Chapter 953: Kill All!

Chapter 953: Slay All!

The "meet-up conference" continued.

While Chu Guang was happily chatting with his little players, an old man who had lived for over two hundred years was not idle either.

To be precise, the younger generation visiting this humble abode did not want him to be idle.

Seeing Abusek leave the side of the Grand Rift Chief, Shawa immediately hurried over, intercepting the old man who was about to turn and walk away.

A friendly smile spread across his face, and his tone was respectful as he spoke.

"Respected Chief, I am Shawa, captain of the Mammoth Nation's Stormtroopers. Allow me, on behalf of Rasi and the survivors of the Mammoth Nation, to extend our most sincere greetings! Our leader originally intended to visit you in person, but the Southern Legion is still putting up a desperate struggle, and the front lines remain deadlocked. He simply could not get away, so he sent me in his stead."

The old man looked at the young man before him, nodded with a kind smile, and said.

"Hello, Shawa. I'm old now. The ideas you young folks come up with, I have to guess to understand them. But this 'Stormtrooper'... I really can't figure it out. What kind of organization is that? Could you explain it to an old man like me?"

Shawa chuckled.

"It's just a name. Back then, we followed Rasi north on campaigns, always charging at the front in every battle, hence the name 'Stormtroopers.' Later, when the fighting wasn't so fierce, and the young officers of the Mammoth Nation had grown up, we moved from the front lines to the rear... but the designation has remained to this day. You can think of it as the Imperial Guard of a legion, or the Guard Corps of the Alliance."

The old man nodded in sudden understanding.

"Oh, you mean that kid Leize? Then I know who you are... Ah, your burden must be far too heavy. It pains me just to see it. How about this: you resign, and I'll guarantee you a year of peace. Once the storm settles, you can come to the Alliance and be a security captain. What do you think?"

The turn was so abrupt that Shawa almost lost his composure. He coughed dryly and said.

"Uh, this... I've never really considered it..."

The Alliance clearly did not lack a security captain like him, and his family had already put down roots in Mammoth City. He had never thought about moving to the unfamiliar Alliance.

The old man smiled.

"Think it over! I have this habit—whenever I see a talented young person, I can't help but feel a desire to nurture them, and then I can't control my hands, wanting to reach out and give them a hand. Ah, what a pity..."

Shawa did not know what he was pitying, but he still put on a flustered look and humbly replied.

"You flatter me. There are plenty of people more talented than me... I'm nothing special."

"Too modest, far too modest," the old man shook his head, then suddenly seemed to think of something. He said, "How about this: when Abusek visited me earlier, I tested him with a question. Now let me test you as well."

Shawa stared at him blankly, unsure what the old man was up to, but still replied cautiously.

"Please, enlighten me."

The old man chuckled, raised his withered fingers, and began counting his sheep again.

"I have four generals: Jia, Yi, Bing, and Ding. Jia says there are ten thousand sheep on the grassland. Yi says there are a thousand. Bing says they are both wrong, but he himself can't remember how many there are—only that he saw many sheep crossing the river. Ding says one of them is lying... Guess, what is correct?"

Shawa answered without hesitation.

"Ding! Suppose Jia is right, then Yi is also right. Bing, who says both are wrong, must be wrong. Therefore, Ding is right. Conversely, if both Jia and Yi are wrong—"

"Stop, stop, stop. You don't need to analyze so much; you've confused me," the old man waved his hand at the young man who was analyzing left and right. "You are a smart man, and Ding is a smart man—that's beyond doubt. Jia says there are ten thousand sheep. Who can guarantee he's right? Yi, Bing, and Ding have not testified. And if he miscounted, and it's actually nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, then he'd be in big trouble."

"By comparison, Yi is much smarter. Someone saw ten thousand, but he said a thousand, leaving himself a nine-thousand-sheep escape route. If I had to pick one from Jia and Yi to behead, Yi would be the one to survive."

He paused, looked at the bewildered Shawa, and smiled again.

"But he still wasn't smart enough. When did I say I would only kill one person? At that point, Bing was much smarter. Not only did he draw a clear line between himself and Jia and Yi, but he also actively expressed his stance. Hmph... If I didn't go back on my word, he could survive. But if one day I regretted killing the wrong person, then he'd be in trouble."

"From this perspective, Ding is the smartest. 'One of them is lying'—he didn't say who was lying, nor who was telling the truth. The liar could be anyone, even himself. Later, no matter who I want to kill, he can point at the dead and say, 'It was him,' and then stand on my side. And even if I kill Jia, Yi, and Bing and then regret it, he can plead with me, tarnish himself, and voluntarily put on the 'I lied' hat."

