015 The King's Daily Life

After bidding farewell to the auction house staff and reporters, Tuvalu once again became a place forgotten by the world.

Li Daniu spent half the night typing the entire novel "The Lord of the Rings" into his computer, then finally enjoyed a good sleep. As soon as the sun rose, he was full of energy and ready to inspect his own country.

Strictly speaking, this was only Li Daniu’s third day in this world. Tuvalu has a tropical maritime climate; temperatures can reach as high as 40 degrees Celsius, and the lowest all year is still a sweltering 22 degrees. It was just after the conclusion of the 2012 London Olympics, the tail end of summer. If Li Daniu were still in the Celestial Empire, he’d already be shopping for autumn clothes. But here in Tuvalu, most of the men he saw on the street went shirtless, and few bothered with shoes.

After walking halfway around outside, Li Daniu was already overwhelmed by the heat, his clothes soaked through with sweat. As the owner of every soul in this country, Li Daniu naturally enjoyed special privileges—a pair of guards trailed behind him, along with a servant holding an umbrella and cold drinks. But Tuvalu’s tropical heat was relentless, and Li Daniu, in his self-satisfaction, had refused to go out by car. Now, he was starting to regret his decision, but pride kept him from turning back.

Who says a man must finish the path he chooses, even if on his knees? If you’re already on your knees, can you still call that walking? And if you tried kneeling here, where eggs crack on the pavement and fry in the sun, would your knees have some kind of heat-resistance?

Spotting a shop, Li Daniu entered with enthusiasm. The open door made it clear there was no air conditioning, but at least the roof could block out the sun—a small happiness.

It was a modest supermarket, not much different from those in the Celestial Empire. Even the goods on the shelves bore many familiar square characters.

Was the China of this world really so powerful? Even goods exported to such a remote, obscure country?

Li Daniu wandered curiously, touching this and that. He’d been to supermarkets plenty of times before, but this one was different—it was a supermarket in his own kingdom.

“Honorable Prince, welcome to my store.”

As Li Daniu searched for some classic pickled noodles, he suddenly heard English with a distinctly Chinese accent. He recognized it instantly, since his own English had always sounded just like that.

“You’re… Chinese?” Li Daniu stared in surprise at the yellow-skinned man emerging from the back.

“Oh? You speak Mandarin?” Old Liu was equally astonished to hear Li Daniu’s fluent Mandarin. The records he’d read yesterday said the prince had always lived and studied in America. Had he misread? Had the prince always lived in China?

“Uh, I took Mandarin as an elective in America.” Li Daniu, caught up in the moment, had blurted out the language he’d spoken most of his life.

“That’s wonderful.” Old Liu’s English was hesitant at best, and he’d been worried about how to communicate with the prince. Now, seeing the prince in his shop speaking Mandarin, all his anxieties vanished.

“You’re Chinese—how did you end up here?” Li Daniu found it puzzling. Wasn’t Tuvalu supposed to be sinking? Why would anyone from another country stay here?

“Your Highness, I came here to support Tuvalu, to add color and abundance to the material lives of its people,” Old Liu declared, thumping his chest with pride.

Li Daniu glanced at a towel priced at five Australian dollars, then at a pair of flip-flops for six. He couldn’t help but smirk—Chinese merchants were apparently out to surpass even the Jews.

Seeing Li Daniu’s expression, Old Liu, ever the savvy observer, hurried to explain.

“Your Highness, I’m not trying to profit off the people of Tuvalu. The shipping costs are just too high. To bring these goods all the way from distant China, I’m practically selling at a loss.”

Tuvalu’s agriculture is backward, lacking fresh water and arable land. As for industry, there was none at all. All basic necessities had to be imported. Not just towels and flip-flops—even bottled water was imported.

Although Tuvalu had no tariffs, the nearest country, Fiji, was still a three-day voyage away by ship. And these goods were coming from China. No matter how cheap sea freight might be, the distance made the cost steep.

With Old Liu’s earnest expression, Li Daniu nearly believed he was meeting a modern-day Good Samaritan.

Since arriving, Li Daniu had been dealing only with currencies like the Australian and US dollars, so the word “exchange rate” had become unavoidable. He’d checked the major currencies of this world, and the rates were about the same as in his previous life.

A towel that cost less than one yuan to make, sold for five dollars with shipping—on the surface, it didn’t seem profitable. But the cost was in yuan, the sale in Australian dollars. With an exchange rate of about one to five, the profit margin was four or five times the cost.

Even though he saw through the trick, Li Daniu was now a king with two hundred million US dollars to his name. Such petty sums were beneath his notice.

“Very good. I like China, and I like Chinese merchants like you even more.” Li Daniu patted Old Liu’s shoulder and left the store with a smile.

As noon approached, the streets grew emptier, and Li Daniu gazed with some melancholy at his dark, overweight subjects.

Tuvalu’s lack of agriculture meant there were few vegetables. The people relied on meat as their staple food and by the age of thirty, most were obese—just like Burns, Li Daniu’s most valued subordinate, who was also a fat man.

