Early the next morning, Ethan walked into a San Francisco real estate agency and asked them to help him find a house.
His requirements were simple. He wasn't particular about size, as long as it met the standards of normal living. Geographically, his focus was Palo Alto—home to Stanford—radiating outward.
To the north, the boundary was Redwood City; to the south, Cupertino; to the east, Sunnyvale; and to the west? Although the west side of Palo Alto was known for its mountains, rivers, and beautiful scenery, most of that land was protected as historic landmarks and nature reserves.
The truth was, Ethan had already been thinking about moving.
Although he enjoyed living with Thomas and Linda, he had to admit that sharing a roof with several people brought many inconveniences. For example, when he stayed up late working on the Snake motherboard, his schedule sometimes clashed with Thomas's household routine. And Thomas's frequent social visits added to the tension. Their lifestyles and values often collided, so it was only a matter of time before Ethan moved out to live on his own.
As for whether to buy or rent, Ethan preferred to buy. After all, this was Silicon Valley. In a few years, housing prices here would rise rapidly year after year. Buying early meant avoiding being left behind. Even though the appreciation wouldn't match the returns from investment projects—and even though for a time traveler, it wasn't the most cost-effective move—finding such opportunities gave him a sense of accomplishment. Spending hundreds of millions on a villa might be routine, but buying one worth only tens of thousands and watching it soar in value—that would bring real satisfaction.
Still, the move wouldn't take him far. Los Gatos, where Thomas and Linda lived, was only about twelve miles away from the areas Ethan was considering. By car, that was just half an hour—a quick drive if he needed to visit or respond to an emergency.
Perhaps it was the sluggish economy, or perhaps it was simply the speed at which money could get things done, but Ethan was surprised at how quickly things moved. He placed the order on the 21st, and by the morning of the 23rd, an agent in a suit and tie was already standing at his door.
"Mr. Jones, based on your requirements, we've found three houses for sale," the young agent said with a smile, sliding a folder across the table.
"The three homes are located in Palo Alto, Los Altos, and Cupertino.
The Los Altos property is the largest: a three-story lakeside villa with 5,400 square feet of living space. It also includes a 400-square-foot guesthouse, a basement, and nearly 800 square feet of garden parking. The asking price is $120,000.
The next option is in Palo Alto. It's a two-story home without a basement or garden, but it does have a 620-square-foot garage. The first floor offers about 200 square feet more living space than the garage, and the second floor equals the combined size of the garage and ground floor. The price is $100,000.
The smallest of the three houses was in Cupertino—a single-family home on a nearby street. It offered 1,700 square feet of living space, plus a 440-square-foot garage and an underground storage room of less than 200 square feet. Naturally, being the smallest, it was also the cheapest at just $70,000."
Thanks to the agent's detailed introduction, Ethan learned the pros and cons of each property. While he was flipping through the documents, Frank—who had come along to watch the fun—was also in high spirits.
With his hands in his pockets, he glanced at the paperwork and asked curiously, "Wait a second, brother. That Palo Alto house you mentioned only has about 2,260 square feet of usable space, right? Compared to the Los Altos villa, that's barely half the area. So why is the price not half as much, but only $20,000 less?"
The agent smiled patiently. "Sir, that's actually very simple. The Palo Alto house is right next to Stanford and very close to HP headquarters. Properties in that area are always in high demand. Every time a house goes on the market, it's snapped up almost immediately by HP engineers or Stanford faculty. Naturally, homeowners there can demand a higher price."
"Ohh, I get it," Frank muttered, nodding. "So basically, it's daylight robbery."
The agent's smile stiffened, and he chose not to reply.
Ethan, however, didn't see an issue. After all, when buying a house, you're not just buying the structure—you're buying the location. So he smiled and shifted the conversation. "Frank, which one of these three do you think is best?"
"Of course the Los Altos villa!" Frank answered without hesitation. "That's a lakeside property! Just picture it—on a summer night, inviting a bunch of friends for a bonfire by the lake, strumming guitars, singing under the moonlight, maybe even fishing. Doesn't that sound perfect?"
He grinned and added, "It'd be even better if we could invite some girls in bikinis!"
Before Ethan could respond, the agent "Sir… the freshwater lake next to the Los Altos villa is a no-fishing zone."
"Ah, forget it then! Living by a lake where you can't even fish—what's the point?" Frank's face changed instantly.
"Ethan, I strongly advise you not to buy that one. California's property tax rate is 1.25%. That means just the annual tax on a $120,000 house would be $1,500! Meanwhile, the bank deposit rate is also at 1.25%. Soon you could be earning $12,000 a year in interest on $120,000 in savings! And you think these houses are going to rise 10% a year? I don't buy it."
He then turned back to the agent, his tone sharp. "And why didn't you tell us about the no-fishing rule earlier? Were you trying to hide the flaws?"
The agent pressed his lips together, stung by the accusation. For a moment, he even wondered if the thick-browed Frank in front of him had been sent by a rival agency to sabotage the deal.
Ethan, on the other hand, only smiled as he closed the folder. Though Frank had irritated him plenty of times before, he had to admit—this time, the man was right. When buying a house, the seller's agent will always highlight the strengths and gloss over the flaws. If the buyer isn't careful, he risks falling straight into the trap.
"Oh Frank, thanks for the advice, but I still feel like I need to take a look," Ethan said with a smile.
"It's up to you." Frank shrugged, then added, "Want me to come with you?"
"Sure," Ethan replied. "If you've got the time."
For Ethan, bringing along a fool like Frank was actually the right move.
