【Titanic】True Love Lasts Forever

Episode2-met

At exactly eleven o'clock, the Titanic started its internal engines, and the official departure time was twelve o'clock... to be precise, eleven fifty-nine. In less than an hour, in fifty-nine minutes, more than fifteen hundred people would follow this dreamy ship towards the icy gates of death. Suddenly, I had the urge to hold Bruce Ismay at gunpoint, commanding him to stop this voyage. Heaven knows how I would manage to board a towering oil tanker in Tokyo and successfully infiltrate the first-class cabin, dragging out the CEO of the White Star Line from one of the three or four hundred rooms. Then, I would perform a hostage drama, compelling the highly anticipated first voyage to come to a halt on this grand stage.

If I were not a soul reincarnated as an orphan in the slums, but instead a super 007 or Spider-Man, I would surely begin strategizing. I turned around and walked through the busy crowd, Titanic gradually distancing itself behind me. The small sketch slid into the palm of my hand from my sleeve. Once again, I lifted it. The sky cleared up, turning into a deep blue. The clouds, previously gray and misty, formed clumps. The weak sunlight in the pale blue sky made the yellowed paper more fragile and worn. Jack's face, full of childishness, came to life in the rough charcoal lines. I always felt that Jack and Mary had a story.

Of course, no story compares to the upcoming Titanic voyage. He would meet the love of his life and then freeze to death in the Atlantic.

I have no idea why I couldn't find him in any of the bars. Perhaps the director's script destined this guy to play a role in this exciting story. And this has absolutely nothing to do with me. I don't have a boarding pass, not even thirty dollars for the fare, and I certainly won't meet the love of my life on board. With my index and middle fingers, I pinched the end of the sketch paper, raised it high, and let it go. This story has nothing to do with me.

At the last second before the paper slipped from my fingertips, someone behind me shouted, "Jack, wait for me..." My fingers tightened suddenly, and I caught the sketch flying in the air, gripping the boy's face firmly in my palm. I swiftly turned and ran toward the direction of the voice, shouting loudly, "Jack, Jack, Jack Dawson! Don't board the ship. Don't win that lucky ticket. Someone hopes you'll survive, and that woman who hopes you'll survive... damn it, I owe her a life."

I had never felt so urgently driven to complete this ghostly task representing redemption, giving my all to save the male lead of the Titanic because the woman had draped the only blanket over me, and I had to return it to her. She hoped that the talented Jack Dawson would live on, and I had to keep wandering through the harbor bars, making the greatest effort I could.

Who would stop me from shouting like a lunatic everywhere? My shoes were completely uncomfortable, and my toes rubbed against each other with each mad dash. I could almost smell that familiar rusty scent from my worn-out toes and the soles of my feet.

I pushed through the crowds of well-wishers, narrowly leaping between two brand-new vintage cars. The pier still had some stacked burlap bags of goods, and I took big steps, jumping on them and quickly leaping down in unstable situations. I heard the voice calling for Jack, but there were too many people. I couldn't find him at all; I could only desperately run in the approximate direction, hoping to collide with him at the last moment.

Was it that God threw me into early 20th-century England, originally destined for hell, just to come here and shout like this? The miracle was that I had to do it. My pace kept accelerating, and I could almost hear shouts from the soles of my feet. Each lift-off step felt like a leap. I suddenly felt genuine joy; in the midst of this intense sprint, I could feel the health and strength of those feet, and every bone representing standing and walking had the power to support all my extreme movements.

Even if I were poor with nothing, without nationality, my black hair turned golden, my face Westernized, not knowing where my next meal would come from, wearing a coat that seemed to belong to a corpse, and never seeing any family members again, I would be grateful for this rebirth because I once again had a pair of feet that could run and jump.

As long as I could run, jump, and spin, I could have everything.

I shouted fiercely, "Jack." God knows if that person was him. I saw a boy's side face from a distance that looked remarkably similar, and without hesitation, I rushed over.

Suddenly, several brand-new, magnificent cars with dazzling front ends came honking and stopped on the dock, just blocking my way. I had no time to linger here, not even time to take a detour. I lifted the hem of my coat forcefully and jumped onto the hood of one of the cars. The driver sitting at the back of the hood looked at me in astonishment, as if witnessing the collapse of something unimaginable.

The hood was smooth glass, and on the glass was a light brown wooden roof. I reached out, holding onto the body, and jumped onto the roof. The hidden power in my soft limbs was skillfully used. I stood directly on the roof and looked around. Below the car was still a busy crowd, as numerous as ants fleeing an earthquake.

