Chapter 1: Bai Haorui
The September Stanford campus looked like it had been soaked in melted butter, the air drifted with the delicate fragrance of sycamore leaves, mixed with cheers from the distant gymnasium, and even the sunlight carried a lazy warmth. But this coziness had nothing to do with Bai Haorui-he was chomping on half a banana bitten out of shape, clutching a crumpled Property Law lecture note in one hand and a canvas backpack strap in the other, sprinting wildly along the red-brick-paved path, the squeaking sound of his sneakers treading against the ground annoying him even more than Professor Jamal's roll call list.
"Shit, if I'd known, I wouldn't have helped Sam edit his crappy paper last night," Bai Haorui muttered vaguely, the banana peel almost slipping from the corner of his mouth. He had been rooming with Sam Winchester for close to two years; this law major was great at everything, except that writing papers was like hauling bricks, piling legal provisions higher than the reference books in the library, yet Professor Jamal loathed "citation machines without viewpoints" the most. The two of them sat facing the computer revising until two in the morning last night, and while Sam woke up on time, he struggled to crawl out of bed only after his alarm rang three times-now, with the seven-thirty discussion class, a mere five minutes remained.
Turning the library corner, the law school's lecture hall came into faint view, with a few late students standing sparsely at the entrance, peeking inside. Bai Haorui breathed a sigh of relief, sped up his pace to rush over, and as soon as he reached the door, he heard a familiar voice: "Bai! Over here!"
Sam stood by the back door, his black shoulder backpack placed on the chair beside him, holding an open copy of the Uniform Commercial Code in his hands, the tip of his pen scribbling annotations rapidly along the margin. Sunlight fell upon his golden hair, casting a pale, soft halo over his black-framed glasses, making him look the spitting image of a "model student." Seeing Bai Haorui dash over, he pushed up his glasses, the corners of his mouth curving into a teasing, mischievous smirk: "I thought you were planning to directly register on Jamal's blacklist."
"Almost." Bai Haorui bent down to duck into the classroom, tossing the banana peel from his mouth precisely into the trash can by the entrance-this skill was a "stunt" he had practiced countless times in the dorm, which he thought could attract the girls' attention, though in reality it was completely useless and only made girls think you were quite stupid. "Such a good big son, if you hadn't come early to save a seat, I'd have to stand and listen to the lecture today." He slapped his notes onto the desk, smoothly pulling a bottle of iced cola from the side pocket of Sam's backpack, the pull tab snapping open with a pop, cold bubbles welling out and instantly driving away a large part of his sleepiness.
This was the two's routine: Sam would always arrive at the classroom ten minutes early, save a seat in the back, and stuff a bottle of iced cola into his backpack's side pocket-knowing that Bai Haorui's brain couldn't start up in the morning without drinking iced cola; while Bai Haorui was responsible for handling the presentation segment that "required some glib talking" during group assignments, since Sam's communication skills were ordinary, sometimes getting so anxious he couldn't even speak fluently.
"Who told you last night that you insisted on helping me edit the 'trust property rights' part?" Sam closed the book, pointing at the faint dark circles under Bai Haorui's eyes. "I told you I could handle it myself, but you had to poke your nose in."
"Come on, that paper of yours reads like a photocopy of legal statutes." Bai Haorui took a huge gulp of cola and burped with satisfaction. "That squeamish old Jamal wants 'viewpoints,' not a 'statute excerpt manual.' Besides, if I don't help you edit it, you'll have to pull an all-nighter tonight, so how are you going to go on a d~a~te with Jessica tomorrow?"
Mentioning Jessica, Sam's ears turned red instantly, forming a sharp contrast with his skin that was white to the point of being translucent. He subconsciously patted the movie tickets in his pocket-he had originally wanted to invite Jessica to see the newly released sci-fi film this weekend, but ended up delayed by his paper. "We're just meeting up at the library..." he defended softly, his voice growing lower and lower until it was almost inaudible.
