Chapter 13: Titanic

It was unbearably hot, so stifling that it felt as though he were lying inside an enormous steamer. Rows upon rows of strange, massive furnaces spewed crimson flames, and the air was thick with suffocating heat and the stench of coal gas.

Men in ragged, soot-blackened clothing shoveled coal into the furnaces. Others hurried by with wheelbarrows, moving coal in frantic haste.

Where the hell was this place?

Ma Jun wiped the sweat from his brow, his mind just as foggy as the air around him.

A giggle sounded—Xiaohua began her introduction.

“Current plane: Titanic. Energy spent on crossing: 1000 units.”

“Uncle’s identity: an excellent coal stoker.”

“Plane reputation: 0.”

This identity was miserable, even worse than being a random bystander in the world of Infernal Affairs! Trying to steal the spotlight in this position would be a real challenge.

Ma Jun couldn’t help but complain inwardly.

“But Uncle is Chinese, and on this plane, on the Titanic, what other role could you have?”

Come to think of it, this identity made perfect sense. It was the best arrangement the system could offer!

It was 1912; only months before, the Qing government had abdicated. Sun Yat-sen had barely tasted the presidency before being forced to hand it over to Yuan Shikai. Needless to say, the Chinese at this time, all over the world, were among the most downtrodden. Especially with the American government’s Chinese Exclusion Act in full swing, it was nearly impossible for a Chinese person to take a ship to New York.

It wasn’t until the 1940s, after Miss Song went to the United States to persuade them to support Chiang Kai-shek’s resistance against Japan, that the exclusion act was abolished.

Ma Jun didn’t know much about history—especially world history. After all, he was just an actor; how much history could he be expected to know?

But he had read a novel about traveling to the Titanic and had looked up some information at the time, so he understood a bit.

In short, throughout the modern era, the majority of Chinese people, at home or abroad, led lives of great hardship.

Ma Jun frowned, picked up the shovel at his feet, and reluctantly began to shovel coal. His body now had the conditioning of a basic special forces soldier, so the work was relatively easy for him.

As he worked, Ma Jun calculated his options.

There was no doubt—the Titanic would sink. If he could prevent the disaster, he might become the protagonist. But how could he possibly do that?

Many experts and enthusiasts in later generations had debated this very question. One widely trusted solution was that, upon spotting the iceberg with the naked eye, instead of turning the rudder, the ship should slow down and ram the iceberg head-on. That way, only the first two or three compartments would flood, and the ship would not sink; it could even continue on to New York.

However, many argued this wouldn’t work. The Titanic’s hull, rivets, and iron plating were of poor quality, and the cold seawater made the sulfur-added steel brittle, so the massive impact could have torn the ship apart.

Ma Jun himself preferred the head-on collision method, but that was easy to say with hindsight. If it failed, the consequences could be even worse than having the hull sliced open.

Moreover, as a lowly worker, even if he suggested such a thing, who would listen?

According to the original storyline, Ma Jun wasn’t worried; he was confident he could survive.

Since that issue was settled, he’d have to find another way to steal the spotlight.

“Hey, damned yellow monkey! If you slack off again, I’ll throw you into the furnace!” A surly overseer strutted over, cursing, and aimed a kick at Ma Jun’s ribs.

But Ma Jun, now with the reflexes of a modern special forces soldier, wasn’t about to be kicked so easily. In a flash, he stepped back, dropped his shovel, grabbed the man’s leg, yanked it to the left, and followed with a left hook.

At once, chaos erupted around them. The other workers, seeing the overseer suffer, grinned broadly. They might have looked down on Ma Jun’s skin color, but they all did the same back-breaking labor and felt a certain kinship.

Three blond men rushed over to help the overseer to his feet. The overseer, face twisted with anger, wiped the blood from his mouth.

Ma Jun fixed him with a half-smile and said, “Ah, terribly sorry, sir. I slipped. I hope you weren’t hurt?”

A man in a crew uniform leaned over the iron bridge above. “Captain says full steam ahead! Are you boys throwing a dance party down there?”

“Let’s get to work!” Ma Jun shouted in English. He turned, slipped a gold ring into the overseer’s hand, and whispered, “Sir, a beautiful lady asked me to deliver this to you before boarding. The air here is foul—why don’t you take a break?”

Gold glinted in the overseer’s eyes as he grinned, his rage melting away. He clapped Ma Jun on the shoulder. “Work hard, and try not to slip again!” With that, he wandered off.

Ma Jun watched the overseer’s retreating figure and smirked inwardly. See? That’s always how these Westerners are—if there’s profit to be had, anyone can be a friend!

He was here to steal the show, not to tangle with overseers. When the ship sank, all these lower-deck men would be meeting their maker anyway.

After half an hour of work, Ma Jun was drenched to the skin, as if he’d just emerged from the sea, sticky and reeking.

These boilers powered the steam engines and required a constant supply of coal, with many workers rotating shifts to keep up.

Ma Jun paused for a rest, then walked over to the overseer and said with a smile, “Sir, I’m going to get a drink of water.”

The overseer waved him off impatiently. “Make it quick!”

As Ma Jun walked off, he gave the overseer the finger behind his back. Go on, die for all I care!

He did want a drink, but that wasn’t his only purpose.

The lower decks were filled almost entirely with crew, all busy with their own duties. Ma Jun’s casual wandering drew no attention. He strolled along, glancing around, and quietly slipped up the stairs and vanished from sight.

Hidden in a stairwell corner, Ma Jun quickly stripped off his filthy clothes. He had arrived in a hotel room, dressed in jeans and a shirt, but now they were grimy. From his storage ring he fetched a clean T-shirt, wiped himself down, washed his face with bottled water, and changed into a suit.

Undoubtedly, even third-class cabins on the Titanic far surpassed those of ordinary ships, but the people in third class were still mostly the lower classes.

So when a well-dressed Asian man appeared, people glanced at him curiously but didn’t cause trouble.

Ma Jun wandered from cabin to cabin until he spotted a familiar face—Jack Dawson, or as most would know him, Leonardo DiCaprio!