Chapter 4
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 004
Chapter Title: Great Voyage
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I'd been lucky in all sorts of ways.
- Don't, make me, talk to you! Idiot!
The jar ghost, who drained its battery just trying to hold a "conversation with a human"—that pinnacle of brainpower—let out a sigh. I didn't say that for your ears, so shut it for once.
The seawater was warm.
Considering how, back on that famous Titanic, countless folks froze to death from hypothermia, just having mild water was a stroke of massive luck. If it'd been a cold sea, even Grandpa Dragon King couldn't have saved me—I'd have shivered myself to death.
I squeezed my hair as tight as I could, shaking out the water, and gathered my thoughts. I'd heard from Supervisor Kim ages ago that wet hair steals your body heat and makes dying easier. But hey, jar ghost, if you're gonna help, why not stick me on a whale instead of a turtle?
- Whales! Too hard, to handle!
Yeah, got it.
And then.
A few days passed.
"I'm... gonna die..."
- Hang in there! Just a bit farther this way—there's a ship!
The Dragon King had pulled some trick, sticking around the turtle way longer than usual. Thanks to that, the turtle didn't suddenly dive into the depths, and I didn't end up glub-glubbing to my doom.
But.
I was starving to death.
I'd quenched my thirst with rainwater, barely staving off death, but out here in the endless ocean, food was a whole other nightmare.
Eat fish raw? No clue if scarfing down rations like that beat the risk of all the saltwater soaked into the meat. Couldn't guess.
No thoughts like "Maybe I should've died with Mom and Dad back there."
My parents from my past life or this one—they'd want me alive, not dragging them down with me.
So I had to keep kicking till the end.
But I was so damn hungry.
This sea turtle... wouldn't it taste good?
- What?
Even Robinson Crusoe raved about sea turtle as a delicacy. Come on, Dragon King. It's time for us to become one. Like Arthurus donning the helmet and becoming Rich King—once I chow down on your flesh, we'll unite and rewrite history...
- Ship! Ship sighted!
Let's become one, turtle.
Now, we shall be, one—
- Look over there! Real ship!
Ship?
A ship, you say?
I must've stared at the horizon, forgoing turtle snacks for a few minutes.
And sure enough.
Far off in the distance.
Something ship-shaped came into view.
Fuck.
Fuck!!
"Help... me..."
This was bad.
My throat was so parched, my voice barely croaked out.
The Dragon King turtle seemed to get the memo and steered straight for it. As time passed, what emerged clear as day wasn't some Western clipper—it was that classic "Oriental-but-not-quite-Joseon, more like Chinese" junk ship from every movie.
How much longer did I wait?
The crew spotted me and started hollering. Couldn't make out the words, but from the tone and gestures...
"A person? Looks like a person?"
"Probably dead."
"Nah! It's a kid! A live kid floating out there!"
"Lower something—nah, I'll go down!"
One sailor hopped off the ship slick as you please, freaked at the sight of the turtle, then hauled me and it aboard together.
I'd really survived.
Tension gone, I blacked out on the spot.
The go-to nation for commerce? Jews top the list, no doubt. But the Chinese? They hold their own anywhere. Their global overseas Chinese networks and capital were infamous even in the 21st century.
Here in the 19th, the 1800s, their thirst for adventure and riches never quit.
Especially Canton merchants—they were buzzing with business.
"Heh! Burn the trash!"
"We'll spare your life—hand over everything you've got!"
"Hee hee ho!"
"Kill the women, rape the men!"
"Ton ton—"
Yeah.
Just like the British Empire's "commerce" under the sun-never-sets flag, these Canton merchants' "overseas trade" was plenty dignified.
No wonder merchants got treated like scum across history.
Canton merchants.
Or, y'know...
Canton Pirates.
This South China Sea and Southeast Asia stretch? Devil Fruits aside, it was the Grand Line through and through.
"Boss. Why keep the brat alive?"
"Can't even earn his keep—reeks of milk."
"What if the English get pissy about hostages or whatever? Just toss him back in the sea?"
Faces far from merchant material spouted lines that'd chill your blood just hearing them.
But I hadn't died for a different reason.
"You lunatics. Didn't you see that?"
"Just coincidence, right?"
"I saw it with my own two eyes! A house-sized sea turtle carrying this kid on its shell! No doubt about it! The Dragon King of the South Sea's protecting him!"
Superstition ran deep among seafolk, East or West, always had.
My entrance had been too dramatic—half the crew was foaming at the mouth, yelling, "Kill the kid and piss off the Dragon King? You wanna take responsibility?"
- Crazy bastards! How? How could they eat me! Raaagh!!
Absurd, but these pirates terrified of the Dragon King's wrath? They'd cooked and scarfed the very Dragon King turtle I'd ridden. Figures—Chinese'll eat anything with four legs but a table.
"Boss!"
"Chief!"
"Shut it, you lot! We're not monsters—kill a kid we saved from the open sea? Give me nightmares!"
The boss finally laid down the law.
"But he's an orphan, no folks—so he earns his own grub."
"Boss knows best!"
"Yeah. Gotta fend for yourself."
"Kid blessed by the Dragon King? He'll thrive no sweat."
