Chapter 100

Miguel couldn’t quite figure out which version of the ending he should accept—

Option one: Caesar died, vanishing from this world forever.

Option two: Honestly accept the fact that the man was still alive somewhere in the world, breathing the same air under the same sky, but from a certain moment onward, no one would ever find him again. As the price for breaking his family’s curse, his time would forever stagnate on a land no one had ever set foot on.

Option three: Fuck it all.

For the past half month, before the correct answer to this test was revealed, Miguel had firmly believed that his choice of option three was the right one.

Then, on that night half a month later, without warning, he received his test paper with a big fat zero.

…

As frustratingly expected, the correct answer was option two.

Caesar had found the Fountain of Youth, Caesar was still alive, and Caesar would never return.

This was probably the difference between separation in life and separation in death—Margarita’s worries were right. From the very beginning, no one could guarantee that Caesar had escaped his family’s curse. He had lived freely and comfortably until the age of thirty-two, not because he had escaped the curse, but because the curse hadn’t come yet.

Zhizhi was right—everything was arranged by fate.

Unresolved matters were the most torturous, and none of them could escape this ordeal.

When the Hornet rescued him from the deserted island and brought him back to Djerba Island, Miguel had secretly instructed Zhizhi to follow the Hornet to the Fountain of Youth. At first, he almost received daily ravens from Zhizhi detailing Caesar’s daily routine, including when he worked, ate, and even took a piss. But from some day onward, Miguel never saw Zhizhi’s ravens again.

Caesar was gone, and so was Zhizhi.

Miguel felt that ever since he transmigrated, he had been busy getting to know these damn, unreliable people—not a single trustworthy one among them.

Over the past half month, Miguel had heard too much news about the Wind Fury. Every time this familiar yet strange name came up in different forms, it would make the black-haired young man feel his blood flow backward—half a year might seem short, but for Miguel, it was packed full of life’s experiences. When he heard the name Wind Fury, he could recall the sound of rolling waves, the monotonous tunes of the drum and horn band, the hemp ropes covered in seaweed wrapped around the mast, and the shouts of the sailors…

And especially, he could remember that person.

Unfortunately, whether he laughed or cried, what remained in the Wind Fury’s bilge, on the deck, in the Captain’s Cabin beside Caesar’s desk, on the bed, in the cell—were all just memories.

Only memories.

He had cried before, of course.

Countless times, he woke up in the middle of the night, realizing that the bed beneath him no longer swayed with the waves. Humans were such fickle creatures—at first, he had vomited like an idiot because of the waves, but now, with solid ground beneath his feet, he suddenly couldn’t sleep well. A spider web had formed on the simple roof at some point, though the spider was gone, leaving only the empty web. Usually, the first thing Miguel saw when he opened his eyes was that web. Then, the black-haired young man would lie in bed, staring with his black eyes—eyes that, though devoid of their former luster, were still the most beautiful black pearls of the Mediterranean. He could go a long time without blinking.

And then he would hold it in, but somehow, it only made it harder to hold back.

Sometimes he felt he was being unmanly, crying like a woman, but whenever he thought that, it only made him more heartbroken. In the end, he would bury his face in the bed and sob uncontrollably like a child—but let’s not talk about that.

After crying, he would often have a splitting headache, almost thinking he had contracted some terminal illness that would kill him the next moment.

Then, when the morning light came and the autumn wind carrying the scent of the sea blew in through the half-open window, Miguel would find himself waking up again—and he would wipe his face with a wet cloth, starting a new day.

…

This zombie-like existence went on for about twenty days.

Until one day, when Miguel was carrying a bucket of fresh water back from the market, he found a very familiar red-haired dwarf squatting at the door of his shabby hut. Seeing Miguel, the dwarf looked delighted, wagging his tail as he rushed over to take the bucket of water from him. With one hand holding the dozens of pounds of wood, the other hand still had the time to grab the wrist of the black-haired young man who was expressionlessly trying to slam the door in his face—

Leoza stuck his foot in the door crack, knowing full well that Miguel wouldn’t actually crush his foot, and slowly squeezed his way into the house.

Miguel poured him a cup of small beer—that was all he had to offer.