As for Agent who had introduced the properties, he already felt uneasy. Something told him this house tour was not going to be simple.
Sure enough, when they arrived in Palo Alto, Ethan, unimpressed by the so-called "school villa," gave Frank a quick wink. And while Frank usually acted like a clown, this time he caught on immediately.
"What? The owner of this place dares to ask a hundred thousand dollars? He might as well go rob a bank!"
"Even if it's close to Stanford, what's with that car rental company right next door? Don't you know car rental companies are one of the worst sources of noise pollution? Cars have to be inspected when they're rented out and again when they're returned. On weekdays it'll be buzzing nonstop—like flies! Who could stand living here?"
"…"
Agent was left speechless by Frank's barrage. After crossing that one off the list, the group moved on to the lakeside villa in Los Altos.
This house was truly beautiful. From the third-floor balcony, the sparkling lake stretched out before them. A breeze carried the fragrance of flowers, filling the air with freshness and comfort.
But the location had its drawbacks. Being so close to the water made the environment quite damp.
So when Ethan shook his head in hesitation, Frank jumped in again:
"Tell me, won't people living here long-term end up sick? Look at that wall—one part dark, one part light! Anyone who knows can tell it's water damage. Anyone who doesn't would think some abstract artist came here to paint! Would you dare live in a place like this? Aren't you afraid someone will steal the wall in the future to hang in a gallery? I've even thought of the name for the exhibition—Colorful White!"
"...?"
The agent forced a stiff smile, though his face was starting to twitch in irritation.
After more picking and choosing, Ethan and his companions finally made their way to Cupertino.
Compared with the first two villas, this place—a townhouse—felt noticeably compact.
The garage, however, was classic American in design. Standing at the front, you could see a rectangular opening on the left side of the house.
The open setup gave the next-door neighbor, absolutely no privacy. Still, one had to admit there was a certain practicality in the design. After all, the door next to the garage naturally became the entryway for relatives and friends, since most homeowners would enter through the garage after parking. Nobody in their right mind would bother walking around to the front just to use the main door.
Not only that, the decoration of this house was very old-fashioned. The walls, once painted white, had yellowed with age. All the appliances were wooden, and after years of use, many kitchen cabinets had lost their handles. Even the wardrobe door in the bedroom had a visible crack.
Seeing this, Frank leaned over and whispered, "Brother… don't you feel like puking?"
The comment made the agent's expression tighten. Before Ethan could say anything, the man hurried to defend the property.
"Mr. Jones, although this house was built in 1920 and is already fifty-five years old, the overall structure is still sound. With some renovation, it could be move-in ready. And remember—Cupertino only became an official city a little over ten years ago. As a new city, it's developing rapidly. Over the past decade, new roads have been built, and the living environment has improved greatly. If nothing else, property values here are bound to rise quickly in the coming years. More importantly, this is a white community. Most residents have stable, legitimate jobs, and the crime rate is very low…"
Ethan nodded slightly at the man's pitch. To be honest, when buying a house, safety was his top priority. After a quick look around, he thought the place might not be so bad. It looked worn out, yes, but it could be renovated.
Still—seventy thousand? Close the door and let Frank loose.
Ethan gave him a wink. Frank caught on immediately.
"Brother, are you sure this place is worth seventy grand? Look around! Half the furniture and fixtures here are useless. You'll need to spend thousands on renovations right away! And if there's a structural problem with the house, repairs could cost tens of thousands more!"
The agent's head began to ache. "Oh sir," he sighed, "the real selling point here is Cupertino! We all came from San Francisco—you should know that this land, right here, might be one of the safest areas in all of California, precisely because it's far from Oakland…"
But before he could finish, a loud bang shook the air. Moments later, a furious voice bellowed: "Oh, sshit! Roger! What the hell do you mean?!"
Agent Adam's apple bobbed as he struggled to keep his composure.
"G-Gentlemen… this was just an accident," he said awkwardly.
"Really?" Frank jumped on the chance. "An accident? Oh, come on, brother—don't fool yourself! Isn't this the real reason the owners are desperate to sell? Because it's too damn noisy!"
Before his words even faded, another roar came crashing from next door: "Motherf**er, Harry! You wanna fight?!"
The agent's vision darkened, if he might faint.
Meanwhile, Ethan—arms crossed—was fighting to hold back laughter. He had always thought Frank was crude and vulgar, but now. Well, he was proving surprisingly useful.
At the very least, he had luck on his side. Ethan pursed his lips, waiting to see if the agent would crack and drop the price just as Frank predicted.
A sharp click sounded in their ears. Then came another furious roar—
"steve! Are you sick? Are you siding with them now?!"
"Damn it, John! Don't tell me you don't believe us either!"
"We didn't break your stuff—there's no way we could have! You saw us dismantle that machine yourself! After we took it apart, we put it back together and ran it again—no problem at all! Everyone saw it with their own eyes!"
"???"
At first, Ethan thought this sudden quarrel was almost heaven-sent, perfectly timed to help him bargain. But as he listened more closely, something felt off.
Why did those voices sound so familiar? Frowning, he walked to the window and peered outside.
The moment he saw the figures downstairs, his expression darkened. Because the people shouting there… looked all too familiar.
Note ①:
The housing price data for the Bay Area in 1975 could not be verified. The figures used here are based on general U.S. housing price data from 1975 and therefore may not be fully accurate. It's also worth noting that the way housing areas are calculated in the U.S. differs from other regions. For example, unfinished basements, garages, and balconies are not included in the official "living area," though they still affect overall property value.