Endless Debt Chapter 726 - 208: Adapted from a True Event

The bright sunlight poured down from above the clouds, its warmth soothing the city ravaged by tides, like tranquility and beauty after a disaster, where green shoots grew once more beneath the charred black wood.

After three days of emergency repairs, Free Port had gradually restored order. However, on those chaotic streets, there were still many areas with stagnant water, and the floating corpses of numerous rats on the surface, resembling a swarm of black insects. The intense sun mixed with the stench of fish to form an unbearable odor of decay.

Mosquitoes and flies danced over the water’s surface, and large patches of fungus grew on the damp wooden planks, spreading like some kind of plague. Even people’s bodies were covered in similar sores, with the delicate branches of fungi swaying in the wind like hair.

Ewen withdrew his gaze from the porthole. With his blurred vision, he couldn’t see things that far away, but having experienced these situations many times in his youth in Free Port, Ewen could guess what was happening there just by thinking about it.

Once those dark waters touched the skin, large patches of rashes and sores would grow. They tormented Ewen for quite some time back then, and without enough money for medical treatment, he could only seek out some old ship doctors who used red-hot irons to heal his wounds.

Recalling it now, Ewen still felt a faint pain, able to smell the scent of scorched flesh.

"Ah..."

Ewen let out a gentle moan of distress. Compared to the pain in his memories, the physical agony he felt now was truly unbearable.

Joining the crazy battle among the Condensers with a mortal body was beyond foolish.

Ewen had lost count of how many times he had narrowly escaped Death God. It felt as if fate was teasing him; every time he thought he was doomed, a turning point would come in the dire straits, only for him to soon fall into a deeper abyss.

No... Rather than dancing with the Death God, it was more like a tango with Satan.

Ewen was tightly bound in bandages, with a plaster cast on his leg. Nurses constantly checked in on him to ensure he was still alive, and doctors frequently visited to inform him about his physical condition.

Bai Ou’s Injury of Bliss had deeply affected Ewen. Even after three days had passed, he still felt groggy, occasionally experiencing hallucinations and hearing things. He could barely remember what the doctors said, only knowing to take his medicine on time and cooperate with the nurse for infusions.

As he thought about this, Ewen glanced at the infusion bottle hanging on the IV rack. The clear bottle held a pale blue liquid, speckled with starlight.

From Ewen’s understanding of the Extraordinary World, he supposed it was some kind of Alchemy Potion. Bringing him back had taken a lot of effort from the people of the Sea.

Retracting his gaze, Ewen reached out, groping around before picking up a notebook and pen from the cabinet beside him.

His previous notebook had been destroyed in the battle with the Demon, but Ewen didn’t care much. Just as he once told Cinderella, truly important things don’t need a medium to be recorded; they remain buried in Ewen’s mind.

If something could be easily forgotten, it proved that it wasn’t important to Ewen at all.

Opening the notebook, Ewen spent his days in bed jotting down the events that had occurred on the Paradise. These served as his writing material, and organizing the story helped stimulate his mind, aiding in healing from the mental trauma of the Injury of Bliss.

His messy handwriting slowly filled the pages, and when he flipped to the middle of the notebook, two train tickets, one new and one old, were sandwiched there.

Ewen touched the old ticket, his eyes full of nostalgia. It was the only thing he had taken from that train thirty-three years ago, and it was the sole remaining evidence in this world of that train’s existence.

Flipping aside the old ticket, the new one was exposed. The information on it was sparse; there was no departure station, no destination, not even a boarding location—only a departure time that seemed to exist in the future.

Ewen noticed the time on the new ticket had changed. This did not surprise him. He had long noticed the ticket’s strange nature, with its time constantly shifting—sometimes far distant, sometimes near, so near that it was only minutes away from departure.

This was a mysterious ticket, destined to take Ewen to an unknown and enigmatic place.

Ewen had deceived Nolen. His fascination with everything about the Extraordinary World was solely to find this ticket and uncover the clues related to that train. Writing books was secondary; after all, Ewen’s investigation needed sufficient funds to sustain, thus he had squandered decades of his life and was nearing the end.

As he gently rubbed the ticket, Ewen felt waves of satisfaction, and even the faint pain in his mind seemed to be cured, disappearing without a trace.

Ewen gazed at the ticket as if enchanted, his mind utterly captivated.

"Cough, cough."

