America: The neighbor's wife is so incredibly hospitable!

[Three books are currently locked in the "little black room" and can't be released, so be more discreet.]

【Brain storage space (›´ω`‹ )】

Montana, USA, 6 p.m.

The setting sun, like blood, dyed the rolling Rocky Mountain range on the horizon a dark gold.

On Highway 93, a dark blue Ford F-150 pickup truck with peeling paint and a rusty chassis.

Just like an old ox suffering from asthma, it was huffing and puffing as it bumped along the asphalt road.

There was no car air freshener in the carriage; instead, there was a distinctive smell of aged tobacco, cheap leather, and some kind of dried hay.

This is a flavor unique to the American West.

"Ann, just past that bend, and two miles from there, lies the legacy your Uncle George left you."

In the driver's seat, a woman's voice broke the roar of the engine.

Chen An turned his gaze away from the endless expanse of withered yellow grass outside the car window and looked at the driver beside him.

This is a very typical mature white woman, the kind who looks like she stepped out of a vintage magazine.

Her name is Sarah Miller.

From an Eastern aesthetic perspective, Sarah might be considered "too big" in some aspects.

But here, beneath that flannel plaid shirt stretched taut as if about to burst, lies the abundance unique to this wild land.

She should be around thirty-five years old this year, with her golden wavy hair casually pinned up at the back of her head.

A few stray hairs fell beside her flushed cheeks.

Her features were deep-set, and there were a few fine laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.

But this did not diminish her charm; on the contrary, it gave her a beauty like a ripe peach, as if she could drip water if you pinched her.

Especially when she turned the steering wheel, the top two buttons of her flannel shirt seemed to be emitting a desperate wail.

The seatbelt dug deep into that terrifying abyss.

As the road bumped along, that breathtaking arc trembled gently like waves.

"Aunt Sarah, thank you for going to all the way to pick me up in Kalispel," Chen An said with a polite smile.

His smile was clean and pure, the kind of delicate beauty that perfectly matched Eastern aesthetics.

With black hair and black eyes, and fair skin, her figure, though not as bear-like as the local rednecks, was slender and well-proportioned.

This slightly bookish refinement, in this rough Western world, is like a ragdoll cat that has strayed into a pack of wolves.

At least that's how it appears on the surface.

"Oh God, don't call me auntie, it makes me sound like an old lady who only knows how to bake apple pies." Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically.

Her azure eyes held an undisguised smile.

She turned her head and her gaze lingered on Chen An's young and handsome face for two seconds.

"Call me Sarah. You can even call me sister, although I might be a little older than your long-deceased mother."

"Okay, Sarah," Chen An readily agreed.

He inherited the farm from his distant cousin, George Chen.

This is a very old story: Chen An, who was struggling to make ends meet in China and was unemployed right after graduating from university, suddenly received a lawyer's letter from Montana.

My uncle, who supposedly smuggled himself into the United States thirty years ago and vowed not to return until he made something of himself, died of a heart attack on a tractor.

My uncle never married and had no children, so I searched through the vast family genealogy.

The inheritance rights to the farm, named "Sunset Stream," inexplicably fell into Chen An's hands.

There was no system, no elderly man by his side, only a one-way ticket to Missoula Airport and the last eight hundred US dollars in his pocket.

"Ann, I need to give you a heads-up." Sarah skillfully steered the wheel with one hand.

The pickup truck turned onto a gravel side road, and the bumpy ride intensified instantly.

"George is a good man, but he... you know, when a man is single for too long, his life gets messy. That farm, well, it has a lot of 'character' about it."

"Personality usually means that it takes a lot of money to fix it," Chen An shrugged.

"You're very clever, Eastern boy." Sarah giggled, her laughter causing her breasts to tremble.

The temperature inside the carriage seemed to rise a few degrees due to this ripe hormone.

"But don't worry, you live right next door to us."

"If there's any heavy work you can't do, you can ask my idiot for help... if he doesn't die drunk in the bar."

Chen An astutely picked up on the information: "Is Old Tom still drinking heavily?"

Old Tom was Sarah's husband; Chen An had heard the lawyer mention him briefly in emails before he came.

"Ha! Alcoholism?" Sarah sneered, a hint of resentment and disgust flashing in her eyes.

"Ever since that bastard wrecked his truck and had his license revoked last year, he's been sprawled out on the sofa like a lump of mud."

"Now, besides cursing at the football game on TV, the only thing that might be able to get him up is his liver."

At this point, Sarah seemed to realize that it was inappropriate to complain about her husband's impotence in front of a young man she had just met.

A blush rose to her cheeks, and she bit her full, red lips somewhat awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have used those foul language with you."

"It's okay, life is never easy." Chen An's gaze was calm, and he did not show any embarrassment.

Instead, he looked at her with a gentle gaze that conveyed understanding and tolerance.

"Sarah, you have to take care of three children at home and run your ranch. It must be really hard for you."

These words were like a precision-guided missile, instantly striking the most vulnerable and aggrieved spot in this Montana farmer's heart.

Sarah paused for a moment, then turned and gave Chen An a deep look.

The setting sun outside the car window shone on the boy's profile, giving him a golden edge.

His eyes were clear, and his tone was sincere.

She was nothing like those local redneck thugs who only stared at her ass and whistled.

She's not like that good-for-nothing husband who only wants beer and money.

"...You're such a sweetheart, Anne." Sarah's voice suddenly became a little hoarse.

There was a hint of moisture in his eyes. "If George were as eloquent as you, he wouldn't have remained a bachelor his whole life."

The pickup truck finally stopped in front of a crooked wooden door.

Above the wooden door hung a rickety sign with two letters missing from the English word "Sunset," turning it into "Su set," as if mocking something.

"We've arrived. This is Sunset Creek Farm."

Sarah pulled the handbrake and the engine shut off.

Chen An got out of the car.

He was first greeted by a chilly evening breeze.

Montana experiences significant temperature differences between day and night. Although it is still September, the temperature drops to below 10 degrees Celsius as soon as the sun sets.

Next came the scene before my eyes.

desolate.

If I had to describe it in one word, it would be wild desolation.

What came into view was an open area of ​​about fifty or sixty acres, overgrown with weeds, some of which were even knee-high.

Not far away stands a two-story American-style wooden house, with several roof tiles missing, resembling a toothless old man.

Next to the wooden house was a huge red barn, the red paint peeling off to reveal the gray-black logs inside.

An older, green John Deere tractor was parked at the barn entrance, its wheels tangled in weeds.