The walls of the high-ceilinged, windowless interrogation room are covered with shiny white tiles.

"For the sake of the past, don't repeat it......" Clegg said slowly and firmly, a gentle buzz in his ears, and he couldn't tell if it was the sound of an exhaust fan or the tinnitus he had been tortured for.

Leather boots clicked.

Clegg lowered his gaze and saw a pair of shiny leather shoes.

This was the first time that the inquisitor had come to interrogate him.

He seemed younger than previous inquisitors, and his clothes and cigarettes were more expensive.

"I'll tell you the truth, you're about to be shot—" said the inquisitor, sitting in the chair opposite, with one last gesture of kindness, "the sin you have committed depends on one of your thoughts. Isn't it? ”

"I didn't commit a crime!" Clegg said, "You're the ...... criminals."

"If you don't confess again, they will shoot you, and no matter what I do, what I say, or don't say, they won't delay your death. Think again! ”

"You are the ...... of the crime"

"It's stubborn!"

The inquisitor put a hand on his forehead, pressed it to his temple, and after a while, then stood up.

The stick came down without warning.

With a bang, it hit the head, and the mouth was instantly filled with a fishy smell.

The inquisitor kicked Clegg to the ground, alternating between sticks and fists. He didn't resist, just curled up and hugged his head.

"You get it, Clegg!" The inquisitor yelled loudly, "Don't kid yourself, you can't do great things, wake up!" ”

The batons kept falling.

Head, ears, arms, elbows –

Blood spilled out of his mouth.

Clegg was spinning in front of him, and he couldn't see anything clearly.

How painful it was to be hit with a stick can only be known by personal experience, and the inquisitor saw his uncomfortable appearance, and he attacked even more ruthlessly. He had only one hope for pain, and that was to stop it immediately.

In the face of pain, there are no heroes,

He rolled around on the ground, thinking about it over and over again, but he didn't say a word of begging for mercy.

After a while, the inquisitor got tired and dragged the young painter out with chains.

In the cells on both sides of the passage, under the gaze of a pair of eyes, Clegg staggered forward, looking particularly embarrassed. He hung his head and counted his steps with a blank face.

“1，2,3，4……”

When he counted to 52, he came to a familiar room.

"Get in!"

The inquisitor kicked him in.

When the young painter entered the room, he was immediately pressed to a bed like a dentist, and his body, hands and feet were handcuffed to prevent him from struggling.

The light was so strong that he had to close his eyes.

The inquisitor looked down at him. 33

Standing next to him was a man in a white lab coat with a syringe in his hand.

This isn't the first time Clegg has experienced it.

Since he was caught, he has lost track of time, and his memories are not continuous. There is often an abrupt cessation of consciousness and a gap before resuming. He couldn't know if it was days, hours, or seconds.

In this prison, he was subjected not only to routine interrogations, but also to almost all torture to extract confessions.

Sometimes he passed out and was thrown like a bag of potatoes on the rocky floor of his cell, rested for several hours, and then taken out for interrogation. In his cell, there was a wooden bed, a washbasin, and hot soup and bread. Sometimes he would faint inexplicably, and when he woke up, he would see an emotionless nurse in white coming to test his pulse, check his nerve reactions, roll his eyelids, and put a heart shot on his arm.

The torture had no effect, and the interrogation took on a more horrific approach.

The inquisitors began to slap him, pull him by the hair, shine bright lights in his eyes, and prevent him from sleeping. One by one, they would come and torture him verbally and physically endlessly, with the aim of crushing his ability to think.

This kind of interrogation, which does not allow him to sleep and relax at all, is more terrible than a simple combination of punches and kicks.

Often, after a rude beating, they put on a fake posture and talk to him from the bottom of their hearts. Under this mental bombardment of chatter, Clegg has also succumbed. He did everything he was commanded to confess and sign.

In addition to confessing his accomplices, he had tried all the ways to avoid being tortured.

But that wasn't enough to get him out of this hell.

He was now strapped to his bed, surrounded by dashboards, and the bright light tingled his eyes.

