But there is a big difference between the hooligans in small county towns and those in big cities. In a small county, there are so few people that everyone knows who the hooligan is. If he ever backs down, word will spread throughout the streets in less than half a day. That’s why hooligans in small counties are often even more ruthless and fearless than those in big cities... So that hooligan stepped forward with his left foot, raised his right palm high, and swung it hard at the smiling face of that annoying-looking young man.

Another loud “smack” rang out.

David Foster was still carrying his tattered basket, holding a long bamboo picker, smiling at him. Even the straw hat on his head didn’t move a bit.

Instead, it was the hooligan who gripped his right palm with his left hand, his face turning blue and white in patches, gasping in pain, slowly sinking down as if the pain was so intense he couldn’t even cry out.

No one saw David Foster make any move, but in the next moment, he was already supporting the collapsing hooligan, smiling as he said, “Big brother, hang in there, don’t sit on this pile of trash. It’d be a shame to get those trendy pants dirty.”

Then he leaned in and whispered in the hooligan’s ear, “Big brother, you’ve fractured the second knuckle of your ring finger. Better get it checked at the hospital tomorrow.”

After all, David Foster was just a student and didn’t know the shameless ways of hooligans. While he was supporting the hooligan with his left arm, he didn’t notice the man quietly drawing a machete from his coat with his left hand.

A flash of the blade!

A gleaming machete came down on David Foster’s neck, but to everyone’s shock, the blade—sharp as snow—didn’t cut into his neck at all!

Only the hooligan could see clearly: between the razor-sharp blade and the young man’s neck was a single index finger.

A single index finger glowing faintly with golden light.

No one knew how David Foster managed to react in such a short time, or how he was able to block the blade with his finger. Even more unbelievable—what was his finger made of? The blade couldn’t even cut through it!

The only one with these questions in his mind was the stunned hooligan holding the machete. But his mind was in such chaos and terror that he couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. All he felt was overwhelming fear, his face filled with bewilderment, and, acting on instinct, he stabbed again with the knife...

Seeing the man still trying to attack, David Foster sidestepped the thrust. His movements were so quick they were almost invisible. He placed his hand on the hooligan’s wrist, and with a gentle “crack,” dislocated the man’s wrist. The hooligan’s hand went limp, hanging down like a piece of mochi.

The hooligan, in pain and terror, forgot to even cry out for help. With a face full of shock and disbelief, he slowly sank down onto the filthy trash heap.

David Foster glanced at him with a hint of disgust, watching as the hooligan’s trendy baggy pants and dirty, blackened paper rubbed against the trash. He tightened the basket on his back, stepped into his worn-out rubber shoes, and slowly walked down the garbage hill.

※※※

Back home, in the wooden partitioned room, David Foster took off his entire set of stinky “work clothes,” and enjoyed a good bath with the big vat of water he’d saved up during the day. The slippery soap slid all over the boy’s well-proportioned body.

After tidying up, he took out the stir-fried dried chili and bitter melon strips he’d made at noon, scooped a big spoonful onto the white rice he’d gotten from the school cafeteria, turned on the fourteen-inch black-and-white TV, and half-squatted on the only battered rattan chair in the house, savoring the old TV drama being replayed on the station.

“Carrot arms, radish legs...”

Tonight was the finale of “Kant’s Number One Bodyguard.” How could such an important moment be interrupted by a petty hooligan who stole aluminum ingots?

David Foster leaned back in the chair, looking at his little home.

“Bare walls and nothing else” was the first idiom he ever learned, but he thought to himself with a bit of pride that, thanks to his careful management, this home wasn’t so bad now... His eyes were sharper than others, his hands quicker than others. If it came to a real race, even Lewis probably wouldn’t be his match... And so, high schooler David Foster proudly became the number one trash picker in the small county.

The rattan chair was thrown out by the deputy chief judge of the county court, the bed came from a family in Sifangyan who no longer needed it after marrying off their daughter, and as for the TV, getting it was even more of an ordeal. He and three others had spotted a corner of this treasure at the same time on the garbage hill, and everyone dashed for it at their fastest speed. Honest as David Foster was, he wouldn’t use his “Lewis on steroids” speed on a trash heap full of broken glass and junk, so he ran while secretly kicking things in the way of his competitors with uncanny accuracy.

The final result: David Foster got the long-dreamed-of TV, though it took him three days to repair it afterward. As for his poor competitors, they ended up with: half a slipper to the face, a rock to the chest, and a sanitary pad in the mouth...

This... was David Foster’s happy life.

Chapter Five: A Clever Girl

Happy lives may not be the same, but the feeling of happiness can be.

So, on Saturday afternoon the next day, when David Foster saw Emily Sullivan with her short hair quietly draped over her forehead, he once again felt the joy of finding a black-and-white TV while picking through trash.

Today, Emily Sullivan was wearing a long skirt, riding a blue bicycle, her hair parted to the side like a boy’s, her face spotlessly clean, with straight brows and clear eyes, looking refreshingly bright.