Description
Upon awakening from a deep slumber, Monet realized that he had been transported to the world of The Titanic after the ship had sunk as a passenger. After being rescued, armed with the advantage of foreseeing events over a century ahead, he embarked on creating his own career.
"Is anyone alive? Please respond!"
A rough male voice yelled amidst the sound of sea breeze, jolting Monet from his slumber. However, as he took in the scene around him, he almost fainted again. He had fallen asleep in his small yet warm bedroom, but now he found himself immersed in cold seawater. How could this be? And why were there several other individuals nearby, wearing life jackets like himself, but clearly lifeless? Not far away, there was a lifeboat, and a man in sophisticated crew attire stood at the bow, the one who had likely awakened him.
Where... where was he? Could this be some sort of time travel?
However, it was evident that contemplating such matters was not the priority now. He couldn't stay submerged like this; he might perish. Perhaps the reason he had come here was that the original owner of this body had already perished.
Sighing, Monet shook away these jumbled thoughts and then shouted aloud, "Help! Can someone please help me?"
Upon hearing Monet's cry, a crew member immediately directed the sailors, "Quick, row over there, someone's still alive!"
The crew member rescued Monet onto the lifeboat, wrapping him in a blanket. He then inquired with concern, "Sir, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, thank you for saving me!" Monet replied with genuine gratitude. He truly meant those words, as he realized that if help hadn't arrived a bit sooner, he might have frozen to death.
"This is our duty. Alright, sir, take some rest, and we'll see if there are any other survivors left!" With that, the crew member returned to the helm.
After the crew member left, Monet intended to rest and regain his strength for a while. However, sleep was impossible in such circumstances. Just as he was drifting in and out of consciousness, a sudden commotion startled him awake. Opening his eyes, he saw that two more people had been rescued, both young girls. This was understandable; in such situations, gentlemen tended to give priority to women and children.
Yet, when he got a clear look at the face of one of the girls, Monet's mind was sent reeling. He almost fainted again. This girl... wasn't she Kate Winslet? But she should be nearing fifty by now, right? How could she still look so young? Could it be... could he have crossed into the world of "Titanic"?
Fortunately, Monet was an avid reader of online novels and had even authored a couple himself. As a result, he quickly adapted to this surreal situation. However, he couldn't help but feel frustrated by his current identity – an utterly ordinary, unknown British painter, or more accurately, an illustrator. The only fortuitous coincidence was that he shared the same name, Monet. Perhaps it was this detail that led him to occupy this body.
Amidst Monet's swirling thoughts, the other blonde girl turned to a crew member and asked, "Captain, where are we headed now?"
"Um, I'm not the captain. I'm Harold Lowe, a crew member. We're headed back to the gathering point for the lifeboats. But don't worry, we sent distress signals before we disembarked. I believe help will arrive soon to rescue us!" Harold reassured.
"I hope what you're saying is true!" Clearly, the recent harrowing disaster had shattered the blonde girl's composure.
At this moment, Monet couldn't help but interject, "Regardless, we're already incredibly lucky to have been rescued, don't you think?"
Glancing at the bodies floating on the water not far away, the blonde girl shivered slightly and then nodded, "You're right!"
Turning to Monet, she introduced herself, "Hello, I'm Wendy Howard. And you, sir?"
"Tony Monet!" Monet replied offhandedly.
"Are you perhaps the great French painter?" Wendy teased.
"Definitely not. He's probably in his seventies now, and I'm not even French; I'm British," Monet chuckled, though he sighed inwardly. When his parents named him, they had no clue there was a famous French painter with the same name.
Wendy then turned to Ruth and inquired, "Miss, what's your name?"
"Ruth Dawson!" Ruth replied concisely. It was evident she hadn't yet moved past Jack's death, and her use of the last name Dawson indicated she now saw herself as his wife.
As the group chatted, Harold suddenly pointed excitedly into the distance, exclaiming, "Look over there! The Carpathia is coming to rescue us!"
While the crew members on various lifeboats had all mentioned that ships would come to our aid upon receiving their distress signals, most people believed it was just comforting talk. Thus, when they saw the Carpathia slowly approaching from afar, they couldn't help but erupt into cheers!
On the deck of the Carpathia, Harold suggested, "Alright, sirs and ladies, you can go look for your relatives and friends now!"
Wendy immediately stood up and said, "Alright, I'll go look for my brother!"
Seeing that Monet and Ruth hadn't moved, Harold curiously asked, "Aren't you two planning to look for someone as well?"
Monet shook his head, responding, "I don't need to look, I was alone on the ship, with no relatives or friends to find."
Ruth, on the other hand, coldly said, "I don't need to search either, because I have no family left."
"Alright then, the three of you rest here for a while," Harold said before leaving.
Not long after, Wendy came back in tears. Ruth stepped forward and embraced her, asking, "What's wrong, dear?"
"My... my brother isn't on the ship. He might... he might be..." Wendy choked out.
Though Wendy didn't finish her sentence, both Ruth and Monet understood what she meant. However, at this moment, comforting her took precedence over anything else. So, Ruth consoled, "Darling, don't be so sad. Perhaps your brother will be rescued by another lifeboat shortly."
Wendy knew that Ruth was trying to console her, even if the hope seemed remote. But at present, even the most uncertain hope was better than complete despair. So, she didn't contradict her; instead, she continued to bury her emotions in Ruth's embrace.
"Ruth, what are you doing here?!" A weathered female voice called out from not far away. Soon, Monet saw an old woman walking briskly towards Ruth. Clearly, this was Ruth's mother, Mrs. Beckett.
"Mom, why did you come?" Ruth was visibly surprised by her mother's arrival. According to her original plan, she intended to change her name and leave the suffocating household, so she didn't want to seek out her mother and Carl. However, her mother managed to find her.
"Of course I had to come. Hurry, come back with me!" Mrs. Beckett's tone was resolute.
"No, I won't go back. I've already broken up with Carl. I don't want to return to that suffocating place!" Ruth's response was fervent.
Seeing Ruth's strong stance, Mrs. Beckett had to change her approach. With a sorrowful expression, she said, "Ruth, I'm not forcing you. You know our family's situation. If you don't marry Carl, how are we going to live in the future?"
Before her mother could finish speaking, Ruth interrupted, "I'll earn money to support you. I refuse to believe that without Carl, we won't survive!"
"How do you plan to earn money? What kind of work can you do? Do you know how much money we need to maintain our current lifestyle?" Mrs. Beckett questioned.
Her mother's probing questions caught Ruth off guard. She had never considered these things before, which wasn't entirely her fault. A noble young lady like her wouldn't have contemplated such matters. Moreover, she truly didn't know what kind of work she could do.
Nonetheless, even in the face of this, Ruth persisted with determination, "Even though I don't know what I can do right now, I believe that as long as I search, try, and put in effort, I can find a suitable job for myself. Maybe the income from that job won't sustain our current lifestyle, but I'll be happier than I am now!"
