Actually, the one who is smarter than anyone, Henry the Fool, gently placed the opium pipe next to Brian Brooks, stood up, saw the young woman who had been standing not far away, grinned, and then walked into the house.

She gazed at the slightly trembling figure on the mound, her eyes dreamy.

Then she heard a voice she knew she would never forget for the rest of her life. It was a Peking opera tune she had never heard before, choked with sobs and trembling, sung from a man's mouth: "Tiananmen, Forbidden City, Yongle Bell, ringing through the ages. Thirteen Tombs, Qianmen, Fragrant Hills blazing red, maple forest..."

Sorrowful but not hurtful, the moonlight spills over Kunlun.

She was familiar with Peking opera and knew this was a huadan aria. She had seen men sing female roles to perfection, but none could be called a "peerless performance."

Picking up the opium pipe and standing up, then turning around, the man who should have been called Jason Brooks, but was known as Brian Brooks, seemed not to see the woman, brushing past her. She said nothing, just followed this man whose solemn expression bordered on stiffness. She knew where he was going; since childhood, she had always been regarded as a woman of exceptional intelligence.

She didn't know why she followed him either. She told herself she just wanted to see how far the old man's grave really was.

※※※※

Henry the Fool stayed behind, Brian Brooks walked out.

That seemed to be the fate of these two brothers.

Brian Brooks carried a cloth bag on his back, stuffed with things his mother had prepared for him: cured meat, cotton-padded clothes, newly sewn cloth shoes, and that bundle of 2,500 yuan that Brian Brooks didn't know about yet. When they reached the edge of the village, Brian Brooks's mother didn't say much, just held his hand tightly and wouldn't let go. Big Sam, wearing a shabby old cotton coat, stood to the side, grinning foolishly. Brian Brooks glanced at the tractor—today, he would first take it to a small town forty li away, then transfer to a bus to a small city, and after that, take a long-distance bus for more than four hours to Harbin. There, a distant relative from the village, whom he barely knew, was waiting for him. In the end, they would go to Shanghai to work. To put it bluntly, it was just to round up an extra hand, and with such so-called relatives, it wouldn't be surprising if they sold Brian Brooks off to be a gigolo.

The young woman put her baseball cap back on and left Brian Brooks a note with a phone number, telling him to call her if he needed anything.

The Beijing Jeep 212 sped off first, raising dust. Brian Brooks got on the tractor and closed his eyes to rest. After the tractor started, it crawled slowly along the rugged road. When Brian Brooks opened his eyes, he saw that Henry and the black dog had been running after them in the distance the whole time. He suddenly stood up, looking at those two figures, at Henry's all-too-familiar rugged face, whose radiant smile seemed to beg the whole world to believe he was a fool.

Brian Brooks shouted at the top of his lungs, "Don't laugh!"

Henry the Fool really stopped smiling, finally halting his chase. After running for nearly twenty minutes, he bent over, gasping for breath. The black dog also stared wide-eyed, gazing at its master from afar.

Having called out " Henry, Henry " since childhood, Brian Brooks sat down again, wiped his eyes, and softly said, "Brother."

Chapter Eight: In a Sorry State

Brian Brooks had never seen much of the world. The biggest place he'd ever been was the township where he attended high school, with a population of twenty or thirty thousand. Back then, Brian Brooks just thought Zhangjia Village was small. It wasn't until he arrived in Harbin that he realized how tiny that township was. At the train station, he found a Countryman who didn't look too friendly, who reluctantly took out money to buy him a ticket to Shanghai. After boarding the train and watching the endless stream of travelers outside the window gradually disappear from view, Brian Brooks suddenly realized Harbin was already behind him. He hadn't even had time to savor the city's atmosphere. To Brian Brooks, Shanghai was just those few pale descriptions in books: economy, prosperity, fashion—these words were all so abstract, like that painting of "Sunflowers" in the history book that he had looked at countless times but never found anything special in.

"When you get to the big city, don't spit on the ground, or you'll get fined," Countryman casually reminded him before falling into a deep sleep, clutching a cheap nylon bag bought from a street stall.

Sitting across from him was a very thin man, holding a crumpled color copy of the "Sanjiang Evening News." At first, it covered most of his face, and one eye furtively scanned the other passengers. Only after making sure nothing was amiss did he shrink his aged face behind the newspaper. Brian Brooks saw that the newspaper had a big story about some lucky guy who won five million yuan with a two-yuan lottery ticket—a load of crap, in his opinion. Stubborn as he was, after more than twenty years of hardship, Brian Brooks had never thought of changing his life by winning the lottery. First, he didn't believe he had that kind of luck; second, he couldn't bear to part with those two yuan. And maybe, deep down, it was just that last bit of laughable and old-fashioned scholarly pride. Imitating Countryman, Brian Brooks hugged the cloth bag containing all his belongings tightly, aimlessly staring at those hands gripping the newspaper. He remembered how his grandfather used to hold his hand and say words and terms he still didn't understand—obscure and mysterious. Maybe that's how Brian Brooks's belief in gods and spirits was cultivated.