"I'm old and soft-hearted. Maybe I'll laugh it off and let him go, right? You see, sometimes you have to be muddle-headed."

Shawa looked at the old man, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

When you gave that question, you never mentioned killing anyone!

Though he had guessed correctly, indeed.

But the old man saw through his thoughts and said meaningfully with a smile.

"You're still too young. I didn't say I would kill anyone. When did I ever say I would kill them? The killing... isn't that something you do for me?"

Shawa was stunned. Suddenly, a chilling sensation crawled up the back of his head.

He was the one solving the puzzle, but as he solved it, how did he himself become the 'Wu' after 'Jia, Yi, Bing, Ding'?

It felt as if a blade was pressed against his neck. He involuntarily swallowed his saliva and forced a stiff smile onto his face.

"Old sir... you're joking. We—"

"I know, I know. Every family has its own hard-to-read scripture. Don't worry, you're not at that point yet," the old man raised his hand with a smile, not pressing the young man. "Besides, you're not exactly the same as the Imperial Guard, let alone the Alliance. As for Rasi... I don't know him, but seeing you, I know him."

"Others always tell me he's the spokesperson chosen by the Alliance, but I've never thought so. Because you Boro people like to choose smart people. For instance, Abusek is very smart—I just hinted, and he understood everything."

"Your Rasi is no slouch either. If it really came down to one person, one vote, he would win in the end. Don't be angry when I say this. Your mouths are hard, but your bodies are actually very honest. Look at yourself, for example."

"..." Shawa was momentarily speechless, still reeling from the earlier chilling realization, and had no idea what the old man was trying to say.

Perhaps he wasn't speaking to him at all, but to the Rasi behind him.

The old man looked at him meaningfully.

"You are all smart people, but sometimes smart people are not as good as straightforward fools. Because the latter won't attribute their failures to shallow explanations like 'not being smart enough,' while the former always do things they think are clever. Think about my words again. Did I ask you, 'Who is good and who is bad'? What I asked was—what is correct."

"Whether Jia, Yi, Bing, or Ding is telling the truth or lying is completely unimportant to me. 'There are sheep' is the answer you should have given me. But instead, you went looking for the smart person in the question for me... Look at you. Don't say I can't help you. Even if the professor came back, it would be useless."

Shawa stared at the old man blankly, nodding as if he understood, carefully recording every word he said, intending to bring this information back to Rasi.

This old man had lived too long and seen all kinds of birds. It was hard not to take him seriously.

Perhaps what he couldn't understand, Rasi could.

But just then, the old man suddenly changed the subject, cutting off his own words mid-sentence.

He turned around, no longer looking at Shawa, and sighed to himself.

"...But then again, public opinion can melt metal. The problems you face are far more difficult than Abusek's."

"Some sheep eat meat, some eat grass, and some can even eat dirt. They all know how to bleat... Hard, truly hard. This old thing doesn't know how to solve it either."

Leaving behind a cryptic remark, he shook his head and walked away under Shawa's stunned gaze.

...

Winter had come early to the Grand Rift, and the cold of winter was gradually felt in Mammoth State at the foot of Mount Zhuobar.

The subtropics also had winters.

The monsoon blowing past Petra Fortress was like a refrigeration air conditioner, draining the warmth from Mammoth City, making people instinctively hunch their necks and stuff their hands into their pockets.

But compared to the winters of two centuries ago, this bit of chill was nothing. Besides, it was cold when the wind blew, but warm as soon as the sun came out.

People walked the streets with their cotton jackets open, faces glowing with a ruddy radiance.

A year ago at this time, many were still shivering in the cold wind. Now, they were so well-off that they didn't even need to button up.

Not only that, but cement houses had also multiplied in Mammoth City. The leaky thatched huts along the streets had been replaced by rows of cement houses painted red and white.

The Mammoth State produced too much anti-rust paint, and the unsold portion was simply slapped onto the walls.

The liveliest places on the streets were no longer the hiring points, but the supermarket shelves filled with goods.

The retail industry of the South Sea Alliance was highly developed, even more so than that of the Alliance.

As local laborers poured into the southern waters, they also brought back some of the latter's lifestyles.

It is understandable that the conservatives of the Alliance would be jealous.

Their pace of development was indeed too fast... even though they themselves had, to some extent, enjoyed the economic dividends of the Mammoth Kingdom's rapid growth.

Even many of the houses in Settlement No. 1 were built by Mammoth Kingdom construction workers.

The bustling market was but one facet of prosperity; the livelier scene was the dock of Mammoth City.

