“Oh?” Mr. Smith became even more interested and asked with a smile, “Little John, what Tang poems can you recite? Recite one for uncle to hear.” What is this all about? My original intention was to let Dad and Mr. Smith get closer, but who knew Mr. Smith would latch onto me and keep asking questions endlessly. Looks like he’s also the kind of bookworm who isn’t good at socializing.

The setting sun and the solitary wild goose fly together;

The autumn waters are the same color as the vast sky.

I almost recited Wang Bo’s “Preface to the Prince Teng’s Pavilion” for them. But after thinking about it, I held back. If I showed off like that, I’d be a freak, not a prodigy. I have to be careful not to get caught and sent to some research institute to be dissected!

“White sun sets behind the mountains, the Yellow River flows into the sea. To see a thousand miles further, go up one more floor.” Mr. Smith was fine, but Dad was utterly shocked: “Little John, you… when did you learn this poem?” Heh, I expected this question, so I calmly replied, “Dad, you taught me. You recited this poem to me before.”

“I did? You remembered it after I recited it once?” Dad looked both surprised and doubtful.

I smiled and said, “You recited it several times. It’s not hard to remember.”

“Haha, photographic memory! Jincai, your son is truly a genius!” Mr. Smith exclaimed in admiration.

Dad was stunned for a moment, then smiled as well. After all, he wouldn’t think of “time travel” just because of a Tang poem—besides, he doesn’t even know what “time travel” is.

“To be honest with you, Mr. Smith, today it was Little John who wanted to come here to look at your books…” Oh, come on!

Dad, you really are an honest man—who just says things so bluntly? Oh, so you’re visiting because your son wants to read books. If your son didn’t want to read, you wouldn’t bother with Zachary Smith at all. Isn’t that just asking for trouble?

Who knew Mr. Smith was a character himself, not minding at all, and said with a smile, “Is that so? Then I’m afraid Little John will be disappointed. I don’t have any comic books here.” I quickly said, “If there are no comic books, other books are fine too.” That was the truth. If I had to spend the next few years staring at a “character notebook,” it would be unbearable. I’d rather find some books to read at Mr. Smith’s place.

Mr. Smith gave me a curious look and stood up.

“All right, Little John, come with me.”

Chapter 6: Becoming an Apprentice

Walking into that dim study at The Smith Family, my eyes gradually adjusted to the environment, and I was truly surprised.

Wow, this was a real study. Although there weren’t any proper bookshelves, books were piled everywhere—on cabinets, on stools—and all stacked neatly.

It seems this Mr. Smith is no ordinary book lover.

He’s a mess himself, looking like a beggar, but when it comes to these precious books, he’s meticulous.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of respect.

Regardless of whether Mr. Smith could bring me any benefits after making a comeback, just for his love of books, he deserves respect. For a country or a nation to rise, it ultimately depends on knowledge.

“Little John, tell uncle, what kind of books do you want to read?” There was a clear warmth in Mr. Smith’s tone. Enduring poverty and loneliness is a traditional virtue of Chinese intellectuals, but Mr. Smith was still very happy about our visit. Especially since I love books—it really hit Mr. Smith’s soft spot.

“Uncle, you have so many books… I’ll look for them myself.” I also automatically dropped the “Zhou” in front and just called him uncle.

Mr. Smith looked at me with great interest for a while and nodded.

“All right, take your time. I’ll go talk with your Dad.”

“Okay, thank you, uncle.” In my previous life, I was extremely nearsighted, having worn thick glasses since my teens from reading too many comic books and martial arts novels. Now I’m only seven, so my eyesight is excellent. Even though Mr. Smith’s study is very dim, it doesn’t bother me. Poor Mr. Smith, at his age, and nearsighted too—how does he find books in such a dark place? A dignified professor, exiled to this godforsaken place called Matangwan for a trumped-up charge, so poor he has to count every drop of kerosene for his lamp—what a tragedy.

Mr. Smith’s books were sorted by category: party history and philosophy in one group, the largest section, mostly post-liberation editions, with four volumes of “Selected Works” in the most prominent spot, and a few foreign originals. My English is too poor to recognize them, but I guess one of them is Nietzsche’s “Thus Spoke Zarathustra.” Next to the party history and philosophy were history books, with almost a complete set of the Twenty-Four Histories, some even in thread-bound editions. The third category was literature. It was clear that Mr. Smith had a wide range of interests, with not only the four great Chinese classics and works by Tolstoy, Voltaire, and Shakespeare, but also representative works by leaders of the New Culture Movement like Xu Zhimo, such as “Zhimo’s Poems” and “Fallen Leaves.” Of course, Lu Xun’s works were indispensable. What surprised me was that I even found “Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio” and “In Search of the Supernatural”—books considered “heretical” by serious scholars. This shows that Mr. Smith is not rigid at all inside, and his way of thinking isn’t so inflexible.