A brave man may not live, but he cannot die

Chapter 197 The Idealist

It was an ordinary day in 2015.

The spring breeze is gentle.

Quinn cooked a pot of porridge for his grandmother and stir-fried cucumber, scrambled eggs, and sliced ​​meat for lunch. He used a wood-fired stove and simple soy sauce seasoning. He divided the imported anticholinergic drugs he bought in the United States into three doses for morning, noon, and evening, set an alarm clock to take the medicine, and finally checked the working status of the oxygen supply device. Quinn then put on his school uniform and went out.

In the later stages of silicosis, most of the lungs become fibrotic, and it takes two or three breaths to equal one breath for an ordinary person. They must rely on an oxygen supply device to maintain their cardiopulmonary function. The only treatment is a lung transplant, but even if elderly people of this age can withstand the ordeal of surgery, they usually do not live more than six months after the operation.

Knowing that his grandmother didn't have much time left, Quinn was mentally prepared, but he still felt a little sad every time he went out. On days like this when he didn't have a shift, Quinn would choose to stay home and keep the old woman company, but today he unusually wore his school uniform to school.

It's not an exam or a competition; today is a collective coming-of-age ceremony with graduation photos.

Quinn didn't have any close friends in high school. He wouldn't have been able to get into this prestigious high school if he hadn't had good grades. He never participated in group activities, but his teachers and administrators had told him to come today—as long as he didn't underperform in science, he was a shoo-in for the top scorer.

A group photo of the top scorers should be hung in the office.

Upon arriving at school, Quinn discovered that hardly anyone wore school uniforms. Children from wealthy families wore formal attire for their coming-of-age ceremonies, having luxury brand suits tailored to fit perfectly. The even wealthier children wore high-end custom-made suits without tags, and it was said that a single suit could take six months to prepare. The school hired a photographer, created a special set, and even invited a lecturer on gratitude, a currently popular subject, to give a presentation.

Quinn didn't quite understand. Was it really worth spending six figures on photography equipment to take this graduation photo? Would they even remember this photo years later?

In any case, most of the activities were irrelevant to him. He was pulled aside by teachers from various subjects and even the principal for individual photos, and his mouth was a little stiff from smiling. Afterwards, he went to the basketball court for the group photo session.

Mi Yutong's parents came and listened to a lecture on gratitude together in the auditorium. She wanted to invite him to join them, but Quinn unusually refused.

He didn't want to sit with her parents, listen to people talk about filial piety, and force himself to cry and laugh with gratitude.

Playing basketball with Quinn was Mi Yutong's younger brother, who even brought a bouquet of flowers for his sister. Although Quinn was tall, his athletic ability was mediocre. Even though he had some brute strength from working since he was young, he was no match for him. This guy was a forward on the school basketball team, and Quinn could only get fed the ball when playing against him.

The two had been caught having a secret rendezvous by the boy who skipped class to go home. Under his sister's coercion and enticement, he kept it a secret for a long time, and as a result, he and Quinn developed a pretty good relationship. He was one of Quinn's few friends at the school.

The basketball game hadn't been going on for long when they heard Mi Yutong's voice. The girl came over and kicked her younger brother away, saying he needed to listen to a lecture on gratitude more. The boy was quite sensible; he grinned mischievously at the two of them and said, "You owe me one," before going to the auditorium to take the blame for his sister.

High school couples' secret rendezvous at school is nothing more than chatting, listening to the girl gossip, and naturally ending with a kiss and a hug in a secluded place to satisfy their hormonal surge.

The difference was that today Mi Yutong wore a beautiful dress, so the chat ended early. Quinn wouldn't go too far. At this age, few boys could control their little heads. This quality, which was hard to describe as either male virtue or lack of romantic understanding, became a virtue that the girl cherished. She would often tease him more and more, and then giggle at Quinn's helpless expression.

The reason he still remembers this day vividly years later is not because the dress was open on both sides, nor because the girl's skin was so firm and round, but because the two of them were caught smacking their lips by the teacher.

Mi Yutong was shy and stammered before running away, while Quinn didn't care. The teacher wouldn't make things difficult for the school board's daughter, especially since he was the top student in the grade.

The visitor was a political science teacher. Quinn noticed that he had been stared at for a while, so he politely asked, "Would you like to take a picture with me?"

Of all the teachers who taught him, only the politics teacher didn't ask Quinn for a separate photo, so he naturally assumed that the politics teacher had come for that reason.

For Quinn, subjects where high scores could be achieved simply by memorizing questions were the easiest. As a result, he hardly attended any politics classes during his three years of high school. Quinn felt no guilt, as no teacher disliked a top student who was given away for free. He was never reprimanded for missing classes.

