socalfunplaces 0043 Cicero: He's a monster! He's a god!
0043 Cicero: He's a monster! He's a god!
Cicero saw the mirror standing in the center of the room and saw his two-meter-tall, slender figure reflected in it. He looked slightly more haggard than usual.
It's the debt problem. Those damn debts have been making him overthink lately, and they've made him look haggard.
But it doesn't matter. Debt may take away his dinars and make his life worse, but it can't take away his thoughts, his wisdom, or his philosophy.
These are the key points. As long as he has these, he can enlighten more people, truly liberate Makula, and open the path to happiness and joy.
Today, he will enlighten a monarch's successor, and then the monarch himself.
Cicero's confident smile returned, and he bowed slightly to the mirror before him.
Then, a voice came from behind the mirror.
"Welcome, Mr. Cicero."
This is the voice of a young boy, more mature than I imagined, and his speech is elegant and rational, indicating that he has received a good education and is not the kind of arrogant and foolish aristocratic boy.
This made Cicero's smile even more pronounced.
However, the child's voice was completely devoid of emotion, likely due to the influence of Connor's restrictive thinking, which caused him to suppress his true nature.
It's truly pitiful that Connor has allowed a child to become such a cold-hearted creature. Cicero felt it was necessary to teach this child to unleash his true nature...
"I have read your masterpiece, 'On the Soul,' which I have heard is quite popular among the noble circles of Macurag, and many regard it as gospel."
Oh! He's read his own paper! Cicero was somewhat surprised. It was strange; hearing the boy say he'd read his paper, Cicero felt a sense of pride, as if he'd received praise from a superior. How strange…
"Thank you for your praise, young sir." Cicero adjusted his voice, making it sound kind and believable. "I was worried about dealing with a spoiled young nobleman who was not good at reading or thinking, but your few words have made me feel that you have the aptitude to be enlightened, that you are capable of acquiring true wisdom..."
"Really? Then I would like to ask you to enlighten me and answer my little question—I have heard your classic question about infants and the elderly."
Before Cicero could finish speaking, he was rudely interrupted by the child behind the mirror—no, rude isn't the right word, the child's tone was completely flat.
"Who is happier, an infant who has experienced a century of joy and sorrow and who has died, or a centenarian who has lived an ordinary life?"
Cicero paused, then said, "My answer is..."
"Your answer is baby."
Cicero's throat moved slightly.
"Yes." He nodded, suddenly realizing that he was being controlled in this conversation.
"I have no way of finding a baby who actually experienced a century of joy and sorrow before dying, but I do know a centenarian whose life was quite ordinary."
The boy behind the mirror spoke softly:
"This elder was a gardener who served at the mansion of a nobleman. His life was as peaceful as a sparse breeze on an autumn afternoon. He began as a gardener's apprentice at the age of sixteen and officially became a gardener in his twenties, earning a salary that was neither meager nor particularly generous."
"On one occasion, when another nobleman visited, he met the love of his life—don't get me wrong, this is not a story of a gardener falling in love with a young lady—his lover was a maid who accompanied the nobleman. It was not love at first sight between the two. It was just that his master happened to remember that his gardener was getting old and still did not have a wife or lover, so he acted as a matchmaker and introduced the maid to the gardener."
"The gardener was a somewhat reclusive man. He only saw it as his master's task. He met the maid because he didn't want to offend his master. But as time went by, the gardener began to think that the maid would indeed be a good wife, and the maid also thought that the gardener was someone she could entrust her life to."
"The two got married just like that, without much love involved, simply because the other was a good match. From then on, the gardener would return to his original cottage every day after work, except that there was now a woman in the cottage, and dinner was always waiting for him on the table, that was all."
"Later, the gardener and the maid had a child, a boy, neither strong nor weak, but the couple were still happy and loved their child dearly. As the child grew, the gardener's cottage gradually became cramped, so the gardener took out his life savings and expanded his cottage in a corner of the noble estate."
"The gardener's life savings amounted to nothing more than adding another room to his cottage. Of course, it's nothing, but the child is happy because he has his own room, his wife is happy because the space freed up allowed her to expand the kitchen a bit, and the gardener is happy... He has a small hobby, which is painting landscapes—he's only at a mediocre amateur level—and now he has the space to pick it up again."
