set up? We're not going to live in a villa. We can just use the old furniture in our old house. The bed was passed down from your grandparents; the wood is good, and it's a shame to throw it away when it's no longer usable. The wardrobe is..."

Fang Chen interrupted her: "Mom, the old house is being demolished, and the new house is a new house. If we use old furniture in the new house, what kind of new house is that? Besides, it doesn't cost any money to look at it."

At 2 p.m., Fang Chen parked his car in the parking lot of the furniture market in the county town.

Fang Yuan walked ahead at a slow pace, his hands behind his back, like a leader on an inspection tour. Xiang Pingping followed behind him, while Fang Chen brought up the rear.

As the three entered the gate, the smell of new furniture wafted towards them—a mixture of wood, paint, and leather, not pungent, but so strong it was almost overwhelming.

The sales assistant approached; she was a woman nearing forty, wearing makeup that didn't suit her age.

"Hello, welcome! What kind of furniture are you looking for?"

"Take a look at the living room, bedroom, and dining room."

The sales assistant's eyes lit up, and she led them inside with light steps, her high heels clicking on the floor tiles like an experienced horse leading the way.

The sales assistant followed Fang Chen and his family of three throughout the journey, talking non-stop.

Fang Chen dislikes these persistent sales assistants, but his parents appreciate them.

The three walked the whole way, and the sales assistant talked the whole way.

Fang Yuan and Xiang Pingping looked around and touched everything, asking all sorts of strange questions, which the sales assistant answered one by one.

Finally, Fang Chen sent the sales assistant away.

"Mom, what did you think of that bed?" Fang Chen asked.

Xiang Pingping folded the flyer into a small square and held it in her hand. "It's alright."

"Where's the mattress?"

"good."

"Where's the sofa?"

"good."

"Everyone says it's alright, but which one is actually alright?"

"That bed, and that sofa," Xiang Pingping said softly, "and that table."

Fang Chen turned off the car and turned to look at her. "Then buy them all."

"Too expensive."

"Money is meant to be spent; what's the point of keeping it if you don't spend it?"

Xiang Pingping was silent for a moment. "You don't earn money easily."

Fang Chen wanted to say that making money was easy for him, but he swallowed the words back.

His parents were unaware that he was receiving even more money, and that the system was still sending him money.