"Oh? The library?" Bai Haorui raised an eyebrow, bumping his shoulder against Sam's. "Last week you said you were going to the library, but you ended up taking her to the botanical garden behind campus, and when you came back you were still clutching a sunflower in your hand; the week before last you said you were going to the library, and when you came back you brought me two cones of vanilla ice cream, saying 'Jessica thought it was good, so she had me bring you some,' so will this library trip bring me back a big grandson?"
Sam was made somewhat embarrassed by what he said, reaching out to grab the notes in Bai Haorui's hands, only to be dodged nimbly by Bai Haorui. The two of them bickered and wrestled in low voices until a sound of footsteps came from the front door of the classroom-Professor Jamal walked in holding a thick stack of handouts. This professor was renowned for being "as impartial as an iron face," practically missing only a crescent moon on his forehead, and not only did he always take attendance in class, he would also randomly spot-check notes, treating being one minute late as an absence, while his failure rate was among the highest in the law school.
The two instantly reined in their joking expressions and sat up straight. Bai Haorui shoved the cola into the desk belly and spread out his notes, while inwardly muttering to himself: back when choosing courses, he had a hot flash of a moment and picked this Property Law, thinking "learning another bit of knowledge can't hurt," only to be turned dizzy by Jamal's "doctrine of bona fide acquisition" in the very first class. Now it was fine-every week he still had to suffer through this ordeal with Sam.
Professor Jamal stood firm at the lectern, pushed up his glasses, and opened with a string of professional terminology: "Last week we discussed the transfer of chattel ownership; today our main focus is the 'constitutive requirements of bona fide acquisition.' First, we must make clear that the judgment standard for 'bona fide'..."
Bai Haorui listened until he was drowsy, his pen drawing messy doodles on his notes-first he drew a bespectacled, frowning Sam, accompanied next to it by a little figure chomping on a cola, written underneath as "the proper big son," and then he drew a Jamal with a beer belly, wearing an official hat and bearing a crescent moon on his forehead, holding up a plaque that read "Behead." Halfway through drawing, his fingers unconsciously felt toward his backpack's side pocket, touching something hard and icy, waking him up somewhat instantly.
That was a miniature red cloth pouch, only the size of a palm, sewn up tightly, inside of which were three polished, shining Five Emperor Coins. This was something left behind by his grandfather, and also the only "old item" he brought on his person when he transmigrated to this world.
Bai Haorui's grandfather was an old man running a Chinese funeral home in Los Angeles, who spent his whole life wanting to return to the Eastern Mainland yet ended up buried in the soil of the Great Beautiful Land, passing down that set of crafts for "expelling evil and suppressing homes" more authentically than anyone. When he was little, Bai Haorui always played in the backyard of the funeral home, watching his grandfather scatter glutinous rice around coffins, snap ink-marker lines back and forth across doorways, and listening to his grandfather tell those "weird occurrences in Chinese cemeteries"-such as "Water Monkeys dragging people into the water to find substitutes" or "Painted Skin Ghosts transforming into the likeness of relatives to trick people into eating them." Back then he just took them as stories his grandfather made up to scare him, right until before his grandfather passed away, when he shoved this miniature red cloth pouch into his hand and said solemnly: "Haorui, our family's line of work sees a lot; it's no good thing. You need to carry these Five Emperor Coins with you; they can ward off disasters."
During the two years since he transmigrated, he had always hoped this was his golden finger, though it had never shown the slightest reaction, yet he still kept it close to his body, feeling it was a keepsake. After all, in this unfamiliar world, besides his friend Sam, he didn't even have anyone who could be called "kin"-the original body's parents had gotten into a car accident three months before he came to Stanford, not even recovering complete corpses.
"Bai Haorui."
Abruptly called upon, Bai Haorui snapped his head up, meeting Professor Jamal's icy gaze. "You tell us, how is the 'reasonable price' in 'bona fide acquisition' defined?"
