Chapter 783 - 672: A Beautiful Misunderstanding (Part 2)

Chapter 783: Chapter 672: A Beautiful Misunderstanding (Part 2)

As long as you breathe in more of the sweet air from Upper City than others every day, you can live longer than others!

Reserve now to enjoy a 20% discount, and get a chance to win a bottle of high-quality pure water from Upper City..."

Chen Fengrui sat down, picked up a bowl, and took a sip of the lukewarm synthetic porridge. The taste was as bland as ever, with a hint of chemical aftertaste.

The sarcasm on his face grew stronger, and he muttered, as if talking to himself, yet clearly intending for his parents at the table to hear:

"Ha, better add a meter to show how much tax you owe with each breath so that everyone can remember that the more they breathe, the quicker they will go bankrupt."

The middle-aged man’s face turned completely dark, and he suddenly slammed the phone face down on the table, his chest slightly heaving as he glared at his son across from him.

Ever since his son "failed early" in the citizenship qualification exam, he seemed to have changed completely, locking himself in the small bedroom all day, not seeing anyone, not speaking.

Recently, his mood seemed to have calmed a bit, as he came out to eat, but his tone of speech had become eerie and sarcastic, worse than if he said nothing at all.

The middle-aged man suppressed his anger and coldly snorted:

"Alright, these are policies issued by the Upper City Council. Do you think you’ll appear smarter by criticizing them? Can’t even shut your mouth during a meal!"

Chen Fengrui didn’t retort, merely letting out a lightweight "ha" through his nose, more infuriating than any heated argument.

He shot a fierce glare at his son, lowering his voice to warn:

"Once you step out of this door, control your mouth. Your mouth is for eating and breathing, not spewing nonsense. Cause trouble, and no one will clean up after you!"

Chen Fengrui sneered fearlessly:

"It’s precisely because Lower City people have gotten used to keeping their mouths shut that things have become like this, leaving everyone voiceless.

We live so poorly not because we’re stupid, but precisely because most people are too smart, turning everyone into ghostly figures."

The middle-aged man seemed to have been stabbed by these few words, his face turning blue from black and his lips trembling, teeth audibly clenching.

He abruptly raised his hand as if to slap his rebellious son, but his arm halted halfway, finally slamming heavily on the tabletop, causing the bowls and chopsticks to jump.

"Who taught you these twisted ideas?"

Each word from the middle-aged man carried suppressed anger and fear,

"Was it that free media man [Graveyard Tree]? How many times have I told you not to look at that nonsense online.

These dangerous thoughts are a terrifying poison, and sooner or later, they’ll get you killed!!"

Chen Fengrui was at an age where he feared nothing, especially after obtaining free Strength, feeling even more invincible.

At least, he liked to think he was fearless, scoffing once more at his father’s words.

The middle-aged man looked at his son’s rebellious demeanor, feeling his blood pressure soar in his head. He took a few deep breaths, barely restraining his anger, and still tried to reason with his son:

"I’ve read [Graveyard Tree]’s articles too. He was the first to expose the air tax recently. I admit there’s some truth in what he says.

But then, what? Even if he’s right, what can be changed? What can it change?

Lower City has lived this way for 300 years, and a few people shouting online won’t change anything, right?"

The middle-aged man paused, chuckling derisively as well:

"It’s just inciting a few mindless folks to their deaths. Upper City’s lights will still illuminate Lower City as usual, maybe just uncover a few newly rotten corpses in some corner."

And I can even guess, among those corpses, one must be [Graveyard Tree]’s."

The middle-aged man paused once more, continuing:

"Hmm, maybe he’s already dead, rotted, and smelly, turned into a nest by mice and roaches..."

The sarcasm and sneer on Chen Fengrui’s face instantly froze.

He stopped with his "ha" and stopped attempting to retort.

Because he had to admit the raw truth in his father’s words, that [Graveyard Tree] might indeed be dead, as his media account hadn’t been updated for a long time.

This silent withdrawal meant only one thing in Lower City!

Seeing his son fall into silence, the middle-aged man’s face eased slightly, trying earnestly to guide his son back to the right path:

"For 300 years, people down here have been living like this. Those who shout the loudest, claiming they want to change everything, always disappear, silently vanish.

Only those who understand silence and endurance can live quietly on Lower City’s soil."

He pointed at himself with his finger, stating:

"Your father, I, lived like this. Your grandfather lived like this too. Your grandfather’s father, your grandfather’s grandfather...

Tracing back 300 years, or even longer, we’ve always lived this way!"

He continued talking while pointing at his son, speaking slowly:

"So, now there’s you.

And you, my son, you should live like us, honest and quietly.

Live until you marry and have children, live until you grow old like me, and then teach this truth honestly to your son... This is our Destiny!"

Chen Fengrui was left speechless, his mouth opening several times, struggling to retort word by word, but unable to speak.

If [Graveyard Tree]’s articles were like firewood that fueled his anger, his father’s words felt like cold mud, layering over him and suffocating him.

He believed [Graveyard Tree] was right, but his father’s words seemed to hold truth as well.

His mother, who had been quietly listening, finally interjected to comfort the situation:

"Son... listen to your father, your dad has consumed more Neutralizing Agent in his life than you’ve eaten synthetic rice.

What others teach you are dead principles, but what your dad teaches you is the principle of living!"

Chen Fengrui bit hard on his molars, nearly drawing blood from his gums.

A fierce sense of grievance and anger clashed within his chest, desperate to find an outlet, finally expressing indignantly:

"Three hundred years... Has it always been like this, then it’s necessarily right?!"

The middle-aged man sighed, looking at his son as if seeing his own once youthful, passionate self, now long cooled inside.

He drank the porridge from his bowl, smacked his lips, continuing:

"Otherwise, what do you think is right? Right and wrong don’t reside in words but in fists, and the silent ones who live have never gained any Strength."

Chen Fengrui seemed to latch onto a flaw, raising his eyebrow defiantly:

"Impossible! Clearly, people like us are the majority in Lower City, the combined fists of the poor are the most numerous, how can there be no Strength?!"

The middle-aged man revealed a rare bit of sarcasm, snorting:

"Of course, there have been, indeed there have been. Over time, some lucky poor or genetically mutated ones gain decent Strength.

But, ah, these people later without exception turned into those who silence us."

Chen Fengrui’s expression grew stiff and dazed.

He refused to believe his father’s words, yet his reason coldly told him that this answer very likely was the truth, truer than gold.

Although Chen Fengrui had acquired the Strength bestowed by the "Master," his mind had not matured, still wandering in confusion.

He thus lowered his head, silently praying in his heart:

"Master, you have granted me Strength, but I still don’t know where the road leads. Your humble disciple pleads for you to grant me wisdom, to guide my Destiny..."

In the void of silence, something eerily seemed to stir, and his heartfelt prayer was silently heard by the "Master."

And beside the "Master’s" ear, a vague and unfamiliar auditory illusion seemed to accompanied...