Chapter 180: Destined from Birth

Chapter 180: Born of Destiny

Chengdu County, Dujiang District.

A taxi with "Tianfu Metro" printed on its doors slowly pulled out of the neon-shrouded urban district, heading straight southwest.

After traveling for no more than half a double-hour, one could distinctly feel the terrain gradually rising.

Amidst the mountains, cooking smoke curled gently; only the utility poles erected by the Imperial Ministry of Works stood solitary and alone.

Even the raindrops falling overhead grew increasingly urgent and fierce.

Such serene mountains and waters, such a primitive, wild environment—were it not for the faint roar of the car engine by his ear, Gong Qinghong would have thought he had returned to the late Ming era when the Chongzhen Emperor tried to turn the tide.

Traveling by carriage, forming vertical and horizontal alliances, attacking the weak with the combined strong, maneuvering with strategy and intrigue.

That was the golden age of the School of Diplomacy sequence, alas, the predecessors still fell into the trap woven by the Zhu Ming royal house, actually obediently laying down their armor and returning to the fields, putting their horses out to pasture in the southern mountains.

Perhaps thinking that he was completing the unfinished cause of his predecessors, a look of carefree joy couldn't help but appear on Gong Qinghong's face.

He rolled down the car window, letting the damp air slap against his face, his fingers tapping on the door, lightly beating a rhythm.

"A laugh into the vast sea, the chaotic tides of the troubled times rise and fall with the waves, only in this moment. Heaven laughs, the countless tides of the world. Who loses, who wins, Heaven knows."

The singing was heroic and magnificent, carrying far into the rain curtain.

"Sir, you truly have refined taste; you sing really well."

In the driver's seat, the driver wearing a gray short-shirt uniform laughed in agreement, his lips smacking as if savoring something.

"It's just these lyrics, though, a bit out of place. Since we're arriving at the Daoist Gate, one ought to sing Daoist songs."

"Oh?" Gong Qinghong stopped singing, smiling: "Driver, can you understand the meaning in these lyrics?"

"Of course! Don't look at me just driving a taxi now; in my youth, I was a student at the Confucian Temple!"

The driver kept one eye on the road ahead, turning two eyes toward Gong Qinghong, boasting: "It's just that my aptitude was slightly lacking, plus I couldn't afford a Six Arts Chip; otherwise, I'd be a scholar in a long robe right now."

Gong Qinghong nodded, chuckling: "Driving a taxi isn't necessarily shameful, and wearing a long robe isn't necessarily a good thing either."

"Look at what you're saying; after ascending the Sequence, one becomes a noble, infinitely superior to us commoners."

Whether it was an occupational hazard or not, this driver was also a talkative sort; once he opened up, the words flowed unceasingly.

"Looking at your bearing, sir, one knows you're no ordinary person. Naturally, you don't know the gap between inside and outside the Sequence."

"Let's take the most direct wages: a commoner like me earns a mere 1,500 Treasure Notes a month, barely enough to support a family."

"But on the black market, a counterfeit Six Arts Chip from an illicit workshop costs hundreds of thousands. Even if I didn't eat or drink, it would take decades to afford one. If one could pass the Imperial Examination, forget becoming an official, that's a huge fortune earned, right?"

No sooner had his voice fallen than the driver seemed to realize something was amiss, hurriedly explaining: "Of course, I'm not deliberately trading contraband! I only heard it through the grapevine."

Gong Qinghong smiled faintly, placating him: "No matter, it's just chatting, no need to be so reserved. What do you call it here... 'setting up a dragon gate'?"

"Right, right, right, just 'idly setting up a dragon gate', talking for fun."

Seeing Gong Qinghong so easygoing, the driver completely relaxed, laughing: "But I'm actually quite satisfied with my current life; at least I have food and drink, far better than those pariahs no company will take in!"

"As for those sinners in the Sinner Zones, even more so. In my view, the court shouldn't allow them into the imperial heartland at all; just quarantine them and let them fend for themselves, wouldn't that be better?"

Gong Qinghong waited quietly for him to finish, then asked softly: "Driver, you also think the court shouldn't allow sinners entry?"

"Of course. To speak honestly with you, sir, in my view, Ming people are Ming people, outsiders are outsiders; those not of our clan must have different hearts."

The driver snorted coldly, "The public security in Chengdu County is this bad largely because those sinner gangs are stirring up trouble. Who knows what the government thinks, actually letting it slide, allowing them to run rampant."

"You might have heard, a while back in the Chicken Goose District, there were several bloody conflicts in a row; the Paoge Society first eliminated the Jidao Society, then clashed with the Annan Gang, and finally even fought the Tianfu Guards—you say, how arrogant."

Gong Qinghong feigned surprise: "They actually dared fight government men? This Paoge Society has quite the guts."

