Chapter 86 Speech
In the end, he convinced the Owl—the Oakensale Society would be responsible for assisting the new newspaper, filing with the relevant authorities and passing content review. However, ultimate authority over the newspaper would not rest with him, but with Gibson Wyatt, Vice President of White Tower University. This was a necessary concession, but also a necessary protection. Having successfully secured the editor-in-chief position, the professor said nothing, simply retreating to his office and, after three days of seclusion, delivering the first sample copy.
The newspapers and periodicals popular among the common people on the market today are mostly composed of a large number of pornographic, bloody and bizarre yellow news, which can be as sensational and eye-catching as possible. However, this freshly-published sample issue is unique - a large part of the space is occupied by political commentary articles.
Several high-ranking members of the Oakenseler Society, Owl's trusted confidants, were also present. One of them frowned upon seeing the layout of the board. Nova recognized him as the dean of the Farga Academy, which specialized in law, taxation, and literary logic. "Young man, with all due respect, I subscribe to similar political journals, but are you sure those simple-minded civilians would be interested in complex and obscure political discussions?"
The black-haired young man looked exhausted. He was thin, his skin pale, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look as if he had been up all day and night, but his gray eyes were surprisingly bright.
"It's simple, basic logic. No one wouldn't care about things that affect their lives," he replied simply. "Just like people might not care about what the Chancellor of the Exchequer said in a meeting today, they definitely care about how many extra coins are on their tax form tomorrow."
Wyatt was carefully reading the political article that occupied the front page. The author boldly and sharply commented on the auction of the ownership of the Silver Flower Mine, the empire's recent debt crisis, and the increasingly complicated energy taxes. The writing style was so cold and sharp that it was hard to imagine that the author was just a young man in his twenties - but there was not a single obscure part in the whole article, and it even had a slightly absurd sense of humor.
"Immediately and clearly opposing the church's theories will only cause panic and resistance among the public. What we do is simply to break down and dismantle the struggles among the upper classes and the exploitation of the lower classes. We explain in a clear and understandable way who is doing what and how it affects them. We believe that humans are capable of independent thinking." Seeing the other man lost in thought, looking down, the young man continued, "Therefore, the inflammatory articles prevalent in the world today cannot last long. One day, readers will grow tired and bored of them, and this goes against the original purpose of our newspaper."
"—Dedicate your life to the truth and return power to the people."
He stared at everyone present with an expressionless face until everyone subconsciously turned their heads away, not daring to look directly into those cold, bright eyes that were like a burning moon.
The owl beside him had been silent since a while ago, but he couldn't help but look up when he heard this, and his eyes behind the hood stared deeply at the young man who seemed too young for him - a scary guy.
He could vaguely see something vast and unprecedented from behind the man. It could not be described in existing language. It was bright, calm, clear and calm. Its mere existence was enough to make everyone deeply afraid and fanatically obsessed.
"I have no objection."
After a long pause, the dean of Farga Academy gently put down the newspaper and let out a breath. He stood up and solemnly extended his hand in Nova's direction, "Perhaps Farga Academy would be honored to provide you with some assistance, such as providing some submissions and materials?"
"My pleasure." The black-haired young man shook his hand. As long as he was willing, he could complete all the etiquette impeccably.
Many people raised rather sharp and even aggressive questions, but the young speaker, with his unique and breathtaking charm, succeeded in making them calm down and think deeply. At least no one objected anymore, thinking that the absurd idea was just a naive dream.
"It is destined to arouse the natural desire for power and truth in human beings and inspire them to fight to become their own masters; it is destined to teach people to obey fair and strict laws and resist the harsh system that exists only to facilitate the exploitation of greed; it is destined to teach soldiers to recognize the tyrannical intentions of their superiors, to lay down their weapons when ordered to slaughter innocent people, and to respond to coercion with a sneer; it is destined to tear apart the strict and cruel laws of the church and the hypocritical and poisonous instigation, and to rescue the miserable victims from oppression until they hear the song of freedom and victory."
"Sparks crackled in his eyes." Perhaps later bards would describe the young man at this moment in this way, but only matter is burning, and the flame itself is silent.