"This is your last chance!" The inquisitor said with a cold face, "If you don't confess again, you will be executed without a moment's delay." ”

"Hurry up and ......"

Clegg said weakly.

"Why insist on it like this......" At this time, the attitude of the interrogator was not as stern as just now. He paced a step or two in thought, a doctor's, teacher's, even priest's-like look on his face, bent on explaining the salvation of sinners, not merciless punishment.

"Clegg, I feel sorry for you......" His voice became gentle and patient as he spoke again, "You're still young, you're talented in drawing, and you can go very far in art." To Milan, to Paris, to Tokyo...... Any art exhibition in a big city, you can be as sought after as a star...... But you've never fought for yourself. Because you don't want to, you just have to work a little bit your will, but you just don't want to, and you think that stubbornness is a virtue. Mr. Clegg, you still have a chance to turn back......"

Clegg took a breath.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't say anything.

The inquisitor looked down at him, more like a teacher trying to persuade a misguided child than before.

"Clegg, think about it again, what exactly do you want." He said inducingly.

"I want to ......" Clegg curled up for a long time, his body twitching a few times, and gradually stopped moving. His eyes turned sideways, he looked at the ground, and he was stunned, but his voice was surprisingly smooth: "The new Yokohama of the future should be a paradise on earth where human rights are guaranteed, freedom of speech, equality before the law, and friendship between everyone." There are no domineering aristocrats and capitalists, no black-hearted politicians, and no animalistic laborers......"

"Oh, great ideals." The Inquisitor said, nodding his head slowly in approval, "Clegg, you're going to have a hard time seeing this, because they know what they need to do to defend their position. ”

Faced with this, Clegg felt that there was nothing he could do.

His eyes were fixed on the ground, and not only did he not know how to reply, but the pain in his body was still tormenting him.

"Since the Neolithic period, human society has produced so-called 'classes'." The inquisitor smiled slightly, and looked at him as he was dying, "Generally speaking, the classes of human society can be divided into three levels: superior, middle, and inferior. Although it can be further subdivided into various identities, the relative number of people and attitudes towards each other are basically fixed. The social structure of these three types of people has never changed, and even in times of great turmoil, it will soon return to its original pattern after the turmoil. You can think of this structure as a spinning top, and the whip is turbulence. With each whip, the top tilts slightly, but soon returns to its original angle and runs smoothly......"

Clegg silently chewed on what he said.

"In the history of mankind, there have been many great revolutions, all of which were aimed at creating what you call a society. Everyone is equal, and there is no distinction between class and inferiority. But soon after the success of any revolution, the social structure of the three classes will return. ”

The inquisitor said, sitting down next to him.

He unscrewed a bottle of water and handed it over.

Clegg gave him a puzzled look.

"Drink, even if it's a death row inmate's welfare." The inquisitor said.

Clegg took the bottle tremblingly, took a small sip of water, and moistened his dry throat. After the convulsions of his body were not so severe, he took the bottle and took a few large sips.

The inquisitor looked at him calmly, even with a hint of a smile: "The third-class people, according to our general understanding, can be called nobles or capitalists, middle classes, and proletarians. ”

Clegg lost his mind for a moment, his lips quivering.

The purposes of these three types of people are completely irreconcilable. The goal of the aristocracy was always to maintain their superiority, and the goal of the middle class was to try to squeeze into the circle of the nobility while trying not to let so many proletarians climb into their place. As for the proletarians......," the inquisitor sighed with some embarrassment, "the proletarians spend most of their time toiling and have no time for other things. Only after solving the problem of food and clothing for the day will they have the energy and leisure to care about social affairs. If they have a goal, it is nothing more than to send a macho man down from the sky and lead them to resist all discrimination and injustice, and build a society where everyone is equal. ”

Clegg nodded silently.

