Chapter 149 Only those who are careless have a future

"From afar, the mountains are vibrant; from nearby, the water flows silently. Spring fades, the flowers remain; people approach, but the birds remain unstartled..."

Lang Lang's reading voice echoed in the afternoon sun.

It was a warm winter afternoon.

In the small square of the central community of the Bloody Dawn Base, a group of children sat on small benches and recited poems loudly to the blackboard.

The blackboard was one meter square, made of several wooden boards joined together and painted black. It was small and simple, but the writing on it was very neat. The handwritten chalk characters were straight and flat, comparable to printed text, and every stroke was so regular that there was no flaw to be found.

The old man was wearing a Zhongshan suit and had a kind face. He used a small stick as a teaching stick, pointed at the ancient poems on the blackboard, and led everyone to read aloud one sentence at a time.

There are more than twenty children in total, ranging in age from five or six to around ten years old, which is the age to go to elementary school.

When the apocalypse arrived, schools were gone, and even survival became a problem. Many minors disappeared silently in various disasters, and only a few made it to the Crimson Dawn base.

The younger ones are still being taken care of by their parents, while the older ones are participating in various labors within their ability. Only those under the age of ten, who cannot do heavy work and do not need close care from their parents, run around in the base and seem a bit idle.

Not long ago, someone organized temporary study classes to try to create opportunities for children to receive education in the apocalypse.

However, there are not many children willing to participate, and the number of people who can come to the class every day is no more than thirty.

But the few people who volunteered to teach taught very seriously, even sacrificing their precious time to work and earn points.

This class was Chinese, taught by an elderly man named Xiang, who had recently arrived at the base. It was said that he had been a university professor before the end of the world.

"Teacher Xiang, this poem is too simple. We have learned it in school before!" A child shouted impatiently after reading the poem several times.

"I could recite this poem in kindergarten!" said another child.

"Yes, we all know it. Teacher, please change to another song!" More children echoed.

On the other side of the small square is where the logistics department distributes supplies, with people coming and going; in another corner, a group of people are explaining the base regulations; and a group of guards who have just come off duty are practicing emergency measures nearby... The surrounding noise constantly attracts the children's attention, making them even less interested in the teaching content that they have already memorized.

Give the teacher a kind smile.

"Classmates, do you really all know this poem? Do you know it very well and understand it very well?"

"We all know it!" A child stood up. "I even know what this poem means. It's about a painting. The mountains have color, the water is silent, the flowers are always there, and the birds don't fly away startled. Because it's a painting, it will always be that way, it won't change!"

"Hahaha!" All the children laughed.

The smile towards the teacher became more and more intense.

He shook his head. "Nothing in this world remains unchanged. For example, our world has changed. This poem doesn't mean what you understand it to mean. It's not about painting, but about the heart and life. Do you know what the last four lines of this poem mean?"

The children were stunned.

The whole poem has only four sentences, so there is no need to distinguish between the beginning and the end.

Teacher Xiang picked up the eraser and erased the four lines of poetry on the blackboard.

Then he wrote down the four sentences again in neat and beautiful print.

——Everything is revealed, everything is flat. How can I say I don’t know? It’s just because it’s too clear.

"Students, adding these four lines completes the poem. The first four lines are attributed to Wang Wei? That's just a rumor. These eight lines are actually a reflection on a Buddhist sutra written by a Song Dynasty Zen master. It speaks not of painting, but of the human heart, of pure self-nature, and of the essence of the world."

"In this class, we're studying this poem. What you need to understand is why the world has become what it is now? Where does the future lie? How should we live? What is the truly right choice?"

"Mountains, rivers, flowers, and birds are all illusory; all things are equal."

"When a new wave of species mutation arrives, with hundreds of boats vying for the upper stream and natural selection taking over, how can we humans, with only weak bodies, compete with the powerful mutants for survival resources without extinction?"

The gray-haired old professor knocked on the blackboard with his pointer, tap, tap, tap, emphasizing the final conclusion.

"Students, purify your nature, abandon desires and emotions, and advance solely according to the laws and science of the world's origins. This is where our future lies."

"We must shed blood. We must sacrifice our weak bodies in exchange for a meager living space."

"Don't shed tears. The heart is completely superfluous to us."

“Forget all emotions and face this magnificent and vibrant new world with absolute rationality.”

“Only those who have no heart have a future.”

The classroom was silent.

Children under ten years old did not quite understand the meaning of these words.

The cruelties they had witnessed and heard made them vaguely feel that their teacher's teachings contained profound truths. But they didn't understand what those truths were. They couldn't judge whether they were right or wrong. They were too young.

The warm sun cast golden light on this small makeshift classroom.

The children's clear and confused eyes and the teacher's deep smile were all coated with a layer of light golden light by the sunlight.

What a bright sun...

But why is it so cold? Is it really winter?

There is no heating in the south in winter. I really want to go back to the north...

In the room with floor heating, I was wearing a vest and shorts, eating ice cream and drinking beer. There was an induction cooker on the dining table and the hot pot was steaming.

It's a shabu-shabu hotpot, one side is covered with red chilies, the other side is filled with milky white bone broth...

The knife-flying man lay on the ground, looking at the dazzling setting sun with a dazed look, as if he had returned to his hometown in the far north.

The house is warm. My parents are washing hot pot ingredients in the kitchen while I sit on the sofa eating snacks and watching TV. The days are nourishing but boring, and life seems to be endless.

That kind of long and boring time is so comfortable.

A turbulent world, brutal killings, superpowers that make one feel superior, exciting battles... these are what I longed to experience at first, but after experiencing them, I just want to go back to the beginning.

Boring days are the most precious, but we just don’t understand it at the time.

Blood.

Bright red blood.

Blood that stank of transformation potions.

It flowed out from the body, forming small puddles beneath the body, one, two, three, and then intertwined into larger puddles.

Life also quickly faded away.

I really want to go home...

Where is home, where are my loved ones? I have not been able to contact you since the storm. My dear friends and relatives who are still alive and well... I will never see you again.

Just because of a travel with friends, I came to City C for a short stay and never went back.

I became a very powerful psychic.

Then, I died.

bite.

The last flying knife fell to the ground, bounced up, spun on the ground like a top, and finally stopped.

The knife-throwing man exhaled his last breath.

Qiao Lan and Ye Qi stopped, paused for a short breath, and glanced at him.

Another nameless enemy.

In this world, people always seem to be able to survive hardships and die easily.

Like a feather passing through the sky, leaving no trace.