He looked up from his phone and glanced at that guy, retorting, “Who do you think the signature looks like?”

“Curry? Green?”

Brian Brooks rewound the movie by a few minutes, leaned back in his chair, and laughed up at the ceiling. “What kind of logic is that, bro? Would Curry or Green sign their names in Chinese? At least you can tell it’s three characters, right?”

Henry Clark remembered that back in the day, Brian Brooks used this very move to trick his arrogant, non-blood-related little brother into following him around all day calling him ‘bro.’ After learning the truth, the kid ignored him for a whole month. The rascal thought he was innocent, leaned against the doorframe, and knocked a few times without a hint of apology. “I never said it was Curry, Green, or even Yao Ming or Yi Jianlian’s signature.”

The little kid burst into tears, “Who would write their own name a dozen times on their own basketball? Narcissist!”

……

Clearly, the guy was starting to regret striking up a conversation. What kind of person signs their own name all over a limited edition championship basketball?

When Henry Clark walked over, Brian Brooks didn’t even look up—his ears were sharper than a dog’s. “The artist’s done?”

Henry Clark ignored his teasing, casting a resentful glance around the packed barbecue stall. Even the seat across from Brian Brooks was taken. Henry Clark glanced at the girl’s face—she looked even greener than Guangdong lettuce, a total stranger. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

This was the famous single-person barbecue spot in Yifeng Alley, where you could share tables anytime, anywhere. The girl saw Henry Clark’s queenly expression and was about to offer to stand up—

Brian Brooks lounged there, totally unfazed, still engrossed in his movie, not even lifting his eyelids. “I never said I was treating you to dinner.”

Henry Clark: “Then why did you blow up my WeChat like your life depended on it? I thought you were starving to death!”

Brian Brooks didn’t eat much, but he couldn’t go hungry. If he did, he’d go nuts and do anything. Henry Clark already felt guilty—no way he’d let him wait for him after work on an empty stomach.

**

Palm Alley counted as an old Jiangnan neighborhood. The alleys twisted and turned, lined with rows of intricately carved, jagged low buildings.

Emily Carter set up the tripod and camera, changed into an oversized black women’s suit she’d borrowed from who-knows-where, then solemnly drew the curtains. The fortress-like room instantly darkened, falling into an eerie silence. Outside, the air conditioner dripped water, “plop plop” rhythmically tapping the awning below.

Ethan Turner sat cross-legged on the carpet, bored, scrolling through her phone. She glanced up and said, “It’s just a hair dye tutorial. Why are you acting like you’re recording your last words?”

“Gotta be careful,” Emily Carter said nervously, adjusting the camera. “When my dad comes home tonight, this might be the last video of the great beauty Emily Carter in her lifetime.”

Ethan Turner looked at her speechlessly. “Can’t you just pick a color that won’t get you killed?”

Once the camera was set, Emily Carter retreated to the sofa, sat down, and put on gloves with a look of grim determination. She hugged a palm-sized bowl and dumped in both the dye and the developer in one go. “Charles Webb said this is the most popular color at their school this year.”

“Did Charles Webb mention you should hurry up and fix the air conditioner?” Ethan Turner knew she was a bit obsessed with Charles Webb, so she casually flipped through her color swatch book. “Otherwise, you won’t have to wait for your dad to do anything—you’ll be the first to go.”

“Ethan Turner!” Emily Carter shot her a theatrical glare. “Charles Webb has never even been to my house, okay?”

Ethan Turner raised an eyebrow just as theatrically. “Wow, you’re amazing.”

Emily Carter ignored her and kept talking: “Charles Webb told me that this time, at No. 1 High, even some of the top students didn’t do well. They came out of the exam room and immediately started packing up to repeat the year. Even—” She leaned in to whisper mysteriously in Ethan Turner’s ear, “even ‘so-and-so’ missed a subject.”

“So-and-so” was what Charles Webb and Emily Carter called a certain person at No. 1 High. In fact, Ethan Turner didn’t even know who they were talking about—maybe even Emily Carter didn’t know his name. Charles Webb never mentioned it, never let Emily Carter see a photo, just said he was a troublemaker who relied on his looks, but his grades were always first or second in the experimental class at No. 1 High.

Barring any surprises, this year’s top scorer in Qingyi City’s college entrance exam would be him or another academic star. But Charles Webb had complicated feelings about him—idolized him but was also unwilling to accept it. After all, No. 1 High was full of rare talents, and that guy rarely acted normal. His mouth—so slick and eloquent—could talk a zombie into taking a walk.

At that moment, Ethan Turner was lying on the sofa, looking at Qingda’s past admission scores, and replied with a disinterested “oh.”

“Do you know how handsome ‘so-and-so’ is?” Emily Carter said as she put on a disposable cape. “And he’s super romantic. During their school’s centennial celebration, he made a short video with a drone on behalf of his class. He’s really good at filming—the camera work was amazing. Now it’s become the school’s promo video and even trended online.”

“Amazing,” Ethan Turner replied perfunctorily. “But have you ever met him?”