This outfit and the appearance of this boat made Brian Carter a bit puzzled. What era is this, and yet there are still people rowing such small boats out to sea, even bare-chested? If this were before the Liberation, it might make sense, but nowadays, this kind of fishing method has long disappeared—at least in the places Brian Carter has been to. Could it be that he’s ended up in Africa? Brian Carter started to regret it; what if these people were Somali pirates? Maybe it would have been better to swim to that island himself, even if it was more work. If he ended up getting killed by them out here in the ocean, that would be such an injustice.

The people on the boat had clearly spotted Brian Carter as well. One of them was pointing in his direction, and the man rowing at the back obviously sped up. The person standing at the front grabbed a rope to adjust the sail, and the little boat headed straight toward Brian Carter.

“Southeast Asia?” When the boat was still about a hundred meters away, Brian Carter felt a little bit relieved. He could see clearly now—the people on the boat weren’t black, but they weren’t white either. They were short, looking somewhat like Southeast Asians. But he was still uneasy; Southeast Asians weren’t necessarily trustworthy either. The area around the Strait of Malacca was notorious for pirates. Local fishermen were fishermen when they found a school of fish, but if they came across a lone tourist, they might just turn into pirates.

“Hey... kid! ％￥＆＆*％￥？” As the boat was about to reach Brian Carter, the man rowing stopped, the sail was lowered, and the elderly man with graying hair and beard standing at the bow shouted at Brian Carter. That shout made Brian Carter feel a bit more at ease. Although he didn’t fully understand what was said, he could at least tell it was Chinese, sounding a bit like Minnan dialect.

“My name is Brian Carter... the boat capsized, I’m the only one left...” Still, Brian Carter wasn’t completely reassured. The two men’s outfits were just too odd—not only were they bare-chested, but their pants looked rough and thick, and instead of a belt, they wore a cloth sash around their waists, giving off a very old-fashioned vibe. Who was Brian Carter? He’d already traveled through time twice; if this was another time travel, it would be his third time, and he was full of tricks. Before figuring out what kind of situation he was in, it was best not to reveal his identity. Otherwise, he’d have no room to make up stories later.

“Hold on... hold on!” The two men on the boat didn’t immediately pull Brian Carter aboard, nor did they let the boat get too close to him. Instead, they huddled together and muttered a few words, then the old man raised the sail again, and the middle-aged man at the back tossed a rope from the boat, signaling for Brian Carter to grab it, and started rowing again.

Now Brian Carter was truly relieved, because he saw caution and vigilance in the eyes of the man rowing. Turns out it wasn’t just him who was wary—the other side didn’t fully trust him either. That was good; at least it meant they weren’t pirates. Brian Carter also noticed something else: they clearly had no intention of letting him on the boat, just gave him a rope to hold onto, and then the boat continued moving, dragging Brian Carter toward the island like a dead dog.

Chapter Two: The Tanka People

Brian Carter had originally wanted to chat with the man rowing at the stern, but every time he opened his mouth, he got a mouthful of seawater. After several tries, he gave up. He decided to just play dead for now and deal with things once ashore. Although these two had saved him, Brian Carter decided to make them suffer a bit, since they’d been so rude to him.

The island soon came into full view. It was tiny, less than 200 meters across, and covered entirely in rocks. Calling it an island was a stretch—it was really just a cluster of reefs sticking out of the sea, with not a single building on it. “Barren” was the perfect word. The boat wasn’t heading for the island, just passing by it. At this point, Brian Carter could vaguely see what looked like a stretch of mainland ahead, and there were a few more small boats of similar appearance on the water.

As they got closer to the mainland, Brian Carter felt colder and colder, his teeth starting to chatter. The boat dragged him for nearly ten kilometers. Luckily, there were no schools of swordfish or sharks here, or by the time they reached shore, there might not have been anything left of him on the rope. He wasn’t just cold on the outside—he was cold inside, too. Why? Because the number of small boats increased, and no matter their size, they all had one thing in common: they were all shabby and had no mechanical power at all. They were either sailboats or had oars at the back for rowing. The people on board were dressed as shabbily as their boats—one word: ragged! Patches were the norm, and it wasn’t uncommon to see patches on top of patches.

Brian Carter was good at analyzing things, but no matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out where in China there could be a coastal village in such a state. If there were, it would have to be a nationally famous tourist spot, but after years in the tourism business, he’d never heard of such a place. If there wasn’t, but they were speaking Chinese, what did that mean? It could only mean one thing: the era was different. In other words, Brian Carter was ninety-nine percent sure he’d traveled through time again. As for what era he’d landed in, he couldn’t say for sure. Judging by the lack of motorboats, it should be before the Liberation, but not the Qing dynasty, since neither of the two men had queues. But both had long hair, so it probably wasn’t the Republic era either. So, the Ming dynasty or even earlier was most likely.