Chapter 49: The Task of Making a Living

It took Lando more than half a year to get used to life in this era—he could speak Italian fluently, and he could also put on various airs of a nobleman. He secretly hired a boat and returned to Dongsha Island. The fishing boat was safe and sound. He managed to sneak in, took out some of his personal firearms and ammunition, and also took a few emergency kits—the modern medicine inside was priceless.

Change is both a disaster and a new opportunity. After settling down, Lando began to consider his future.

In this strange time and space, with his skills and the firearms in his hands, it was no problem to make a living without worrying about food and clothing. But he was a little unwilling to just go on like this.

Go to Europe? Lando quickly rejected this idea. He was an American and had no concept of Europe. After traveling thousands of miles back, what would he do for a living? America didn’t exist at this time. Of course, he could be an immigrant, but that would be too hard.

Lando had thought about refloating the boat. With these firearms and a motorboat, it would be good to be a pirate. The Manila galleons brought a large amount of silver every year, and a considerable part of this silver went to Macau to buy various goods from the Chinese. The Jesuits were also actively involved, and Lando had seen too much of it.

If he could get a boat, the South China Sea would be paved with gold! The Portuguese ships, the Spanish ships, the Dutch ships—which one wasn’t fully loaded with silver heading for China? If he could just rob one, he would be rich! With money, he could recruit desperadoes, buy ships and cannons—Lando was very different from the Chinese transmigrators. He had never thought of making anything himself. He was used to using all kinds of ready-made weapons. Now he was very good at using matchlocks and flintlocks, and his swordsmanship was also considered one of the top ten masters locally.

After robbing enough, with capital and men, he could just set up a small independent country and be a king. There were plenty of undeveloped wastelands! He could kidnap a few Portuguese women he liked, and then slip away to Australia or New Zealand to be a colonist. He soon realized that he had no place to refuel, and besides, he had no subordinates. Being a colonist alone, he would probably be eaten by the Maori.

Besides, he had no technical means to salvage the boat. Disappointed, Lando decided to stay in Macau for the time being and then try to gather a group of reliable people.

But he was soon disappointed. In Macau, a city full of adventurers, everyone talked about money. The only ones with ideals were the missionaries. After more than a year, he hadn’t made a single real friend—though he had plenty of drinking and gambling buddies.

As for his backers and patrons, the Jesuit priests, their smiles that seemed to see through his soul contained so much that he feared.

He began to miss his old partners, whose fates were unknown. If one or two were still alive, they could at least help each other and would surely be able to open up a small situation.

If there was anyone in this time and space he could trust, it was his black slave—whom he had won at the gambling table. To commemorate the third part of a certain movie he wanted to see but hadn’t, he named this black man Shrek.

Shrek was a melancholy black man, taciturn. But he was loyal enough to Lando—Lando at least adhered to the basic human rights concepts of the 21st century: he fed him, didn’t whip him, and wouldn’t lose him as a gambling stake at any time.

Every morning, Shrek would respectfully prepare his washing water and clothes. The communication between master and servant was basically through eyes, gestures, and a strange dialogue: Shrek spoke a strange Spanish, and Lando spoke broken Portuguese.

The difference between Spanish and Portuguese was very small, and their verbal communication was barely mutually intelligible.

“I’m running out of money again,” he muttered, turning from the pier and walking towards the small inn where he was staying. After escaping from Zheng Zhilong’s hands by the skin of his teeth, Liu Xiang had generously given him three hundred Spanish pesos—and even tried to recruit him to his service. This tall, strong man had fought a hundred men on the big ship and was clearly no ordinary person. He needed this kind of fierce general.

Lando refused. One such life-threatening experience was enough.

After returning to Macau, Geranzani rewarded him with another hundred pesos. Just as all things have a beginning and an end, these four hundred pesos were finally used up. He ate, drank, and gambled every day, and sometimes he even dallied with women—Lando had once seduced the wife of a rather reputable Portuguese merchant, and then almost beat the jealous husband to death. For this, he was notorious. If it weren’t for the fact that he had risked his life for the Jesuits and the Jesuits had intervened to settle the matter, he would probably have had to flee.

These enjoyments quickly emptied his purse. In fact, Geranzani was quite good to him, giving him small jobs from time to time, but he was very stingy. It never exceeded fifty pesos.

He was short of money and struggling to make a living. If this continued, he would probably have to pawn his belongings. As for the Jesuits, they wouldn’t give him a single penny if there was no mission. They were always welcome to eat for free—if bread, bean soup, and sour wine mixed with cold water could be considered a meal.