The dock was crowded with people craning their necks in anticipation, along with overseas laborers returning by steamship.

They had toiled abroad for an entire year, and now their hard work had finally paid off.

The rubble and debris of the southern seas had been cleared away, and the islanders' repayment to them went far beyond mere verbal gratitude.

The funds from the southern seas not only helped them rebuild their homes but also allowed them to acquire some property of their own.

Starting next year, they might no longer need to cross the oceans for work; they could find a decent-paying job right at their doorstep.

Of course, Mammoth City's industries were still upgrading, and local jobs certainly paid less than overseas work.

Thinking of his child about to enter university, the father, still in decent health, gritted his teeth and decided to venture to the South Seas once more.

Some young men, unwilling to disappoint their long-waiting childhood sweethearts, decided to start a family and have a child before venturing out.

Objectively speaking, Raxi had done some good deeds, or rather, some human things.

He gave choices to those who originally had none.

In contrast, the faction-ridden Moon Tribe resistance organizations were truly pathetic—either begging the Alliance for help like supplicants, or flaunting seniority and ranking who was closer to the Alliance, who was worthy and who was not.

No wonder Raxi looked down on them, even keeping them by his side like clowns.

As long as these pathetic creatures remained, even if he wanted to be emperor, the survivors of the Mammoth Kingdom would rally around him and place the crown on his head willingly.

After all, having a man as emperor was still better than letting a bunch of monkeys sit in the temple hall.

Not to mention that he had already taken a step back, preserving the substance for the 'conservatives' and giving face to the 'progressives,' merely wearing the title of Grand Leader.

For this reason, although Niyang cursed him every now and then, he still showed restraint in his writing.

In the collection 'Red Earth,' written up to now, he had often used the old dynasty's 'medical records' to critique the new regime's 'family tree,' but never touched on Raxi's own faults.

And though Raxi's nose was often twisted with anger by him, he still kept his original promise—he did not send the Stormtroopers to his door to gun him down, nor did he shut down the 'Survivor Daily' or Mammoth University.

Now Mammoth University was thriving, occasionally inviting teachers from Camp 101 as guests, and even exporting some excellent faculty to Jinjialun Port in return—Raxi indeed had a share of the credit for this.

But this alone was not enough.

Niyang had always had a dream.

General Rowell's descendants had erected a thousand pillars; then he would use the money 'stolen' from Duke Garava to establish a thousand universities on this land!

Only then could the power deep within the souls of the Boro people be truly awakened.

Every book must come to an end.

He pondered for a long time with his pen, then wrote a few lines on the final page, thus connecting it to the 'preface' of L at the beginning.

“...That year, the land was frozen, the sun and moon dim. General Rowell achieved unparalleled feats—whether worthy of praise or lament can only be left to posterity. Perhaps his subordinates were truly intoxicated by the 'Great Victory,' bewitched by demons, forsaking joyful days to perish with him; or perhaps in that frozen wilderness there were indeed so many unavoidable hardships.”

“I was fortunate to visit Rowell's Camp, but the gatekeeper there told me that while the walls were the original ones, the buildings, stone paths, and iron cages inside were relics from the 'Moon King' era. Artifacts from Rowell's time might have to be sought in Duke Nihak's governor's mansion.”

“Unfortunately, there were none there either.”

“I searched through all the ancient texts I could access, but only a few fragmented lines remained of that story. The elders of the Moon tribe might know something—they only said the Moon King was a good man, but were reticent about the origin of the Red Earth, then added that the Moon King had a moment of folly, and a farm owner had brought misery to them all.”

“I do not know if they spoke the truth, nor even the name of that farm owner. I can only lament that I am like a mayfly, standing at the lower reaches of the Eternal River, gazing up at the bygone days already buried atop Mount Zhuobar.”

“Later I returned to White Elephant City, and somehow I thought of L, that young man also buried in the red earth. I did not understand why I could not forget him, until I looked at my own feet—not only the one who planted the red earth and the one who ate the red earth were buried—”

Niyang suddenly coughed, instinctively raising his arm to cover his mouth.

He moved his arm away and saw a smear of red on his sleeve.

“The weather is getting drier...”

He muttered to himself, but then a flash of inspiration struck, and he concentratedly wrote the two characters 'Red Earth' on the paper.

“How similar our fates are! Beneath my feet I tread that handful of earth, I tread upon his bones, upon Rowell's bones. He seems to reach out, to grasp my ankle, to seize my throat. I suddenly realize I have pursued him half my life, groping in a daze for the exit of history, yet never did I expect that he had never left me—”

“He is every me.”

