William Harris stood up and, like a leader showing care for a child, patted—or rather, gently stroked—his head twice and said, “I got word from a friend that one of Xue San’er’s men from the west side of Hun City was beaten up by a young guy who picks up scraps. Later, it turned out that guy is from our school. I thought, no matter what, our school is still a key high school, and you’re the only one down on your luck enough to be picking up scraps. So I called you up to let you know—be careful these next few days.”

Although David Foster was not used to having a pair of big hands on his head, and even less used to this school’s delinquent suddenly acting as gentle and kind as a guidance counselor, he still felt a bit grateful inside. Smiling, he said, “That night I was out scavenging for food and happened to run into a few people stealing aluminum ingots from the state-owned No. 2 Factory. Of course, I didn’t dare get involved, but one of them tried to hit me, so things got messy.”

“Oh?” William Harris let out another “oh,” as if interested, and asked, “I heard the guy who got the worst of it is pretty good at fighting. How did you beat him?”

David Foster was stumped—how was he supposed to answer that? He thought for a while, then slowly said, “I’ve had a tough life since I was little, so I’m just a bit stronger than most.”

Hearing this, William Harris grinned so wide his mouth could barely close, and quickly beckoned, “Come on, come on, I love testing my strength against others. Let’s arm wrestle.”

David Foster never expected his explanation would lead to this. He wanted to refuse, but saw that Student Harris had already rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, half-lying on the ground, eager and ready.

He could only give a wry smile in his heart and step forward.

Doing his best to control his strength, he used only a tenth of his power, and slowly let William Harris win in what appeared to be an intense arm-wrestling match. David Foster let out a long breath, stood up, and gave a somewhat shy smile.

William Harris laughed, shooed away the little brothers who had been cheering on the side, patted his shoulder, and said, “Kid, you really are strong—just a little bit weaker than me.”

David Foster kept an innocent smile on his face the whole time.

“How about this, you follow me from now on.” William Harris suddenly became serious, but as a seventeen-year-old striking a Hong Kong triad boss pose, he just looked awkward to David Foster.

“Stick with me, and I’ll go talk to Xue San’er. Then there won’t be any more trouble.”

Seeing him take the matter upon himself, David Foster finally believed this guy really was a different kind of delinquent. He was a bit moved, but politely declined, though it took quite a bit of talking.

William Harris spat out a few curses, then said, “I know you guys look down on us delinquents. We’re all classmates, and you still discriminate by job type? Bullshit. Get lost. If you get beaten to death later, don’t blame me.”

David Foster couldn’t help but laugh and cry, quickly saying, “I’m just a scrap picker—if anyone’s going to discriminate by job, it’s not going to be me looking down on you.”

The two looked at each other and burst out laughing. As they parted, William Harris tugged at his blue khaki jacket, frowned, and said, “It’s all faded from washing. Change it out. Don’t try to fool me by saying you’re poor from picking up scraps. The old scavengers I know are filthy rich.”

David Foster replied with a laugh, “Those old guys pick up dead pigs every day to render lard for sale. The only thing flowing is stinky oil.”

Back in the classroom downstairs, when his classmates saw he was unharmed and without a scratch on his face, they all crowded around to show concern or surprise. Only Henry Carter sat coldly at the front. Out of the corner of his eye, David Foster saw a trace of disdain at the corner of his mouth, leaving him a bit puzzled.

Emily Sullivan was blocked outside by others. Anxious, she grabbed a few classmates by the collar and forced her way through, rushing up to him and asking with concern, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” David Foster looked into her clear eyes and smiled.

※※※

In David Foster’s later memories, the sunlight of 1994 was the most dazzling kind.

There wasn’t really any special reason—just that every Saturday, when he rode home with Emily Sullivan, the oleanders blooming by the river would always give the sunlight shining on them a faint fragrance.

David Foster glanced at Emily Sullivan’s pretty, straight nose and the soft bangs on her forehead, a bit lost in thought. After a long while, he finally remembered that matter.

“That thing you mentioned at your house the other day—I’ve thought about it, and I’d better not.” He was talking about Emily Sullivan wanting him to score high marks.

Emily Sullivan frowned, shot him a glance, and said irritably, “Whatever.”

David Foster was naturally a cute kid who was afraid of girls. Seeing she was about to lose her temper, he quickly mumbled, “If I really do well, I’m afraid I’ll scare a bunch of people. How am I supposed to explain that to everyone?”

Emily Sullivan smiled and said, “If it’s your own ability, why be afraid of what others say?”

Such a simple sentence, yet it left David Foster a bit dazed. As he pedaled, lost in thought, he finally blurted out after a while:

“What if that ability is a little scary?”

“If you scare someone to death, so be it.” Emily Sullivan thought he was joking, so she pursed her lips and smiled back.

David Foster sighed, “Seriously, what if I’m a monster?”

Emily Sullivan smiled again, showing her white teeth, and sweetly said, “You’re already a monster genius.”

David Foster smiled wordlessly, turning his head to watch the river water by the roadside shimmer in the setting sun.

Chapter 8: The Fake-Immortal Monster

Another Saturday.