In response to Ruth's answer, Monet silently applauded her in his mind. Her words were indeed quite eloquent. Unfortunately, it seemed that, at least for now, she might not have the opportunity to execute this plan. As expected, Mrs. Beckett snorted coldly, "To be honest, Ruth, I almost wish you could experience some hardships in the real world. Then you would realize how naive your current thoughts are. But it's a shame. Even if I were willing to give you this chance, Carl wouldn't. Do you know where the Capacia is headed? Let me tell you—it's New York. And Carl happens to be an American, a wealthy one at that. His influence there is beyond your imagination. So, as his wife, you won't have such an opportunity. And if you don't believe me, see if you can disembark from this ship!" With that, Mrs. Beckett turned and left.
After Mrs. Beckett departed, Ruth slumped into a chair. She knew that her mother hadn't lied. Someone as wealthy as Carl, not to mention in the underdeveloped America (or, as viewed by European nobles at the time, the United States in such a state), held privileges unimaginable even in a legally sound country like England. What was she going to do in the future? Did she really have to live in that suffocating environment for the rest of her life? But then, what meaning did Jack's sacrifice for her opportunities hold?
As Ruth's mind was consumed by scattered thoughts, Monet leaned in and whispered, "Miss Beckett, you don't have to be so pessimistic. While Mr. Carl does possess significant power, it's not to the extent of controlling everything. So, for now, it might be best to feign compliance. Once you reach New York, you can seize an opportunity to escape. Remember, we're still on the ship. As long as Mr. Carl has someone guarding the gangway, you won't have a chance to escape. But in New York, with him being spread thin, you'll have more freedom."
Listening to Monet's words, a glimmer returned to Ruth's eyes. Yes, currently she might not have a chance, but once in New York, she would surely have an opportunity. Then, she could figure out how to obtain a ticket back to London. She thought, "I refuse to believe that even in London, I won't have any options left!"
"Thank you, Mr. Monet. I know what I should do now!" Ruth expressed her gratitude.
In just a few minutes, two capable-looking young men and women approached. They addressed Ruth, "Miss Beckett, greetings. Mr. Carl has sent us to take care of you. Please come with us to the second-class cabin for lunch."
Initially, the two were prepared for Ruth's refusal and had even planned how to elegantly escort her back forcibly. To their surprise, Ruth stood up, adjusted her hair slightly, and with a dignified air, said, "Lead the way."
This caught the pair off guard. Why had she suddenly become so cooperative? While they were still taken aback, Ruth chided them slightly annoyed, "What are you staring at?"
It was only then that the two realized their behavior, and they gestured with a bow, "Uh, of course, please follow us!"
Before leaving, Ruth nodded slightly in acknowledgment to Monet. Then, she followed the two and departed.
"In any case, Miss Beckett still has her mother and fiancé. She can choose to return and endure a wealthy but suffocating life, or to live in freedom but in poverty. Meanwhile, we have nothing, and we don't even have a choice!" Watching Ruth's retreating figure, Wendy sighed softly.
"Just a moment ago, Miss Beckett said something really insightful. If one is willing to search, try, and put in effort, they'll surely find a job suitable for them and their happiness," Monet advised. After a brief hesitation, he continued, "And if my guess is correct, there might soon be a sum of money coming our way—sort of an insurance or, bluntly put, hush money that will allow us to temporarily establish ourselves in New York!"
"Hush money? What does that mean?" Wendy asked, puzzled.
"Howard Miss, you might not usually pay much attention to current affairs. A disaster as significant as the Titanic's sinking, causing such a loss of life, will undoubtedly attract massive public attention. And they won't be able to conceal the truth. So, the White Star Line, which the Titanic belongs to, along with the backing of the Morgan Group, will likely try to manage public opinion. Their first step would be to bribe us survivors. And the most direct means of bribery would be to give us money!" Monet explained.
Actually, Monet's words weren't baseless. In reality, the White Star Line did something similar at the time. The actual situation wasn't as orderly and gentlemanly as portrayed in the movies.
The registration clerk, without even lifting their head, jotted down the names of the two individuals, Mr. Tony Monet and Miss Wendy Howard. It wasn't that the clerk was negligent; they couldn't verify Monet and Wendy's information for two reasons. First, this was the Capasia Line, not the Titanic, so the clerk didn't have their details. Second, the survivors of the Titanic couldn't be impersonated; they were rescued from the sea. No impostor had the opportunity or capability for such deceit. Of course, time travelers like Monet were beyond the clerk's imagination.
After noting down their basic information, the clerk handed one of the forms to them and said, "Take this form to room 305 in the back."
"What are we going there for?" Wendy asked in confusion.
Monet pulled her aside and whispered, "It's probably what I mentioned earlier, the hush money and confidentiality agreement."
As it turned out, Monet's guess was correct. Upon arriving at room 305, the staff inside asked them to sign a confidentiality agreement. The content was mainly about not disclosing the details of the shipwreck to anyone. If they agreed to sign, they would receive a $300 insurance payment.
Both of them, well-prepared for this, didn't hesitate to sign the confidentiality agreement and then left the ship with the money.
On their way, Monet whispered to Wendy, "Remember to hide the money well. I suspect it won't be long before word gets out in New York that each survivor has a sum of cash. New York's safety isn't comparable to Paris or London, especially for a young, single lady like you. So, be cautious."
Monet wasn't trying to frighten Wendy intentionally. In fact, not only in 1912 but even in 2020, there were certain neighborhoods in New York that weren't suitable for young women to venture into alone. Even men should avoid going out alone at night, as it was easy to become a victim of robbery or other forms of violence.
"Well, what do we do now?" Wendy asked Monet, her voice trembling with anxiety.
"The first step is to find a safe place to stay, and then we can consider looking for work," Monet replied solemnly.
Wendy pondered for a moment, then seemed to make a decision and softly asked Monet, "Mr. Monet, could I ask you for a favor?"
"Sure, go ahead," Monet replied casually.
"Could we rent a place together? I mean, separate rooms, of course. You see, I'm all alone now. My brother is gone, and in the whole of New York, you're the person I'm most familiar with, so..."
Monet had already anticipated this, so before Wendy could finish speaking, he agreed, "As long as you trust me, we can do that!"
Wendy nodded repeatedly and said, "Of course, I trust you. We were both rescued from the same ship, and you know so much, like the hush money just now. So, I believe you must have been a very important person!"
"What important person would dress like me?" Monet quipped, making a jest of himself.
Although they were speaking English, for Tony Monet, who was unfamiliar with the city, it wasn't clear where to find a suitable house. Moreover, being newcomers, both he and Wendy were at risk of being overcharged.
After pondering for a moment, Tony took Wendy's hand and headed towards a nearby church. Wendy, puzzled, asked, "Mr. Monet, weren't we looking for a house? Why are we going to a church?"
First, Tony shared his concerns, then he explained, "Relatively speaking, priests in churches are more likely to be kind-hearted, so let's inquire there about the current rental prices in New York and where we can find reliable accommodations."