Seeing the passenger interested, the driver immediately perked up, racking his brains, dumping all the gossip he knew in one go.

"That's right. Though they're all pariahs, the Paoge Society is at least a Ming people's gang; their strength is definitely far greater than those foreign barbarians. Especially their leader, the rudder master, he's incredibly fierce. His name is Kuang... Kuang..."

"Kuang Qingyun."

"Right, that's it, Kuang Qingyun."

The driver sighed, "Who knows what that young man was thinking; he'd already become a Soldier Eight, yet didn't go find a proper job to shed his pariah status, instead willingly degenerating, fighting and killing."

The driver spoke with a tone of hating iron for not becoming steel: "In the end, he provoked the government into action; not only did he lose his life, but his Gear Heart was dismantled and sold, leaving him without a whole corpse. That's not even the worst; you say, his body full of steel, not even ashes could be burned out; relatives and friends wanting a place to pay respects couldn't find a spot, what a sin."

Gong Qinghong's face showed astonishment, "But I heard Kuang Qingyun died protecting his brothers, a man of loyalty and righteousness."

"Is loyalty important, or is life important? Living peacefully is what matters most!"

The driver patted his chest, speaking proudly: "Like my son, just born, I spent a fortune finding a doctor from the 'Fudu Group' to implant a chip in his head, just to suppress things like loyalty, grudges, and enmity. Clear out the space, so Filial Piety can operate better."

"That doctor guaranteed me, once the chip is installed, forget mixing in the underworld, he won't even have puppy love."

The driver's face beamed with a brilliant smile, seemingly extremely proud of his decision.

"Worthy of a read man; your vision is truly clear."

Gong Qinghong praised in tone, then suddenly shifted gears: "But living like this, isn't life a bit too boring?"

"They're just snot-nosed kids in open-crotch pants, what do they know of boredom? Steady and solid, living safe and sound—that's the first priority."

The driver raised a hand to brush aside a lock of long hair hanging before his eyes, chuckling softly.

"Don't laugh at my shallow knowledge, sir. Actually, when I studied at the Confucian Temple, I'd shed hot tears over the grand deeds of the gentlemen in history books, beating my chest and stamping my feet, swearing to achieve great things. But once I graduated and entered society, I learned what 'knowledge from books remains shallow; worldly experience teaches true reason' means."

"From birth, genes decided we have no great prospects. Working peace of mind is the only way out; thinking too much only invites trouble."

His body leaned slightly forward, pressing on the steering wheel, raising a brow at the pitch-black sky outside, "Life and death, wealth and honor, it's all predestined by Heaven."

Again, that Confucian theory of 'Born of Destiny'.

Gong Qinghong fell silent for a long while, then slowly spoke, "Driver, have you never thought of defying Heaven and changing your fate?"

Screech!

The vehicle, like a fish thrown onto the shore, fishtailed violently on the mountain path.

The driver hurriedly gripped the steering wheel tight, only then regaining control of the car body.

Once the vehicle stabilized, the first thing he did wasn't wipe the sweat seeping from his temples, but reach out to fumble on the center console.

"Sir, you really can't speak carelessly; our words are all being recorded."

Gong Qinghong's eyes were like burning torches, his pupils frighteningly bright, "Men are not born destined; are kings and generals born of a special breed?"

Suddenly, the driver felt the other's words take root in his heart, an indescribable feeling trembling his soul.

What nonsense is this. You've got the 'Yellow Millet Disease', you son of a bitch?!

He tightened his lips, daring not answer another word, glaring with both eyes fixed dead ahead on the road.

Fortunately, at this moment, in the dark rain curtain ahead, vague shadows of buildings had already appeared; ignoring that there was still a short distance to Mount Qingcheng, he immediately braked to a stop.

The driver kept a straight face, tone stiff: "Mount Qingcheng arrived. Fare: 230 Treasure Notes."

Gong Qinghong didn't get angry at the driver's change in attitude, didn't say anything more.

Since the seed has been sown, just wait quietly for it to sprout.

After paying the fare in full, he pushed open the door and walked into the rain, just like that, straight into the rain.

The driver watched this man who didn't even open an umbrella, instantly soaked through by the heavy rain, and grew even more convinced in his heart that the other was a 'Yellow Millet Disease' patient of unsound mind.

“Pah!”

The driver spat a gob of spittle onto his thumb, counting and verifying the fares bill by bill.

He had just deleted the recording; a fine awaited him on his return. Should he now accept counterfeit bills, he would be ruined entirely.

Suddenly, his counting faltered. Brows knitting tight, he drew a metal card from the wad of cash.

A calling card?

The driver switched on the overhead lamp, and by its feeble light read the card's inscription: “Honghu, Gong Qinghong.”