Chapter 99

Chase?

How to chase?

Spread his legs, stretch out his arms, and swim in a breaststroke to catch up with the Wind Fury, which had long since disappeared?

Or chop down trees, build a raft, and row his way to the legendary Land of Dusk?

…By the time he finished chopping wood, Caesar would probably already be bored to death guarding some gate in the Land of Dawn. Having dreams and ambition is good, but when objective conditions don’t allow it, all declarations are just hot air.

You can’t imagine what life is like for a castaway on a deserted island. Day after day passed, and the only good thing that happened during this time was that Miguel and Zhizhi actually found a freshwater source deep in the island’s jungle—a very deep pool, like a natural well, with no one knowing where it led.

There were no cannibals or animals on the island, just endless stretches of inedible sand and undrinkable seawater—life was empty, lonely, and extremely primitive. Even taking a shit required burying it with sand afterward, like a cat burying its waste. Miguel felt that if he stayed like this for a few more days, he might forget he was even human.

Every day, survival depended on the various edible and inedible wild fruits in the jungle and the sea creatures Zhizhi caught from the ocean—Miguel had never imagined he would one day be reduced to eating turtle soup cooked in a coconut shell. As he frowned and forced the disgustingly smooth turtle meat into his mouth, Zhizhi, who could eat anything and call it “chicken-flavored and crispy” or “delicious no matter what,” called this “improving the diet.”

“Girl, I think I’ve finally understood the fundamental difference between humans and beasts.”

“Huh?”

“For example, you and me.”

“Get lost.”

“…”

At the very least, for Miguel, the biggest takeaway from his time on the deserted island was learning how to climb trees, even though the tempting fruit that lured him up there later gave him a terrible case of diarrhea. Zhizhi, who had no sympathy, just sneered and mocked him, saying, “It’s a miracle you didn’t die from eating that, you glutton.”

Miguel lived a monotonous and repetitive life every day, watching the sun rise and set, almost forgetting to keep track of the days—

Until one day, when the black-haired young man, weakened from diarrhea, was squatting on the beach, agonizing over whether the fruits in front of him were edible, a sudden commotion erupted from the jungle behind him. Birds flew up in alarm, and the quiet jungle rustled noisily—looking up in confusion, Miguel was shocked to see a large merchant ship slowly approaching the island, the Spanish flag flying from its mast.

Kicking aside the fruits in front of him, Miguel naively thought that his Robinson Crusoe-like adventure was finally about to end with a happy conclusion.

He was on the verge of galloping toward what he thought would be a blissful epilogue.

Little did he know, what he got was a goddamn open-ended ending.

The newcomer: “…”

Miguel: “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Leoza: “Why is it you?”

Miguel: “Why is it you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“This is the only way to the meeting point—this is a deserted island, how did you… wait, wait—”

The red-haired boy put his hands on his hips, narrowing his golden eyes as he looked Miguel up and down, finally stopping at the pistol at Miguel’s waist. According to Leoza’s observations, the only redeeming quality of the lunatic Caesar was that he at least had some sense and never let Miguel play with firearms.

So, judging by the situation…

“Were you exiled?”

The red-haired boy cruelly hit the nail on the head.

Miguel: “…”

Leoza: “Hahahaha.”

Miguel felt that there was nothing more annoying in the world than a heartless kid, and a red-haired one was even worse.

In the end, Miguel was picked up by Leoza and taken back to the Hornet. Compared to the annoying, heartless little brat, continuing to live as a wild man rolling in dung and digging sand pits was even more unbearable for Miguel, a cultured man who valued quality of life—especially since Leoza was going to find Caesar. Who was Caesar? Caesar was Big Dog. Who would’ve thought that just a few days after parting, they would—

“Don’t even think about it!”

On the gaudy, ornate bed in the captain’s cabin, the boy propped up his head and, in a lazy tone, ruthlessly shattered the dreams of the former navigator of the Wind Fury.

Then, three days after Leoza said this, Miguel was personally supervised and kidnapped by the first mate of the Hornet and returned to Djerba Island in the same position.

……

“Rum! Wheat beer! Spicy whiskey! Want some cheese, big guy?—”

“Freshly delivered coconuts and jujubes, buy a coconut and get a hardtack for free!”

As he stepped onto the familiar wooden dock of Djerba Island’s harbor, Miguel stood with his hands on his hips, facing the sea, and couldn’t help but sigh. After nearly half a year of flailing around, he had ended up right back where he started.

Djerba Island was still the same Djerba Island, a pirate’s paradise that partied every night.

Miguel was still the same Miguel, broke and suffering from a language barrier.

