Until now, Bingwen had always enjoyed hiking–it had, in fact, become one of his favorite pastimes over the past several centuries, since he’d become fed up with living amongst his fellow arties and moved to the Chinese countryside.
Growing up in San Francisco, working at his father’s restaurant so much that all his clothes smelled like garlic and fryer smoke, he’d longed for a life of solitude in the country. Girls didn’t like guys who smelled like a Chinese restaurant.
Except they did. Girls loved his older brother Fang. White girls. They just didn’t like Bingwen, and neither did the bullies at school. He vowed to himself that he’d someday live far away from people.
Now that he’d achieved that goal, he felt more connected to nature, and it made him feel more alive. It inspired his songwriting, and it improved his mood.
It occurred to him, as he trudged…
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