After boarding the ship, the couple found a hidden corner to huddle in, shielding their two children tightly with their bodies. The fleet faced countless storms, with some ships scattered, others capsized, and some survivors tossed into the sea. As time went on, only one ship remained.
With barely any clothes and little food, combined with overcrowded conditions, sickness quickly spread. Every imaginable ailment took its toll—starvation, disease, madness. Every day, more people died.
At first, the crew collected the bodies, but as hunger grew fiercer, the survivors' eyes shone with a desperate, hungry light, fixating on those close to death. No one knew who started it, but as soon as a sick person took their last breath, someone would pounce, knife flashing, cutting a piece of flesh from the thigh. Once there was one, there was a second. While the family was still trapped in grief, a crowd would already be upon them. By the time the crew arrived, everything was a bloody mess.
No matter how they tried to reason, warning that eating the flesh could transmit a deadly virus, their words fell on deaf ears. Logical pleas couldn't quell the gnawing hunger, and they were met with cold, sinister stares that chilled the crew to the bone. After a few incidents, the crew dared not intervene.
Monkey had two kids, and one... didn't make it on the ship. Miranda was devastated, clutching her child, refusing to let go. Monkey covered her mouth, "Don't cry, we can't let them notice." The couple huddled in the corner, shielding their remaining child with their bodies, hiding their grief as best they could. But what could be hidden for a day couldn't be concealed forever; the heat from the crowd made it impossible to disguise the smell of death.
Later, Monkey, with his deceased son on his back, and Miranda clutching their other child tightly, ventured out with knives in hand. Still, people approached with curiosity, "Why carry such a big kid? Is he dead?" One man even made a swallowing sound as he spoke. "My kid's sick, I'm taking him to see a doctor," Monkey said, brandishing a plastic gun fiercely, "If anyone dares to touch him, come at me if you're not afraid to die!" The imitation firearm looked real enough, and his ferocious aura froze the crowd, no one daring to move. With great effort, the couple squeezed through and fled the cabin.
Enduring the grief of a sea burial, the couple was shattered but continued to cling to life. They never returned to the lower decks, finding a corner to stay together. Even in death, they wanted to be united. The crew, seeing their humanity, did not trouble them. Day by day, like the walking dead, Monkey was unsure how long they drifted until they awoke at Hope Point. He survived to Hope Point, but one child was missing. Despite Miranda's tough exterior, she was half-gray by the time they disembarked. In the face of sorrow, life had to go on. With Miranda's health failing, unable to work, they sought to grow more potatoes. Monkey returned to his old ways, starting from scratch.
Unexpectedly, he found his sister at Hope Point. Overwhelmed, he tried to smile through the tears, but it was more painful than crying. Understanding his plight, Stella felt a deep sorrow. Surviving all these years and keeping his family intact, he was more fortunate than most. Had she not been sheltered by Arcadia, she might not have fared better. Memories of past suffering surfaced for Stella. Jasper, sensing the mood, sent Rosie and Cooper away. He sat beside her, "What's on your mind?"
Stella's expression was complex, "Old memories." Jasper, a man of few words but deep thought, understood she meant her past life. "Are you worried about Mr. Daniel?" Stella, with her concerns laid bare, didn't deny it, "I don't lack food or safety, and I can protect myself, all thanks to the Arcadia he provided." "You know," she mused aloud, her voice tinged with a wistful timbre, "if I had taken him with me when the tectonic plates of our lives collided, do you think our story would have ended differently from what it is today?"
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