But the teacher only looked him over for a moment, ignored the question of taking a photo, and said instead, "Mi Yutong is the prettiest girl in the school, isn't she?"

“Hmm.” Quinn agreed with the assessment.

"Can you really hold back?"

Where did you start looking?

"It started when she asked you if you wanted to go to the rooftop."

"She was joking."

Quinn felt a little embarrassed. The teacher sat down next to him, at a distance that seemed somewhat distant by the standards of a teacher-student relationship. Together, they gazed at the auditorium from which scattered cries could be heard. It seemed that the gratitude lesson had reached its climax.

“I heard some things about you from your homeroom teacher. I thought you were a difficult student, but it seems I was overthinking it.”

The teacher continued, "With your grades and your girlfriend's family background, you might become a big shot in the future."

"High school romances don't guarantee a future."

"Do you know what kind of relationship lasts?" the teacher said meaningfully.

“If I ever become a big shot, I will give back to my alma mater,” Quinn casually remarked, making sure his words were perfectly polite.

"Then I wish you all the best in the future."

After the teacher finished speaking, she got up and left, without any intention of taking a group photo.

Perhaps out of boredom, or perhaps sensing the slight disappointment in the other person's tone, Quinn asked, "Do you think it's wrong for someone like me to have a relationship so early?"

"Love doesn't come at an early or late age." The teacher turned around, a hint of regret in his eyes behind his glasses: "It's just that some knowledge wasn't taught to you at this age, and it will be too late when you become a big shot."

"I think my politics is pretty good." Quinn's politics ranking has never fallen out of the top three in the grade.

"If you could learn by reading books, you wouldn't have said something like 'giving back to your alma mater.' This school has no shortage of businessmen who will build it another stadium to rival the professional league. All you've learned is how to take exams."

"So what should I say?"

"You should understand that without such a brilliant mind, an orphan wouldn't be here wearing this school uniform. This world is mostly made up of ordinary people. When you become a big shot, you should make sure that ordinary orphans have a better life too."

Quinn was confused and found it somewhat amusing.

"Are you talking about ideals? Or moral blackmail? If this were an essay, this is how I would write it."

"What exactly am I trying to teach you by talking to you about all those compulsory political chapters?" The teacher's voice was somewhat stern, but then quickly became emotionless: "It's not my responsibility that you haven't attended my class."

“My grandmother was a miner when she was young. Her assigned job was to meet steel production quotas, so she mined coal day and night. Later, she developed silicosis.” Quinn asked calmly, “If I spend my time attending your classes, who will pay me to buy the imported medicine that costs 1200 yuan a box?”

"If it's a job assigned by the government, what about her social security?" the teacher asked, frowning.

“If you get silicosis, you can’t work anymore. Where would you get social security if you farm in your hometown? My grandfather did have it, along with his demobilization pay and, more than ten years ago, he even had a wartime allowance.”

"The Red Army?" "He died young, and his demobilization pay stopped."

The teacher sighed, her voice softening slightly: "Your family is eligible for special subsidies. Hasn't the Veterans Affairs Bureau, which has relevant policies, visited your home?"

Quinn rested his chin on his hand, listening listlessly as "A Grateful Heart" played in the auditorium.

“My dad was smuggling goods from the Golden Triangle. He was caught at the border and sentenced to death by firing squad. Who knows if it was because he refused to reveal his supplier until his death, but anyway, the application couldn’t be submitted and the approval couldn’t be obtained.”

The teacher opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say.

"Don't worry, I can't take the civil service exam. Even if I become a big shot, I'll be the kind who counts money and will donate my spare cash to orphans."

Quinn remembered Mi Yutong's father, who had sponsored many orphanages and was a well-known philanthropist in Jianghai.

"You can tell the school about your family situation, and we can help you raise funds."

“That’s why I said I wanted to repay my alma mater.” Quinn looked at the school’s magnificent clock tower and said calmly, “You see, in the end, we still have to rely on the rich, don’t we?”

"."

Quinn stood up, no longer in the mood for conversation.

“My grandfather was a very idealistic man. His portrait hung in the house, and his pamphlets were covered with covers. He refused to ask his comrades for money until his death, feeling ashamed that a death row inmate had appeared in his family. He felt he had failed the country and had no face to face his comrades. He could only repeatedly admonish his grandson at home.”

"But I'm different. If I were talking about ideals and making clean money, my grandmother would have died from suffocation long ago. Do you know how much a ventilator costs per hour in a hospital? There's a difference between ideals and reality. When I was washing dishes for a living, no idealist came up to me with money and said, 'When you're successful, you should help others.'"

“I respect you teachers who teach with ideals, but I’m more realistic. The ideal my grandfather left me is to pay back the dirty money I’ve earned when I’m able to do so.”

