This pond was actually the pit left behind after the explosion in '77. As rainwater gradually accumulated, it slowly became a pond with duckweed floating on the surface. David Foster didn’t know about this, nor did he know that he himself was picked up by his grandfather on the day of the explosion. He just always found it a bit strange that whenever he felt troubled, sitting by this pond would immediately calm him down.

It hadn’t rained these past few days, so the pond water was clear. David Foster shouted as he stripped himself bare and jumped into the water under the cover of night, sending up a splash.

Suddenly, he felt an itch on his back, so he picked up a cobblestone from the edge of the pond, exhaled lightly, split it in two with a chop of his palm, and even compared the halves in his hand before choosing the sharper one to vigorously scrape at his own body.

Luckily, the little shack he lived in was secluded, and at night there was never anyone around. No one wanted to come near this place that was always filled with a stench. Otherwise, if someone saw him using a sharp stone as a towel, who knows what they’d think.

David Foster was just playing in the water. In a while, he’d have to go to Gonghe Village to scavenge for food, so he didn’t bother with soap, just enjoyed scrubbing himself with the stone. He watched the duckweed floating on the water’s surface, listened to the croaking of frogs in the cracks between the rocks at the pond’s edge, and his mood gradually settled. Then he thought of riding home with Emily Sullivan that afternoon.

At the time, he was still caught up in the strange feeling of having single-handedly defeated a whole group of people, so he cautiously asked Emily Sullivan, “What if I really am a monster?”

Emily Sullivan’s answer made him feel really good, very natural, just like David Foster imagined an ideal partner would be. The girl looked at him with her big, beautiful, crystal-black eyes and said seriously, “Well, you’ll have to turn into a monster first and let me see, then I can decide what to do. If you can become even more handsome than you are now, that would be a good thing…”

……

Thinking of this, David Foster laughed out loud in the pond. He climbed ashore, tossed a stone into the water, startling the frogs and insects, disturbing the fish from their summer dreams, then turned and went into his little shack. He put on his ridiculously black jeans, pulled on a blue work jacket from who-knows-which textile factory, put on a frayed straw hat with prickly edges, and grabbed a handkerchief that would never wash white—yes, the same work clothes he wore every night to scavenge for junk. Strolling and swaying, lingering over the scenery, he set off for the garbage hill in Gonghe Village with the carefree air of Su Dongpo visiting a monk at night.

Chapter 11: Affairs

It was raining. David Foster was riding his bicycle, rushing into the school. The bike had come all the way from the muddy riverbank, its wheels caked with yellow mud. He was riding fast, and the mud nearly splattered onto someone nearby.

“Damn.” That student clearly wasn’t a nice guy and started cursing loudly.

A few days ago, David Foster had spent a night in quiet thought by the pond. Although he hadn’t figured everything out, he had gained some understanding of the natural order of things. He wasn’t planning to keep acting like a loser. So when he heard someone cursing at him, he screeched his bike to a halt, frowned, and said coldly, “Who are you cursing at?”

“Well, aren’t you bold today.” To his surprise, the male student burst out laughing. Only then did David Foster realize it was William Harris.

He gave a wry smile and said, “Oh, it’s you. Sorry about that.”

William Harris brushed the mud off his pants, grumbling as he walked over and slapped David Foster on the shoulder. “I heard there was trouble outside the school last Saturday. Was it Xue San’er’s guys coming after you?”

David Foster just smiled. “It’s nothing.”

Seeing that he didn’t want to talk about it, William Harris didn’t press further and joked, “Even if you can’t bear to throw this junk bike away, you should at least clean it up a bit, right? It’s covered in mud.”

“No way, I can’t wash it. This isn’t just fresh mud—there’s old stuff caked on too. If it weren’t for all this mud, this junk bike would’ve fallen apart ages ago.” David Foster hopped on his bike and rode off, laughing as he pedaled away.

※※※

Life at school was always the same, endlessly repetitive and boring. Usually, David Foster didn’t talk much in class. Today, he deliberately relaxed his self-control. Even though he didn’t act particularly cold, he still couldn’t help but give off a certain “aura of otherness.” In the past, classmates might have teased him about being the “junk king,” but he never got angry. Today, though, everyone felt something strange about him.

David Foster had changed—changed in a way that made him hard to read.

But Emily Sullivan didn’t feel that way. After class, she called David Foster out to the playground, grabbed him by the collar, and insisted he come to her house for dinner that night.

David Foster started fake-crying, “I said I don’t want to go! How can you force me? I’ve heard of forced sex, but never forced dinner.”

Emily Sullivan blushed and got angry. “Why are you getting more and more inappropriate with your words?”

David Foster chuckled, “Alright, let’s be serious.” His face turned earnest. “Honestly, I really don’t want to go to your house for dinner.”

“Why?” Emily Sullivan asked in surprise. “My parents are nice to you.” Suddenly, as if she understood something, a hint of disappointment flashed across her face, but she quickly softened and said, “You always seem cheerful, but don’t be that kind of guy. I really look down on men like that.”

“What kind of guy?” David Foster widened his eyes.