Leoza took a sip, and then, adhering to the principle that “birds of a feather flock together,” the red-haired youth swallowed the liquid with great reluctance and didn’t touch it again. This was exactly the same as Caesar, who once said, “Small beer tastes like horse piss”—

Back then, Miguel had wanted to ask Caesar if he had actually tasted horse piss to know, but he was afraid of getting beaten up, so he never asked. And now, he would never have the chance to ask.

Thinking of this, Miguel started to feel a vague pain in his balls.

He stood by the stove, washing the already clean bowl again—he did this because he realized he had to keep himself busy. He really wasn’t in the mood to play mind games with Leoza… but the black-haired young man forgot the saying “man proposes, God disposes.” If he didn’t go over, couldn’t Leoza just come to him?

So Leoza came over.

The red-haired dwarf pouted, clearly unhappy with the cold treatment from the former Navigator of the Wind Fury. He stood up from the table, scurried over to Miguel, and wrapped his arms around the other’s slim, firm waist. It felt good, but Leoza didn’t dare linger too long. Hugging Miguel from behind, he reached out and petulantly slapped the hand holding the chipped bowl.

“What are you doing?” Miguel asked, somewhat helplessly, as he put down the bowl to protect his limited possessions.

What was he doing?

Nothing much, really.

Leoza was stumped by the question. After struggling for a moment, he nuzzled his face against Miguel’s back and mumbled, “What else? I missed you.”

Miguel: “…”

“…Hey, I know you’re not happy that I brought you back to Djerba Island, but there was no other way.” In a place where Miguel couldn’t see, the red-haired youth rolled his eyes hard, his tone filled with dissatisfaction. “I really wanted to take you to the Fountain of Youth to strike it rich together, but Caesar wouldn’t let me. That guy knows everything—the moment you stepped onto my ship, I got a raven from him. It was that jerk who told me to bring you back to Djerba Island. If you want to blame someone, blame him!”

Miguel remained silent. He stood by the sink, his grip on the chipped bowl tightening until his fingertips turned white from the pressure.

Caesar had indeed known that Leoza would pass by that island.

So he had deliberately chosen that place to exile him.

He had anticipated everything—even the timing of Leoza picking Miguel up.

Hah, Leoza was right, Big Dog. In this world, is there anything you don’t know?

Seeing that Miguel still refused to speak, Leoza suddenly felt uneasy, and his arms around the black-haired young man tightened even more—the force was almost enough to snap his waist. “You’re still mad at me,” he pouted, looking like he was about to cry. His golden eyes widened, brimming with tears. He just couldn’t understand why Miguel wouldn’t accept him.

He hadn’t even done anything excessive to him yet.

Thinking of this, Leoza inexplicably felt even more agitated, to the point where he didn’t even want to bring up the important matter he had come to discuss.

However, Miguel let out a soft sigh, pulled away the hands clutching his waist, turned around, and gently patted Leoza’s head. “What exactly did you come here for today?”

Miguel’s action seemed to break something.

He was slightly startled to find that the red-haired youth, who only came up to his shoulder, trembled violently when Miguel’s hand ruffled his hair—his hand still resting on Leoza’s fluffy head, Miguel hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to take it away or leave it there—

At that moment, Leoza suddenly looked up. Surprisingly, his eyes were actually starting to redden—not in a fake way. At this moment, the red-haired youth was like a small, ferocious tiger. His golden eyes were misty, and when they met Miguel’s black ones, he pursed his lips and then, without warning, burst into loud, wailing sobs!

“Waaahhh—I just don’t get what’s so great about Caesar! That bastard went into the real Fountain of Youth all by himself and left all of us outside—get this, he chose to go to his death! We couldn’t stop him, so why are you mad at me?—”

Burying his face in Miguel’s chest without hesitation, he smeared snot and tears all over his clothes. The red-haired youth cried so hard it was pitiful, gasping for breath—yes, just like a child. It was all too familiar.

Miguel’s lips twitched, thinking to himself, Did I look this ugly when I cried?

“I really like you!!!!”

“…”

“Why can’t you like me back?!!”

What the hell is this situation?

“…Why would you like me?”

“Bullshit! How should I know?! Waaah—that damn compass said so! It points wherever you go—if it hadn’t been for that thing pointing randomly, how would I have ended up on that deserted island looking for you?! Tell me, how could that happen?!!”

Miguel had never sighed so sincerely in his entire life.

His hand on the red-haired youth’s head paused, then he gently ruffled it—

“I’m sorry…”

“Waaahhh—You’re such a jerk!”