Chapter 124: The Reason x for x Troubles

"Then, how do you view the deity that brought us into this world?"

After asking this, Lin Feirui turned and walked out.

To her, this was a necessary method to enhance her allure, and indeed it was effective. After she left, Wang Luo paced around the room, appearing somewhat irritated.

Curiously, he was not pondering the question she had raised; he merely felt annoyed.

Recently, everything had been going so smoothly; where on earth was this irritation coming from?

Was it because everything was too smooth, too simple, too easy, and thus felt boring?

Yet, wasn't this the exact progress he had always hoped for? If setbacks and failures were to occur, he wouldn't become a commander leading vast armies, but rather a homeless stray dog with nothing left.

No, no, no. One must not crave failure. This was the most dangerous mindset, one that would ruin his current good fortune.

Right, the endeavor he was engaged in—justice—was inherently intertwined with boredom. Nothing requires enemies to stimulate it quite as much as this.

Was saving these people wrong? By no means could it be wrong.

And for my generation, the most powerful and effective strategy we could adopt when saving people was communism. Having read too much of it in textbooks from a young age and witnessed too much injustice in society, having felt the harm inflicted by others' selfishness upon oneself, we increasingly tended to accept it.

At the same time, however, an issue that must be noted is that concepts like fairness and justice are also exceptionally tedious—especially after one has tasted victory for a period.

It hasn't taken full shape yet, just showing the earliest signs. With the arrival of new enemies, it will probably be temporarily suppressed. But it will not vanish; only after the ultimate victory will it truly begin to take effect.

Moreover, not only do I uphold justice, but I am also fundamentally kind at heart, which is another major issue.

Perhaps, this was why I provoked the Yellow Turbans. He recalled his earlier actions and found a justification for himself.

In short, tediousness is an inherent problem of the endeavor itself; the responsibility does not rest entirely on me. For those who have long immersed themselves in suffering, the pursuit of fairness can evoke excitement, and the pursuit of success can bring spiritual satisfaction. But I am an outsider who has never suffered under these landlords, so the satisfaction brought by victory is not strong enough, leading to a sense of boredom in the aftermath of victory.

Compared to the previous scenario, where toying with others and manipulating them brought a strong sense of joy through victory, the pleasure of victory this time was drastically diminished.

Was everyone else the same, aside from me? Just a bit later than me? Did they too feel the loss of pleasure after victory?

Is this the reason why former revolutionaries degenerate or transform? Did an inner emptiness emerge after losing the enemies that exerted intense pressure upon them?

And among them, some had a relatively low demand for spiritual satisfaction, allowing them to persevere due to past successes and the sacrifices of their comrades; whereas others pursued higher spiritual stimulation and thus chose to degenerate?

And if they, the first generation, could generally hold the line—then their children, born into higher positions and more privileged environments, would have absolutely no reason to persevere in that tedious justice. For while their elders persevered in justice at the risk of their lives, which might be regarded as great and noble, their own perseverance would often be taken for granted or even ridiculed; yet plundering others was something no one could stop them from doing, leaving others to swallow their grievances and tremble in silent suffering.

Comparing the two, what they identified with deep down went without saying. And if they still managed to hold on purely out of inertia, then the disintegration of the third generation...

The Soviet Union is a prime example of this.

To make former heroes, or their descendants, uphold justice requires giving sufficient respect to the difficulty of such perseverance and offering the due rewards—yet the group composed of the second and even third generations of the rescued often takes the fairness they received for granted as well. This is what is known as the "malice of the weak."

The tragedy is that the weak generally gain nothing from this maliciousness buried deep in their hearts; instead, it only solidifies the position of the strong. Unable to shake off this malice and incapable of doing any major evil themselves, they unwittingly lay the cornerstone for the strong to plunder them.

Is this what is called the "historical cyclical rate"? Is this why revolutions, though raging like wildfires, can never completely resolve problems?

Well... let's try to solve this problem from its roots. Even though it's quite difficult... I'll just treat it as a pastime.

Ah... I'm bored anyway. He turned his head and glanced at Zhou Suyan.

Still more amusing than her.

---

"Whoever is willing to go, step forward on your own."

"You all know the contents of the letter. This is essentially going right up to their faces to hurl insults. I've also made it clear to you, this is a suicide mission. Who has the guts to step forward and go! If none of you have the guts, I'll go back and report to the general that your camp is full of cowards!"

Sun Qiao roared angrily in his camp. "I know some of you had your entire families bewitched by the roving bandits of the Yellow Turbans, driving you from your homes and leaving them dead on the road! I know others had your entire families plundered and slaughtered by the Yellow Turban bandits! Now you are given a chance! When you deliver the letter, a massive army will be right behind you. If the Yellow Turban bandits kill you, the army will naturally avenge you!"

"On the battlefield, life and death are ordinary matters! I'll count to three. If still no one dares to step forward, I'll go look for another camp! I, Sun Qiao, would be too ashamed to lead you onto the battlefield!"

"One."

"Two!"

"I'll go."

As Sun Qiao expected, someone spoke up. But when he looked over with satisfied eyes, his expression changed abruptly.

The one who spoke was not a soldier before him, but a ragged prisoner not far away with chains on his body and disheveled hair—seemingly one of the few Han army officers who had not surrendered.

Sun Qiao glared angrily at his subordinates and turned to the prisoner. "Who are you?"

"A general defeated in battle, too ashamed to state my name," the prisoner cupped his fists. "My entire family was harmed by the Yellow Turbans, so I enlisted in the army to crusade against the rebels. Defeated and captured the other day, I was originally resolved to die to repay the country. But hearing that your army intends to crusade against the Yellow Turbans, as for the task of delivering a letter to bitterly curse the Yellow Turbans, though I am unworthy, I am willing to serve as the messenger."

"Stop speaking in words we don't understand!" Sun Qiao barked angrily.

A burst of laughter erupted around them. Sun Qiao glanced at the prisoner, pondering... A suicide mission was indeed hard to assign. This Han army prisoner was unwilling to surrender and harbored a grudge against the Yellow Turbans; sending him would actually be a good idea.

"You aren't planning to use this opportunity to escape, are you?" Sun Qiao asked.

"If Commander Sun is worried, just send men to follow me," the prisoner smiled. "Since your subordinates didn't dare to deliver the letter, surely you wouldn't dare to escort me either?"

Many of Sun Qiao's subordinates glared at him angrily. Sun Qiao, however, smiled. "Good! Then you shall go! But you look far too unsightly. You men, give him a wash and tidy him up."

Having made the arrangements, Sun Qiao turned around and headed straight for Wang Luo's tent.

After listening to the report, Wang Luo hesitated for a moment.

"Very well, let him go."

There was no need to change the content either; it was still better than the one he had newly prepared: "In the north there is yellow, and its name is turban. The Yellow Turbans are so vast, a single platter cannot hold them. Cook them with salt, their flavor is exquisite..." which carried far more intimidation.

As for playing monkey tricks, we'll talk about that later.