"You're right. As servants of God, they shouldn't deceive us!" Wendy exclaimed, understanding.
Tony shook his head, saying, "It's not a guarantee, so we should ask multiple churches, compare their information, and then decide where to rent. By the way, since we'll be living together, you don't have to call me Mr. Monet anymore; you can call me Tony!"
"Alright, then Tony, you can call me Wendy!" Wendy agreed with a nod.
Entering the church, Tony and Wendy began with a silent prayer. They waited until there was no one near the priest and approached him, introducing themselves, "Hello, Father. We are survivors of the Titanic!" They also showed him a newspaper with the front-page headline about the Titanic disaster. (They completed the disembarkation process two days after reaching the shore, so the incident was already being reported in the outside world.)
"I've heard about this. It's truly a disaster. I was just praying for the victims," the priest said sorrowfully.
"On behalf of all the victims, thank you. Oh, there's something else I'd like to ask for your help with."
"Go ahead, child. If it's something I can assist with, I'll do my best."
"Well, here's the thing. We've just arrived in New York, and we don't know anyone. We don't even have a place to stay. So, we wanted to ask you if you know of any safe and affordable accommodations," Tony explained.
The priest pondered for a moment and then replied, "I actually know of a place that's up for rent. It's not only in a safe neighborhood but also quite inexpensive. The only downside is that the house is a bit run-down."
"That's fine. We wouldn't be able to afford a perfect place anyway. Could you show us the place?" Tony quickly responded.
"I'm quite busy today, so I can't take you there personally. However, it's easy to find. I'll draw you a map, and when you get there, just tell them that Father Milton referred you. Aunt Mia, the landlady, will definitely offer you the lowest price!" The priest began to sketch out a map.
When they arrived at the location, Tony found that it indeed met his requirements. It was spacious with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. However, the house was quite dilapidated; there were even some leaks in the ceiling. But considering the information they had gathered from others on the way, this was already the most cost-effective option.
After some discussion, Tony and Wendy signed the rental contract with Landlady Aunt Mia. Next, they began contemplating what kind of work to seek in order to make a living. Tony's original profession in finance and accounting might work, even though the accounting systems were different here, and he didn't know manual bookkeeping. Moreover, he could explore his previous part-time jobs; it seemed that many time travelers followed a literary route. However, at this moment, a brilliant idea suddenly struck Tony's mind!
"The Editor-in-Chief is here to see you," the secretary reported to Russell, the Editor-in-Chief of the "New York Post," as he entered the office.
"Submission? Tell him to go find Evan and the others for submissions. Why come to me?" Russell responded impatiently.
"This person was recommended by Evan. He's special, and his manuscript is also quite unique," the secretary explained.
"Oh? How special is he?" Russell asked casually.
While handing over the manuscript, the secretary explained, "This Mr. Tony Monet is a survivor of the Titanic, and his story is precisely about the Titanic's sinking."
"Hmm? Weren't they all bound by confidentiality agreements not to reveal the details of the shipwreck? Why would this guy dare to write it as a novel?" Russell asked, puzzled.
After a moment of hesitation, the secretary replied, "I believe White Star Company won't have any objections to this novel. Just take a look and you'll understand."
Russell glanced at the secretary and then started reading the manuscript. Fortunately, the novel wasn't excessively long. With Russell's professional reviewing skills, he managed to read through it in about ten minutes. It was evident why the secretary believed White Star Company wouldn't have any objections – the novel perfectly aligned with the recent PR requirements. The shipwreck's causes were glossed over, and both the crew and the first-class passengers were portrayed as gentlemen, radiating positivity.
Excited, Russell turned to the secretary and said, "Quick, bring Mr. Monet in. I have something important to discuss with him."
Indeed, this submitter was Monet, and the novel he wrote essentially turned the Titanic into a narrative. He was confident that, riding on the wave of Titanic's popularity, publishing this novel shouldn't be difficult. As for choosing the "New York Post," he discovered that among the slightly larger newspapers, this paper had the most extensive whitewashing efforts, which was undoubtedly tied to White Star Company or financial considerations. So, why not submit his strongly positive novel here?
Hence, when he received the Editor-in-Chief's invitation, Monet unsurprisingly followed the secretary to the office. Russell warmly greeted him, "Mr. Monet, greetings. I just finished reading your masterpiece. It's exceptionally well-written and moving. We at the 'New York Post' have decided to publish this novel, and serialization will commence the day after tomorrow. However, I'd like to ramp up the publicity. We're arranging an interview with our reporters, and you won't have to worry about the content. We'll provide it to you. Is that acceptable?"
In fact, this was Russell's purpose for meeting Monet. Otherwise, if it were just about publishing a serialized novel, there would be no need for the Editor-in-Chief to personally get involved. As for the interview, despite his flattering words, Russell's aim was to have Monet, as a survivor, retell the story according to their requirements, thereby justifying the advertising fee paid by White Star Company.
Naturally, Monet wouldn't refuse this request, but before accepting, he asked, "Of course, that's no problem. But I'd like to inquire about the payment."
Before Monet could finish his sentence, Russell gestured expansively, "Five hundred dollars. How does that sound?"
"Alright, alright. Thank you, Mr. Editor-in-Chief!" Monet expressed his gratitude repeatedly.
"Mr. Monet, you seem to be in a good mood today after returning home!" Wendy asked curiously, observing Monet's spirited demeanor.
"It's because I made a big sum of money today. Come on, let's go out for a good meal!" Monet replied excitedly.
"Thank you so much, but could you teach me how to make money? I've been looking for a job these past few days and it seems only clothing factories are hiring women, but those jobs are too tiring. I just can't do it!" Wendy pleaded, her mind simultaneously formulating a daring idea.
"Well, I've only had some luck making money today. I haven't found a stable and well-paying job yet," Monet scratched his head and answered.
"Oh? So, how did you make money today?" Wendy asked, puzzled. At the same time, her daring idea gradually faded from her mind.
"It might be hard to believe, but I submitted a short story to a newspaper. Most likely, you'll be able to see this story in the 'New York Post' tomorrow or the day after," Monet explained.
"Oh my goodness! So, Tony, you're not just a painter, but also a writer!" Wendy exclaimed.
Monet waved his hand dismissively, saying, "I'm not really a writer. I just wrote about our experience during the disaster."
"Huh? Didn't we sign confidentiality agreements not to talk about what happened? How could you dare to write about it?" Wendy asked, puzzled.
"Because I didn't write the truth. I wrote what they wanted to see. The reason I chose to submit to the 'New York Post' is because it's clearly affiliated with White Star Company."
He then changed the topic, saying, "Of course, I didn't lie either. I just emphasized a love story and breezed over the parts White Star Company wouldn't like."
Wendy suddenly understood, saying, "Oh, I see. That's really clever of you!"
Monet humbly replied, "It's just a small trick. Come on, let's go out for a feast!"