Hey.
Hey hey.
This is going south. Do something quick!
- I just survived getting eaten alive—what more you want? Huh?
We're really fucked!
The jar ghost took my emergency SOS and went quiet for a sec.
"Look, no need to go soft on the kid... What? Why's everyone spacing out?"
"Boss. Boss."
"Yeah?"
"Check that out."
Local birds hanging around the coast.
Scavenger mutts snacking on scraps and fish heads.
Even the guard dogs.
A few critters sidled up to the lone survivor kid, bowing low like they were kowtowing.
Kid lifts his hand casual-like, and birds flock over, perching neat on his skinny arm.
Pirates witnessing this eerie—nay, divine spectacle—froze like statues on the spot.
And then.
The kid, with those mysterious blue eyes so unlike theirs, stared straight at the boss. They felt their breath catch.
"You speak our tongue? Ahem, no?"
Slow headshake.
"Uh. Yeah. Got it. We'll feed and bed you—earn your keep!"
Looked ridiculous, but they were awestruck by the weirdness.
Blond hair, blue peepers—they figured he caught a word or two, but no thought of fetching a translator crossed their minds.
Boss decided to wrap it up.
"Jangsan. Take him under your wing. Clear a spot at your place, let him crash."
"Yessir!!"
Kid waves his hand.
Beasts scatter like they got the memo.
The picked rookie escorted the kid home like a eunuch with imperial kin, all deferential bows. Their shock lingered.
"...Anyone lays a wrong finger on him, I'll crack their skull. Got it?"
Boss tacked on the tough-guy line to show his grit.
But it fell on deaf pirate ears.
Time flew by.
About two years was plenty to grasp their lifestyle and ways.
Decades back, Chinese pirates rivaled Whitebeard's crew in scale and firepower, but Qing crackdowns and Western bribes whittled them down. Most big bosses surrendered to the Qing. Yeah, Warlord life sounded comfy.
Now "pirates" was more like a side hustle.
Full-time? Too risky, shitty pay. They played legit merchants or smugglers, then swapped cash for lead if the mark looked easy.
"Can you let me go now? Pretty please?"
"Hahaha. Tough ask."
"I wanna go home."
"Home's where the heart is! Want me to snag you a fine lass?"
Wrong. Language barrier bullshit.
Acted all mystical to survive, and now they wouldn't cut me loose.
I was living like some primitive tribe's shaman or priest. Y'know, portents before voyages and such.
"You guys worry nonstop I'll get found out and bring my homeland's army down on us."
"True that."
"So lemme slip off to Whampoa quiet-like, meet my folks' people—problem solved?"
"Hahaha. Kid, you're young. Court's not to be trusted. Stay hidden, no risk—why chance it?"
Damn. Can't argue that. These libertarian bastards.
But I couldn't stick around.
Fine for now as a kid, but grown up? I'd go from "Brit kidnapped by pirates" to "Brit blood-brother with Chinese pirates."
News spreads via papers—Brits might buy it, but foreigners? Nah, they'd swallow "Brit turned pirate" hook, line, sinker.
And neither they nor I breathed a word 'cause.
I knew too much.
Smuggling routes, hot goods, rendezvous deets.
- C'mon, China's smuggling back then? Par for the course. That risky?
I spill, they die—others maybe not, but these guys for sure. I'd hold 'em too. Or wipe 'em out. Without the "curse if you kill him" fear, I'd be dead already.
Anyway, I'd learned heaps on 19th-century international trade mysteries.
Americans (not Brits) hauling opium from Ottoman Turks, sneaking past East India Company to dump in Qing China. Global value chain magic. Indian opium quality? Turkish was crap but cheaper—factor shipping, distribution, still undersold in China. Wild! Learned so much!
- That impressive...?
Hell yes. Smuggler's circus circling the globe in the 1800s? Epic.
Anyway, time to bail for real.
Stick here? Doom incoming.
Real bad.
Horribly, multi-flavor bad.
"Settlin' new lands needs kin to rub elbows with. Got your eye on someone?"
"I'm not even ten—dunno 'bout that."
"Bull! You're more grown than most pups! Don't even know what age I'm pairing you with. Fine. I'll pick a sturdy, strong buck myself. Wei here's prime—broad shoulders, ripped. Top shelf. Wei, whaddya think? Nah, no need."
"Ton ton—"
"No, seriously, pass."
Canton Pirates recruited unique-style.
Snag unlucky civvie prisoners, film 19+ hardcode gay porn with 'em.
Shockingly, the "defiled by pirates, can't go home boo-hoo" ploy worked way better than 21st-century snowflakes'd guess. Pirates turned full ancient Greek—ditching dames for dudes. Worked so well, even women joining faced less chastity threats. Insanely effective.
- Oh, uh. Fine. Sodomy's cultural relativism or whatever? Chinese emperors' pleasure peaks were—
Zip it.
No way I linger.
"Boss."
"Even you callin' me boss?"
"Got a favor."
"Told ya, can't let go."
"Dragon King's pissed. If I don't board this next ship, disaster strikes!"
"What kinda nonsense... You jokin'?"
This was it.
No choice.
I'm outta here...!