"Later, the boy grew up and joined the nobles in the famous expedition to Illyria. However, the boy did not achieve any remarkable feats, nor did he die in the war. He lost a finger due to the cold, but he still returned. The gardener and his wife felt fortunate about this, and their child became a member of the city's guards. Later, he married a woman who ran a vegetable stall, and occasionally the couple would visit the gardener and his wife with fresh vegetables."
"His life was nothing more than that. He had no great achievements, no substantial possessions, just a wife with whom he had never experienced passionate love, a child who was not particularly accomplished, and a son who married an ordinary woman. He simply continued to trim the plants in his garden, occasionally taking a moment to paint the scenery before him. That was all."
"After reading your book 'On the Soul,' I asked the gardener if he was happy... He said he had lived a fulfilling and happy life, and even if he were to die tomorrow, he would be content."
Cicero stared wide-eyed at the mirror before him with disbelief, but the mirror only reflected his own slightly weary eyes.
He suddenly felt anxious, his fingers clenched involuntarily, and he began to devise a rebuttal to the child in the mirror, but... the child's words struck him like needles...
"Lord Cicero, and what of you? Has your life so far been fulfilling and happy? If you were to die tomorrow, would you be content?"
Was it fulfilling and happy...? Fulfilling? He wanted to say it was fulfilling, but as he grasped at his life... gambling, indulgence, pleasure, humiliating slaves... these sensory experiences, so vivid then, now seemed hazy, as if just illusions, filling nothing.
As for happiness, he is not yet satisfied, so how can he talk about happiness...?
It was only after a long time that he managed to utter a single sentence.
"All the gardener's happiness and fulfillment came from his ignorance."
Yes, ignorance. That gardener was happy and fulfilled precisely because of his ignorance.
He has his own thoughts, his own wisdom, his own philosophy... so why is he... unhappy?
"Yeah?"
The voice behind the mirror remained indifferent:
Did you know that throughout the history of human civilization, there have been many people who pursued pleasure? This has been the case in every era.
"When humanity was still confined to Terra, when people had not even mastered iron tools, even the king of a vast land could only pursue the ultimate pleasure of a bowl of coarse grains, a few pieces of what could be called crude meat, and meat sauce made from snails and ant eggs."
"This is the pleasure he derives from exploiting his subjects and oppressing his slaves—if I were to let you experience such pleasure now, you would certainly not feel happy."
"And how can you be sure that the pleasure you're pursuing now isn't just a bowl of ant egg paste?"
"But the king was still happy!" Cicero retorted almost immediately.
The child laughed, for the first time in this conversation, as if amused by Cicero's words.
The laughter sent chills down Cicero's spine.
"Yes, because he has never tasted more delicious spices, never tasted fish sauce fermented to perfection, never savored crops that have undergone long breeding processes, even though these are now readily available."
"But he didn't know, he didn't understand these things, 'all his happiness and fulfillment stemmed from his ignorance.'"
The boy calmly repeated Cicero's words, using them to refute Cicero himself.
"My friend, now that the stars are broken and human civilization has degenerated, many kings on many planets are probably enjoying such ignorant bliss."
"Our race was once extraordinary, but now we call ant egg sauce pleasure."
"My Lord Cicero, in my opinion, that gardener is no more ignorant than you, nor are you any wiser than him."
"His wisdom brought him a happy and fulfilling life. What has your wisdom brought you?"
Cicero's breathing became heavy.
What did we gain? What did we gain?
He groped in his heart, trying to answer the question, but the more he groped, the emptier it became. He...
He began to feel afraid. He suddenly felt a fear and dread about the creature behind the mirror, as if that creature was using words to rip out the emptiness in his heart...
He stared intently at the mirror, trying to see what lay beyond. On the shimmering surface, Cicero saw his own terrified and haggard face, but he also seemed to see...
"A monster!?" Cicero roared, pointing a trembling finger at the mirror, hissing menacingly, "You're not human! What kind of monster are you? A beast? A demon? An alien? A mutant?"
Finally, Cicero gasped, rose in fear, and slowly approached the door: "Or are you a god?"
Behind the mirror, only silence reigned. The light from the window swept across its surface, the reflected glare entering Cicero's eyes. Cicero saw it—what lay hidden behind the mirror…a storm, a storm of blue and gold, an eternally prosperous, ever-expanding, all-consuming storm…
Cicero finally couldn't take it anymore. He screamed and rushed out the door, fleeing in panic.
In the corridor, Zhou Yun looked at Cicero, who was passing by him, with a hint of curiosity.
Why are you so scared?