Chapter 56: The Unhappy Jima
Why doesn’t the flower boat dock at the pier? Why do we have to take a boat to the flower boat? Isn’t that troublesome?
Jima silently complained about these three questions in her heart.
The dilapidated boat under her feet kept leaking, while the boatman chuckled foolishly and bent down with a wooden bucket to scoop up water, tossing it onto the river’s surface. He tossed water once, paddled the small boat once, and slowly moved towards the flower boat.
Nearby, elegant white sailboats glided past their shabby skiff. The waves they stirred caused the boat to sway left and right, the accumulated water at the bottom sloshing continually.
As Jima tried to maintain her balance, she also struggled not to let the water soak her boots.
“Miss, be careful not to fall into the water!” The boatman’s voice had barely faded when a large boat approached, causing the small boat to rock violently.
Distracted, Jima lost her focus and accidentally stepped into the accumulated water. The murky water soaked through her leather boots, the black fabric clinging to her ankles.
Furious, she abruptly raised her head, searching for the culprit.
The boatman who had distracted her gave her a thick-faced grin and a flash of white teeth. Jima found it hard to be angry, as he wasn’t the real culprit.
“Good morning, noble Sir Bartok.” A sturdy voice came from ahead.
Jima looked up and saw the pleased face of Ston, with his thick neck, leaning against the railing of the large boat with a group of elegantly dressed youths, watching them with malicious glee.
These noble children pointed and gawked at them as if they were rare animals.
“Ston, is this the stupid knight you mentioned? He looks a bit sissy, not as strong as you.”
“Doesn’t understand outsiders from Sarin City.”
“Bartok’s horse can’t swim, otherwise he would surely ride it.”
“Honestly, his attendant is quite pretty.”
“Sigh, what kind of proper knight would bring a pretty girl as an attendant?”
They discussed among themselves as their voices gradually faded.
Damn, if I still had my strength, I’d send you all to the afterlife with a fireball.
Jima clenched her small fists and waved them around. Unfortunately, she couldn’t even muster a spark now.
She turned her head to look at the real culprit behind all this—George.
George stood firmly in the accumulated water, the wetness soaking the hem of his embroidered robe. He remained indifferent, his eyes focused on the flower boat.
“George, we’ve been bullied.” Jima said, “Think of a way to give them a beating.”
“I see false traces…” George seemed to be looking at something. He turned his head to Jima and asked, “What’s wrong, Jima?”
Jima suppressed her anger and pointed towards the departing boats, saying, “We’ve been provoked, and it’s by that big bully who only picks on goblins.”
“How are we being provoked?”
Jima explained the situation. George nodded, and Jima, feeling pleased, asked, “Are you going to teach them a lesson?”
But George shook his head, saying, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Just storm onto their boat and kick him in the rear, toss him into the water.”
Jima believed George’s profession must have some displacement ability.
George frowned and said, “That’s too inappropriate. We are guests, not hooligans. We have to maintain dignity and be polite.”
“Do you have any ideas then?”
“None, I’m thinking.”
“Can’t think of a way?”
George thought seriously for a moment and said, “Psychological preparation, treat it as if it didn’t happen.”
Jima felt a lump in her throat upon hearing this and only wanted to wail loudly.
Someone like a dead virgin, raised in the sacred domain where everyone is straightforward, how could he think of a way that’s both dignified and polite to slap someone in the face?
It would be better to just go straight for it.
She made one last desperate attempt and asked, “This isn’t a novel; who cares if the face-slap is reasonable or not? Just do it, boss.”
George had lived with Jima for some time and understood some of her strange word choices.
He curiously asked, “Is there a face-slapping novel?”
Jima remembered that the books in George’s room were either monster encyclopedias, religious texts, or very serious novels—the kind everyone had heard of and liked, but no one would actually read after buying.
“Just forget I said anything.”
The small boat continued to slowly crawl toward the flower boat. This leaky wreck stood out among the luxurious vessels like a fly on the backside of a white horse.
Under the sunshade of the flower boat, guests noticed the conspicuous small boat and began to gossip.
The wind carried their snippets of conversation to Jima’s ears.
“…Is this boat for transporting toilets?…”
“…Did they spend all their money on clothes?…”
“…Did they take a wrong turn?…”
Surprised and curious glances fell upon the shabby, ugly little boat.
Jima sighed, imagining herself pulling out an AK-47 from beneath her skirt and blasting away at the nobles on the flower boat, sending them tumbling, hats dropping into the water, ladies screaming, and gentlemen crawling away in panic.
Unfortunately, reality is cruel.
This flower boat for the event might be the most luxurious in Sarin City. Three stories high, with a deck nearly the size of a playground.
There was also a garden with green trees cultivated by alchemical soil, tall and lush, branches laden with orange fruit, all produced through alchemy.
Creating a garden using alchemy on the ground costs a fortune. Let alone moving it onto a boat, requiring both funding and technology.
Jima had been on this boat before and had heard it was created by the daughter of a great benefactor. The fruit was indeed sweet; the garden atmosphere was pleasant, and she had had some fun on the grass back then.