He left with nothing, and he returned with nothing, though he was still in one piece—this glorious retirement state was something even ghosts wouldn’t believe.

Well, at least Old Fante and his filial son, while warmly welcoming Miguel back, expressed strong condemnation and suspicion that he had spent half a year on the Wind Fury as a pirate and hadn’t earned a single penny.

Miguel resisted the urge to tell them that from the second day on board, his salary had always been in the negative—if it weren’t for the fact that his boss was now off guarding some sacred place he didn’t even know where, he might have spent the rest of his life selling himself to the Wind Fury to pay off debts that could never be repaid.

……

“There were too many rules on the ship, from eating, drinking, and shitting to the rhythm of snoring while sleeping,” the black-haired young man sat at Old Fante’s dining table, and when the old man reminded him for the umpteenth time that his freeloading behavior was very bad, Miguel answered seriously, “It was so nitpicky that it was practically inviting people to break the rules.”

“What did you learn after spending half a year on the Black Sea Wolf’s fleet?” Lake poured Miguel a glass of small beer.

“You’ve been asking this question ever since I came back, for over half a month now. Aren’t you bored?”

“No.”

As he spoke, the black-haired young man raised a glass filled with cold, yellow liquid and thanked him, then downed half of it without hesitation. The cold liquid trickled down the corner of his mouth, and Miguel wiped it off with his sleeve. He raised his eyelids and wasn’t surprised to see the envious look on Lake’s face. He smiled and rubbed his nose, thinking that if he had to sum it up, his time on the Wind Fury was like a dream—

The only change was that he had been a virgin when he boarded the ship, and by the time he left, he wasn’t anymore (…), and this major reform was personally assisted and completed by Captain Caesar of the Wind Fury.

Miguel reached out and smacked Lake on the forehead: “Why are you looking so envious? The sky above the Wind Fury isn’t any bluer than the one over Djerba Island.”

“Then why did you stay for half a year? You didn’t get a single penny, yet you didn’t want to come back?”

Miguel raised an eyebrow mockingly: “I was fucking busy touring the Mediterranean for half a year. Should I have jumped off the ship and swum back?”

Lake didn’t respond to this answer. Somehow, in the short span of half a year, this guy had learned something called “reading the room.” He put down his glass and stared at Miguel as if studying some rare animal, and after a long time, he finally blurted out a sentence that nearly scared Miguel to death: “The captain didn’t treat you well?”

This time, Miguel didn’t say anything. He could only stare wide-eyed at Lake, not knowing how to answer such a simple question—

It was like parents asking their son what he liked about the girl he was dating—completely pointless.

After half a year of eating and sleeping together, anyone who could summarize it with just “good” or “not good” would be a heartless bastard.

“That question’s too profound. I can’t answer it.”

Miguel rolled his eyes to express his refusal to answer the question, then turned back to drinking with Old Fante, leaving Lake standing there, unable to figure out what was so profound about the question—

A captain, as long as he wasn’t biased, fairly rotated shifts, paid salaries on time without delays, and didn’t use crew members as cannon fodder, could be considered good, right? What’s so hard about that? What’s so profound?

……

When Miguel left Old Fante’s house, he deliberately went to the backyard to look around, and he wasn’t surprised to find that the old man had actually started raising sheep there. The prostitute next door, who had once provided breast milk to cure Caesar’s eyes, was now pregnant with her second child.

At this moment, the black-haired young man was already a bit unsteady on his feet. He listened to the sound of the sea breeze rustling the tropical trees, the shadows of the trees swaying behind him, and the laughter of the dancers and customers in the tavern—no one cared what this black-haired young man, standing in the sheep pen in the middle of the night, was thinking, nor did anyone care why someone would squat by the roadside in the middle of the night, covering his face and pondering life.

Only the occasional drunk pirate would stumble by and indiscriminately make a move—a geographical approach to hooking up.

“Oh, young man, what are you doing here? Want to have a go?”

“Nope, get lost!”

“Oh, bro, let me buy you a drink, the best beer!”

“Nope, get lost!”

“Oh, young man, your accent sounds foreign!”

“Nope, get lost!”

“Oh, young man, you look familiar. Did you go to the Wind Fury’s recruitment fair half a year ago?”

“Nope, get lost!”

“Oh, young man, let me tell you, it’s a good thing you didn’t get selected back then. Caesar’s dead, and the captain of the Wind Fury is now Rick. The red-haired kid Leoza has finally taken the top spot in the Mediterranean—”

“…Nope, get lost!”

They say dogs have nine lives.

He wouldn’t die.