Brian Brooks was pondering about making an unconventional opening move and said, “Mr. Sun, whether it’s suitable or not is secondary. The key is, she doesn’t even care about me, so it’s all pointless.”

Mr. Sun held a chess piece marked “帅” between his thumb and forefinger, quietly waiting for Brian Brooks to make his move, and said, “What’s the rush? It all depends on what you do.”

Brian Brooks didn’t reply. Growing up in Zhangjia Village, the biggest lesson a farmer learns is not to daydream. In Brian Brooks’s memory, Fu Gui always liked to repeat things his grandfather had said. He used to pretend not to hear, but now, thinking it over, he found those words increasingly cryptic. He vaguely remembered one: “Beneath the land are buried not only bones, but also ambition.”

Ambition?

The ambition Brian Brooks now kept buried deep in his chest was to take off the clothes of Emily Lee, this city girl.

Mr. Sun glanced nonchalantly at the young man who preferred to act quietly rather than boast like others. Those eyes, which had witnessed over seventy years of ups and downs, carried a smile, as if he were looking at his younger self.

Chapter 11: One-on-One

The reason “Mission: Impossible 3” couldn’t be released in China at the same time back then was because it portrayed Shanghai in a negative light. So-called “negative light” simply meant filming some shabby scenes in Shanghai, a city that’s supposed to be China’s window to the world. Of course, this was what Emily Lee told Brian Brooks, and the circle Brian Brooks now lived in was just like that. Living there, if it weren’t for the occasional luxury car strutting by, Brian Brooks would have thought he was in some town back home in Heilongjiang, Northeast China.

Brian Brooks lay at the second-floor window, sneaking a glance at Emily Lee who was buried in her studies. He was a bit worried that one day Emily Lee would also end up sitting in one of those four-wheeled luxury cars, with a fat, pig-headed tycoon beside her. Shaking his head, Brian Brooks pushed away this discouraging thought and boldly sized up the boss’s precious daughter by the window. Maybe it was because she was half northern, but Emily Lee’s figure wasn’t as delicate as most southern girls—she was tall, yet had the slight slenderness women dream of, without losing her curves. In another two or three years, she’d probably grow into a real beauty. Brian Brooks’s Chinese was poor; he’d never scored high on any of the hundreds of exam essays he’d written. He figured it was because all his sense for language had gone into women. So, as he eyed Emily Lee and imagined how charming she’d be in a few years, he felt an urge to write poetry or recite something, even though he knew it would give him goosebumps.

Suddenly, he realized the girl was looking right back at him. Brian Brooks gave an awkward, sheepish smile and quickly covered up by asking, “Is there something you don’t understand?”

Emily Lee smiled and shook her head, then lowered her head to keep reading, absentmindedly spinning her pen and drawing arc after arc.

Actually, with Brian Brooks’s level, he could still manage to tutor Emily Lee. If you didn’t count English, maybe this top troublemaker from Zhangjia Village could even get into a decent key high school in Shanghai. Brian Brooks figured that even if Emily Lee worked really hard and got lucky, she’d only just make the cutoff for a key school. So when Emily Lee asked about math or physics, she always got satisfactory answers. Girls at this age were still pretty innocent, and tended to like boys who were good at studying, so Brian Brooks got lucky. Plus, he didn’t look as shabby as his fellow villagers, so Emily Lee naturally had no bad impression of this cheap laborer her family had hired.

“Toad wants to eat swan meat, and this punk wants to chase after Sister Emily Lee.” Mark Lee, the little brat, was bouncing at the door. This had become his catchphrase. The kid wasn’t interested in studying, but he was sharp—just like his mother, able to nitpick every little thing. He immediately saw through Brian Brooks’s sneaky intentions.

Brian Brooks was helpless and could only shoot the brat a murderous glare. But when he turned to Emily Lee, his face was all sincerity. This trick wasn’t very clever, but he’d mastered the art of acting. Emily Lee hadn’t spent years in society and couldn’t see through it. She just glared at her brother for talking nonsense and pretended to hit him. After scaring Mark Lee away, her pretty face turned a little red. For a pure girl, puppy love was like a flood beast dressed in fancy clothes—scary, but especially tempting. She lowered her head and found that the math formulas in her mind magically pieced together a name: Brian Brooks. She couldn’t help but cover her mouth and smile, then looked up at the young man her parents couldn’t find a single fault with and asked, “Who gave you this name?”

“Someone else, people like Victor Bolton.” Brian Brooks really didn’t want to explain further. That fellow villager could drag the name “Brian Brooks” into any conversation, as if he wanted all of Shanghai to know it. Brian Brooks couldn’t be bothered to argue with him now—he’d have plenty of ways to get back at him in the future.

“You’re not angry?” Emily Lee pressed her pen to her chin, her big, bright eyes looking at Brian Brooks, as if she felt a little sorry for him. In the mind of a simple girl, Brian Brooks obviously carried more weight than the uncultured and, more importantly, ill-mannered Victor Bolton. If Brian Brooks stared at her, she might shyly try to look even cuter, but if it were someone like Victor Bolton, she’d have no patience at all.

“Angry, of course I’m angry.”