Returning to this place now, she felt no happiness. The pile of decayed wood she barely dared call a boat felt even more impoverished compared to the splendid flower boat.
This must be Lisi’s plan of humiliation. Fine, I remember you. One day, I’ll kill your whole family and scatter their ashes.
Jima gloomily noted this in her mind.
The guests’ gazes made it hard for her to bear. She turned to the boatman and asked, “Can we speed it up?”
“Hehehe.”
The boatman continued to smile toothily.
“Lisi picked a boatman with decent skills; he’s like a victim of a madman who failed to fulfill his medical responsibilities.”
“Hehehe.”
“Jima, mind your manners,” George said.
“Even a snail evolving legs would be faster than this boat.” Jima said, “If this boat can still go any slower, I could come up with a hundred metaphors complaining about how this boat should sink.”
At that moment, George reached out his hand to Jima.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hold my hand.”
Jima placed her small hand in George’s palm, which enveloped hers tightly.
“Hang on,” he said.
“If any parenting book says that when a little kid is restless, holding their hand tightly while looking into their eyes is the most effective encouragement,” Jima said, “You might as well consider selling that book because it’s nonsense.”
George said nothing, leaned closer to Jima, extended his other hand, and encircled her body beneath her armpit.
“Hey, even if parenting books say to hug a little kid to give them a sense of security, it’s not like this.” Jima felt her ears grow warm; the position felt a lot like the waltz she remembered.
“Boatman, hold steady.”
At that moment, George slightly bent his knees. “Jima, hold on tight?”
“What?—Ah!”
As soon as Jima’s words fell, she was lifted into the air. George leaped up, carried the girl, and jumped directly from the small boat.
The wind blew against Jima’s face as she looked down and saw the deck of the flower boat rushing towards them. A sudden memory of a day she jumped from a building made her fear of heights resurface, and she grasped George tightly.
The luxurious white deck of the flower boat quickly grew larger, crashing towards their legs.
George landed firmly, knees slightly bent, the deck beneath them making a protesting squeak. Jima’s toes barely grazed the deck, and George held her close, preventing her feet from bearing the impact.
Nearby, a gasp erupted from the guests who had been gathering at the railing, pointing at the small boat; they scattered in fright.
“He’s an extraordinary being!”
Someone even shouted, “They’re attacking the boat!”
“Who is it?”
A middle-aged man wearing gray chest armor, with a burn scar on his face, approached with a sword in one hand and followed by two heavily armed guards from the stairs.
The middle-aged man had a strong facial structure; the remaining eye shot sharp glances, exuding a stable aura. As he entered, the chaotic scene immediately calmed down.
Jima recognized him. He was one of the three pillars of Sarin City, named Chamberlain, responsible for managing the military power of Sarin City for the great benefactor. He was known for his loyalty and stability.
It was said that the scar on his face was left from facing a black dragon in his early years.
His strength was unknown; she hadn’t cared back then. Because for her then, he was just a little bigger than an ordinary fish.
When he saw George and Jima, he wasn’t armed and not wearing armor. He raised his hand to signal the guards to lower their weapons.
George set down Jima and took out the invitation, saying, “Sorry, I just wanted to board the boat more quickly.”
Chamberlain signaled the guards to go up and retrieve the invitation. He personally checked it, raising his only gray eye and asked:
“May I ask, who are you?”
“My master comes from Bartok and hopes to receive the goddess’s blessing,” Jima spoke up.
Chamberlain’s gaze first fell on Jima, his eyes filled with doubt.
“Apologies, due to his past slaughters, he’s cursed by the gods to only speak 140 words a day,” Jima said proudly, “So, I handle the daily conversations.”
“Hmm.” George nodded.
“I’m glad you could attend the banquet.”
Chamberlain said somewhat stiffly.
Because of George’s earlier behavior. The usually proud man chose to ignore George’s impolite action of boarding, “Sarin City really needs brave warriors like you. I have a challenge for you; it will surely bring you closer to the goddess’s blessing. If needed, you can come find me.”
“I’ll consider it.”
George said.
Chamberlain nodded and waved for the guards to disperse.
Around them, whispers began to rise. Jima quickly perked up her ears to eavesdrop.
“Who is he? Lord Chamberlain is really rarely polite.”
“Didn’t you see earlier? To jump from a hundred meters away and land on the boat, he must have silver-level strength, right?”
“Now the situation in Sarin City is really difficult, and Lord Chamberlain is so polite.”
Jima felt satisfied.
At that moment, Ston and his friends approached and ran into Jima and George. Ston blinked, ensuring he wasn’t mistaken.
“Faster than you!” Jima waved her little hand, leaving with George under the guidance of a male servant.
———
All along, the increase of foreign names has made reading Western fantasy more difficult, typical of “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” which is full of similar names. To avoid this problem, I’ve been using the traits of side characters to refer to them, trying to avoid Western fantasy names. However, some important side characters must have names. So now I’m experimenting with universal Chinese and Western names.
For example: Gawain, Fei Zhengqing, Li Mei, etc.
Actually, there’s another method, which is to highlight the character’s traits.
