Andrew Brooks bit her thumb as she read once again the passage where Jia Baoyu first experiences intimacy, and couldn’t help but mutter, “Since Baoyu likes Daiyu, why did he also become physically intimate with Xiren? Later, Daiyu even calls Xiren ‘good sister-in-law’—could it be she doesn’t mind?”

After speaking, she shook her head and said, “She definitely minds. Maybe it’s because Lady Wang raised Xiren’s monthly allowance to two taels, so she made that joke. But that can’t be right—Daiyu should know that two taels is the monthly allowance for the Jia family’s concubines. Does she actually allow men to have multiple wives and concubines?”

The girl fell into a logical pit, thought for a long time, and finally just threw the book aside, feeling a sudden, inexplicable frustration.

When she first read Dream of the Red Chamber, she simply followed her own inclinations, seeing Baoyu and Daiyu as childhood sweethearts, sincere and devoted; Daiyu as talented and passionate, a beauty doomed to a tragic fate.

But after hearing someone’s analysis in the capital, she realized Dream of the Red Chamber could be dissected in such a way, and unconsciously, her perspective began to shift.

Andrew Brooks was the textbook definition of a reserved introvert—she appeared gentle and delicate, but was actually sharp-tongued; behaved properly with strangers, but was wild and uninhibited with those she knew well. She didn’t like to express herself, found it hard to give her true feelings, and kept things bottled up inside.

She lay in bed, letting her mind wander—thinking of Daiyu, then herself, then her boyfriend who was preparing for exams. If he passed, they’d surely be separated by distance, and who knew when they’d…

“Pa! Pa! Pa!”

“Pa! Pa! Pa!”

Just as the girl was feeling down, her body suddenly jolted, and she couldn’t help but go crazy—only that jerk ever knocked on their window!

She slipped on her shoes and went over. That guy was outside gesturing wildly, his mouth opening and closing but making no sound.

“What are you doing here?” she opened the window.

“Wow, it’s so hot and you still keep the window closed. Aren’t you afraid of suffocating?”

“I like it. You… huh?”

Andrew Brooks saw the other person covered in dirt, as if he’d just crawled out of a field, and asked curiously, “What have you been up to?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me ask you, does your group have an abandoned little warehouse?”

“Yes.”

“Is there usually anyone watching it?”

“No, no one.”

“That’s perfect! Hurry, take me there!”

He flashed a mouthful of white teeth, looking more and more like a restless monkey.

“Explain yourself—what exactly are you doing?” The girl was completely confused.

“Come see for yourself.”

He called her outside and pointed to four burlap sacks in the yard. “You have no idea what I went through to carry these back. Man, I’ve never done this much manual labor in two lifetimes!”

“What are these?”

“Fabric scraps. I bought them for twenty cents a bag.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Make money, of course. Hey…”

Brian Clark studied her for a moment, then smiled and said, “I just happen to need a helper. How about you help me out?”

Chapter 12: Small Business

Andrew Brooks thought she was going crazy.

Not only did she lead Brian Clark to the abandoned little warehouse to hide those four sacks of fabric scraps, but she also, as if possessed, followed him into the home of a pretty widow.

She just found it all so novel, with a hint of excitement—something she’d never felt before.

The woman was in her twenties, looked worn out, and her house was sparsely furnished. The only thing of value was a sewing machine. Her surname was Fang, a distant relative of Zhang Guiqin, and they didn’t have much contact. Her husband had died last year, her child was in elementary school, and life was tough. The sewing machine was part of her wedding dowry.

“Auntie, do you think you can make this?”

He took out a pattern. The woman glanced at it and said softly, “I haven’t made this before, so I can’t say for sure.”

“It’s just piecing together fabric scraps. Here’s a breakdown diagram.”

He took out a few small pieces of paper. Andrew Brooks craned her neck to look and saw that the papers had drawings resembling geometric shapes, all different sizes and forms, with measurements marked.

Next, he pulled out four long blue fabric strips—two darker, two lighter—and arranged them alternately on the table. “This is one side. Please cut them first, then sew them together into a piece, thirty centimeters long and twenty-four centimeters wide.”

The woman thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll give it a try.”

She cut the strips as instructed, worked the sewing machine, and soon finished. Brian Clark picked it up and saw the size was right, the stitches were tight, and the dark thread was embedded in the middle of the strips, well hidden by the blue background.

“No wonder everyone praises your skills—they’re as good as a master’s.”

“No, not at all…”

The woman was extremely introverted, but she gained a bit of confidence and made a few more sides, piecing them together.

Andrew Brooks understood and asked curiously, “Are you making schoolbags?”

“Not schoolbags—these are women’s shoulder bags.”

Brian Clark picked up the prototype and said, “We’ll add two straps on top, make them a bit longer. You can try it on to check the size.”

The girl took it, placed it at her waist, and measured the length to her shoulder. “This is about right. What if someone’s not the same height as me?”

“I bought adjustable buckles, so the length can be changed.”

“What about the opening? Do you have zippers?”

“No need for zippers—we’ll use frog buttons.”

“Frog buttons…”

Andrew Brooks pictured it in her mind and, to her surprise, found it quite fitting.