Chapter Text
fifteen men on the dead man's chest-
... yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
drink and the devil had done for the rest-
... yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
10 years ago.
Scales covered Luo Binghe's leg like burns after a fire.
The tear-filled eyes of a child who, at that exact moment, was losing every remnant of innocence — a fleeting innocence that had fought cruelly to survive until now.
Luo Binghe’s tears wouldn’t be enough to quell the fire in his master’s gaze. That’s why Luo Binghe didn’t cry.
"You lied to me."
"No, I-"
The captain didn’t let him finish that sentence before kicking him in the face.
All Luo Binghe could hear were the cheers of the crew on the ship — his tears threatening to spill even more (do not cry, do not cry, do not cry…) as he desperately tried to apologize for something he clearly didn’t understand.
“It’s not contagious. I can be sick, but my disease won’t pass to anyone, and-”
He stopped speaking the instant he heard Shen Jiu laughing.
“Sickness? Disease? This isn’t a disease, Luo Binghe. This is…” Shen Jiu pointed his sword at Luo Binghe’s leg, dragging the blade between the scales that appeared only on his right part. “An abomination. That’s what you are.”
Luo Binghe held back his tears.
He was only 14 years old. Fourteen hard-lived years. Where he had to work hard as a child in that crumbling and destined to bankrupt inn where his dear mother toiled, helping that woman who cooked, cleaned, and washed every morning, afternoon, and night, even when she could barely stand on her feet. All of it so that, at ten years old, Luo Binghe could witness his mother collapse and die of illness right in front of him — and then, after three days and four nights of endless crying while dealing with the landlord who wanted to threw him out so he could demolish everything and sell the land; Luo Binghe found himself squeezing into one of the chests belonging to pirates who had drunk themselves unconscious in the nearest bar.
It was at ten that Luo Binghe became a pirate — leaving his homeland, never to return, and making the Atlantic Ocean his new home. At ten, Luo Binghe discovered that hell wasn’t made of fire, but of water.
The captain of the ship was Shen Jiu — and if Luo Binghe was in hell, that man was the devil himself. It’s hard to describe all that Luo Binghe suffered at Shen Jiu’s hands for four consecutive years, at the hands of the crew, and the pirates who seemed to smile at his torment. Convincing himself that now he had a roof, no matter how poor, and food, no matter how scarce, deep down, Luo Binghe felt a spark of admiration for those older pirates — for the adventures at sea, the rum they occasionally let him drink, the songs they sang, the adrenaline of the raids, the thrill of holding a weapon.
Luo Binghe lived for those fleeting moments.
And if, until then, Luo Binghe had been living in hell — he had discovered that, perhaps, just perhaps, a part of him enjoyed walking through hell. There was something… strangely satisfying, pleasant, and special about the ocean, something that made him feel more complete than he ever had on solid ground.
One day, he would have his own ship. One day, he would be the captain, with a crew that respected him. He would sleep in the best cabin on the ship. Eat the finest food they could carry. Lead the most thrilling raids and always return to land with riches and glory. Luo Binghe often thought of this before sleeping, closing his eyes, lying in that uncomfortable hammock swaying back and forth, clutching rags he pretended were a blanket.
Dreaming.
One day…
One day he would make it.
But Luo Binghe was still just a 14-year-old boy when he bit his lip until it bled, in a desperate attempt not to scream in pain as he watched his own leg being sawed off before his eyes.
When Shen Jiu finished amputating Luo Binghe’s leg, he held it up in the air like a trophy, while Ming Fan staunch the bleeding at the knee — not out of concern for Luo Binghe’s well-being, but to keep him alive a little longer, just to make him suffer more. “Disgusting…” Shen Jiu muttered, observing the scales that ran along the skin — something Luo Binghe had tried, tried, and tried to hide from him.
In the end, he failed.
The moment Shen Jiu saw that anomaly, he acted immediately.
Perhaps, using the last remnants of his innocence, Luo Binghe asked, “Now… now that you’ve cut it off… everything’s fine, right? I’m… cured, aren’t I?”
He seemed to want to say more, almost pleading. Can I stay with you? Can we pretend none of this happened?
Shen Jiu laughed again — no longer bothering to hide his cruel nature.
“I already told you. It’s not a disease. You’re an abomination.” Then, pointing his sword at Luo Binghe, he smiled sadistically, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust. “And you know what we do to abominations, don’t you?”
“Please, please don’t. I can be useful! I can cook, I can—”
No words could change Shen Jiu’s mind.
Dragging Luo Binghe by the arm, unable to walk on one leg, dizzy and disoriented from blood loss, he was left at the edge of the deck, right in front of the absurd plank.
“Walk.”
“I can’t walk!” he cried, desperate, barely able to stand upright.
“Then crawl.”
Luo Binghe held back his tears again.
He didn’t want, not even for a moment, to cry in front of Shen Jiu. Some part of him realized that, even then, showing such weakness was unacceptable.
He couldn’t cry.
Luo Binghe knew there was only one fate for him.
He crawled, while the others laughed, to the edge. While they laughed. He looked at them. While they laughed. He left a trail of blood behind him. While he crawled, he began to lose consciousness. Without shedding a single tear, he faced Shen Jiu, who stared back at him with a gaze that Luo Binghe knew would haunt him for a long time. Speaking for the last time, no longer apologizing or begging for mercy, he said, loud and clear, “I will come back. And the one walking the path I bled will be you.”
In that moment, Luo Binghe heard no laughter. He didn’t know if it was because it had truly stopped or because his fading consciousness made all sound meaningless. Perhaps, he was so focused on Shen Jiu’s image that nothing else existed for him at that moment.
His words were directed solely at Shen Jiu.
Then, gracefully, like a bird escaping its cage and soaring toward the sky, Luo Binghe threw himself into the sea.
Shen Jiu only turned away when he heard the splash. “What are you all staring at?” he asked the crew that stood frozen, watching their captain. “Get back to work.”
Ming Fan approached him hesitantly. “Captain… He… he can’t come back, right?”
“Ridiculous. He won’t survive. Even as an abomination.” Then, gazing at the horizon, he added, “Besides… if we find the treasure I’m looking for, there’ll be nothing left for us to fear.”
And with that, the grand Qing Jing ship continued its journey.