The meal was enjoyed by both of them, but on their way back, Wendy suddenly stopped by the roadside, seemingly frozen in place. Just as Monet was about to ask if she was feeling unwell, he saw her hurriedly approach a lady with an elegant dog. Wendy pointed to the glossy-haired dog and asked, "Mrs. Tommy, is this, is this Bobby?"
Mrs. Tommy glanced at Wendy and warmly replied, "Oh, it's Wendy. I'm delighted to see you again. Yes, it's Bobby. It's surprising you remember him. Well, I have things to attend to. Let's chat another time." With that, she walked away.
However, Monet noticed that Wendy continued to stare fixedly at Mrs. Tommy's back, her expression peculiar. Curious, he asked, "Wendy, what's going on with you?"
"Bobby was also on the ship. Tell me, how did he survive?" Wendy asked coldly.
PS: In 1912, five hundred dollars were roughly equivalent to an average worker's yearly income, and they had to work over sixty hours a week.
Even though Wendy's words were simple, they instantly sent a chill through Monet's body, cooling him down from the heat brought on by the alcohol. Indeed, back then, they couldn't even save everyone, so how did this dog manage to survive? While dogs could swim, it was improbable for a dog to survive in such icy waters unless it was a sea dog. This meant the dog had occupied at least one spot on a lifeboat.
But this was going too far, wasn't it? In a life-and-death situation, saving a dog instead of a person? It lacked basic humanity!
Yet, Monet still had a question. He asked, "But I recall that the dogs were all kept in the kennels in the F Deck, right? Was there even time to go to the kennels and find her dog?" (Many people on the ship had pets, but they were kept in the F Deck.)
Wendy let out a cold snort and replied, "Mrs. Tommy's dog would never be locked in the kennels." She then asked painfully, "But why is it that her dog can get on a lifeboat, while my brother couldn't? Is my brother's life worth less than a dog's?"
Although Monet felt a strong resentment about this as well, he knew there was little he could do now, so he consoled, "It's alright, Wendy. God will surely punish these wrongdoers."
Early the next day, Monet arrived at the New York Post for an interview as scheduled. To his surprise, after the interview, the editor-in-chief, Russell, said to him, "Mr. Monet, please wait a moment. A Mr. Carl would like to meet you."
The only "Carl" Monet knew was Ruth's fiancé, the steel magnate. So, he inquired, "Is this the same Carl who was on the Titanic?"
Before Monet could finish speaking, Russell nodded and confirmed, "Exactly, it's Mr. Carl!"
"But I don't know him. Why does he want to see me?" Monet asked, puzzled.
"Um, Mr. Carl says he has something very important to ask you. Just a few words, won't take up much of your time!" Russell advised.
Since Monet would still rely on Russell for income later, he reluctantly agreed.
Two minutes later, he indeed saw the imposing figure of Carl. Arrogantly, Carl asked Monet, "Did Ruth come to see you?"
Monet was taken aback for a moment and counter-asked, "Miss Ruth? Why would she come to see me?"
"In New York, you're the only friend she had. So, after she ran away from home, who else would she go to if not you?"
Monet argued, "But the thing is, Miss Ruth didn't come to see me at all. Besides, I only met her once, hardly enough to call us friends, right?"
"If you two aren't friends, then why do you know so much about her? Don't tell me you've fabricated this whole story?" Carl interrogated.
Honestly, this question was difficult to answer. So, Monet resorted to placing the blame on someone else, "It was all told to me by Jack. You know we're both artists, so we connected well. He shared Ruth's and her story with me, and I was moved, so I wrote it down."
"Even the part where he lay on the floating ice was something he told you?" Carl pressed.
"Well, that part was indeed told to me by Ruth. You know, after we were both rescued by the same lifeboat, she told me!" Monet continued fabricating.
"After you disembarked, you really never saw Ruth?" Carl stared at Monet.
Monet sighed and spread his hands helplessly, answering, "Of course, I didn't. Mr. Carl, think about it. If Ruth had come to me after escaping from you, how could I have come here to submit my article? Wouldn't that make you suspicious? Do you think I'm that foolish?"
Carl thought for a moment and realized it made sense. So, he changed the subject, saying, "Mr. Monet, if Ruth contacts you in the future, please inform me immediately. I will greatly appreciate it."
Though Monet was tempted to respond harshly, he understood that he had nothing in New York at the moment, and Carl had the power to make his life difficult. Thus, he reluctantly nodded, "Understood."
Monet then waved dismissively and said, "You don't need to thank me. I don't think there's even a chance for that. As I said earlier, I'm not close to Miss Ruth."
Carl's inquiry had already soured Monet's mood considerably. However, what he didn't expect was that shortly after leaving the newspaper office, Ruth's mother, Mrs. Beckett, intercepted him on the street. Unlike Carl's overbearing approach, she tried a different tactic, sobbing as she pleaded, "Mr. Monet, is it really true that Ruth didn't come to see you? I beg you, you must tell me the truth. If I can't find Ruth, Carl will cast me out. I'm an old woman in New York, and I don't know anyone. If I have no one to rely on, I'll starve!"
"Madam, I'm truly not lying to you. Miss Ruth really didn't come to see me!" Monet answered, feeling frustrated.
Despite Monet's repeated assurances, Mrs. Beckett remained unconvinced and continued to lament, leaving Monet utterly exasperated. Eventually, he found an opportunity to quickly escape.
Upon returning home, Monet recounted the incident to Wendy, who sighed, "Goodness, I never thought Ruth would actually give up Mr. Carl's favorable conditions!"
"Everyone has their own aspirations," Monet replied casually. Then, he turned to Wendy and asked, "If it were you, you definitely wouldn't have run away, right?"
Wendy responded confidently, "Of course not. Why would I give up such a good life to toil away?"
Though Wendy's response made Monet uncomfortable, it was her choice after all, and he couldn't do anything about it. So, he changed the topic, saying, "I have a feeling Carl won't fully believe what I said. He might still send people to watch me. Be cautious when you go out recently. If you do encounter Ruth, make sure Carl's people don't notice."
"Don't worry, I understand."
PS: This story is based on a true incident. Elizabeth Jane Anne Rothschild, the wife of the textile magnate Martin Rothschild, claimed that she wouldn't leave on a lifeboat if her dog wasn't allowed to accompany her. Eventually, the crew had no choice but to let her take the dog with her. As for why, given the Rothschild surname, you can probably guess.
Ever since his own story made it into the newspapers, Monet had been casually buying a copy of the "New York Post" these days. Even though he knew the contents well, taking a look still managed to satisfy his vanity. However, today, as he glanced at a news article in the paper, he couldn't help but become infuriated. The title of the article was "Shameful Chinese People!"
The article claimed that the Titanic had carried 2,224 passengers, but only 710 had survived, resulting in a survival rate of merely 31.7%, with male survival rate being as low as 20%.
