Farming doesn’t sound all that hard—definitely simpler than fixing shoes.

He wasn’t well-educated, didn’t have any real hobbies, and his only skill was repairing shoes. Maybe in the future, he’d learn to farm as well.

After four years in Beijing, living frugally, he’d managed to save up a bit. If he borrowed some more from his uncles, he could renovate the old house and even get himself a wife.

That’s all there was to this life—not much different from his last one.

“Phew!”

He exhaled another puff, leaving half a cigarette burning, the dark yellow tobacco flickering dimly.

Still, damn it, he really wasn’t willing to settle for this...

Andrew Clark thought.

“Hey! Who said you could smoke there?”

A shout snapped him back to reality. He turned his head and saw a man in uniform walking over.

“Is it illegal for me to smoke here?” Andrew Clark didn’t move, didn’t even bother to stand up, and asked.

“Do you know where you are?” The man walked up, looking down at him.

“Where?” Andrew Clark squatted on the ground, cigarette between his fingers, tilting his head to look at him.

“This is a school. Strangers shouldn’t be hanging around the entrance, and smoking here is even worse!” the man said.

“A school?”

Andrew Clark glanced at the building behind him, followed the wall with his eyes, and a few meters away was a grand arched gate. On it was written: Beijing Film Academy.

It really was a school.

Andrew Clark didn’t know if you could smoke at a school gate, but he’d always admired and respected educated people, so he felt he was in the wrong. He quickly stood up and said, “Sorry, I’ll leave right away.”

“Hurry up, hurry up! Don’t just squat by the wall like some old dog—you’re not even peeing!” The man waved his hand as if shooing a fly.

“Old dog?”

Andrew Clark chuckled, but the foot he’d stepped out with drew back, and he squatted down again.

“Hey, what’s your problem? Can’t you understand human language?” the man said angrily.

“Do you run this place? Are you the principal?” Andrew Clark laughed.

“I’m your uncle! I’m warning you, don’t make me get physical!” The man rolled up his sleeves.

“Oh, I thought you were a dog—nothing better to do all day but bark.” Andrew Clark laughed.

What he hated most were these loudmouths who thought they were something special. If they didn’t cause trouble, fine, but if they did—fight? He’d never been afraid of anyone.

“Oh, so you want to challenge me? Today I’m going to beat you up!”

The security guard lost his temper and kicked at him.

Andrew Clark didn’t even blink. He lifted his hand, grabbed the man’s ankle, gave a gentle tug, and then pushed.

The security guard felt a surge of force, his body falling backward, and landed on the ground with a “thud.”

“Ow!”

The guard clutched his lower back and cried out in pain, realizing he’d run into a tough one. He immediately chickened out, feeling conflicted.

If he got up, he’d have to keep fighting, but he couldn’t win; if he went to get help, everyone was off eating at this hour, so no one would come. Admitting defeat outright was too humiliating, so he just lay there pretending to be aloof.

Luckily for him, two young men ran over from the gate, one on each side, and helped him up.

Both were thin and small—one wore glasses and looked a bit sleazy; the other had drooping eyebrows and a perpetually miserable face.

“Mr. Harris, are you okay? Let me help you back.”

The guy with glasses asked. The guard shook his head, saying “No, no, I’m fine” repeatedly, not daring to look at Andrew Clark, clutching his lower back, and taking the opportunity to leave for his lunch break.

“Big brother, don’t take it personally. Please be generous.”

The glasses guy came over to Andrew Clark with a smile.

The two of them had watched the whole argument unfold. They’d wanted to step in and mediate, but before they could, things had already escalated—and so quickly! Before they could react, the guard was already on the ground.

Wow! This guy’s a master!

“It’s fine, it’s fine.”

Andrew Clark waved his hand, not interested in dealing with that weakling. He was about to put the cigarette back in his mouth when he suddenly asked, “Is it okay to smoke here?”

He’d won the fight, but that was just because the guard looked down on him. He wasn’t the type to cause trouble for no reason—rules were rules. If smoking really wasn’t allowed here, he’d just go somewhere else. No big deal.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Smoke as much as you want!” the glasses guy said quickly.

“Oh.”

Andrew Clark replied, put the half-smoked cigarette back in his mouth, and scratched his head with one hand, feeling greasy.

He thought to himself, I should wash my hair tonight, and take a bath too.

He hadn’t bathed once in the past two months. That shabby rental didn’t have any facilities for it—he could only heat water in a pot and wipe himself down with a towel.

Now he really couldn’t stand it anymore, so he was thinking of splurging and going to a bathhouse for a good soak.

“Let’s go, time to head back.”

The glasses guy, seeing things were settled, pulled his companion toward the school gate.

But he couldn’t budge him. His companion just stood there, staring at the master smoking, looking puzzled.

“What are you looking at? Want to become his apprentice or something?”

His companion shook his head and said, “Look at the way he’s squatting there smoking—doesn’t it just fit perfectly?”

“Huh?”

The glasses guy looked over at Andrew Clark, studied him for a while, and nodded. “You know, you’re right. He really has the vibe—better than me. Why don’t you go ask him?”