Brian Brooks gazed out the window, his right hand unconsciously stroking a red string tied around his left wrist. This trip reminded him of the time he got into high school—only, that time, the outcome was as expected, and he slunk back to Zhangjiazai in defeat. He wondered if this time he would repeat the same mistake. Thinking of this, Brian Brooks traced the characters for “repeat the same mistake” in the air. Thankfully, he hadn’t forgotten them. Still, he wondered if his meager knowledge could even qualify him as half a scholar.

Inside the train car, the passengers were mostly migrant workers who looked and dressed much like his fellow villagers. Since it wasn’t rush hour, finding a seat wasn’t difficult. The sky outside was growing dim, and the sky near the big city seemed especially high—so high you couldn’t see the stars. At night in Zhangjiazai, the dazzling stars felt close enough to touch. Brian Brooks rubbed his slightly tired face and breathed onto the glass window, muttering to himself, “The city is so big, and there are so many people. How hard must it be to climb higher than the rest? Probably harder than the English listening section of the college entrance exam, right?”

Suddenly, things got lively nearby. It turned out someone claimed to have won a Coca-Cola prize pull tab—thirty thousand yuan—but urgently needed cash, so he wanted to exchange it for five thousand in cash. The people around him started egging him on, each one looking at the pull tab as if they’d give anything for it. Brian Brooks watched their performance with amusement, clicking his tongue in wonder. He didn’t believe it, because he thought anything out of the ordinary must be suspicious. Back in Zhangjiazai, when he tried to trick others, he’d put in real effort practicing body language, especially facial expressions. You could say that over the years, it had been a constant battle of wits between the villagers of Zhangjiazai and the rascal Brian Brooks. So before leaving home, he’d warned himself to be extra cautious if any unexpected windfall came his way. His mother had given him similar advice. Though she’d never left Zhangjiazai in her life, even a small village had shown her the bitterness of human treachery. Of course, she was afraid her youngest son would suffer losses out in the world.

“Just another scam, nothing worth watching. Four out of ten trains have this act going on,” grumbled a fellow villager who’d been woken up, turning over to go back to sleep, muttering some unpleasant curse words.

“Fake?” Brian Brooks asked softly, watching the group’s coordinated performance as if he were watching TV. At that moment, Brian Brooks suddenly felt that, whether or not he made money on this trip, just seeing the bizarre scenes of this colorful world was worth it.

“This trick only fools bookworms like you who are out for the first time. What’s the use of reading so much? You’ll still have to follow me to work. Once we get to Shanghai, stick with me and learn a thing or two. These days, even college graduates aren’t worth much, let alone someone with just a high school diploma.” The distant relative, who hadn’t even finished elementary school, sneered. In fact, when he first went out to work, he’d been scammed twice just on the road. But after a few years of drifting outside, he still wanted to act like he knew it all in front of Brian Brooks.

Brian Brooks didn’t have the strange, guarded temperament toward outsiders that Fu Gui did, nor had he reached his cousin’s level of cunning, but he wasn’t about to get angry over such petty, jealous contempt. It was his first time away from home, and he did need to rely on this relative, who was the most successful of the villagers working outside. Enduring wasn’t a bad thing. He continued to observe the scammers’ words and actions, but suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the short man who’d been reading a newspaper for over half an hour was watching him. Brian Brooks couldn’t help but be wary—did this shifty-looking guy have some designs on him? He kept a calm exterior, waiting for the man’s next move. Meeting change with constancy was a valuable lesson he’d learned from years of battling the cunning folks of Zhangjiazai.

The man, whose appearance made him look much older than his age, stared hard at Brian Brooks. Finally, he tossed aside the newspaper he’d been using as a prop and looked at him openly, as if he’d just spotted a wild ginseng root.

Soon, even Brian Brooks’s fellow villager noticed the stranger’s odd gaze. He glanced at Brian Brooks—this rascal was putting on that all-too-familiar dumb act again—then looked at the stranger, who didn’t look like any honest farmer, more like a three-legged donkey. The two of them sitting together made him uneasy; he just felt unsafe.

Brian Brooks said nothing, refusing to open his mouth no matter what. The standoff lasted fifteen or sixteen minutes, until the villager, bored as a bystander, fell asleep again. At last, the man across from him couldn’t hold back any longer and spoke with deep emotion: “Brother, you’re something else.”

“What do you mean?” Brian Brooks put on a look of surprise, his acting no less convincing than the “extras” performing the double act earlier. Brian Brooks didn’t need a mirror to know he now wore the look of a simple country boy, both delighted and nervous at the sight of money. He hadn’t dared show off this talent in front of that woman who claimed not to be a cadre’s daughter, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t handle a street hustler.

“The Diamond Sutra says, ‘Appearance comes from the heart.’ I happen to know a bit about face reading. Meeting you here is fate, so why not let me tell you something? Brother, if you trust me, I’ll speak; if not, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He spoke earnestly, his aged face full of sincerity.