The coughing shattered the peculiar silence. Ewen, like a startled mouse under a cat’s watchful gaze, hastily closed his notebook and cast a cautious glance in the direction of the sound.

The door had been pushed halfway open, with Cinderella peeking in halfway, a look of confusion on her face as she stared at Ewen.

Cinderella asked, "Are you alright?"

"I... I’m fine, nothing serious."

Ewen swallowed, placing the notebook underneath his pillow, his gaze sweeping over Cinderella. She looked as if she was peeking out of a rabbit hole. Annoyed, he said, "Could you knock?"

Cinderella said, "I did knock, and for quite a while."

"Are you... overly absorbed in your fantasies?"

Cinderella attempted to describe Ewen as she saw him. "Is this a professional obsession?"

"Perhaps." Ewen gave a vague answer.

Cinderella asked again, "Do authors usually act like this?"

"I’m not really sure. In my private life, I’m quite a reclusive person. Apart from my editor, very few people maintain regular contact with me, let alone peers or colleagues."

Ewen felt a bit more relaxed; communicating with others helps him sort out his own thoughts.

To conceal his pursuit of the Extraordinary World, Ewen has virtually no friends. As the world knows, he’s an eccentric loner, with few able to understand his ideas.

"I occasionally do get lost in my fantasies."

"Go on."

Cinderella rummaged through the fruit basket on the bedside table and picked out an apple—which was originally meant for Ewen—and unceremoniously bit into it, the crisp sound echoing continuously.

"It’s...like a sense of immersion. I imagine myself as one of the characters in the story, thinking and acting from their perspective. When writing dialogues, I might even mimic the expressions of the role in the story."

Cinderella set aside the apple and imagined that scene: Ewen typing away at his typewriter, occasionally showing joy or sorrow, his expressions switching like a roulette. Those uninformed might mistakenly think he’s schizophrenic.

"Haha."

Cinderella found this amusing and laughed delightedly.

Seeing her demeanor, Ewen felt a bit bewildered. He couldn’t understand this girl. After experiencing the shock of Paradise, he nearly lost half his life and still found his head unbearably heavy; merely resting on a soft pillow would easily send him to sleep.

But Cinderella was different; her mentality was immensely strong, possibly due to the unique vitality of being young. Apart from a few nightmares in the early days, Injury of Bliss didn’t affect her much.

Under Ewen’s care, Cinderella wasn’t much physically injured, but the cold-water exposure recently caused her to catch a cold. Her voice was a bit raspy when speaking, always with a runny nose, turning the tip of her nose red from repeated tissue rubs. This reminded Ewen of the red-nosed reindeer on holiday posters.

Cinderella leaned closer, "What were you looking at just now?"

"Oh, nothing. Just some records, writing materials."

Ewen’s expression was extremely calm; as an author and a natural deceiver, lying came easily to Ewen.

"Writing materials?"

"Yes, about what we’ve experienced these days. I think this thrilling event could be turned into a book. I’m already planning it."

Ewen still held a pen in his hand, tapping its end riffedly as if dispelling boredom.

Lies are also a form of story.

Storytelling is Ewen’s forte, and Cinderella was instantly captivated by Ewen. After a moment’s thought, she exclaimed excitedly, "An adaptation of real events?"

"Yeah, an adaptation of real events."

"So that means I’ll appear in it too?"

This was Cinderella’s focus, as seen from her reaction. She eagerly anticipated being part of the story, hopping joyfully around Ewen’s hospital bed like a child, voicing all sorts of absurd requests.

Ewen couldn’t help but laugh along with Cinderella, unsure of what was so funny, but the atmosphere naturally engaged his emotions, making it impossible not to join her.

Suddenly, Cinderella asked, "What ending do I have?"

"I haven’t decided yet."

Ewen shook his head; crafting a story isn’t easy. He could only see a hazy blur.

Cinderella insisted, "Hmm...it must be a happy ending!"

"Of course, of course, it’s definitely a happy ending," Ewen said, "You see, we’ve both survived, right?"

"True."

Cinderella crossed her arms, pacing around, while Ewen wondered what she was up to, as she occasionally sneaked glances at him, like a thief ready to strike, taking a last look at the lamb she had her eyes on.

All of a sudden, Cinderella sat at the bedside and demanded, "I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"Why the name ’Crowned Blue Jay’?"

Ewen didn’t understand, "Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Why is your pen name ’Crowned Blue Jay’?"

Cinderella asked the question she had long been puzzled about.