Among these 2,224 passengers, there were 8 Chinese individuals, and astonishingly, 6 of them managed to survive, yielding a remarkable survival rate of 75%. The reason behind this high survival rate, as alleged by the article, was that they had disguised themselves as women by wearing headscarves and concealed themselves in lifeboats, shamelessly depriving women and children of their chances to survive. In contrast, the noble English and American gentlemen selflessly gave way to women and children. There were even suspicions that these 8 Chinese individuals were actually stowaways who hadn't bought tickets at all!
However, in reality, these 8 Chinese individuals were employees of the British Donaldson Line. Due to a strike in the United States, they were dispatched to the SS Anat, which was anchored at the New York Harbor, to tend to the boilers (this ship was originally used for transporting tropical fruits). The company had purchased a collective third-class ticket for them and arranged for them to transfer ships immediately upon arriving at the New York Harbor, thus avoiding the "Chinese Exclusion Act" of 1882. (At that time, many European companies preferred to hire Chinese employees due to their lower wages, their cooperative behavior, and their strong work ethic.)
Furthermore, they didn't disguise themselves as women or secretly hide in a lifeboat. Instead, five of them survived by using a damaged lifeboat that no one else had boarded. One person, similar to Ruth, clung to a piece of wreckage until the rescue boat arrived.
As for why the British and American media chose to defame the Chinese people, the reason was rather straightforward: the Chinese were easy targets at the time, bearing the blame for such a significant incident was necessary, after all.
Firstly, the British were certainly not suitable, as they had to be portrayed as gentlemen.
Then, the Italians had the backing of their government, not to mention the tradition of the Mafia.
The Irish were also not a viable option, as they were engaged in a movement for independence against the British, and the newspapers wouldn't dare provoke them.
The black population might have fit the criteria, but the problem was that there was only one black person on the ship at the time, and they had died.
So, in the end, it fell upon the Chinese, who had the highest number of survivors and were the most vulnerable targets for defamation.
Even more disheartening, a Chinese writer named Hong Hao contributed to the slander in the magazine "West Wind," publishing an article titled "National Shame on the Titanic." The article initially promoted the valor and chivalry depicted by the Western media and then blindly followed their description of the six Chinese survivors. This resulted in unjustly condemning these innocent compatriots, all as a means to support his theory of China's supposed "negative traits."
It took a century for this injustice to be rectified. A young British man created a documentary titled "THE SIX," finally clearing the century-old injustice from their names.
Though Monet was aware of this incident, he found himself in a position of limited influence and uncertain knowledge about the whereabouts of the SS Anat. Nonetheless, he resolved in his heart to seize an opportunity to gather evidence and reveal this truth to the world, thus helping these six Chinese survivors clear their names in their lifetimes.
With this complex sentiment in mind, Monet returned to the "New York Post." His appearance surprised the editor-in-chief, Mr. Russell, as he believed Monet had settled his payment, implying there was no need for him to return.
However, Monet mysteriously addressed him, saying, "Mr. Editor-in-Chief, I thought of a brilliant idea yesterday that could earn you a substantial amount of money!"
"Why wouldn't you pursue this idea for yourself, Mr. Monet?" Russell retorted unmoved.
Monet shrugged, replying, "Because I lack the necessary capital for it; otherwise, I would have pursued it myself."
"How much capital is required?" Russell asked casually.
Monet pondered for a moment and then replied, "Um, it would probably take around ten thousand dollars, but I assure you that you can make at least fifty thousand dollars!"
"Oh? Mr. Monet, why are you so confident?" Russell asked curiously.
"It's quite simple, really. I just need to show you, and you'll understand. But before that, you have to promise to give me five hundred dollars once you adopt this approach!"
Upon hearing that he didn't need to pay upfront and considering their previous collaboration, Russell's impression of Monet was still positive. So, he reluctantly said, "Well then, Mr. Monet, show me the source of your confidence!"
Monet reached into his pocket and pulled out a book, handing it to Russell. "Take a look at this book. It will explain everything!"
Russell took the book and saw that its title was "The Wreck of the Titan or Futility." It had been published in 1898, and the author was a British man named Morgan Robertson.
Until that moment, Russell didn't understand Monet's intention. But when he read the book's synopsis, he was utterly astonished. The book recounted the process of a luxurious giant ship named the "Titan" colliding with an iceberg and sinking. What was even more incredible was that the details described in the book were nearly identical to the sinking of the "Titanic."
For instance, both ships sank on their maiden voyages, during the month of April, on routes from England to the United States. The high casualty rate among passengers was attributed to the lack of lifeboats. Not to mention, the similarity in ship names was uncanny.
Staring in disbelief, Russell turned to Monet and asked, "Mr. Monet, is it possible that you've authored this book?"
"Of course not. Do you think I could write so many words, typeset, print, and bind a book in just a few days?"
In fact, even if Monet hadn't explained, Russell would have understood the underlying truth. After all, he was in the publishing business. His earlier question was driven by sheer amazement!
Once he regained his composure, Russell realized the enormous business opportunity presented by this situation. If he were to spread this story in the newspaper, the curious public would surely rush to buy it. Selling tens of thousands of copies shouldn't be a problem. Hence, Monet's claim of earning fifty thousand dollars seemed quite reasonable. As for why Monet himself wasn't doing this, it was probably due to his lack of distribution channels and printing costs.
However, Russell still had a lingering question, so he asked Monet, "Mr. Monet, now that I know about this book, aren't you worried that I won't pay you?"
PS: "The Wreck of the Titan or Futility" is a real book, not a fabrication.
"In that case, I'll be losing a mere five hundred dollars at most. Then, I'll inform all the newspapers and printing factory owners about this matter for free. I believe they would undoubtedly be interested in this news, wouldn't you say?" replied Monet with a chuckle.
The saying "those with nothing to lose fear nothing" applied here. The strategy of mutual harm would result in the most significant loss for Russell. Thus, he promptly opened a drawer and took out five hundred dollars, handing it to Monet. "Oh, Tony, I was just joking with you!"
"Actually, I was joking too!" Monet said as he accepted the money.
After receiving the money, Monet had originally intended to leave. However, as he reached the doorway, the editor, Evan, suddenly called out to him. Evan held out a letter and said, "Mr. Monet, we have a letter from a reader to deliver to you."
"Oh, thank you!" Monet expressed his gratitude while taking the letter casually.
Initially, Monet hadn't taken the letter too seriously. Since the publication of the Titanic article, he had received numerous letters from readers. After all, such poignant love stories often resonate with young girls. However, his demeanor changed upon seeing the sender's name, Mrs. Dawson.
He promptly opened the letter and confirmed that it was indeed from Rose. She had read his Titanic article in the New York Post and informed him that she had purchased a ticket to return to London to pursue her aspirations. Unfortunately, she anticipated not being able to wait for the serialization to conclude before she departed. She hoped Monet would be kind enough to gift her a copy of the manuscript as a keepsake. The letter also mentioned a scheduled meeting time and place.
Monet wouldn't refuse Rose's request, but considering the possibility of being monitored by Carl's people, he deemed it unsafe to meet her in person. Such an encounter could potentially put her in danger. Therefore, Monet thought it over and decided to send Wendy in his stead.
