“It looks like Master was just knocked unconscious by the shrapnel from the exploded cannon, but now there’s nothing serious.” A crew member who knew a bit of medicine—actually, he’d just worked as an assistant in a pharmacy for a year—put on an act, feeling the pulse and sizing up Henry Clark before coming to this uncertain conclusion.

Everyone crowded in the cabin couldn’t help but collectively roll their eyes, including Henry Clark himself, who wished he could kick this quack, who was even more shameless than the old military doctors in Guangzhou, right out the door. The middle-aged man who claimed to be Henry Clark’s father immediately turned livid, glancing sideways at the guy: “Then why doesn’t he recognize me?”

“Please don’t worry, sir, let me think, this…” The bumbling doctor twirled his mouse-like whiskers, his eyes darting around. At this moment, Henry Clark also realized a problem, and from their conversation just now, as well as their clothing and weapons, Henry Clark came to a conclusion: he was not in the twenty-first century, but in the Qing Dynasty—in other words, he was in the mid or late Qing period.

Moreover, the identity of this old man claiming to be his father was also highly suspicious. Just from the thick, callused hands, Henry Clark could be sure these were not the hands of someone who dealt with abacuses and account books. A sea merchant, a pirate, or maybe this guy was both a sea merchant and a part-time pirate—it was all possible.

He himself had survived countless hardships: the jungles of South America, the jungles of South Asia, the vast deserts of Africa, the barren Gobi, and the crisis-ridden Middle East. Relying on calmness and wit, he had escaped death time and again, only to stumble here—drowning naked in a tofu vat. And then, in a dramatic twist, he’d been transported to this era.

“My son, oh, poor thing, got hit on the head by that shrapnel and can’t even recognize his own father.” Seeing Henry Clark’s dazed silence, the middle-aged man couldn’t help but raise his hand to grasp Henry Clark’s, tears streaming down his face.

“Pa!” A crisp sound startled everyone in the room, including Henry Clark and the middle-aged man. It turned out to be a bald man in the crowd slapping his own head. Henry Clark couldn’t help but secretly click his tongue—was this guy a masochist or something?

“Boss—oh, no, sir, I think I know what’s going on.” The bald, burly young man, who looked a bit slow-witted, squeezed forward. There was a fierce and conspicuous scar on his shiny bald head, and sweat and blood streaked across his muscular body, giving him a wild, almost beastly aura. Yet, facing the middle-aged man, he put on a simple, ingratiating smile.

“If you’ve got something to say, spit it out!” the middle-aged man snapped impatiently. The guy scratched his head sheepishly: “Sir, last year when our Hai Lian Company went to Luzon, we ran into a fat foreign ship loaded with heavy cargo. When we boarded them, I got shot in the head. Luckily, thanks to your good fortune, I survived, but I was muddle-headed for months. Maybe Master is…”

Chapter 3 YD’s Profession: Pirate and Sea Merchant

“Pa!” A group of tough guys who dealt with death every day all slapped their thighs at once, and that quack doctor even jumped up in excitement: “Exactly, that’s it! Back when I worked at the pharmacy, the old doctor said that after a heavy blow to the head, a person might forget their past after waking up. I’m afraid that’s what happened to Master.”

Hmm, Henry Clark’s eyes lit up as well, and he almost slapped his own thigh to vent his inner joy. Brother Heaven’s Will had a sense of humor—after tossing him into this era, he even sent him a favor. As the saying goes, when the weather turns cold, someone brings you a blanket. This bald guy really was old Liang’s lucky star, bringing charcoal in the snow.

Judging by the old man’s genuine emotion, the body his soul now occupied must really be this guy’s son. Henry Clark quickly glanced around, making up his mind. Everything else could wait, but he had to acknowledge this father first—at least secure a long-term meal ticket on this ship.

“Wait, why do I feel like you look familiar…” Having made up his mind, Henry Clark lifted his eyelids and sized up the burly, middle-aged man in the dark-patterned silk robe before him. His gaze shifted from confusion to a look of growing doubt.

Hearing Henry Clark—this Master—finally speak, the previously noisy cabin instantly fell silent. Everyone’s attention was now focused on Henry Clark, who was brewing up his emotions.

“Father? Yes, I recognize you, you’re my father!” While the others whispered among themselves, Henry Clark suddenly regained his spirit, grasped the old man’s hand in return, and called out emotionally. “I even remember father’s name is William Clark.” Henry Clark remembered that before he fell into the sea, this silk-robed man who claimed to be his father had called himself William Clark. He suppressed his disgust and tried to make his expression and demeanor as close as possible to that of a child joyfully recognizing his parent.