The two exchanged a glance and smiled, clearly hitting it off.

The village was tiny, the kind where even the smallest incident could spread throughout in no time. For most of the villagers, who had only recently gotten electricity, the tractor was already the pinnacle of their imagination. So the five steel beasts that had thundered up to the village entrance today were an overwhelming visual shock. Not only did the ragged, dirty children press themselves against fences or mud walls, eyes wide with amazement, but nearly all the villagers stood at a distance, watching in awe and envy, clicking their tongues in wonder. Two slightly bolder children crept up, wanting to touch these giant machines, but a young man driving a Hummer shot them a glare, and they immediately bolted, not stopping until they’d reached a hill far from the village. It seemed that the city dweller, so clean he looked out of place, was even more dangerous than a leopard that could take down an old ox. The delicate girl, just stepping down from a Dongfeng Warrior, burst into laughter at the sight, her beauty dazzling, making the eyes of a group of village men—who’d only ever seen “heavenly beauties” on rare New Year prints—nearly pop out of their heads.

A few young men gathered together, seemingly discussing something, while the simple villagers watched from afar, their gazes so pure they didn’t even contain a hint of jealousy.

How many generations of struggle does it take to cross from this world to that one?

A plain baseball cap, gender-ambiguous combat boots, black-rimmed glasses that hid her eyes—the woman didn’t seem to be part of the same circle as those young men.

Lanterns, fences, old tractors long vanished from big cities, even a pure-hearted child grinning at her from afar—all became visual collectibles for this woman. She silently took them in, capturing them with her camera. Finally, she followed a small path into the hillside village. As for the houses, the mud dwellings here clearly couldn’t compare to the ancient towns of Jiangnan she’d visited. Stopping and starting, she came to a flat clearing and was surprised to see a basketball hoop. Though crudely made, it still caught her off guard—after all, this was the remotest corner of China. She smiled softly and looked toward two villagers on the court who seemed a bit out of the ordinary.

One was tall, the other short, and their temperaments were completely different. Perhaps it was because the whole village was so simple it was almost colorless, or maybe it was the big guy’s silly, dazed look, but the slightly shorter villager under the hoop seemed a bit odd to her. As someone familiar with photography, she understood this kind of contrast well, so she couldn’t help but take a closer look at the guy—about twenty-four or twenty-five, around 1.75 meters tall, an unremarkable height among northerners, but with a pale southern face. Even if she lowered her already exacting standards by several notches, he still wouldn’t make the cut for handsome. In fact, if you put him in a city crowd, even someone with her famously sharp memory would struggle to recall his face. Yet here he was, in a remote village at China’s northeastern edge, holding a patched-up basketball, staring at her wide-eyed and silly, not blinking once. It finally made her break into a rare, brilliant smile, and she snapped a photo of this amusing scene, feeling quite accomplished.

Then she turned and left without hesitation.

For a woman who always kept a copy of "A Tale of Two Cities" and "The Will to Power" in her travel bag, things like love at first sight or fate were trivialities to be ignored. Toads might eagerly await a swan who doesn’t care about appearances, but little did they know that swans at this level are usually uninterested in all toads—and even other swans.

※※※※

“Henry, pretty, isn’t she?” The slightly shorter young man finally blinked. Once the woman had walked away, he flashed a bright white smile, tilting his head toward the big oaf standing nearby—a burly guy who looked to be nearly two meters tall. Even in the northeast, such a giant would stand out, but his ever-present goofy grin ruined any natural authority or sense of intimidation he might have had.

The big oaf didn’t speak, just grinned, his teeth equally white, the corners of his mouth stretching even wider. His smile was truly silly.

“No smiling!” the guy holding the basketball said, face falling slightly.

The big oaf immediately stopped smiling, putting on a serious face, though it still looked comical.

Tossing the basketball to the big guy, the young man—whose complexion didn’t match the rest of the village—grinned mischievously and said, “Henry, how about I find you a wife like that?”

The big oaf, with his rustic-sounding name, grinned again, as if beyond all hope.

This time, the shorter youth didn’t stop him, just helplessly caught the ball when it was thrown back, then attempted a very clumsy layup. The ball missed.

A barefoot child came running onto the court, panting, and shot the ball a look of disdain. Hands on hips, he said in dialect, “Brian, a bunch of those ‘cars’ you used to tell us about have come to the village entrance. Li the Cripple, the village chief, is talking to those people. Aren’t you going to take a look? There’s a really pretty lady—after seeing her, Li the Cripple doesn’t even limp anymore.”

Bending down to pick up the basketball, the one called “Brian” asked with a laugh, “So just how pretty is she?”

The little brat thought hard for a while, face turning red, then blurted out, “Just like a fairy in a painting!”