Upon returning home and conveying this matter to Wendy, she hesitated briefly before agreeing. Monet then prepared a manuscript and handed it over to Wendy, resuming his creative work.
Indeed, recently, Monet had been doing ghostwriting. However, he wasn't transcribing literary classics or modern internet novels. Firstly, he couldn't recall such vast amounts of text, and secondly, he believed that successful commercial novels were intricately tied to their respective eras. Publishing a work from over a hundred years ago might not guarantee the same success.
As such, he chose to transcribe works that would cater to the taste of contemporary readers. Monet's selection was the highly sensational "National Treasure" from 2004. Although many of the movie's plot elements were incompatible with the year 1912, the core allure, the treasure hidden within the "Declaration of Independence," would undoubtedly captivate audiences regardless of the period.
Consequently, Monet intended to rewrite a novel based on this movie. Thus, he invested most of his energy into this project during this period.
On the day of the scheduled meeting, Wendy embraced Monet somewhat dramatically before leaving. She even whispered softly in his ear, "Tony, I'll miss you!"
"Why are you acting like it's a farewell forever? You're just going to have coffee with Rose; there won't be any danger. Even if there were, it'd be directed at Rose, not you. What's there to fear?" Monet reassured her with a smile.
"Well, I'm a bit timid, you see," Wendy responded with a complex expression.
Though Wendy seemed a bit peculiar today, Monet didn't pay it much heed. He continued writing his work, "The Hidden Treasure in the Declaration of Independence" (a title should be both direct and intriguing, after all). Unbeknownst to him, dinner time had arrived. It was only then that he realized Wendy hadn't returned until now. Something was amiss. He immediately headed to the coffee shop where he had agreed to meet Rose. However, Wendy was nowhere to be found. Fortunately, a waitress handed him a note and said, "This young lady asked me to give this to you if you came looking for her."
Upon opening the note, he read: "I'm sorry, Tony. Please forgive me. Wendy."
Upon reading this note, an ominous thought crossed Monet's mind. Yet, honestly, he didn't want it to be true. Just then, the waitress handed him another note, saying, "This is from another gentleman for you."
Opening it, Monet read: "Mr. Monet, although you didn't follow through this time, I'll forgive you once, out of consideration for Wendy. If you wish to see Wendy or Rose, come to my house as a guest. Here's my address. Carl!"
Seeing this, a loud "boom" resounded in Monet's mind. Clearly, Wendy had betrayed him and Rose. She had divulged the meeting location to Carl, leading to Rose's recapture. In retrospect, he realized he was at fault too. When he mentioned Rose's elopement to Wendy before, she expressed confusion and envy. This clearly indicated her affinity for a luxurious lifestyle. How could he have let her meet Rose?
Although he now knew the truth, Monet believed he should still pay a visit, if only to explain things to Rose. He hailed a carriage and headed for Carl's mansion.
Upon meeting, Carl grinned at Monet and said, "Mr. Monet, I actually waited for you at the café for over half an hour. Unfortunately, you didn't show up."
"Mr. Carl, do you not find your behavior ungentlemanly?" Monet queried.
"Reclaiming my own fiancée, how is that ungentlemanly?" Carl retorted.
"But the issue is, Rose doesn't want to marry you!" Monet pressed further.
"Then she and her mother shouldn't have allowed me to settle their family debt. After I repaid their debt, they declined my proposal. This goes against the spirit of the contract!" Carl answered, his tone firm.
"But love isn't business!" Monet argued.
"Letting go of this marriage is possible, but first, Rose needs to repay the debt I cleared for her family and compensate me for the emotional distress. After all, I've publicly announced my engagement to Rose among my relatives and friends. If the wedding doesn't proceed as planned, it would damage my reputation substantially," Carl explained.
Just as Monet was about to continue the debate, Rose suddenly descended the stairs, exclaiming, "Carl, you needn't say more. I agree to marry you. But for now, please leave. I wish to speak with Mr. Monet!"
P.S.: This kind of betrayal doesn't feel like true friendship, considering the protagonist and Wendy aren't that familiar.
"Mr. Monet, how did you find out about me and Jack?" As soon as they met, Ruth inquired of Monet.
"Jack told me, actually we were good friends on the ship. He shared many stories about you and him. Unfortunately, Jack can't speak anymore," Monet said casually, gesturing towards the incapacitated Jack.
"Alright, even if Jack had told you about our past, how did you know what he said to me before he died? Don't tell me Jack told you that too!" Ruth pursued.
This question indeed stumped Monet, because it was obvious that Jack didn't have the time to tell him that. So, he braced himself and replied, "Well, I was floating not too far away on the water's surface at that time, so I overheard part of the conversation. I also made some guesses on my own."
"That's quite coincidental," Ruth asked with a touch of disbelief.
"In a few days, you'll discover even more remarkable coincidences," Monet continued, then proceeded to explain the contents of the book "Futile Efforts" to Ruth.
"Is there really such a book? Where did you get it? I want to buy one!" Ruth hurriedly inquired.
"I had to search through several bookstores to find a copy. It might be easier to find one in London, but I believe in a few days, Russell, the editor-in-chief, and his team will start selling them. You'll have time to get one then," Monet explained.
Shifting the conversation, Monet asked, "Miss Buckett, are you really planning to marry Mr. Karl?"
Ruth sighed, "What else can I do? Do you think I can escape? Whatever I do now, someone is always watching, and there's no chance to run away. Besides, just as he said, I don't have the money to repay the debt he cleared for my family. So, I'll endure for a while and then see what happens."
"I'm sorry, it was my negligence," Monet reproached himself.
But before he could finish, Ruth interjected, "You can't blame yourself for this. You can't even blame Wendy. Carl told me he's been having you both watched all the time. He even saw the letter I sent to The New York Post before I did. So, even if you hadn't spoken, it wouldn't have changed anything."
At this point, Ruth leaned in and whispered to Monet, "There's another important reason. I discovered I'm pregnant two days ago. So, I have to stay here and give birth to the child. Do you understand what I mean?"
Monet was internally startled by this revelation. So, you're using Karl as the solution to your predicament. It all makes sense now. However, this isn't the right time to continue discussing this matter. He shifted the topic and asked, "Do you know where Wendy is right now? I want to talk to her in person and find out what she really thinks!"
Ruth pointed upstairs and replied, "She's here working as a governess. But I don't think she'd be willing to see you, or more accurately, she'd be too ashamed to face you."
"Alright, to each their own," Monet said. Then, he suddenly thought of how Karl went bankrupt during the 1929 American economic crisis, so he leaned in and whispered to Ruth, "I don't think you'll have to endure this difficult life for long. Business doesn't always go smoothly forever."
"What do you mean?" Ruth asked curiously.
"I'm just guessing, you'll know soon enough." Monet left Ruth with a glimmer of hope and then got up to leave.