Having hastily written the last stroke, Niyang rose with heavy breaths, walked to a side table, took a pot of tea, and poured himself a cup.

These days he had been busy with the joint school initiative, sleeping only four or five hours a day, surviving entirely on this tea.

Especially earlier in Sky Capital, he had fallen seriously ill—fortunately it was not the 'death agent,' and he managed to survive.

But from then on, his health had never been the same.

After a sip of hot tea to moisten his throat, Niyang felt a bit of sweat and his thoughts became somewhat clearer.

On second thought, this ending was still a bit hasty, not as thrilling as the opening preface. Such a flat conclusion was unworthy of the magnificent journey, and Mr. Rat's readers would not be as accepting as before.

In fact, not to mention the readers, he himself felt something was missing.

But then again, the preface was L's story, while this ending touched on Rowell.

After all, he had truly seen L, many times, but Rowell was two centuries apart from him—he had never seen him, and no matter how he wrote, it was like viewing flowers through mist, tracing outlines through a window.

“'He is every me' is a bit hard to understand. Would changing it to 'He is every Boro person' be more intuitive? But that would be too absolute... Anyway, it's still a clue.”

Thinking thus, Niyang put down the teacup, but then felt an itch in his throat, so he picked up a tissue from the tray and coughed heartily.

However, when he moved the tissue away from his mouth, his heart gave a violent lurch.

Blood...

The scarlet color made him momentarily dizzy; perhaps he could no longer delay—he should find time to see a doctor.

Just then, the office door opened, and a professor clutching a newspaper hurried in.

Seeing the tissue in Niyang's hand, he paused, then asked with concern.

“Sir, what is this...”

“I'm fine,” Niyang wiped his mouth, calmly tossing the tissue into the wastebasket, then turned his gaze to the professor. “What is it that made you rush in without knocking?”

This man taught history at Mammoth University and was also the editor-in-chief of the Mammoth City edition of the 'Survivor Daily.'

The professor glanced at the wastebasket, then at the newspaper in his hand, and finally gritted his teeth and thrust the newspaper into Niyang's hands.

“Look at this newspaper!”

Niyang took the newspaper and looked at it, his brow slightly furrowed.

The newspaper was called 'Home Country World News'—a grand name, but obscure; at least he had never seen it before, likely produced by some small press.

Because of the three-point agreement between Raxi and him, allowing private newspapers, after the 'Survivor Daily' entered Mammoth City, many newspapers of all sizes sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain, each capturing a share of the market.

Preventing the 'Survivor Daily' from dominating alone was also a result tacitly approved by Raxi.

Niyang had never intended to monopolize the media industry; his focus was mainly on education, and he was naturally pleased to see the survivors of Mammoth City enthusiastically starting newspapers.

It was as if everyone united to finish the work he had left undone.

But what he did not expect was that these people were so outstanding that they even uncovered news that the 'Survivor Daily' had missed—

[Breaking News! First-hand Account! The Truth Buried at the Tasang River Dam!]

He hastily read the news from beginning to end, then his eyes widened, and the hand gripping the newspaper trembled incessantly.

The article cited a source claiming that it was not then-Imperial Governor Bammut who blew up the Tasan River Dam, but rather Rasi who masterminded it!

This was not only to crush the Imperial garrison forces, who outnumbered the Moon Tribe Resistance by several times, but also to set the stage for entering the city for disaster relief afterward and sending displaced refugees abroad for labor.

If one deduces the process from the outcome, there seems to be nothing wrong with what the report says.

The flood of the Tasan River indeed helped Rasi a great deal, including issues of land annexation, labor dispatch, and even humanitarian aid from the Alliance and corporations... almost all problems were solved with the coming of that great flood.

But to say that Rasi, standing by the river at that time, could have foreseen so far—that is not necessarily true.

Back then, Mammoth City and the Moon Tribe Resistance were not even a glimmer on the horizon; the hundreds of thousands of troops Bammut had gathered collapsing at the first touch were all later events...

Nyan took a deep breath and calmed down.

"The entire newspaper is filled with quotes from an insider, not a single piece of solid evidence. Whether the report is accurate or not, this is irresponsible journalism!"

"The new dam has already been built—what evidence could there be?" The professor sighed and spoke earnestly, "And let's set aside the truth for now. It's not just this newspaper; there are several others... soon all the papers in the city will be running this story. If we don't take a stand, we risk losing credibility! Do you know what people are saying outside? They call us Rasi's dogs!"

Whether to offend the Rasi authorities or the survivors of Mammoth City—they had reached a point where a choice had to be made.

Yet Nyan's eyes widened, and he rebuked angrily.

