Some people eat to live, and Jiang Youwei now lives to eat. Come to think of it, it's true. This guy doesn't even know how long he can live. "Better to die than not be able to eat delicious food!" She believes that people live to eat, and in a sense, this is indeed the case. What is the purpose of technological development? To feed more people, or to make life better? Isn't it just to make people eat? In fact, the law of the world is such a cycle. As long as there are more people, there will be less food to eat. With less food to eat, the upper material layer built on food will naturally become unsustainable. What will happen next? Either war or technology.
"Food is the most important thing for the people. Who wants to fight when they have something to eat? It's so spicy!" Her body didn't have to worry about digestion at all. Since her transformation, she hadn't pooped, and she didn't know where all the waste was excreted. So it's true that beautiful girls can't poop! Then why would a beautiful girl who doesn't need to poop have an extra chrysanthemum? Could it have some other purpose? Jiang Youwei had heard that in the feudal era, eunuchs in the palace would use chrysanthemums to steal gold and jewelry, the most skilled of whom could steal over ten pounds at a time. She had never realized she had such an ability before, so she was very skeptical.
"No need to worry about hemorrhoids, that's great!" This guy has been stuffing chili peppers down his throat these days—mainly because they're almost out of stock. The price of dried chilies on the market has increased by over 50%, but only chili powder made with synthetic capsaicin hasn't changed much.
Huang Xiaohong, who had just returned from grocery shopping, placed the cloth bag on the table. "Not only are peppers gone now, but even potatoes, tomatoes, eggplants, and wolfberries are almost extinct."
If they intend to hoard goods and disrupt the market, will these vegetables become extremely valuable in the future? "If only we could grow a few pots of them ourselves..." Jiang Youwei seemed to have spotted a business opportunity.
"Forget it! You can't buy seeds in supermarkets!" Jiang Wenwu showed them the short video she had seen. In the 3D video playing on the screen, a hand pointed at the empty shelves. Then, the person inside said, "All nightshade plants are off the shelves. It's best not to try sowing them at home!"
It seems some plant-specific plague is wreaking havoc! Jiang Youwei immediately thought of the banana plague in the second half of the last century, but then became uncertain: "Aren't Solanaceae plants very resistant to disease? They are also poisonous themselves." Sometimes fighting poison with poison doesn't work, just like arsenic and magma, which is more poisonous?
But why would he advise others not to plant them? With proper anti-virus measures and isolation, he should be able to plant a few plants, right? She felt the latter part of the sentence was the true nature of capitalists. If all the plants outside died, wouldn't his own seedlings be worth more than gold?
"But there is one thing that still bothers me: what will happen if even rich people can't eat rare foods?" At this moment, she really hopes that everyone in the world will eat synthetic food together.
It's a classic example: the emperor's hoe is made of gold. This guy can't imagine the life of a rich person at all.
. . . . . .
It's a bit difficult for poor people to imagine the lives of rich people, but it's also difficult for rich people to imagine the lives of poor people. (This paragraph is very tiring to write, and the author can't imagine it either, so I've tried to be as reasonable as possible)
Plant Robert's life has become increasingly comfortable since he became President of Country M. He was the Robert family's chosen leader, or rather, the "scapegoat"—a position where he doesn't have to worry about anything. Just look at his education: an art degree from some university, some acting medal. "As long as the people think you look like a president, you can become president." Of course, they don't say the last part—you need money, lots of it.
"Praise the constitutional monarchy!" He raised a glass of thirty-year-old cigar—his favorite. The ancient craftsmanship fascinated him, though for the United States, "old" was just a propaganda slogan. Behind him, a wall of cigars, which he had spent a fortune collecting, lay bottle by bottle, a truly impressive sight from afar. "Praise the Oppai!" He took another swig as he addressed the strippers dancing on the dance floor in front of him. Yes, he was currently in the basement of his manor, enjoying a normal social dinner.
Regardless of what he was actually trying to praise, the advanced AI technology was indeed worthy of his praise. At this point, the citizens of Country M only knew that their popular president, chosen through "free vote," was enjoying themselves at a southern elementary school—a place where anything could be fabricated, except the truth.
"It's so nice to have my own home. I have everything I need!" His estate was like a medieval lord. He grew his own vegetables, ate his own food, dug his own groundwater, and filtered it himself. The "feed" produced in the factory naturally had to be fed to livestock. How could a "civilized gentleman" live like animals? "At least they have freedom!" He raised his glass again: "Praise freedom!"
This kind of life is unimaginable to ordinary people, and in fact, they can't even imagine it. Those high-ranking officials only need some "obedient," "very low-demand," "hardworking" machines. Ideally, they should be able to dismantle themselves into parts when they can't work, and then provide them to the unfortunate who need them. If such machines really existed, these low-level people would probably be eliminated immediately by the adults, right?
These people are essentially living off a lie perpetrated against them, a lie their brains, tainted by the city's toxicity, unable to discern—even if someone were to expose it. Can a living person be suffocated to death by feces? Perhaps such a "living person" exists here.
Contrary to popular belief, these "social parties" only last until 9 p.m. These "civilized people" maintain a very regular sleep schedule, and as a result, they generally enjoy greater health and longevity than most. "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy! Haha, I think my grandfather said that!" Plant said to a fiery woman clutching her clothes, rubbing her vigorously. Incidentally, these women aren't the type to be seen regularly. They're often specially cultivated within the family, used to appease the clan's offshoots, and some may never see another person until their death. This digression: Plant actually has a strong objection to his family's ancestral precepts, one of which states, "No touching of women until you're married." "How long will this life of only being able to look but not touch last?"—this part is about political gain.
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