Obesity brought with it fatty liver, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, heart disease, and more. In countries with modern healthcare, these ailments were hardly worth worrying about. There were countless overweight people in his previous life’s homeland, and the so-called three highs were common as dirt. But in Tuvalu, with only one village-level hospital, these illnesses could be fatal.

According to Burns, the former Prime Minister had died of a sudden heart attack. If that could happen to the leader, what hope was there for the people?

Li Daniu genuinely worried that if things didn’t improve, Tuvalu would perish not by drowning, but by depopulation.

Though he had issued an order banning emigration, he didn’t believe that would stop people from leaving. How could a defenseless country prevent its citizens from fleeing?

Counting on the two hundred police officers? They were more like civil servants than law enforcers—Tuvalu had so few incidents, their main job was to help the government with chores.

The crux of any problem lies in addressing the root cause, but Li Daniu, to his sorrow, found he couldn’t even manage a temporary fix.

“Your Highness, would you like to rest a while on the beach?” the servant holding the umbrella asked, seeing the prince lost in thought on the street. He thought perhaps the prince, accustomed to American life, was feeling the lack of entertainment here.

“The beach?” In his more than twenty years, Li Daniu had never enjoyed sand and sunbathing beauties. At the mention, his interest was instantly piqued.

“Yes, Your Highness. Our Tuvalu beaches are truly beautiful.” The servant found it odd. Wasn’t it normal for an island nation to have beaches? Why was the prince so excited?

Tuvalu consists of nine ring-shaped coral islands. Half the nation’s population lives on Funafuti, the government’s seat and the most habitable island, covering just 2.79 square kilometers.

How large is 2.79 square kilometers? Following the servant, Li Daniu walked ten minutes from the center of the capital to the seashore.

Fine, white, soft sand. Crystal-clear water. An endless horizon. And the coconut palms so common to tropical islands.

Why on earth hadn’t they developed tourism in such a beautiful place?

Finding a lounge chair in the shade, Li Daniu gratefully accepted a freshly opened coconut from the attentive servant.

This was pure bliss, he thought. This was the life of a king—if only there were some bikini-clad beauties on the beach.

Gesturing for the servant and guards to find their own seats and relax, Li Daniu eagerly ran over to a group of children playing by the water.

“That’s an enormous crab!” Li Daniu’s mouth nearly watered at the sight of a child holding up a crab bigger than his own face.

“That’s nothing. I once caught a lobster this long!” boasted another child, stretching his arms as wide as he could.

Though he’d already tasted such seafood these past two days, seeing them still alive and wriggling was a first for Li Daniu—it was different from picking them out of a hotel display case.

“Honored Prince, please don’t blame these children for not greeting you. They don’t recognize you,” an old man hurried over to apologize just as Li Daniu was thinking about joining in the catch.

“It’s nothing. If even the children had to formally greet me, I’d actually find it uncomfortable,” Li Daniu replied, abandoning his thought of wading in—one had to maintain the dignity of a king, after all.

“You are as compassionate as your father,” the old man said, arms crossed in a sign of respect.

“Sir, how should I address you? And may I ask your age?” Li Daniu, keeping up the image of a benevolent monarch, inquired.

“Ah… Your Highness, my name is Paulie,” he replied with an embarrassed smile. “I’m only thirty-five.”

Thirty-five? You look a good twenty years older—so calm and kindly, like someone in their fifties. Li Daniu quickly changed the subject. “How do you make a living?”

“Fishing, and my family grows coconuts, bananas, and taro.”

Tuvalu’s land isn’t suited to farming, but its tropical climate is perfect for coconuts, bananas, and taro—one of the country’s economic mainstays.

“How’s the fishing these days?” Li Daniu asked, slipping into the role of leader.

“Not bad. It’s enough for the family,” Paulie replied with a smile. “And we owe much to your father, who lent us some fishing equipment. Things have been much better these past years.”

Li Daniu had learned a bit about the former king’s reforms over the past couple of days. He’d been a good public servant, devoted to his people, but limited by his abilities and lack of resources. That was why Tuvalu’s situation had never improved.

“That’s what my family is supposed to do,” Li Daniu replied grandly, claiming the royal mantle without shame. Then he asked, “Have you ever thought about leaving here and living in another country?”

“Another country?” Paulie looked at Li Daniu in surprise. “Why would I go somewhere else?”

“Because soon we might be swallowed by the sea.”

“No, I don’t believe we’ll be drowned by the ocean. We have God’s protection, and now the late king’s spirit watches over us. I was born here, raised here—this is my home. Even if life might be better elsewhere, it wouldn’t be home.”

Li Daniu looked at Paulie’s serious expression and was at a loss for words. Was this just something people say for show? Was he saying it just because he was the prince?

“All right, I believe we won’t be drowned by the sea either,” Li Daniu said helplessly, waving goodbye as he left the beach. Words like that were probably comforting to every Tuvaluan, born and bred here. But the sea is merciless. The rising sea level might mean nothing to other countries, but to Tuvalu, with its highest point only 4.5 meters above sea level, it was a looming crisis.

Looking back at the beautiful yet doomed beach, at the carefree Tuvaluans laughing and playing by the water, Li Daniu suddenly felt a sense of responsibility.

Responsibility—what a strange thing. He wanted to ask the heavens, can responsibility keep the sea from rising?