Chapter Two: Rebellion Against the Mainstream Is a Kind of Affliction

Farm life was not conducive to sleeping in; the incessant racket of various birds could drive anyone mad. He truly couldn’t understand how such tiny bodies could make such a deafening noise.

Staring at the mirror, William was at a loss for words at his own poodle-like hairstyle. He simply couldn’t figure out why he’d ever fancied such an unconventional look.

Well, perhaps he was overthinking it. In fact, the afro was currently all the rage. Not just in America, but even in Japan and Hong Kong—everywhere you looked were mirrored sunglasses and wild, bushy hair.

“Uncle Fook, make arrangements for me. I want to change my hairstyle later.”

“Yes, young master, I’ll notify Smith right away.”

“Thank you, Uncle Fook.”

William White’s breakfast was a blend of East and West: delicate soup dumplings he loved, crispy bacon and scrambled eggs, with both coffee and black tea available.

Since his parents had passed away, the number of servants in the house had dwindled. Those who remained were practically family now. As long as he could manage, he would never dismiss them, come what may.

“Young master, Smith is ready. You can begin at any time.”

“All right, Uncle Fook. Could you take a look at the materials for the futures company? I have some small investments—about one or two million.”

“Certainly, young master.”

White Manor was vast, and William found it somewhat unsettling. He felt like a specter drifting through its halls—never quite grounded.

“Young master, you have a call from Jason Koh.”

“Thank you, I’ll take it outside.”

Jason Koh was his closest friend; they’d been classmates both in high school and at university.

In his previous life, William had many friends, but most were merely drinking companions. The only exception was this Chinese fellow. Though Jason was ABC—American-born Chinese—he hadn’t adopted the mercenary ways of Americans.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“William, are you feeling any better? Everyone’s been worried about you.”

“I’m still a bit down, but I’ll pull myself together. Don’t worry, brother, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s a relief to hear. Will you be coming back to school this year?”

“Not for now. There’s too much to handle at home. I’ll need at least a year. Maybe next year.”

“If you need anything, just ask.”

“I will, Jason. How’s life at USC?”

“Same as ever. Lots of girls have been asking about you, by the way.”

“Haha, I’ll pass for now—I’m really not in the mood.”

“Take care of yourself, William.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”

Jason Koh’s family was well off, though not as wealthy as the Whites. Still, they were farm owners, which was nothing to sneeze at.

It was common knowledge that Chinese-owned farms tended to be profitable; they always found ways to maximize returns. The same size of land, yet their efficiency far surpassed that of American farmers.

“Hello, Mr. White.”

“Hello, Smith. You can call me William.”

“Yes, Mr. White.”

Seeing that Smith couldn’t break the habit, William didn’t mind. Since his parents’ deaths, the way the staff addressed him always sounded odd. He was, in fact, the head of the household now. “Mr. White” was the appropriate title.

In his past life, he’d resented such formalities, sometimes even flying into a rage. But not anymore. Having lived two lifetimes, he found that adolescent petulance quite distasteful.

At present, America was obsessed with youthful rebellion, and the entire society seemed to be in revolt against tradition. Private lives were more chaotic than ever. The most direct consequence was the explosion of what would later be called the “century cancer.” Of course, right now, people remained ignorant and bewildered by the disease.

“William, how would you like your hair done?”

“Straighten it for me. Taper the sides and back. Keep it as short as possible.”

Smith didn’t understand why the young master wanted a military cut, but he had no hesitation in complying. He’d served the White family for many years and knew it was best to obey the young master’s temperamental commands.

“Young master, it’s done. Are you satisfied?”

“Very good, thank you.”

“Would you like it washed?”

“No need. I’ll shower.”

The warm water coursed over his body, clearing his mind as well. William found it strange; it was as if his brain really did contain much more than before.

Since yesterday, he’d felt a constant haze of confusion, uncertain whether he’d been reincarnated or was merely dreaming.

If it was only a dream, why did everything seem so vivid? Moreover, some memories weren’t even his.

True, he’d always been a top student, but never to this degree. For instance, if you handed him a Boeing 737 now, he could actually fly it. Which meant that whoever had piloted the plane was now dead, and all his memories had been poured into William’s mind.

If God had chosen to send him back, he would have to live well and never fall into adolescent folly again.

In truth, being addressed as “Mr. White” was more an acknowledgment of his status and a hope that he would take up the family enterprise.

These people depended on his family for their livelihoods. Without a reliable successor, they all risked losing their jobs.

“Uncle Fook, have them bring Blackwind around. I want to take a ride around the farm.”

“Yes, young master, I’ll have them bring him immediately.”

Admiring his reflection, William couldn’t help feeling a touch of pride. Now he looked much more presentable.

Blackwind was a gift from his father. Though not of any distinguished breed, William cherished him deeply. The horse had grown up alongside him, and there was much sentiment attached.

Blackwind was especially spirited today. Animals are sensitive creatures; if you’re in turmoil, they pick up on it instantly.

Uncle Fook was in high spirits, too. Seeing the young master emerge from his grief was a great relief.

As a farm owner, it was important not to remain absent for too long. Cowboys would start to speculate. In their view, the master was expected to patrol his territory. If you didn’t, it meant you didn’t care.

Call it pretentious or traditional, but that was simply how things were.

His father, even at his busiest, would always make time to inspect his land. It was both a right and a responsibility.

William White had fulfilled his duty, making the farmhands genuinely happy. Their young master had clearly emerged from his sorrow and was ready to shoulder the family’s legacy. His youth was no cause for concern.

The farm had always been well run. While not exceptionally profitable, it was doing far better than most, many of which were suffering heavy losses at the time. Turning a profit at all was impressive.

White Farm’s location was excellent, just over two hours from Houston. The property was vast—practically the largest irrigated farm in the vicinity.

To put it in perspective, a typical farm with twenty thousand acres would be considered exceptional. White Farm spanned nearly sixty thousand acres, making it the largest in the area.

The land had originally belonged to the Dutch, with a history stretching back over two centuries, dating to when this region was still Mexican territory.

There was no denying that William White’s ancestors had been formidable people. Holding onto the farm for so long had been no easy feat.