Chapter 17: Attending the Meeting Alone

The next morning, Ma Jun awoke to the sound of the little alarm clock. It was still very early; the entire ship was shrouded in silence. He hurriedly slipped out of his room and ran up to the deck. Making sure no one was about, he took a bottle of mineral water from his spatial ring to wash up.

On this ship, Ma Jun was an unregistered passenger. If he didn't want to mingle with the laborers in the lower decks, he could only move about like a fugitive. Fortunately, Mr. Jack was hospitable enough to let Ma Jun eat and drink at his table without charge.

After breakfast, Ma Jun told Jack that the danger had passed, and he could now freely enjoy the scenery on deck.

Night soon returned. Ma Jun dressed carefully, ready for the evening banquet.

Even by today's standards, the decor aboard the Titanic could only be described as extravagant. The first-class dining saloon spanned three stories, with enormous oak panels and gilded railings lining a grand staircase that climbed all the way to the boat deck. Overhead, a glass dome supported by wrought iron bathed the stairwell in natural light. At the top of the stairs, a clock was set into the wall, flanked by allegorical figures symbolizing nobility and honor.

The wealthy gentlemen, dressed to the nines, led their wives or mistresses into the hall for dinner. They laughed and chatted as if they were old friends reunited after many years.

Ma Jun stood alone, the cut of his suit marking him as different. Nevertheless, he strode forward confidently, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The eyes of everyone present turned to him, some openly, some with feigned indifference—they had already heard there would be a duel at tonight’s banquet, and the appearance of an Asian man only added to their curiosity.

At this time, there were no public smoking bans, so Ma Jun smoked freely, a smile on his face as he surveyed the lively crowd.

Descending the final steps into the dining saloon, he was greeted by the sound of violins. The old-money elites loved their ceremony; even a meal required music, as if these trappings alone could distinguish them from the poor.

Every gentleman was impeccably groomed, hair slicked back, most escorting a lady, dressed in flamboyant evening gowns. Many women revealed ample pale bosoms, though none, Ma Jun thought, could compare to Rose’s.

He felt a flicker of nervousness facing the crowd, but after steadying his breath, he approached with enthusiasm, as though he were reuniting with long-lost friends.

"Good evening, Lady Rossis, you look so much younger tonight. It's an honor to see you here!"

"Mr. Astor, delighted to meet you! And Miss Madeleine Astor, you are stunning this evening. Mr. Astor's taste is, as always, impeccable—do take care of your health!"

"Oh, Mr. Guggenheim, you’re looking well. And Mrs. Aubert, your complexion is positively glowing tonight."

Mr. Astor was the wealthiest man in America; his young wife was pregnant, though they seemed to be keeping it quiet. Guggenheim and Mrs. Aubert were, as gossip had it, patron and mistress—a secret known only to those in high society.

Ma Jun greeted them all with practiced familiarity, and after making his rounds, every eye in the room was fixed on him—some with curiosity, some with ridicule, others with open dislike. Yet not a single person stepped forward to put him in his place, for Ma Jun had revealed gossip only known to the upper echelons.

Carl, now more intrigued and wary than ever, forced a smile as he approached. Pointing at Ma Jun, he introduced him to the crowd, "This gentleman is—"

"Mr. Ma," Ma Jun interjected with a smile.

"Oh, yes—Mr. Marl. He was the first witness to last night’s incident. At my invitation, he has agreed to a duel exhibition with my bodyguard. Please, everyone, make him welcome!"

Not a single person applauded. These Westerners had no intention of giving Ma Jun face.

Ruth’s mother, Mrs. Buck, red-eyed, shot Ma Jun a hateful glare. Whether it was for her lost daughter or her ruined prospects, Ma Jun couldn’t tell. She said nothing, only clung to Carl’s arm.

"Well, let’s begin the banquet!" Carl smiled at Ma Jun, pointing across the hall. "Mr. Marl, your seat is over there. When we’ve finished, you may duel with Lovejoy."

Ma Jun shrugged and snorted, but let it pass. He’d claimed to be a wealthy man’s bodyguard, which excused him from dining with the upper crust—a reasonable pretense, as Lovejoy wouldn’t eat with Carl either.

He made his way to the designated spot, where the serving staff hustled around, paying him no heed. Left alone, Ma Jun grabbed some food from the laden table to fill his stomach.

"These pastries are actually quite good," Ma Jun thought optimistically.

He waited for an hour and a half while the wealthy guests dined in leisure. By the time they finished, most of the tables had been cleared, leaving a large open space in the center, ringed with chairs for the audience of millionaires.

Lovejoy had already removed his jacket, standing in shirtsleeves, eyes locked on Ma Jun like a predator.

Ma Jun, still in his suit, slowly entered the ring, overhearing whispers from the crowd about the Asian challenger.

They did not believe that the famously frail yellow race could stand up to a white man in combat, even though Ma Jun’s physique was anything but slight—in fact, he was taller than Lovejoy, who stood around six foot one.

Standing before Lovejoy, Ma Jun swept his gaze around the room, cursing inwardly. These Westerners had turned this into a gladiator’s arena—many were already placing bets.

Lovejoy sneered, "If you beg for mercy, I’ll stop."

"Really?" Ma Jun replied with a brilliant smile. "That’s very generous of you."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Carl announced, "the rules of our duel are simple: bare-knuckle fighting, no limitations, until one party yields! The duel begins now!"

"Come on, you first," Lovejoy said, crouching and beckoning with disdain.

A modern special forces operative against an old-world bodyguard—who would prevail? This was no world of vampires or werewolves.

Ma Jun rolled his neck nonchalantly, then suddenly burst into motion. He feinted a left hook, kicked hard with his left foot, grabbed Lovejoy’s arms, slipped behind him, and slammed him to the floor, knee driving hard into his back.

A complete knockout.

Had Lovejoy not underestimated him, Ma Jun might not have subdued him so easily. Yet in battle, only the result matters. Lovejoy’s face turned purple as he struggled, enduring the searing pain in his chest and stomach.

"Oh damn it, my ten thousand dollars!"

"Was that cheating?"

The audience’s faces darkened, especially Carl’s—he glared at Ma Jun as if mourning his own mother, then stood and applauded perfunctorily, a forced smile on his lips. "Well, it seems Mr. Marl is the winner. Now, could you honor us with the name of your employer?"