He began to seriously consider whether to sell his life to Liu Xiang—his agent in Macau was always welcoming desperadoes from all countries to serve him—Europeans were especially welcome. He needed people to operate his European guns and cannons, and the conditions offered were not bad. A gunner was paid four hundred Spanish pesos a year. Lando estimated that he should be worth at least a thousand a year.

The inn was bustling with activity. It was an inn run by a Portuguese Jew. It had everything such a small inn should have: a warm landlady, a chubby landlord, a noisy dining room, and rooms that could barely be called comfortable. Lando chose this place because it was relatively clean—the Jews were the most hygienic of the Europeans of this era—and the food was not bad. Although the price was a bit expensive, he still made it his long-term residence.

In the blink of an eye, he had been here for more than two years. As is customary for long-term residents, he had some privileges—such as being in debt. When he saw the landlady, he realized that he had been in arrears for rent and room charges for almost three months.

The landlady’s face was not good, and the candle on the candlestick she gave him was almost burnt out.

“Good night to you,” she said, without even saying “sir.”

“Good night, madam,” he said with the most charming smile an Italian man could muster. Few women could resist this smile, but the Jewish woman was clearly indifferent to him. She turned to serve the guests who could afford to pay.

He quickly slipped back to his room, a small room above the third floor—formally called an “attic.” Shrek was lying on a straw mat in front of the door, sleeping. Seeing him, he quickly got up.

“You sleep, you sleep. You black devil,” Lando muttered, opened the door, and went in.

The furnishings in the room were extremely simple. He hung his clothes behind the door and carefully brushed them twice. Then he sat down with a plop and took out half a loaf of bread from the drawer—the other half had been given to Shrek before he went out. If his circumstances were better, the waiter would have brought him his meal as soon as he returned. Now, of course, that was out of the question.

He unholstered the pistol he never left his side and placed it under his pillow. This hard, Chinese-style pillow also contained a little of his modern property salvaged from the boat: a medical kit, an atlas of East and Southeast Asia, a pocket compass, and a wallet with a few hundred dollars, which were now just colored paper.

Lando gnawed on his bread with cold water and also considered his future.

Being a pirate, he was alone and weak, so it was impossible for now. As for being a mercenary for Liu Xiang, he was also unwilling—it was too dangerous, and his role at sea was limited. Unless he went to board ships, the VZ68 was useless, and the ammunition was limited…

At this moment, he once again thought of that strange group of Australians—although he had never seen them again after that time. But Lando was still 100% sure that this was a group of people from the same time and space as him. He knew this from their ridiculous claim of being “Australians.”

“Australians, you are just a bunch of Chinese!”

As for how this group of Chinese got to this time and space, perhaps only God knew.

But the Chinese were obviously in a much better situation than him. They were neatly dressed and looked healthy. And they were still selling various goods. When he first saw the “crystal mirrors” that the rich Chinese were vying to show off, his jaw almost dropped.

“Isn’t this a plastic mirror!” He had seen it in many cheap goods stores around the world.

Then, more and more news reached Macau, such as the Australians building a castle on a large island in southern China. They had iron ships larger than the largest galleons, and many strange things. And their firearms were very powerful.

After a comprehensive analysis, Lando came to three conclusions: the so-called Australians were Chinese from the 21st century; they had modern ships and weapons; and there were many of them.

As for that large island in southern China, it was of course Hainan Island.

He checked his portable atlas and found a strange place name on the map: Lingao.

Lingao. He remembered Father Comancho telling him that he had been transferred from Lingao to Macau by the Chinese government. He could still recall being escorted onto a boat by a group of ragged Chinese soldiers with spears and broadswords, almost naked. It seemed to be a desolate place.

Lando had a vague feeling that his arrival here was greatly related to them.

What did this group of Chinese want to do in Lingao?

As more and more goods poured in from Lingao, “Australian goods” became a well-known brand. And many of the goods clearly showed signs of being produced in this era. Lando revised his judgment: this group of Chinese also had machinery and equipment, engineers, and qualified technical workers.

Even the so-called “Australian goods” had changed his life: paper specifically for wiping one’s bottom after using the toilet appeared on the market, at a surprisingly low price, so that Lando’s excretion was no longer an economic burden.

The Chinese even began to supply Macau with matches, cigarettes, rum, and soda water in oak barrels. There were many such peddlers on the streets of Macau, carrying two small barrels with spigots, one with sweet and sour soda water, and the other with rum. You could buy them separately or as a mixture. In the summer, you could even get crushed mint leaves added. “Isn’t this a cocktail?” Lando thought.

“God,” Lando thought, “at least the Chinese have made my life in this era not so unbearable.”

