Mark Kazunga can understand the resentment of his relatives, if he can live, how many people are willing to die? After all, if he had been a few dozen years younger, maybe he wouldn't have stayed here and died.

Up to now, Mark Kazunga can be described as a betrayal of his relatives, and the only loyal people who still follow Mark Kazunga are a few servants of minor status.

Ironically, even when Mark Kazunga was regarded as the savior of the people, he did not think of benefiting the servants around him, but those who received the least from him stayed by his side until the end.

"Your Excellency, President?" The old servant spoke again, and Mark Kazunga came back to his senses, and looked carefully at the servant's wrinkled face and his slightly trembling hand holding the tray, his face was as rough as a shoddy rag, and his hands were as thin as chopped firewood, and judging by his appearance, anyone would have thought that he was at least ten years older than Mark Kazunga, but the opposite was true.

"Leave the coffee." Mark Kazunga raised his hand to take his coffee, added sugar to it himself, and added something that made the servant incredulous, "Thank you, Mangoche. ”

Mangoche's whole body froze suddenly, and with a flick of his wrist he almost threw the tray in his hand to the ground, he had been serving Mr. Marco, that is, His Excellency the President today, for as long as he could remember, and half a century had passed, and he had never heard His Excellency the President say thank you to himself.

This does not mean that Mr. Mark is an arrogant person, Mangoche is his servant, Mangoche's parents are the servants of his parents, the family tree has been traced all the way up, the ancestors have been like this for generations, even Mangoche himself thinks that his only mission is to serve Mr. Mark, and his own children and grandchildren should continue to serve Mr. Mark's children and grandchildren, which is a matter of course.

Therefore, this thank you was too luxurious and heavy for Mangoche to bear.

"Your Excellency...... President," Mango pursed his lips.

"Soon it won't be the president." Mark Kazunga sighed and said, "Mangoche, if you want to say who I am sorry for in this life, it is only my deceased wife, my granddaughter and you, listen to me, take the most valuable things here, and leave this ghost place as soon as possible, you have at least twenty years to live, you should go and see the outside world, you don't have to stay here and be buried with me." ”

"The outside world? No, no, no. Mangoche trembled, he had been by Mr. Mark's side for decades, although he did not have the imprint of a slave, but his heart had long been chained, how could he go out into the outside world?

Mark Kazunga looked at Mangoche's frightened appearance, and his heart was full of emotion, this old servant who was always hiding in his shadow, was not even afraid to stay here and wait for death, but he was afraid to leave the invisible cage that had trapped him for decades, and did not dare to go to the outside world alone.

The servility of man is so terrible.

Thinking of his children and grandchildren, and of his compatriots who left Malawi with the Holy Family, Mark Kaconga was saddened, and in a few years, would they also become like Mangoche, who put invisible shackles on themselves, considered themselves slaves of the Holy Family, who served the Holy Family forever without regrets, and then spent a meaningless life in ignorance and fear?

"Then, it's up to you whether to go or stay." Mark Kazunga waved his hand in disgust, he wanted to order Mangoche to leave, but Mangoche had been following his orders all his life, and at last let him be his own master again, "Go and bring the reporter in." ”

Mangoche answered, bowed and exited the study.

A moment later, there was a knock on the door of the study, and after Mark Kazunga had said please to enter, a young man in black-rimmed glasses, a leather jacket and shirt, and Martin boots and jeans walked in.

Mark Kazunga frowned slightly, even if he was down and lost his position and died soon, this reporter should pay attention to his image and do the most basic respect when interviewing him. If it weren't for the fact that the war correspondent named "Tang Fei" had been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize, Mark Kazunga would never have agreed to this interview.

Immediately afterwards, a white man with a hand-held video camera walked into the room, causing Mark Kazunga's brow to furrow even more, judging by the equipment used, the two men did not look like professional journalists at all, and they did not show the professionalism they should have at all.

"Your Excellency, it's a pleasure to meet you." Tang Fei still had a piece of chewing gum on his teeth, and he couldn't speak clearly, but he didn't feel that his behavior was impolite at all, and after entering the door, he enthusiastically stepped forward and stretched out his hand to Mark Kazunga.

"Before you sit down, I need to remind you that Malawi is not the United States, and the political struggle here is much simpler and more bloody and dark than the American Federation. If I'm not mistaken, the team sent to assassinate me is already on the way, and there is probably more than one, and they won't be merciful enough to spare witnesses, so if you don't want to die yet, you'd better get out of here as soon as possible. Mark Kazunga did not shake hands with Tang Fei, and he did not say this entirely out of concern for the lives of the two young men, but partly because he lost interest in talking after seeing the lazy appearance of the two reporters.

"Oh, three teams, two of them are the dead men selected from the Home Guard, brave enough to run barefoot through the fire and broken glass, but they are more skilled with machetes and harpoons than with firearms, and this kind of fighting is not to be feared by fools who only pull the trigger and run a shuttle to the end. But the other team is very interesting, it is an international mercenary hired by a certain official of the former ruling party at a high price, a very professional kind, they were hired by the government army during the Libyan civil war, and I heard that the record is very high. Tsk, in order to deal with an unarmed old man, these people really spare no effort, but what surprises me even more is that such an official with a not high position can afford to hire the famous 'Blood Skeleton'. Tang Fei was chewing gum while talking, spitting all over the place.

Mark Kaconga looked at Tang Fei in disbelief, he thought that this was just talking, but Tang Fei's determined demeanor made him waver.

"Well, it looks like it's going to take them five minutes to get here, so let's talk first." Tang Fei grinned and gestured to the side, and the white reporter immediately took out a folding stand and began to record.