However, it seemed that after five years of elementary school, William Clark always scored full marks on every exam, yet never brought home a single award certificate. He was either tying a girl classmate’s braids to her chair or throwing firecrackers into the boys’ restroom, so his parents were often called in.

“Brother Yezi, how about... after dinner, we go watch Erlengzi’s wife take a bath? I know Erlengzi is going to the reservoir to set fishing nets today.”

The chubby kid’s eyes rolled as he came up with a mischievous idea. It wasn’t that these kids were developing early, but rather that life in this remote mountain village was just too boring, leaving them with nowhere to vent their energy.

“Alright, but you guys be careful. If we get caught, don’t drag me into it.”

William Clark nodded. This wasn’t the first time they’d done something like this. In fact, ever since Jack Thompson got married when William Clark was five, he’d crawled under the newlyweds’ bed and the next day vividly reenacted what he’d heard for the villagers.

Of course, William Clark himself didn’t really understand what all those “mmm, ahh” sounds meant, and even now he hadn’t quite figured it out.

As the kids chatted, they could already see the village not far ahead, so they quickened their pace and ran toward the entrance. A yellow dog that had been squatting under the big locust tree at the village entrance, ready to greet them, tucked its tail and retreated as soon as it saw who it was.

The village where William Clark lived was called Lizhuang. As the name suggests, apart from William Clark and his father, everyone else in the village had the surname Li. It was said that during the Taiping Rebellion, two brothers fled from northern Jiangsu and settled here, founding the village.

Lizhuang wasn’t very big—there were only twenty-three households in total, and you could run from one end to the other and back in just a few minutes.

On the outer walls of the village’s stone houses, there were still remnants of slogans painted in whitewash, like “Struggle against selfishness and criticize revisionism” and “Carry the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution through to the end!”

“Fatty, Erdan, you guys go home and let your families know, then come over.” When they reached the village entrance, William Clark stopped. His house was right at the entrance.

William Clark’s home had originally been the village ancestral hall, but during those ten years, the ancestral tablets were all smashed by the fanatical Red Guards who were always looking to “eradicate feudal superstition,” and the ancestral hall was turned into a dormitory for educated youth sent down to the countryside.

But as the educated youth returned to the cities, the ancestral hall that once housed more than a dozen people was now home to just William Clark and his father. The large place looked a bit dilapidated.

“Dad, I’m back! I got double hundreds again this year...”

As soon as William Clark entered the courtyard, he shouted loudly. Unlike the Jiangnan dialect he’d just used with his friends, William Clark now spoke in standard Mandarin, with a hint of a Beijing accent.

“You little rascal, why are you yelling so loud? Did you get into trouble again?”

As the saying goes, no one knows a son better than his father. Hearing William Clark’s voice, the middle-aged man in the yard straightened up and scolded him with a smile. Every year, he was called in by teachers several times, so he certainly knew his son’s knack for causing trouble.

William Clark resembled his father about sixty percent, but compared to Edward Clark’s rugged features, William Clark’s face was a bit softer. When William Clark was little, visitors from other villages would always praise what a pretty girl he was, which led to William Clark climbing up Mount Mao alone at the age of five, saying he wanted to become an apprentice and learn to be a real man.

If there had been monks on Mount Mao, and if he hadn’t just watched the projection team’s screening of “Shaolin Temple,” William Clark probably would have shaved his head and become a monk.

“Nothing like that, Dad. Let me help you clean the eels.”

William Clark tossed his backpack aside, grinned, and grabbed a wooden board from beside the door. There was a nail hammered into the top of the board.

He placed the board on the ground, grabbed an eel from a nearby basin, and skillfully pinned it to the board. Somehow, a small knife appeared in his right hand, and with a gentle slice, he opened up the eel’s belly.

After rinsing it in water, William Clark’s right hand moved quickly over the board a few times, and with a flick of his wrist, the eel—over a pound in weight—was sliced into pieces and dropped into the prepared enamel pot.

Father and son had depended on each other for years, so it was clear this wasn’t their first time working together. As soon as William Clark finished cleaning the eels, Edward Clark’s lard in the pot was hot. He tossed in some chopped scallions and chili, then added the eel slices. As the sizzling sound filled the air, a delicious aroma wafted through the courtyard.

Before long, a big enamel pot of stir-fried eel slices, a braised fish, and a bowl of fish head soup were set on the table, along with some homegrown greens. For a rural family, this was quite a feast.

There were only three dishes, but the portions were generous. The fish alone weighed six or seven pounds, and with three pounds of eel slices, it was enough to feed five or six people.

“Smells great, Old Clark. I bought some yellow wine on my way back from town—let’s have a few drinks together...”

With a burst of laughter, a man about the same age as Edward Clark walked in. Behind him were Fatty and the other boys, but they all looked sheepish, exchanging glances with William Clark.

“Mr. Foster.”

Seeing who it was, William Clark immediately straightened up and respectfully greeted his teacher. The visitor was not only his homeroom teacher, but also Grace Foster’s father. Who knew if he was here to report on him today?