Though he had understood the whole situation, Monet's mood remained rather sour. He planned to find a place to have a good meal. However, the abundance of American-style restaurants on the street didn't sit well with his appetite. After all, deep down, he was a typical Chinese person.
Fortunately, he wasn't far from Chinatown where he was staying. Monet decided to head there for an authentic Chinese meal. But what frustrated him was that most Chinese people in New York at this time were from Guangdong or Fujian provinces, and their culinary preferences differed from his as a person from northeastern China.
After trying several places, he finally found a restaurant that specialized in Shandong cuisine, satisfying his craving. However, as he was about to pay, he unexpectedly noticed two slender girls kneeling at the counter, pleading desperately to the owner, "Uncle Feng, please, don't drive us away. We can cook, we can do anything!"
The owner sighed, "Shanshan, Wenwen, it's not that I want to let you go. My place just isn't short on staff. Business isn't great right now, and I was even thinking of letting some people go. Besides, you two are girls, and the kitchen staff are all men. It's not convenient."
"But, but now that our brother is gone, we really have nowhere else to go. If we can't find work, we'll starve. Please, have pity on us!" The sisters pleaded.
At this moment, Monet, who had been standing to the side, interjected, "Excuse me, young ladies, do you know how to cook Chinese food?"
Hearing Monet speaking in fluent "Beijing dialect," the sisters and the owner all paused for a moment. However, the slightly taller of the two girls reacted quickly and replied, "Sir, we can cook Chinese food, and we can do anything."
Monet pointed at the dishes left on his table and asked, "Can you cook these dishes too?"
The girl nodded, saying, "Yes, we can. Don't believe me? I can cook them for you right now!"
What surprised Monet was that even the owner chimed in, "Sir, Shanshan is right. They really can cook, and they're no worse than our chefs. After all, her brother was our best chef here before!"
"Well, in that case, would you two ladies be willing to work as my private chefs? You'd come every day to cook lunch and dinner for me. As for the salary..." At this point, Monet turned to the owner, "How much do your chefs here earn per month?"
"Ten dollars!" The owner replied honestly.
Monet sighed inwardly about how low Chinese wages were and then continued, "In that case, how about fifteen dollars for the two of them combined? Are you interested?"
Although Monet speaking Chinese gave Shanshan a sense of familiarity and trust, after careful consideration, she still answered, "Sir, if it's just cooking, I can handle it myself. Can you hire only me? I would be satisfied with eight dollars a month... well, maybe even seven dollars."
Actually, Monet's intention was to help the two sisters. On the other hand, he was getting tired of Western cuisine, and he wasn't strapped for cash at the moment. So, he "indulgently" hired them as his private chefs.
But now, Shanshan's willingness to earn even less intrigued him. Soon, he realized that she might be skeptical, afraid that he had ulterior motives towards them. Thus, Shanshan was willing to sacrifice herself to protect her younger sister.
Unfortunately, he couldn't explain himself at the moment; otherwise, things might take a turn for the worse. So, he could only smile wryly and agree.
"Hey sis, you're back. Everything okay?" Upon seeing Shanshan return, Wenwen hurriedly went up and asked.
Shanshan shook her head and replied, "Everything's fine. Actually, I don't think this Mr. Monet is a bad person."
"Oh? Then what does he do?" Wenwen asked curiously.
"He's a writer, always busy with writing novels, so he doesn't have time to cook. That's why he hired a chef. By the way, you can see his serialized novel in the New York Post. Here, it's this piece!" Shanshan took out a copy of the New York Post and pointed to the serialized story titled 'Titanic' as she told Wenwen.
Although Wenwen couldn't read, she still exclaimed, "Oh, so Mr. Monet is quite impressive. No wonder he's so kind."
Shanshan nodded in agreement, "Yes, Mr. Monet is indeed a good person. He not only lets me take leftovers, but he also taught me a delicious dish. Try it, it's this Tomato Scrambled Eggs." Saying this, Shanshan opened the lunchbox that had been placed on the table.
Wenwen sized it up and commented, "Hmm, it does look delicious, all red and yellow. And it's only tomatoes and eggs, truly a proper Tomato Scrambled Eggs!"
"It tastes even better than it looks!" Shanshan encouraged from the side.
Wenwen took a bite and praised, "It's really tasty, sweet and sour, but it's a pity it's a bit cold."
"Right, it's even better when it's just off the stove!" Shanshan added.
"I never thought that tomatoes and eggs cooked together could be this delicious. Why didn't anyone think of it before?" Wenwen mused while eating.
"Because Mr. Monet is smart, of course. Otherwise, how could his stories make it to the newspaper? But unfortunately, Mr. Monet also mentioned that this dish is too simple. Anyone who knows a bit about cooking could learn to make it after trying it once. With just this dish, one could even open a restaurant. So Mr. Monet wants us to share the recipe with Uncle Feng. He says it'll help us get more help from him in the future."
"Mr. Monet is really kind! If I had known, I would have become a chef with you, sis. We could've earned fifteen dollars a month together!" Wenwen regretfully remarked.
Surprisingly, Shanshan shook her head and said, "He does seem like a good person at the moment, but it's better to be cautious. Let's observe him for a while longer. After all, you're the only family I have left, and I can't bear to see you take unnecessary risks."
"Alright, let's not talk about this anymore. Do you want me to reheat your food?"
"No need, the food is already warm. I'll just mix these dishes in."
A few days later, Monet finally finished the opening of "Treasure in the Declaration of Independence." He found Editor Russell once again. But before Russell had a chance to read, he said to Monet, "Tony, even if you hadn't come to see me today, I was planning to find you!"
"Oh? Do you have something to talk to me about?" Monet asked curiously.
"Um, I have some good news and some bad news. Which one would you like to hear first?" Russell replied with a question.
"Then let's start with the good news!" Monet responded casually.
"The good news is that the book you mentioned, 'Futile Efforts,' has sold like crazy. Do you know how many copies were sold? A whopping three thousand, and there are many more orders. The printing press is swamped!" Russell said excitedly.
Monet was somewhat prepared for this news, as if he didn't know about this book and the timing being just after the Titanic disaster, he might have been curious enough to buy a copy himself. So he inquired, "Congratulations on making a lot of money. By the way, what's the bad news? Has someone started counterfeiting?"
Russell waved his hand and said, "Counterfeiting is common. In fact, even I'm essentially counterfeiting. The bad news I'm talking about is that the author of this book, Morgan Robinson, has committed suicide. I was planning to have my friend in London interview him, but I received this dreadful news instead."
Although Monet already knew about this matter, he couldn't show that he already knew. So, he feigned a look of "shock" and asked slowly, "What?! Mr. Robinson committed suicide? Wh-why did he do that?"
"No one knows. But coincidentally, it seems he took his own life after learning about the sinking of the Titanic. Isn't that strange?" Russell replied with a frown.
Monet pretended to "ponder" for a moment and then spoke slowly, "I have a daring speculation."
"What speculation?" Russell asked curiously.