"That's all."

Perhaps the brain really did develop some problems after the system took away the "name".

Quinn recalled his high school days and was surprised to find that he couldn't remember what the teacher looked like, whether he was male or female, or how old he was.

Just like the memory that suddenly popped into my head when I heard Peipei playing "Farewell" before time went back, it was hazy and unclear, as if it had been erased by an eraser.

The good thing this time was that he could still remember the conversation with his teacher, which was perhaps one of the few times in Quinn's life that he had a serious discussion of ideas with someone.

Quinn wasn't ignorant; quite the opposite. He had a family elder with impeccable revolutionary credentials and knew high school politics by heart. He wouldn't call himself a Marxist philosopher, but he certainly understood the country's basic principles better than the average person.

That's why he was so serious after listening to Elon's speech.

Any ideology or political system requires a long period of development, trial and error, and correction before it can take the form accepted by modern people. It may not be perfect, but it always has many significant advantages and a set of operating logic to match them, as Elon Musk has promised with his various new laws.
That is precisely a viable model.

There is no such coincidence. He may be a genius, capable of devising Social Security and Medicare, and of developing policies to resolve the conflict between East and West, but it is impossible for him to be so comprehensive and systematic. Such policy programs are often extremely radical in their early stages, but Elon clearly had a plan prepared to reconcile the bourgeoisie.
After listening to the speech, Quinn was almost certain that this guy was a hero, or that a hero was strategizing behind the scenes.

But because of the tragic incident involving the little girl, Quinn, as the war criminal fully responsible, dared not be so arbitrary anymore.

As Allison said, judging the facts requires more convincing evidence.

After ruling out Lynn, the remaining suspects are Elon, Ike, and Sysa.

Since Celia wasn't in the airport before the time rewind, and she was different from the "man" that Amamiya Nene saw, Quinn didn't intend to consider the girl, who was already the least suspicious.

Of the three, Elon is currently the most likely suspect.

Ike and Sysa were roughly equal. Quinn had previously tested him, and he was a complete illiterate black guy. Even if he hadn't gone to high school, any Chinese person would have been able to react to the words Quinn used.

However, Quinn's suspicions were aroused by the strange look in Ekko's eyes when he saw the Starflower during their conversation. In addition, Ekko was the only one who noticed the anomaly of Grindelwald's Eye before the time travel, so the suspicion still existed.

Meanwhile, Sissa participated in the first timeline shift event that Quinn witnessed today. Because she was going to have an all-night battle to persuade prostitutes to reform, she skipped the party, naturally avoiding the possible airport explosion.
Ankua found no one had inspected the tower. If the hero simply avoided the inexplicable explosion, then there was indeed no need to investigate the cause, and Xisa was also a suspect.

If the suspicion against these two individuals is around 20%, then Elon's suspicion is a full 60%.

This guy's speeches and political ideas are inextricably linked to the idea of ​​bravery.

The most important thing I should do right now is to find a way to get close to Elon.

Quinn's eyes flickered. Getting close to the Branson family?
For no reason, the delicate and firm feel of the fabric through the seams of my high school dress came flooding back to me.

But the object was no longer Mi Yutong, but a shy girl from another world. The feel of her was exactly the same as in the steamy bathroom, so big that it couldn't be held in one hand.

Immediately, Quinn shook his head violently, banishing the distracting thoughts from his mind.

He's so sexually repressed, I need to kick Amamiya Nene into the water and play a game of catching girls to help him recover.

The party had already begun, and the Aswell Band was playing Grindelwald's school song on stage. Quinn felt like he was seeing Harry Potter flying on a broomstick on the screen.

After Elon's explosive speech, the audience was clearly distracted, whispering among themselves. At first glance, the atmosphere of the party was very high. He walked to the front row, preparing to wait in the academy's exclusive area for Amamiya Nene to bring Rin.

Just then, a familiar commotion came from not far away; it was Allison's voice—

He turned his head and was shocked to see Celia with an angry expression in the crowd, as well as Celia's adoptive father and younger brother.

And there was an even angrier Allison, who was roaring:

"You despicable, damned, lazy, parasitic old man! Answer me! Look me in the eyes! Did you make Celia a slave in the tavern since she was a child?!"

The seemingly ordinary, refined middle-aged man who ran a small tavern pointed blankly at himself, "Me? Me?"
"Um, that's to help out at home."

"Still dare to argue?!"

Allison, enraged, roared, "Celia may not fear you, but I, Allison, son of Marquis Fernando, have no fear of you! All evil will be brought to justice, oh my god—!!!"

After saying that, his missile-like fist lashed out and precisely aimed at Old Deng's face.

(End of this chapter)