"I'm not going. I'm just getting familiar with the area today. I still have to check out some other schools later. I'll come to Fudan often for lectures in the future. How are your roommates? Any weirdos among them?" David Clark asked as he held his bicycle, but his gaze lingered on the scantily clad girls passing by the school gate. Summer really is a season worth sweating for.

"Three locals, all talkative and annoying. I got fed up and cursed at them, then more of them started jumping out one after another, so I knocked them all down. I guess they've already reported me to the college counselor. Anyway, if I get a warning or get kicked out, before I leave Fudan, I'll make sure their parents can't even recognize whose sons they are," Sparrow said nonchalantly.

"Screw you! If you leave, I'll lose one of my bases. How am I supposed to check out Fudan babes in the future?" David Clark said angrily.

"So what should I do?" Sparrow asked, troubled.

"Damn it, get back there right now and tell your roommates: anyone who dares to snitch gets dealt with, and anyone who doesn't believe it will be convinced the hard way. I hate you guys the most—good grades and better looking than me, a bunch of bastards," David Clark said bitterly, kicking Sparrow on the butt. "Get lost."

Sparrow happily scampered back.

Not feeling at all like he'd given bad advice, David Clark continued wandering around the university town. In his simple view, a man only has two ways to solve problems: the relatively sophisticated money and power, or the most basic fists. Unless everyone minds their own business and keeps the peace, it always comes down to a zero-sum game—either you die or I do. So, nipping trouble in the bud is the way to go.

When David Clark turned and left Fudan, his back to the school gate, maybe no one his age knew that this seemingly ordinary guy was a lunatic who scored zero on the English section of the college entrance exam but still managed a total of 570, and was a madman in high school who made all the math and science teachers resent their English colleagues.

Simply put, this guy was the only freak in all of Tangshan City, or even Hebei Province, who could consistently outdo Sam Sparrow in math and science.

Chapter 6: Half a Jin and Eight Liang

David Clark rode his creaking bicycle through Yangpu University Town. The sky was dim. Now, Classmate Clark had finally left Tangshan City, stepped out from under Jack Clark's huge shadow, no longer had to interpret every word and action of that smiling, scheming, ambitious woman, could finally breathe a little under his grandmother's doting, didn't have to clean up after his second-generation rich kid brother, and didn't need to teach that little brat how to beat a pointless erotic game. Although it also meant he wouldn't see his group of close friends, whose deep bonds were built over more than a decade, overall David Clark was in a pretty good mood. So he lit a cigarette, riding his beat-up bike and smoking a Red Double Happiness—what Shanghainese call "Little China"—humming the tune of "Laughing in the Wind and Rain," a song once sung by Chu Liuxiang and now by Uncle Zheng. He felt super cool, speeding down the university town roads, just short of pulling off a high-difficulty bike drift at the corners.

Truly, a man as free as the wind.

Too bad he didn't have Sparrow's looks, or he'd definitely get more second glances.

David Clark, nicknamed Alan Clark, was a guy who, before age 19, had never set foot outside Tangshan City. Height: 175 cm, weight: 135 jin, excellent eyesight—not ruined by countless adult films and war movies in bed. A fake otaku, data nerd, and settings geek, not very good at dealing with women, especially beauties, but an out-and-out goddess fan, mature-woman fan, uniform fan, loli fan, leg and black-stocking fan, glasses-girl fan.

In his passionate youth, David Clark had both cut people and been cut. As a kid, he dreamed of being a hero, but after seeing a few guys with freakish fighting skills just end up as Jack Clark's muscle, he gave up on that. In his own view, his few pitiful strengths were a bit of stamina—couldn't be helped, since in middle school, out of naive loyalty, he was either fighting a gang of thugs or getting ganged up on himself. If he couldn't run fast, he'd end up missing an arm or a leg. He also had a bit of drawing talent; his biggest dream was to do body painting for his so-called "child bride" older-sister type, so he intermittently practiced basic sketching for a while. In science and engineering, he always thought he was just so-so, more than enough to get by on exams, but never aimed for any math olympiad gold medals. The only thing he could barely show off was that if you gave him a dense German philosophy book, he could translate it with some effort. Other than that, Eight Liang really couldn't think of anything else worth bragging about in front of girls. Of course, if Jack Clark passed away, he might inherit a fortune that would drive gold-diggers crazy. But since age 14, Eight Liang hadn't taken a cent from nouveau riche Jack Clark, so when Alan Clark said he was broke, he really meant it. This kind of fool, who from a young age stubbornly drew a line between himself and Jack Clark, was nothing like Ryan Clark, who was born a heartless, amoral, ambitionless, first-class playboy and money's darling.