I heard sharp whistles, chaotic conversations, footsteps, and the mechanical hum of wheels transporting goods, all merging into an indistinguishable cacophony. Titanic's chimneys emitted black smoke, and a seagull with gray wings and a white belly descended from the blue sky, landing next to the gangway high on the first-class ship.

Time passed second by second, getting closer and closer to eleven fifty-nine. My movements became rapid and rough, impatiently breathing lightly.

Suddenly, the door beneath the roof opened. I was ready to jump down, but my actions were too fast, causing a stumble. My body tilted forward as if it were about to fall. A door opened, and a gentleman's cane emerged, followed by a dark gray man's bowler hat. A man, annoyed by the disturbance, walked out, raising his voice to ask, "What's going on?"

Continuing, he finally raised his head. In an unstable posture, I intended to jump down from the car, and the two of us met face to face—one going up, one coming down. The first thing I noticed was the other person's eyes—transparent like glass beads, a common light-colored Western eye, with a slightly yellowish-brown tint. There seemed to be a lingering displeasure in them.

He was a young man, dressed in a proper gray striped three-piece suit with a white standing-collar shirt. Wearing reddish-brown leather gloves, he directly carried a gentleman's cane. One eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth tilted downward, expressing arrogance and impatience to the fullest.

I didn't have time to adjust my body to avoid this unexpected encounter. The annoyance on his face turned into surprise, and his body immediately leaned back to retreat. However, I had already fallen heavily from the car roof, crashing into his arms. The impact made us collide into a bundle. My face rubbed against the buttons on his suit, causing pain that left me a bit dizzy. The person I bumped into couldn't stabilize himself and was forced to fall with me. He took in a sharp breath, muttered something painful in his throat, and finally raised his voice in anger, exclaiming indistinctly, "Lovejoy, what the hell is this? What are you doing?"

I quickly propped up my body. The wide men's hat on my head fell off, revealing golden wavy curls that cascaded down like a waterfall. Thick strands of hair fell down onto his angry face. He was visibly stunned for a few seconds, his expression frozen. The long hair effectively shielded the complicated world outside, and we gazed at each other in silence.

Our breaths were close, and I effortlessly smelled a fragrance resembling perfume on him, likely a men's cologne. Unfortunately, it wasn't the type of scent I liked.

"Sir?" someone hastily called out, seemingly pushing through the crowd to approach us.

This voice immediately brought me back to reality, and the area where I was hit throbbed with a dull pain. I quickly raised my head to stand up, but my scalp suddenly ached. I winced in pain, and tears were on the verge of bursting. It seemed that a strand of hair had gotten caught in the silver watch chain in the inner pocket of the gentleman's suit jacket.

The man seemed to just come to his senses; he forcefully adjusted his downturned mouth, even managing to force out a smile. His expression carried an inexplicable anger, devoid of any courtesy toward a lady. He was just a step away from uttering an unpleasant profanity.

Amidst the cacophony, I heard the ship crew shouting louder, "Passengers from the third class, please queue up over here." The whistle from the ship crew's mouth rang out again, urging the swift turning of the wheel of time as the destiny of the voyage was about to unfold.

I had no time to undo my hair. Grabbing a thin strand of hair, I forcefully pulled, causing it to break. Then, in the fierce and astonished gaze of the man, I awkwardly pushed him away. As I got up from him, my hand still held onto the part near his abdomen, borrowing a bit of strength. However, in the swift retraction, my hand got entangled with something. The servant following the man had already rushed over as I turned and ran.

I had no intention of getting entangled in trivial matters with these so-called upper-class people. I heard the man uttering annoyance, evidently not finding the collision as easy as he had expected. He said something to the attending servant, and then a few people started running towards me.

As I turned around, my hurried steps couldn't be halted. I leaped backward twice with a lightness that could preserve balance to the fullest. The man, assisted by a butler-like servant, stood up. He held his waist, eyes slightly rolling upward, mouth forming a disdainful curve, enduring the pain while still attempting to maintain an elegant appearance. He glanced in my direction for a moment, and for that second, I was sure he intended to rush over, press me into the sea, and have the colossal ship crush me.

I felt I shouldn't be this kind. This guy seemed like the arrogant, heartless type—another bandit without sympathy added to the multitude in society. Taking a deep breath, just as the attendants intending to drag me over collided with me, I shouted loudly at him, "Don't board the ship!" The words had just left my mouth, and I leaped forward, executing a clean and precise spin to evade those rushing towards me. I darted into the crowd, running beneath the white gangway, disappearing into the sea of people.

However, that man seemed somewhat familiar...