He laughed and said, “How about we make a bet? If that fairy-like beautiful person talks to me, you have to secretly pour me two cups of that medicinal liquor from your house. How about it?”

“No bet.”

“Coward.”

“Fine, let’s bet!”

The young man seemed to already smell the fragrance of that medicinal liquor. Never mind the alcohol itself—pure wild ginseng with four leaves, the finest “snowflake” deer antler, and some rare mountain herbs whose names he couldn’t even guess—this kind of medicinal liquor was a once-in-a-lifetime elixir. He closed his eyes, squatted down to sit on the basketball, smiled, looked toward the entrance of the village, and muttered, “What a perfect case of waiting for the rabbit by the tree. Did my ancestors’ graves really start smoking with luck?”

Chapter Two: The Troublemaker

As for the so-called ancestral grave, to Brian Brooks, it was nothing more than a small mound six li away, with a crazy old man buried inside. To be brutally honest, Brian Brooks didn’t have the slightest fondness for that old man, whose only impression in his mind was of a drunkard and a lunatic, even though every year during the tomb-sweeping he had to respectfully call him “grandpa.” That ancestral grave had never shown any sign of good fortune. From childhood to now, Brian Brooks had never dug up wild ginseng with six leaves, nor had he ever caught any game in the Xiaoxing’anling mountains that could feed and clothe him for months. Even as the only high school student in Zhangjia Village, it was no surprise that he failed the college entrance exam after struggling so hard. As for whether his ancestors’ graves were really bringing him luck this time, Brian Brooks didn’t dare to hope too much.

While the little brat with a bottle of good medicinal liquor at home stared in shock, that group of wealthy young backpackers, led by the village chief Frank Lee, arrived at the clearing and found the “waiting for the rabbit” Brian Brooks. This wasn’t some kind of prophetic ability—being the only villager in Zhangjia Village who spoke standard Mandarin, Brian Brooks could easily guess these rich folks would have use for him.

Just as Brian Brooks was about to give a brief self-introduction, Frank Lee, who harbored quite a grudge against him, immediately jumped in and said in awkward, stilted Mandarin, “His name is Brian Brooks.”

As if afraid it wouldn’t be clear, when he said “二” (two), he immediately held up two thick fingers with black, grimy nails, and when he said “狗” (dog), he whistled to call over his own mangy dog, Ah Huang, causing the onlooking villagers to burst into raucous laughter. Several young people from southern cities made no effort to hide their mocking glances. Only the woman fiddling with her camera frowned slightly—it was unclear whether she was annoyed by the crowd’s jeering or by meeting him for the second time so soon. When she saw the person in question looking calm and unconcerned, she relaxed her brow, lowered her head, and continued tending to her camera, which Brian Brooks was destined never to recognize the brand of.

The tall young man who seemed to be the leader couldn’t be bothered to make fun of Brian Brooks’s name. He asked directly, “Brian Brooks, are there any hunters in your village?”

Facing this group of rich kids who could probably crush him with money, Brian Brooks didn’t flinch. He thought for a moment and asked in fairly standard Mandarin, “Are you looking to hunt mountain hares, roe deer, pheasants, or…?”

A mocking smile appeared on the tall young man’s otherwise expressionless face, but he didn’t reply. He just shrugged at his companions, as if this was a childish question. The girl beside him—whom the villagers saw as fairy-like—laughed so hard she swayed, a sight for sore eyes. Brian Brooks’s expression changed slightly. The big oaf behind him, who was holding his basketball, took a step forward, intentionally or not. This small detail was far less eye-catching than the girl’s graceful movements, but at the same time, the crew-cut man who had been standing silently in the corner also stepped forward, seemingly casually positioning himself at a 45-degree angle beside the woman in the baseball cap.

A young man, probably from Shanghai, spoke with a tone full of ridicule, laughing, “If we wanted to hunt those little things, there are piles of them at the Lushuihe Changbai Mountain Hunting Ground. Why would we come to this godforsaken backwater? I heard there are wild boars here weighing over 600 jin—that’s why we came. If we could run into a black bear or a leopard, even better.”

The young man who was eyeing the woman with the camera glanced sideways at Brian Brooks and said, “Money’s not a problem. Never mind elk or wild boar—even if it’s a Siberian tiger, we can hunt it all the same.”

Brian Brooks asked, “Are you sure nothing will go wrong?”

The slightly annoyed young man sneered, “Even if something huge happens, we can cover for you. Stop talking nonsense and call a few people who know the way. We’re heading into the mountains.”

Brian Brooks swallowed what he was about to say. These city kids—he was actually worried that if they really ran into a black bear or a 400-jin wild boar, these pampered city folks would be scared out of their wits. He secretly cursed them in dialect, then couldn’t be bothered to explain. He pulled the big oaf behind him forward like picking up a chick and said, “If you’re going into the mountains, he’s enough.”

The tall young man, who was checking his phone signal, looked up at the big oaf grinning like an idiot and frowned, “Him?”

Brian Brooks turned to the big guy, who was still grinning, and said, “Don’t laugh.”

The big oaf immediately shut his mouth, putting on a solemn expression, which only made him look more ridiculous. A young man driving a Jeep Wrangler seemed to find this the funniest thing ever. Looking at Brian Brooks and the big oaf, he laughed without restraint, “You two are a perfect pair. You should go apprentice with Zhao Benshan.”