"But you know, that's hard to happen." The inquisitor said with emotion, "Most of the time, the power position of the nobility was very secure. Even if they are occasionally impacted, or overthrown, they are almost always overthrown by the middle level. Because relative to the proletarians, the middle strata are well-educated, well-brained elites. They are clever enough to boast of fighting for freedom and justice, to win the ignorant proletarians over to their side, to gather all their forces and to launch a revolution against the aristocracy! ”

"Isn't that great?" Clegg asked blankly.

"No, it's not good at all, because they're only superficial for the sake of the banner of justice." The inquisitor looked at him and said, "The ultimate goal of the middle class is to enter the aristocracy, and once that goal is achieved, they will push the proletarians back to their former status of slavery and become nobles themselves." Dragon slayers, eventually become evil dragons, and before long, a new group of well-educated middle-level elites will appear in the world enslaved by evil dragons. Once again, the new Heroes will gather the power of the proletarians and swing their holy swords at the dragon. The history of mankind is in the power struggle between the aristocracy and the middle class, and the cycle is infinitely reincarnated. ”

Clegg stared blankly at the ground.

The young painter was tied all over his body, his nose was blue and his face was swollen, and his body was covered in blood. His gaze at this moment was not strong, but fell into deep confusion.

The inquisitor paused for a moment, as if waiting for the other party to understand what he had said, and after a long time, he continued: "Of the three classes of people, only the proletarians have never achieved their goal. Historically, the position of the proletarian has not changed in any way, except for the material abundance brought about by the progress of the productive forces. Neither the increase in wealth nor the reform of the social system has brought humanity closer to justice. Therefore, in the eyes of the proletarians, every epoch-making historical node is nothing more than a change of name for the master. ”

Clegg nodded subconsciously.

In the past, he felt this way...... Who the emperor is, who the chief justice is, who the speaker of the parliament is, he doesn't care at all. Whoever becomes the supreme ruler will not bring him a better life, and the political turmoil is really just a change of name for him and most of the proletarians.

"How do you change ......," he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Who knows, the future of mankind is already dim......"

"Sir, I ask you, if you say, if you abolish private ownership and let wealth be owned by common, can you save mankind?" Clegg gathered his thoughts and asked intermittently, "Concentrate wealth and the means of production in the hands of a much smaller group of people than before; The only difference is that the new owners are a group, not a group of individuals. Things are also no longer private property, but public property that can be distributed to everyone......"

The inquisitor looked at him with a look of pity, sighed, and said, "If everyone worked short hours, ate well, didn't need to worry about life, wouldn't be enslaved, and wealth would be widespread, it should be a good society, right?" But even if wealth is evenly distributed, power remains in the hands of a privileged few. This privileged minority will inevitably only be born from the middle class, which means that they will eventually continue to follow the old path of monopoly. ”

Clegg fell silent.

According to the inquisitor's analysis, the plight of the proletarians should be caused by poverty and ignorance, and their inability to think independently. If the proletarians were able to enjoy the pleasures of leisure and have adequate means of subsistence, they should be able to think for themselves...... But if they can do this, they will at least be in the middle, and the middle class will realize that a privileged minority of people will not contribute to the development of society, and they will remove the privileged class...... Then, they themselves became a new privileged class, and history entered a new cycle.

A hierarchical society can only survive on the basis of proletarian poverty and ignorance.

If poverty and ignorance were eradicated, the new privileged class would do everything in their power to turn the world backwards, even if it were to wage war for it...... Until the moment when the world is destroyed.

"But, ......sir," Clegg thought calmly for a long time, and smiled, a smile that was both calm and desperate, "we can't do nothing!" As you say, we are proletarians, and we have always been enslaved. But as you know, we have always been disloyal to a political party, or to a country, or to an ideology. We are only loyal to each other who are just like us! We still have humanity, we are not insensitive, we still have primitive feelings, and we will one day surely burst out with the power to revitalize the world. ”

By this point, his voice had already growled.

"Proletarians are men," he cried out, "we are men." ”

Why are you yelling so loudly!

Nance glared at him, thinking that he had disturbed the prison guards, how could Lao Tzu save you.

Some people died, but not completely......