Psychics don't die from gunfire

Chapter 871 A Day on Mangxing Plain

Twenty-five years ago, He Chengzhong was not called "He Chengzhong".

He had another name, Malcolm Thursson. It was a name his father and mother had given him together. It is said, well, not really said, that people living in Mangxing Plain a hundred years ago all had names in this style.

Surely some people have experienced that scene. For example, every year the Mangxingyuan Protectorate invites several local centenarians to tell the public about Mangxingyuan back then—the focus of which was naturally the heavenly soldiers and generals of the Eastern Continent Republic who swiftly defeated the original corrupt regime and brought blessings and hope to the people of Mangxingyuan.

But my parents certainly didn't experience it firsthand.

He Chengzhong is very clear about this.

From as far back as I can remember, they've often told me about the history of Mangxing Plain, those stories whose truth is hard to discern. What irresponsible parents! Under the watchful eye of the [surveillance network], don't they know this will label them as dangerous individuals?

Fortunately, they managed to retain a shred of rationality and only discussed these matters at home; otherwise, He Zhongcheng would have seriously considered cutting ties with them.

It's truly unsightly. You've only heard about it from afar, yet you've become obsessed and infatuated, muttering in your sleep about the things that happened on this land of Mangxing Plain, repeating them to yourselves over and over again.

No, actually, they can understand. They are the losers who were filtered out, the dejected people who couldn't compete with others. That's why they need to find something to hold onto, trying desperately to prove something, even if it's just wishful thinking. In the end, it becomes a habit ingrained in their bones, and incessant chatter makes their frustrated lives feel better.

He Chengzhong escaped.

At fourteen, he graduated early with excellent grades. The moment he stood on the podium as an outstanding graduate, he completely shed the name "Malcolm Thursson" and became "He Chengzhong." After many years of ups and downs and wandering, he finally lived up to his name, achieving some success and building a career.

To this day, in He Chengzhong's prosthetic eye, the identification code for "He Chengzhong" bears the neat inscription of "Eighth Grade." This signifies that he has passed the Protectorate's review, standing out from millions of others and taking a step forward in the Eastern Continent Republic's citizenship system.

They went from being "ninth-class citizens" of the uncivilized barbarians to being "eighth-class citizens" who were just like the natives of the Eastern Continent.

--more than!
He started from scratch, building a huge construction company, and even made connections with an official in the Construction Bureau, working like a slave for him for many years. Finally, his efforts have paid off. The official has personally promised to report his achievements and apply for "seventh-class citizen" status for him this year.

We're seventh-class citizens.
Yes, in the eyes of these noble families, second-class families are enough. There is no difference between seventh-class and ninth-class citizens; they are all nothing more than mud under the dust. But for him, for the people of Mangxing, this is already a world apart.

He Chengzhong had so many things he wanted to do: become a seventh-class citizen, set foot on the mainland of the Republic, and lead his company to become bigger and stronger. He didn't care if the company didn't become bigger and stronger; he'd rather lose everything and be penniless. He was determined to get into the administrative system.
Ding.

A communication notification interrupted my thoughts.

He Chengzhong took a deep breath, rubbed his temples with his index finger, then opened his eyes, looked at the communication interface, and clicked to connect.

"Ma'er, son, I'm so sorry, I know I shouldn't trouble you, you're very busy, as you said. But your uncle's health is really failing. Do you remember him? He's the uncle who used to take you out to play when you were little. We really have no other choice. Mom wants to ask you for a loan. Yes, yes, we will definitely find a way to pay it back."

"I understand," He Chengzhong interrupted. "I will transfer some money over. Also, don't transfer any more money during this period."

After saying that, he hung up the call without waiting for a reply.

Instead of using the company's official account, He Chengzhong opened one of his personal accounts and transferred some money.

Without looking back, he straightened his tie. The car came to a slow, steady stop. Once it was stable, he opened the door and walked into a secluded courtyard house nestled in the mountains and water. A winding path led through the courtyard, the sound of a zither filled the air, the eaves were dark green, and pear blossoms peeked over the walls. A stone pavilion stood by the water, and inside the pavilion was a stone table with an old man sitting with his back to it, wisps of smoke drifting in the air.

"Lord Xu." He Chengzhong stood outside the pavilion, respectfully.

As if only then noticing someone approaching, the old man slowly turned around, looked them over for a moment, and then suddenly laughed.

"Little He's here. Come on over, it'll be good to have some tea with me—you won't look down on this old man, will you?"

"You jest." He Chengzhong's respect remained undiminished. The other party was the official from the Construction Bureau whom he had befriended. He came from a fifth-rank noble family, and his power was, at least to He Chengzhong's liking, unattainable.

"Are you joking? I don't think so." The old man chuckled, but shook his head. "I don't think your attitude towards your mother is very friendly."

He Chengzhong was startled at first, but then he suddenly realized what was happening.

—It's a surveillance network!
The other party was a fifth-class citizen, yet also a key figure in the former Protectorate of Mangxing. Given their status and position, their access to the [Surveillance Network] was naturally far superior to his; they could freely oversee the entire situation and browse information. That phone call just now couldn't have escaped their notice! Even so, it was still far too fast.
Is it self-reproach?
Seeing this, the old man suddenly smiled again, tapping the stone table with his index finger, as if sighing: "I know you have lofty aspirations and are devoted to the Republic, but you have to take things one step at a time. Our Eastern Continent Republic has never cared about background, only talent and character. Your family background is indeed a bit poor, but what does that matter?"

He said in a gentle tone, "Now that war is raging everywhere and battles are raging, the safety of the whole country rests on the shoulders of you dukes and marquises. But people like you and me cannot slack off either. We must contribute our share. As long as we can make contributions that are seen and remembered by those above, it is not impossible for us to not only become seventh-class citizens, but also to establish a powerful family."

“Xiao He, the ruler is the guide for his subjects, and the father is the guide for his son. If you are not even filial to your own relatives, how can we entrust you with any tasks?”

He Chengzhong suddenly had a flash of inspiration. He immediately knelt down and kowtowed three times, his forehead turning bright red from the kowtow. His voice boomed like a bell: "Father!"

"Ruzi can be taught."

The old man clapped his hands and laughed.

“Son, I’ve heard rumors lately that there’s unrest in many places. Influenced by outsiders, they’re secretly advocating for ‘independence of resettlement areas,’ and a few of these places happen to be within your territory.”

"I'll have someone handle this as soon as I get back!"

“Hey, it’s better to guide than to block. In your eyes, is our Protectorate just such an unreasonable entity?” The old man shook his head: “I will have the list found by the [Surveillance Network] be given to you. You find some people, deal with those ringleaders, get some blood on your hands, make a big fuss, and then we will step in to uphold justice for these unfortunate people who have been deceived.”

"I understand, I understand—"

The old man's face grew increasingly satisfied, and just as he was about to say something more, his expression suddenly changed, as if the [surveillance network] had suddenly discovered a shocking scene, and he abruptly raised his head.

All that could be seen was the vast sky, bathed in heavenly light—

A burst of pure gold!

(End of this chapter)