The parking lot was almost empty, with only a few cars left. A group of people bustled onto the bus, the team leader in high spirits, standing at the front and announcing loudly, “Attention, everyone! I hereby declare that the first group event of the Shengtian City White-collar Social Club is about to come to a successful end... Let’s look forward to our next gathering!”

　　“Wow!”

　　*Clap clap clap!*

　　“Unforgettable tonight, unforgettable tonight...”

　　Everyone was very supportive—some cheered, some applauded, and some even started singing.

　　Two girls sat at the back, completely out of sync with the atmosphere. Especially the timid one—she had drunk a whole bottle of water before she finally started to relax from her nerves and fear. Suddenly, she said angrily, “Liar! Didn’t he say there wouldn’t be any snakes?”

　　The other girl was a bit more rational and considered, “Maybe, maybe he was afraid we wouldn’t dare to go otherwise.”

　　“That’s still lying! What if we got bitten by a snake...”

　　She trailed off herself, glancing up at her best friend.

　　The two of them were on the same wavelength, and hurriedly dug out that cloth pouch. They untied it and poured it into their hands—out rolled three brown, longan-sized, pill-like things.

　　“What are these?”

　　The timid girl squeezed them curiously.

　　“These seem to be...”

　　The other leaned in and sniffed, uncertainly, “Incense?”

Chapter 3 William Grant (Part 1)

　　In outsiders’ eyes, small mountain towns always seem to share certain traits—quiet, leisurely, free from all the messy, annoying troubles. But in reality, it’s the same everywhere; everyone is hustling for a living, and no one is really more carefree than anyone else.

　　These days, leisure is a privilege for the wealthy. If you’re not rich and still idle, that’s just being a loafer.

　　William Grant wasn’t rich, nor was he a loafer—just a hardworking laborer. Right now, he was carrying his load down another path, and after walking for a while at the foot of the mountain, he turned onto a dirt road.

　　If the main gate was the front, then this was the side entrance, known only to locals. Every morning, vendors would ride their bikes here, then carry their goods up the mountain, coming back down at dusk.

　　There was also a household by the dirt road, the owner an old widower whose job was to watch the vendors’ vehicles—if you could even call a donkey cart a vehicle.

　　*Clang!*

　　William Grant was running a bit late today. He pushed open the courtyard gate and saw his own rickety cart standing there all alone, so he called out:

　　“Grandpa!”

　　“Grandpa!”

　　He called twice, but no one answered. He peered through the window: the old man was slumped in the inner room, mouth puckered, opening and closing, who knows if he was asleep or awake.

　　He didn’t disturb him, just loaded his things onto the cart, then picked out two tender ears of corn and two eggs, and quietly placed them in the main room before leaving the courtyard.

　　The dirt road was hard to travel, full of bumps and potholes.

　　After riding for a while, William Grant reached a particularly rough residential area. Most of the houses here were single-story or tiled cottages, with only a few two-story buildings. The homes were connected by alleys, winding around like a maze.

　　Looking eastward, you could see several high-rise buildings in the distance—that was the city center of Baicheng.

　　In recent years, as the city expanded, many small villages had been incorporated and redeveloped. It was neither truly rural nor urban anymore; farmland was gone, and even the term “village” was banned—they called them “streets” now.

　　This place used to be called Phoenix Market for decades, but now it was Phoenix Street, at the far, far, far west of Baicheng. The housing was dilapidated, the residents poor, but of course the government cared about appearances, so basic municipal services were still provided: tap water, digital TV, broadband, and some public facilities.

　　But the old folks were baffled—what’s the point of installing fitness machines, rowing equipment, or those iron wheels for hip-twisting in a former village?

　　“Hey, Xiao Yu, you’re back? We’re making dumplings today—I’ll bring you a bowl in a bit.”

　　“Thank you, Auntie! I was just thinking about them yesterday. I really crave your cabbage dumplings.”

　　“Haha, you’re such a sweet talker. Go rest at home for now.”

　　“Okay, you take it easy too.”

　　After greeting a plump auntie, William Grant stopped in front of a small courtyard. Inside were three old tiled rooms—the main hall in the center doubled as a kitchen, with east and west rooms on either side. In the middle of the yard was a path of broken bricks, with rows of scallions planted on both sides. The toilet and storage room were in the corners, and there were piles of firewood and corn by the house walls.

　　Living here, you basically didn’t need to lock your door. He parked his cart and went inside. Today would be relatively easy—there were enough tea eggs for tomorrow, and the corn could be cooked fresh on the mountain, so no need to prepare anything.

　　He washed up casually, then took out his ledger to do the accounts.

　　As the weather warmed, tourism was picking up again, and there were noticeably more visitors to Phoenix Mountain. Business had been good lately, with a net profit of about eighty yuan a day. Roughly calculated, he could make over two thousand this month. The coming months would be peak season, and earnings could rise to four or five thousand.

　　William Grant felt pleased. He had just put away the ledger when he heard someone outside calling, “Brother, my mom asked me to bring you some dumplings!”

　　The door curtain lifted, and in came a little girl with big eyes, dressed simply and neatly, with a round face. She was holding a bowl of steaming dumplings.

　　“Come, give them to me!”

　　He hurried to take the bowl, set up the folding table, and asked, “You guys finished eating already?”

　　“They haven’t, but I have.”

　　“Dieting again?”