The girl stopped, looking at him, but in the end, she seemed to think that putting a thorough end to this matter might actually be a good idea. “In ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’, what is the name of Lin Daiyu’s chief maid?”

Ah, this should be the easiest question, right?

It should also be the one the original host had the best chance of answering!

If only he at least liked reading novels, especially classical ones!

But as it happened, this was exactly what David Brooks truly didn’t know.

Most of his knowledge about “Dream of the Red Chamber” came from watching the TV series as a child. Later, when he was in high school, he did read the original novel to keep up with the trend, but it was more like skimming through it.

He actually learned more from “Lecture Room”.

Especially those palace secrets told by that writer surnamed Liu—so messy, but very interesting.

But it didn’t matter anymore!

“I’m really sorry, I’m just a high school graduate, haha…”

David Brooks picked up the cigarettes and matches from the table, stood up calmly, and smiled at the girl: “Things like motherboards, memory, floppy disks, DOS, and then turbocharging, supercharging, horsepower, torque, automatic transmissions, dual-clutch transmissions, and wasn’t there something called a PDK transmission, also dual-clutch, right? Anyway, I really don’t know much about this stuff, sorry to disappoint you!”

At this point, he ignored the girl’s slightly dazed look, put the cigarettes and matches back in his pocket, stuck a cigarette in his mouth, looking all roguish. “By the way, that coffin Jia Zhen insisted on getting for Qin Keqing—what kind of material was it? That’s the kind only a princess or a first-rank titled lady could use, right? I suspect Qin Keqing’s background is a bit suspicious. Think about it—adopted, tsk tsk. After Qin Keqing died, the Jia family just… sigh, I’m off!”

“Goodbye! Or rather, maybe we’ll never meet again!”

He turned and left, but stopped at the door without looking back. “Go back and tell Uncle Carter that I’m especially grateful to him. If I, David Brooks, ever make it big one day, I’ll repay him double!”

Chapter 3 A Small River Runs Through the Town

He didn’t look back.

But whether it was just his imagination or not, as he walked out of the teahouse, David Brooks faintly felt as if a gaze from above was fixed intently on him.

He didn’t know if she had really opened the window to look down.

David Brooks swung his leg over the motorcycle, turned it around on the spot, and rode off.

It was still early, not yet noon. He didn’t plan to rush home, but instead rode his motorcycle aimlessly around the town—this was actually his first real visit to the county seat since crossing over.

Actually, it wasn’t just Fuping County—he wasn’t very familiar with the entire 1990s.

He was born in 1992 in his previous life, and by the time he really started forming memories, it was already around the year 2000. After that, it was the same as everyone else: studying, working, hustling. He was pretty indifferent to most things around him. It wasn’t until he was much older, sometimes zoning out and pretending to be dead, that he suddenly realized the 1990s had become so distant. He even met a girl born after 2000 on a blind date, and she bluntly said: Wow, you were born in 1992? You’re so old!

Sigh, all sad memories…

He didn’t know if this small town was typical or not, but as he slowly rode his motorcycle around, David Brooks truly understood for the first time what “the 1990s” meant.

This small town really looked like it had stepped out of an old photograph.

Many obviously old buildings still stood, worn and aged. Occasionally, there were a few newly built three-story houses by the roadside, tiled, very new and pretty, and almost without exception, they were restaurants.

Every street had tea shops, sometimes several on the same street.

It seemed the original host’s knowledge was reliable—this really was a major tea-producing county. And not just green tea; locals also made black and yellow tea, though apparently it never became famous, since he’d never heard of it.

There were even more specialty silk shops.

Local silk production had a history of a thousand years, and cotton spinning seemed quite developed too.

The bus station was packed with people—the traffic light here was the only one in the whole town!

Of course, that was in the old town.

Outside the town, there was a national highway coming from the northeast, skirting the edge of the county seat and heading southwest. Most big trucks took that route, so there were hardly any cars in the county. But along both sides of the highway, a large new district had already formed, which was actually Fuping’s industrial area, full of big vehicles.

A small river, only about ten meters wide, ran through the town.

Looking along the river, you could see four or five small bridges, almost all stone arch bridges, all quite old. Along the river were many old-style stilted wooden houses, the wood dark and aged, but still looking sturdy.

Many young women, wives, and old ladies were washing clothes by the river.

Occasionally, someone would pole a boat down the river, and many acquaintances along the banks would ask about the price of fresh fish. The boatman would casually answer, and once a deal was struck, he’d stop the boat and sell his goods.