News of the “Australian-style” life in Lingao also gradually reached Macau, including their good streets, perfect municipal management, and the dazzling lights like a sea of stars at night…

Now, Lando, who was desperate to start his own empire, for the first time seriously considered the idea of defecting to the Australians, or rather, the Chinese. At the very least—they had plenty of toilet paper and clean toilets. Also, he quite liked 21st-century Chinese food.

Instead of selling his life to Liu Xiang, it was better to defect to the Chinese. As people from the same time and space, they should have more in common. Speaking of which, when he saw them at Geranzani’s residence, there were also Europeans among them—and a very beautiful girl, who looked to be of Latin descent.

Since there were Europeans, they wouldn’t reject another one. He, Lando, had no motherland in this era, so the other party certainly didn’t have to worry about that.

He had been a volunteer soldier and should be the professional talent they urgently needed. He would definitely have a meal there, and his status would be very high—how could Liu Xiang understand his value? But the Chinese of the 21st century would definitely understand.

Thinking of this, he suddenly felt that defecting to Lingao was a bright path—he even wondered why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. At least he would have been spared a year of Lent.

And he also had a great gift! Lando thought, the weapons and ammunition sunk on the reef of Dongsha Island alone were a huge fortune. With this, he could also get a good position in the Lingao group.

He began to plan his “defection to freedom,” and even lost his appetite for bread. It was easy to go to Lingao. The Australians, like all the maritime forces in the region, had a semi-public agent here. There were also occasional ships traveling between the two places. And there were no travel restrictions on the Lingao side. Anyone who wanted to go could go.

Suddenly, a question came to his mind: were these modern Chinese in Lingao under the command of their government? Had the Chinese government mastered some secret of time travel and was planning some amazing conspiracy in Lingao in this era?

If that were the case, and he rashly went over and revealed his identity, he would probably be silenced immediately!

Lando’s enthusiasm immediately cooled down. No matter how clean the toilets and how delicious the food, the premise was that he could live freely. If he was locked up or simply shot, it would be meaningless.

The more he thought about it, the more he thought that the other party might want to know if there were any other Americans who had come to this time and space who might endanger their mission. They might even torture him…

At this thought, he shivered and started eating his bread again.

That night, Lando had a strange dream. For a while, he was in Lingao, wearing “People’s clothing” and attending a meeting in a magnificent hall. Then he became a US government agent, meeting the SEALs in the wilderness and shouting, “Lingao is in that direction.” Then he was tied to a chair, and in a dark, secret room, several Chinese in training uniforms looked at him coldly, as if they were about to torture him. When he cried for help, he found that the person interrogating him was Geranzani. He said, “You heretic! Prepare to atone for your sins.”

Then he found himself standing on a pyre full of firewood.

Lando screamed and rolled off the bed, waking up.

He touched his forehead. It was covered in sweat.

“God!” he cried. “That was terrifying.”

“Master, are you alright?” Shrek poked his head in from the door.

“I’m fine!” Lando said. “Get me some water to wash my face.”

Lando received no breakfast in the dining room. The landlady just reminded him with a smile that he still had three months of arrears to pay.

Lando and Shrek, master and servant, had to wander the streets. Lando wanted to see if he could run into any acquaintances to scrounge a meal. If not, he would have to go to the Jesuit church for food.

A short black woman in cotton clothes suddenly approached him. Her appearance made him lose his appetite for breakfast.

“Mr. Lando! Mr. Lando!” she called out in Portuguese.

“What is it?” he looked at this black woman. She looked like she was a female slave of some rich person. Her appearance was different from the African slaves. Her eyes were yellow and slanted. Her appearance, by any era’s standards, could be called ugly.

“Please come over here,” the black female slave gestured for him to go to a Chinese tea stall on the side of the road.

“Sorry, I don’t have time,” Lando said casually. He couldn’t be bothered to talk to such an ugly woman.

“What if I have this?” The black female slave untied a money bag from her waist, and the silver coins made a pleasant clinking sound.

“Alright. I’m a man who can never refuse a woman.”

The black female slave ordered a pot of tea and seemed to want to say something to him. But his eyes were wandering, looking at what the Chinese stall owner was frying in the pot—he vaguely remembered that this thing could be eaten in Chinatown, and it seemed to be called youtiao.

The aroma from the fried youtiao made him distracted.

The black female slave glared at him helplessly, took out some Chinese copper coins, and asked the stall owner to bring some youtiao and shaobing.

Lando, with the reserved and arrogant attitude of a gentleman, picked up a shaobing, and like the other Chinese, folded the youtiao and rolled it up. He began to eat it in large bites.

“Get a portion for my servant too,” he instructed the stall owner in Chinese.

So Shrek also got a portion of shaobing and youtiao.

“I’d like to ask Mr. Lando, are you free recently?”