After a moment, a gentle and delicate female voice came from outside the cabin: “Please ask Master Cooper to inform Magistrate Foster and Master Brooks, Grace Bennett is stopping her boat here for ten days to perform and seek donations, which she publicly promised. Today is only the eighth day, so ending it early today isn’t such a big deal, but as a woman of humble status, I do not wish to break my promise lightly. I hope Magistrate Foster and Master Brooks can be understanding. If either of you are interested, Grace Bennett is preparing wine in the boat and would be happy to host you, or you may wait until Grace Bennett fulfills her ten-day promise, and then I will come ashore to apologize to you both… Grace Bennett has written a note, please ask Master Cooper to deliver it to the two gentlemen.” With these words, she declined the request completely, leaving no room for argument.

The tomb-guarding officials stationed in Jiangning and the group of scholars from the Xixi Academy, though lacking real power, were truly sharp-tongued and outspoken. All officials, high and low, in the court and beyond, feared giving them any ammunition. Edward Sullivan thought, the Prefect of Weiyang, William Brooks, had come to Baisha County to inspect the disaster situation; he absolutely could not stay in Baisha for three extra days just to see a courtesan, nor could he possibly board the boat to meet her.

“Then I’ll go back and report to Magistrate Foster…”

Hearing the footsteps at the bow, Edward Sullivan thought that George Cooper had wisely decided to withdraw. After a while, he heard Grace Bennett outside asking Matthew Harris, “Brother Matthew Harris, how is Young Master Sullivan’s recovery? Should we ask the doctor to prescribe a couple more doses of medicine?”

Hearing this voice, a beautiful and charming face appeared in Edward Sullivan’s mind. At fourteen, Grace Bennett had already gained a reputation for her beauty when she opened a performance hall in Jizi Alley, Jiangning. Now, not yet nineteen, her fame had spread far and wide. He thought, if this were the modern world, a girl her age would still be innocent, enjoying the love of her family and boyfriend. Yet here was Grace Bennett, struggling among the powerful, barely managing to remain untainted amidst the mud.

But being untainted now doesn’t mean she’ll remain so forever. It’s like a piece of meat eyed by a pack of wolves—just because it’s safe for the moment doesn’t mean it can change its fate.

Edward Sullivan calmly considered Grace Bennett’s situation, increasingly certain that he only retained the body’s memories and no longer felt that feverish infatuation for her. He thought, his previous self really had been blinded by passion. Even if he passed the provincial exam and became a juren, his situation in the Sullivan family would only improve slightly; as a collateral branch member, at best he could become a low-ranking local official. In Jianye, there were countless high officials, scholars, and poets who admired and coveted Grace Bennett. Even Charles Parker, who had invited Grace Bennett to Weiyang this time, wasn’t considered a major figure among them. What right did he, Edward Sullivan, have to win the favor of the famed Grace Bennett? Besides, Grace Bennett clearly favored Andrew Brooks, the top scorer in this year’s provincial exam, and they likely already had an understanding in private. She had no thoughts to spare for him, Edward Sullivan.

Perhaps for Grace Bennett, if Andrew Brooks went to the capital next year for the metropolitan exam and still remembered her, marrying her as a concubine and creating a legendary romance between scholar and courtesan would already be her best possible fate.

Since Edward Sullivan no longer harbored infatuation for Grace Bennett, he could see clearly that he shouldn’t get involved with such a woman. Whether he was Edward Sullivan or Brian Carter, he had been given a second chance at life and couldn’t waste it. Edward Sullivan resolved to leave Baisha County the next day and carefully plan his future.

Although he retained the body’s memories, this world still felt distant and unfamiliar to Edward Sullivan, as if separated by a veil. Even in a strange world, he had to struggle hard; he couldn’t live as weak and muddled as Edward Sullivan had, nor could he be like Brian Carter, struggling at the bottom with no power to resist.

Volume One: Pirates of Mountains and Seas

Chapter Three: The Guest Does Not Know He Is No Longer the Same

“Edward Sullivan young master.” The servant in green pushed open the cabin door, carrying a bowl of medicinal soup. “You should take your medicine. The boatman will soon finish cooking the porridge. Miss Bennett also sent over half a black-bone chicken for your nourishment. I had the boatman cook it together with the porridge. After you eat, you should rest well and stop sitting up all night. You barely escaped with your life—if you go back looking even thinner, the Seventh Madam will surely blame me for not taking good care of you…”

The cabin windows were tightly shut, and the air was thick with the smell of medicine.

Hearing his attendant Matthew Harris call out, Edward Sullivan shivered. He thought to himself, yes, there’s no point in wondering whether he was Edward Sullivan or Brian Carter anymore. No matter how unwilling he was, in this world he could only live as Edward Sullivan.

He instinctively took the medicine bowl, drank it all in one go, then took a sip of tea to wash away the bitterness. Only then did he glance at Matthew Harris and say, “I understand…”

Outside, dusk was deepening. The cabin doors and windows were still tightly closed, and the light was dim. Matthew Harris took out a candlestick, muttering softly as he lit it before leaving.

From the neighboring boat came the lingering sound of a zither. There was still some time before tonight’s performance, but Grace Bennett was already tuning her instrument in the painted boat.

Edward Sullivan had no time to listen. There was a sword hanging in the cabin, usually just for decoration. He took it down, pressed the catch at the mouth of the scabbard, and with a “tang,” the sword sprang out. In the flickering candlelight, he examined it closely: it was an ordinary sword, the edge not particularly sharp, and there was no blood groove.