Cruel cruel world, must I go on?
(Oh, painful life, must I continue?)
Cruel cruel world, I'm moving on
(Oh, painful life, my steps have not stopped)
Johnny hummed John's Happy Tune under his breath, waving the whip as he drove the carriage happily across the Western continent.
Watching these authentic scenes and the busy herdsmen, Johnny couldn't help but smile: "This smell! This scenery! It's too authentic! If you added a few Tumbleweeds and a pair of dueling Cowboys, it would be a World-Famous Painting."
While Johnny seemed to enjoy peaceful times, there was someone else bearing the burden and pressing forward.
That was the packhorse. Exhausted and hungry after a day's journey, it had barely rested for fifteen minutes after eating grass before its black-hearted owner lashed it with a whip and drove it toward another location.
This trip to Blackwater Town had another purpose: returning to the original owner's home to retrieve some useful items.
This would be a closure for the original owner and a beginning for himself. Next, he would sell off the property. After all, he wasn't John and didn't have the ability to run a small ranch.
Moreover, how could he visit the world of Red Dead Redemption without getting close to Arthur? Therefore, he couldn't stay in Blackwater Town forever; he had to sell the original farm to accumulate some startup capital.
Coincidentally, the original owner's house was exactly the Beechers Hope that players would later build brick by brick. However, unlike John, who bought a semi-finished house, the current Beechers Hope only had a pitifully small log cabin barely big enough for two or three people, a stable just large enough for one horse, and a small sheep pen.
Johnny carefully inserted the slightly worn key into the keyhole and gently turned it. With a soft "click," the main door slowly opened.
However, he only needed a quick glance to realize that his caution while opening the door was completely unnecessary.
Because the fence in front of him was simply too short; even an Evil Fleece could easily jump over it.
After pushing the door open, Johnny stepped into the cabin, which felt both strange and somewhat familiar. Looking at the furnishings and layout inside, an unspeakable sorrow welled up in his heart.
Although he clearly knew he was not the original owner who lived there, the memories that flooded him like a tide left him utterly confused.
These memories were like secret treasures buried deep in his heart, suddenly unearthed and displayed before him.
Had he transmigrated into the body of this person named Johnny Van der Linde, thereby inheriting his memories? Or had this Johnny in another world suddenly awakened memories from a different time and space? This was an unsolvable dilemma.
"Forget it, I won't think about it anymore. The urgent matter is to quickly deal with the business at hand!" Johnny shook his head, trying to clear the chaotic thoughts from his mind.
He tiptoed, moving as softly as a cat toward the narrow storage room. Upon entering, he crouched down and gently tapped the third-to-last brick on the south side. After a few dull thuds, the brick slightly loosened, revealing a gap.
Johnny skillfully pulled the brick away, revealing a rusty savings iron box. He took a deep breath and slowly opened the lid. Inside, a stack of banknotes and several coins were neatly arranged.
After careful counting, he confirmed there was a total of $435.75—this was the entire savings remaining for the family after daily expenses.
An aside (I believe many loyal fans of Red Dead Redemption have noticed a problem: the prices in the game are outrageous. Arthur finds himself with a $5,000 bounty—does he say he can turn himself in? It's clear that $5,000 was a huge amount back then. Yet, in the game, we find an Arabian Horse costs almost $1,000, a gun costs dozens to hundreds of dollars, a meal costs $3, and a bottle of liquor costs $2.81. Keep in mind that a genuine Colt Revolver only cost $13 back then and was largely ignored, and a decent typist or clerk job in a big city paid $28 a month. This means an elite professional would need to spend about four days' wages just to eat a meal at a saloon, and half a month's wages to buy the most ordinary gun.)
(This is an insurmountable problem I faced when I started writing this novel, so I proportionally adjusted the prices based on historical purchasing power and contemporary price references. It might not be perfectly accurate, but I hope every reader can immerse themselves in the joy of the West.)
The exchange rate mentioned in this book is as follows: $1 in 1899 = $30 in 2020 = 230 RMB in 2020. Readers who find the prices confusing can use this formula to roughly calculate the relevant cost.
(Returning to the protagonist)
Johnny emerged from the storage room, his hands still dusted with ash.
He clapped his hands together, walked into the bedroom, and his eyes scanned the familiar furnishings. His heart felt heavy.
He walked up to his mother's dressing table and gently pulled open the drawer, which was filled with her delicate jewelry and colorful cosmetics.
He carefully picked up a silver necklace—it was his mother's favorite, one she wore every time she went out.
He placed it inside a cloth bag, then carefully packed the bottles and jars of cosmetics, afraid of damaging them.
Next, he walked to the wardrobe and opened the door, revealing his parents' clothes hanging inside.
He selected a few jackets his father frequently wore and some dresses his mother liked, folding them neatly and placing them into the same bundle. The clothes still carried a faint scent, like the smell of home.
After packing his parents' clothing, Johnny turned and entered his own room.
His wardrobe was stuffed with clothes for all four seasons—spring, summer, autumn, and winter. He took them out one by one, folded them neatly, and placed them into a large wooden box.
A corner of the box was still empty. After a thought, he brought over the thick bedding from the bed and stuffed it in.
In the corner of the box, he spotted the old pocket watch.
It was an heirloom passed down for generations; the case had some mottled marks, but the hands still moved steadily, silently chronicling the family's history.
Johnny picked up the watch, gently wiped it, and placed it in the box.
Next, his gaze fell upon the two photographs on the nightstand.
One was his parents' wedding photo. The couple in the picture smiled so happily, as if the whole world was at their feet.
The other was a family portrait; everyone was sitting together, smiling, even himself.
Johnny picked up the photos, his fingertips gently tracing the familiar faces, feeling a pang of sadness.
He took a deep breath and placed the photos into the wooden box, sealing away those beautiful memories along with them.
Finally, Johnny entered the kitchen and packed up all the food he could take: bread, canned goods, and dry rations—nothing was left behind.
He knew there would be many expenses ahead, so every little bit saved counted.
Once everything was properly packed, Johnny picked up the bundles and the wooden box and walked step by step toward the carriage outside the door.
He loaded the items onto the cart one by one. Although his movements were steady, he felt a little anxious.
He had originally planned to go to the Gunsmith in Blackwater Town to buy a revolver, which would at least give him more capacity for self-defense.
But unexpectedly, packing up the house alone had taken so much time.
When he finally finished, he looked up and saw that the sky was completely dark.
It was quiet all around, with only a few dog barks echoing in the distance.
Johnny frowned, realizing the Gunsmith must have closed long ago. He sighed, feeling a bit disappointed, but there was no time to dwell on it.
He jumped onto the carriage, gripped the reins, and already had a new plan in mind—to go to the Black Market.