"Your second maternal great-uncle..." Bai Haorui almost spat out a mouthful of saliva, looking at Sam for help. Sam hurriedly pointed with his finger at the notebook, which had written on it: "Over 70% of market price, judged in combination with the transaction scenario." Bai Haorui read it out verbatim, and Professor Jamal frowned, asking nothing further, and continued lecturing.
Until the class bell rang, Bai Haorui only then breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing into his chair: "Damn old Black, scared me to death. Just now I almost had to serve him a Freestyle Rap on the spot; brother is a Rapper too."
"Who told you to space out in class?" Sam packed up his things, putting the Uniform Commercial Code into his backpack. "This course's credits are very important for your GPA. If you let your guard down again, the Communications School advisor is going to come talk to you."
"Relax, I'll definitely make it up by the finals." Bai Haorui patted his chest, following Sam out of the classroom. "Besides, I'm not like you, needing to take the JD and be a big lawyer. At most I'll find a media job doing planning in the future, or open a small bar, living adequately is fine."
The two walked side by side on campus, sunlight piercing through the sycamore leaves, casting mottled light and shadow on the ground. Sam suddenly remembered something and said: "Right, want to go to San Francisco Chinatown together this weekend? I heard Jessica say there's some dim sum restaurant there that's super delicious."
"Dim sum?" Bai Haorui rolled his eyes. "Fine! I'll go taste what bizarre flavor they can turn dim sum into this time; dammit, they can even turn pepper-numbed chicken into a sweet-and-sour profile for me!" He suddenly recalled something: "Right, I need to head to the supermarket and buy some glutinous rice; I want to boil some sweet porridge to drink tonight."
Sam nodded: "I'll go with you, just in time to buy some milk."
The two strolled over to the campus supermarket, where there weren't many people inside, and the shelves were lined with various snacks and daily necessities. Bai Haorui walked straight to the grain section, picking up a bag of glutinous rice-this was a habit he formed after transmigrating, occasionally boiling some glutinous rice porridge or eight-treasure rice.
"Kid, buying glutinous rice again?" A familiar voice came from nearby; it was the Chinese boss of the supermarket, surnamed Wang, who was half a fellow townsman to Bai Haorui, both hailing from Los Angeles. Boss Wang walked over with a smile, holding a calculator in his hand. "Lately this glutinous rice has been selling exceptionally well. San Francisco Chinatown is completely out of stock, and I only stocked this last week; there are hardly any bags left."
"Chunatown is out of stock?" Bai Haorui was slightly stunned. "What's going on? Could it be everyone suddenly wants to drink glutinous rice porridge?"
Boss Wang lowered his voice, saying mysteriously: "No, I heard from friends in Chinatown that zongzi have been acting up over there recently, and nobody even dares to go out at night. Glutinous rice is in short supply; do you kid have any channels to source a batch of glutinous rice so the two of us brothers can make a little extra cash?"
Bai Haorui felt a thump in his heart, and his grandfather's words suddenly popped up: "Glutinous rice can absorb yin qi, and has miraculous effects against evil entities or zongzi." He shook his head, feeling that he was overthinking it; Chinatown was so lively, how could there possibly be any "dirty things"?
"Don't let your imagination run wild; who knows, it's probably just some old lady with nothing better to do making it up. In a couple of days it'll be a whole lot of nothing." Bai Haorui smiled, putting the glutinous rice into his shopping basket. "Old Wang, I'll take this bag, and get me a bottle of soy sauce too."
Boss Wang nodded, turning around to get the soy sauce. Sam walked over, holding a box of milk, and asked with puzzlement: "What were you and Brother Wang talking about? You looked all mysterious."
"Nothing," Bai Haorui placed the glutinous rice into the shopping basket. "Uncle Wang said Chinatown ran out of glutinous rice, and made up a story about 'dirty things' to scare me."
Sam smiled and asked no further questions. The two paid, walked out of the supermarket, and headed in the direction of the dorm. Bai Haorui carried the shopping bag, his fingers touching the texture of the glutinous rice inside, yet inexplicably feeling a bit flustered-he always felt that the "dirty things" Old Wang spoke of might not be made up.