Monet said in a serious tone, "What if Mr. Robinson knew in advance that the Titanic would sink? So, he intentionally wrote this book with the goal of preventing the tragedy. But in the end, his efforts still couldn't stop it. The Titanic still sank, and many people still perished."
"Mr. Robinson knew in advance that the Titanic would sink? How's that possible? This book, 'Futile Efforts,' was written in 1895!" Russell countered.
"But what if he had traveled back from the present or even the future to 1895? That could explain why he was able to describe the sinking of the Titanic in such detail and accuracy!" Monet guided.
Russell took a few seconds to digest this, then couldn't help but let out a sharp exhale, "Your speculation is too audacious, Tony. I feel like you could write science fiction like Jules Verne!"
"My speculations have always been audacious. If you don't believe me, just take a look at the story I brought with me this time!" Monet directed the conversation back to his submission.
Russell finally remembered that Monet was here to submit something today. He lowered his head and started reading the manuscript. However, just as he saw the title, he couldn't help but exclaim, "Treasure in the Declaration of Independence? Tony, your speculation is indeed audacious, but the problem is, how could there be hidden treasure in the Declaration of Independence?"
Monet shrugged and answered, "Of course, there's no treasure in the 'Declaration of Independence.' Otherwise, why would I write about it and share it with the public? I would've gone to find the treasure myself!"
Russell found himself unable to refute Monet's explanation, as it did make sense.
"Wait, why is there nothing after this? Tony, did you miss some pages?" Russell, who was engrossed in reading, quickly asked Monet.
"I haven't missed anything. I've only written this much so far," Monet responded straightforwardly.
"But, it's clearly not finished yet!" Russell questioned, puzzled.
Monet nodded in agreement and said, "Yes, it's not finished yet. I'm not sure if you'll accept this story, so I couldn't write everything at once. Otherwise, it might be a waste if you decide not to publish it."
"Well, I see your point. But don't worry, I'll definitely accept this story. And I'll pay you the same price as we did for 'Titanic,' $500. How does that sound?" Russell offered.
Unexpectedly, Monet shook his head with determination. "No, that won't do. This story is much longer than 'Titanic,' so I'm asking for at least $1,200!"
"But, it's not just about the word count for pricing!" Russell tried to negotiate.
"If the story's length isn't the basis for pricing, then what is?" Monet retorted.
They haggled back and forth for a while and eventually settled on $1,000. Actually, Monet was quite satisfied with this price since he had already factored in the bargaining aspect when he initially asked for $1,200.
After leaving the "New York Post" office, Monet picked up a copy and started reading it while walking. To his surprise, he stumbled upon a rather "interesting" news article titled "Lucky Japanese Boy."
The reason he found this news article interesting was that it referred to Masafumi Hosono, the only Japanese passenger on the Titanic, as the "Lucky Japanese Boy." Since he had survived the disaster, the media had dubbed him as such. Even after returning to Tokyo, he received numerous interviews from newspapers and magazines.
However, what no one had anticipated was that Hosono's "luck" wouldn't last long. Archibald Gracie IV, a surviving author from the Titanic, accused Hosono of being a "stowaway" on lifeboat 10. There were even claims that he had disguised himself as a woman and climbed aboard a lifeboat full of women and children. Another British passenger accused Hosono of pushing others aside and jumping onto a lifeboat himself, saving his own life. Many European and American media outlets strongly criticized Hosono, condemning him for not being a gentleman, and overnight, his reputation in Japan plummeted.
When these comments reached Japan, public opinion erupted in an uproar. Hosono immediately became a symbol of shame and disgrace in Japan. He received a barrage of scornful letters and was subsequently dismissed from his position at the railway institute where he worked. Japanese media used bold headlines to label him a "coward," claiming that his actions contradicted the spirit of self-sacrifice upheld by the samurai code. His escape was even included in textbooks as a negative example.
A Japanese journalist wrote, "The men who gave up their chances of survival on the Titanic for women and children will forever be remembered with honor. Meanwhile, Masafumi Hosono has long died in the hearts and minds of people. He lived in disgrace for a few more years, which is worse than bravely dying back then."
Until his passing in 1939, Masafumi Hosono never discussed the story of the "Titanic" with his descendants. Throughout his life, he endured moral condemnation. Yet, even after his death, shame continued to shadow his family, to the extent that even his son felt embarrassed by his father.
Although his innocence was proven in a 1941 investigation, he spent his entire life haunted by guilt and scorn for surviving. To be frank, even before his time travel, Monet couldn't understand why Masafumi Hosono hadn't defended himself. Clearly, he had done nothing wrong. Of course, in this lifetime, it was quite unlikely that he would get the chance, as he had no plans to visit Japan in the near future.
Just as Monet's mind wandered, lost in thought, the chauffeur reminded him, "Sir, we've arrived at 58th St. Saint-Toya."
"Oh, thank you!" Monet handed the fare to the chauffeur as he stepped out of the car. However, the moment he got out, he was surprised to see a Ford car parked in front of his house. While cars in 1912 had gained some popularity, they were still a luxury for the affluent. Among the wealthy people Monet knew, besides Russell, the editor-in-chief of the "New York Post," there was only one other person who could afford such a car – the steel magnate, Carl!
Sure enough, as Monet reached the doorstep, Carl stepped out of the car and greeted him, "Good morning, Mr. Monet!"
"What brings you to me, Mr. Carl?" Monet asked, his brow furrowed.
"Can't I visit you just for a cup of coffee?" Carl chuckled in response. Seeing Monet's lack of reply, he changed the topic, "Alright, I do have some good news for you. How about inviting me in?"
Although Monet didn't particularly like Carl, he didn't despise him either. So, he invited him in, and soon, Shen Shen brought two cups of coffee. Carl took a look at Shen Shen, then nodded in approval, "This Chinese girl is quite beautiful. It seems that Mr. Monet, you've moved on from Wendy's influence."
"Don't misunderstand, Shen Shen is just here to cook lunch and dinner for me."
Before he could finish his sentence, Carl interrupted, "You don't need to explain that to me. Actually, the reason I'm here today is to offer you a writing assignment!"
"Writing assignment? Have you started a newspaper, Mr. Carl?" Monet inquired curiously.
Carl responded dismissively, "Do I need a newspaper to offer you a writing assignment? I value your writing skills, Mr. Monet, and I'd like to invite you to write a story for me. And don't worry, I'll make sure you're satisfied with the payment. I heard that Russell, the editor-in-chief, paid you $500 for that 'Titanic' piece. Well, I'll offer you $1,000!"
As the saying goes, although Monet didn't like Carl very much, he wasn't averse to money. So, he asked, "What kind of story do you want me to write?"
Carl explained, "Consider it a sequel to your 'Titanic' story. However, there's a modification: Jack can't die. Imagine how the love story between Jack and Rose would develop next. I won't impose any restrictions on you, except that what you write must be plausible. Don't force unrealistic plot points just to bring the main characters together, like a wealthy man taking an interest in Jack's painting or them making a fortune in the stock market. Is this request too demanding?"