Ever since his rebirth, or more accurately, ever since he moved from Danzhou to Jingdou, Fan Xian rode in a black carriage, wore black robes, held a black dagger, and walked in the dark. All over his body, inside and out, shone a blackness.
On the expansive blue sea, the ship was pure. The mast was tall, and the white sails were like the clean wings of a massive bird that seemed to be heading toward the white clouds on the horizon.
That cripple, Lieutenant Dan, had once tied himself to the mast and bitterly cursed about the injustices of this world to the rain and world-shaking waves.
Fan Xian was at the top of the mast at this moment, but did not have this feeling. After comparing Chen Pingping to his good friend Forrest Gump, he—wearing a light white shirt—narrowed his eyes slightly. Welcoming the morning sea, his thoughts and state of mind became as pure and joyful as a scene seen by chance.