As everyone held their breath, the young, dark-haired leader gazed solemnly at everyone present, seemingly looking into the unknown distance. "This will be the work for which I will dedicate my life. It will also be the work that you will support and engage in. I can be sure that we have not and will not waste our time."
“So, how would you name it?” someone asked.
The other party answered without hesitation: "'Limin', it should be called 'Limin Newspaper'."
…
"You have posed a difficult problem for the society." After everyone in the society left, Owl finally spoke his first words so far.
Nova understood what he meant. It was absolutely impossible for such a radically positioned newspaper—though he considered it quite conservative—to avoid being suppressed by those in power. Whether it could obtain the necessary license to publish was completely uncertain.
"Rising aristocrats, wealthy merchants, progressive politicians... there are always those who seek to challenge the existing order." The black-haired young man glanced at him calmly. He had become a cold, sharp weapon, and there was no reason for him to beg the wielder, already filled with murderous intent, when to unsheathe it.
A few strange, cooing laughs squeezed out from the owl's furry head, but it was impossible to tell the emotion.
"Not long ago, I met a noble lady," he said, suddenly changing the subject without warning. "She came to Gibson alone, holding a letter. She looked terrified, and when she spoke of you, she was as respectful as if she were talking about a monarch. Her family was in great trouble at the time, and her father was struggling to save his life."
Nova stared at him calmly, which meant that the letters he had sent out had played their due role.
"It seems you are very satisfied with her," he replied coldly. "I believe you will see Miss Carleton's name on the list of honor students of Evergreen Academy soon."
"A woman, and an ordinary one at that." Owl sneered, "How can you be so sure that I will accept her? Is it because of those few lines of scribbled handwriting of yours?"
Even an owl had to admit that this kid was indeed smart, undeniably smart, but also incredibly arrogant—perhaps it was the instinctive repulsion between equally intelligent people. He admired others, yet was always looking to provoke them, completely ignoring the fact that he was several times their age. If his old friend were here, he would have laughed at his disrespect for his age.
"Miss Carleton could very well create a potion that could replace holy water in the hearts of ordinary people. I've brought before you a talent who could revolutionize the medical field." As expected, the young man glanced at him with surprise and a hint of disdain, completely oblivious to the fact that he was speaking to the head of the academy, his immediate superior in a certain sense. "Don't make me doubt your brain's functioning properly."
Owl was almost amused by him: "...Boy, you have a really unpleasant mouth. Is this how you and Rabelais talk?"
"--What does this have to do with my teacher?" The other person turned his head in an instant, staring at him warily, like a cat with its back arched - look, its fur is standing on end. Owl couldn't help but feel a little sour.
"Don't get my teacher involved without permission." The young man warned him expressionlessly, "You know what I can do."
"Who cares?" Owl rolled his eyes where no one could see, and without hesitation, he spoke ill of the teacher in front of him. "That old man left the Royal City to avoid the conflict between the Church and the Royal Court. Many of those fighting factions were his students. In order not to help either side, he simply left and came to White Tower University to retire. Even his group of high-ranking students couldn't ask him to help, so I can't ask him either."
- Of course, it is not the responsibility of the "prophet" who was once famous, highly respected, and successfully helped the current Pope become a saint if he comes out again for the sake of one of his most troublesome and beloved young students.
"...That's better." Nova glanced at him coldly, sorted out the materials and prepared to leave.
"Aren't you going to choose a pen name?" Owl suddenly raised his voice behind him and asked.
This guy had simply put his name in the author column without any concealment - he was completely exposing himself to the coming attacks, and Owl didn't know whether to say he was courting death.
"No, everyone will know it's me soon. There's no need." The young man turned his back to him and said calmly, "Besides, it's a good name. I like it very much."
"Nova" in the local language refers to a rare astronomical phenomenon observed by astronomers, signifying a sudden burst of unprecedented brightness from a star. Scholars in another world, however, describe it as the incredibly brilliant funeral of a massive, bloated, aging star, simultaneously triggering the birth of countless new stars in nearby nebulae.
The name implies a huge explosion of real matter, a "supernova" where birth and death go hand in hand.
The author has something to say:
The speech borrows some information from Jean-Paul Marat's commentary on the "Friends of the People" newspaper;
"Only matter burns, the flame itself has no sound" is a line borrowed from Disco Elysium;
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