"What do you mean, 'set aside the truth'! Tell me, if a newspaper doesn't care about the truth, what does it care about? Reporting news must be based on facts, not fabricated nonsense! Haven't I taught you that? If Rasi really gave the order, I'll write an article confronting him myself! But what if it's not true? Then you and I become someone else's pawns!"

If Bharata wants to start a civil war, it will inevitably launch a propaganda offensive!

And this *Home and Country Gazette* might very well be the work of the Federation from Tiandu!

He had sensed it before—someone was pulling strings right under his nose.

But since it wasn't under the banner of the *Survivor Daily*, there was nothing they could do.

Perhaps they should follow the Alliance's example and set up an industry committee to assess the credibility of news media, but doing that now seemed too late.

These ambitious men planned to use the Tasan River Dam as a pretext for war, letting a disaster that had already happened once sweep over even more innocent people...

No matter who was behind this, he had to stop them!

He clenched his fist, folded the newspaper, and stuffed it into his pocket, then hurriedly took the coat hanging by the door.

Seeing his movements, the professor asked hastily.

"What are you going to do?"

Nyan replied without hesitation.

"I'm going to the front lines to ask Rasi directly!"

The professor stared at him, dumbfounded, and said with a wry laugh.

"My dear ancestor... you're going to the front lines at a time like this?! If you ask me, you should go to Dawn City for treatment right away. Your lung condition has been acting up for so long—it really can't wait any longer."

Nyan shook his head, refusing his kindness, and put on his coat, buttoning it up.

"This illness comes and goes; a little delay won't hurt, but the affairs of the Bharata people cannot be delayed! I must go to the front first to get to the bottom of what really happened! If he did blow it up, did he do it knowing the consequences, or was there something else behind it..."

That was a battle where the few defeated the many. Rasi was at an absolute numerical disadvantage. From the standpoint of the then-governor, there seemed to be no need to blow up the dam.

But that was just speculation.

Just like the chapter about Lowell in *Red Earth*—it was all just his conjecture from beginning to end. Even the Alliance had not uncovered the absolute truth.

Yet one thing in that newspaper did strike a chord with him.

Nyan had always been puzzled by Governor Bammut's confession, and now, after reading that report, his suspicions only grew.

It was like how at minus thirty degrees, fungi freeze into ice; no matter how strong their vitality, they can only hibernate. Red Earth, after all, is not a complex intelligent life form like mutant slime mold—it is merely a decomposer in nature, incapable of conjuring nutrients out of nothing.

Carbon fixation, nitrogen fixation, converting solar energy and organic matter into nutrients needed by organisms—this requires the collective effort of all plants, animals, and microorganisms in the entire Bharata Province.

What kind of miracle could turn frozen soil into nutrients in those bleak, lightless years?

Calling Red Earth a "redundant nutrient paste" might not be quite right, but he had indeed thought of it that way.

Currently, the biggest controversy in Alliance academia over this history lies precisely here.

A group of scholars led by Ms. Han Mingyue believe that the development and promotion of Red Earth were two separate stages: the first was completed by General Lowell, and the second was the achievement of the "Moon King," who unified Bharata Province.

However, this speculation is clearly unfavorable to the tragic Moon Tribe, or rather politically incorrect.

It seems to rationalize the persecution of the Moon Tribe by the Xilan Empire—even if Ms. Han Mingyue herself has no such intention, and the Alliance's research institutions need not heed public opinion.

But her research is not authoritative.

Another group of scholars argues that the spread of Red Earth was a spontaneous behavior under the "slave economy," where the landlords' natural demand to "lower the cost of slave living" was the real driving force behind its proliferation.

This is a purely macro-level analysis that ignores human factors.

Both hypotheses are possible. Those who lived through that history are all dead; the Moon King long ago ground that history to ashes, though in the end, the Moon King himself perished too.

In the depths of his heart, Nyan suddenly felt an intuition—

Perhaps it was precisely their disrespect for history that gave rise to one calamity after another.

And it was this very intuition that strengthened his conviction to find Rasi.

They must have an honest talk!

And that was the only way to ensure everyone survived!

Seeing that Nyan was adamant about not stopping for treatment, the professor pleaded bitterly.

"Let me find some local doctors. I hear they know some folk remedies—maybe they can cure your illness."

Nyan shook his head, refusing him again.

"Those people are either intentional or unintentional frauds. If you want to believe them, go ahead, but don't try to convince me."

The professor gave a wry smile at that, but stopped persuading, silently praying in his heart.

They had much work left unfinished, and it was at a critical juncture.

May he be safe!