The Memoirs of Cultivating Immortals

Chapter 266 The People
Near midnight, Constantine and Harry Potter were walking down the street.

Both wore V for Vendetta uniforms and ceramic masks, the only difference being that Constantine was still smoking the cigarette that never left his hand.

"Several months of waiting and foreshadowing finally ushered in the dawn before dawn."

Constantine exhaled a puff of smoke, looked at the apartments with closed doors on the street, and the dark and dull resident rooms, and said indifferently: "Potter, do you know? In Academy City, we faculty and staff all need to go to school. political education class."

"Ok?"

Harry was a little confused, "You American Transcendents still need to learn this kind of thing? I thought you only need to learn directional blasting, infiltration and assassination, and infiltration and destruction."

"Number one, I'm purebred British and America is just where I work."

Constantine curled his lips noncommittally, and said calmly: "Second, the ruling classes in European and American countries have been poisoning our education with the poison of so-called 'quality education' and 'happy education', allowing us to free our ideological and political cognition. The thorough erosion of doctrine has resulted in the cultivation of a large group of Beatles or white leftists.

In order to make the faculty and staff and tens of millions of students in Academy City become people with ideals, morality, culture, and discipline in the new era, Mr. Li Ang specially introduced ideological and political education courses with oriental characteristics, so that we can learn more about them in recent years. Modern history has an objective cognition of materialism. "

"Ahhh."

Harry Potter nodded with a stern face. Fortunately, the ceramic mask prevented Constantine from seeing his confused expression.

Fortunately, Constantine didn't care, he coughed, and said calmly: "Mr. Li Ang told us that the people are a historical category, referring to those who have played a driving role in social history.

Furthermore, the masses of the people are the subject of practice, the creators of history, the working masses and working intellectuals who are engaged in the production of material materials and spiritual wealth. "

Constantine stopped and said with a smile, "Do you think the masses of the people are great?"

Harry nodded, "Great."

"It's true that the people have the ability to change the world, but when they have a way out and can endure, they are often cowardly, humble, and numb."

Constantine stretched out his finger, pointed at the residential buildings hidden in the darkness, and said softly: "During the struggle, the people always think about who wins and helps others, but they don't know who they help and who wins."

"But to win, you need to pay a price." Harry said softly: "They may not be able to see the beauty of the revolution, but they can see the pain of the price."

As if in response to Harry's words, an armored vehicle with armed soldiers came around the corner.

Those soldiers with live ammunition sat on both sides of the carriage, and the loudspeaker on the roof of the dark green vehicle repeatedly shouted mechanically: "My compatriots in the British Empire, the curfew law exists to protect us.

Tonight, anyone who protests, incites, or confuses will be directly arrested and face trial.

The trial was decisive, decisive, and efficient.In the face of national interests, we need to put aside past disputes and look forward with unity."

It's a pity that the sound of the horn fades away as the taillights disappear around the corner.

Harry Potter stared at the back of the armed vehicle in a daze, and said with difficulty: "The degree of suffering of this price is probably beyond our expectations, Mr. Constantine."

"There has never been a savior, let alone a fairy emperor. For the masses of people without supernatural power or gold fingers, the price must be paid-after all, the fruits of revolution will never fall from the sky."

Constantine interrupted the young wizard, and said indifferently: "It's just that those moths who don't participate in the production of material materials and spiritual wealth at all don't belong to the great category of the people.

The blood race is such a moth.

They live on top of the human society, piercing the skin with their long and narrow mouthparts, and drinking the blood greedily and eagerly.

Playing with political power and manipulating the power of the state machine, as time goes by, these moths who are close to the center of power mistakenly think that they have become power itself.

They are wrong, power will always be in the hands of ordinary people who seem weak, helpless, humble and humble. "

Constantine lowered his eyes, shaking off the soot, and the embers emitting a faint red light melted into the sewage in the cracks between the bricks and stones.

"We have made all the preparations to tear open the bloody wound and reveal the cruel and terrifying truth to the people."

Looking at the dead houses, Harry felt a little dazed and sad, and said with difficulty, "But they didn't move, Mr. Constantine."

"."

Konstantin remained silent. He looked around. There were only the two of them in the empty street.

Lonely, lonely.

There was no response, no crowds, just the cool wind blowing on the street.

"We failed?" Harry asked softly.

Constantine didn't answer, but just raised his head and looked at the sparse full moon shrouded in clouds.

Harry Potter swallowed, rolled up his cuffs and glanced at his watch, then shook his head, "It's already 11:45, they won't come."

Constantine still didn't answer, his haggard pupils seemed to be soaked in something, looking warm and peaceful.

An overwhelming sense of frustration swept over Harry. The young wizard gritted his teeth and stared at the dead city, "I don't blame them, Mr. Constantine. I have seen the cruel truth with my own eyes, and I know that It takes a lot of courage to cross this hurdle."

He paused.

"The people have a right to be stupid," Harry repeated, trying sadly to unmask. "We've failed."

"and many more."

Constantine squeezed his wrist, "Listen."

Harry frowned, listening.

Singing, distant and ethereal singing.

"... Arise, hungry and cold slave."

"Arise, sufferer of the world."

Harry's eyes widened. "The Internationale, this is the Internationale."

How can it be?Since London's emergency broadcast system was hijacked that day, Prime Minister Ross has ordered all broadcasts to be dismantled and all TV signals reinforced. Where did this singing come from?

Harry ran forward involuntarily, crossing street after street, slamming his wand down just before hitting a tall building, unleashing the sorcery, and levitating himself in the air.

He saw the direction the music was coming from.

That was Whitehall, Whitehall guarded by countless armies.

Li Ang, wearing a V for Vendetta uniform, stood in front of the Capitol. He did not know when he got a huge searchlight, placed it in front of him, let the light shine on him, and cast a human-shaped shadow on the Westminster building. on the wall of the palace.

That huge shadow was holding a microphone and singing with great emotion.

"The blood is boiling, and we must fight for the truth!"

"The old world is in ruins, slaves rise up, rise up!"

The chaotic army immediately maintained order under the roar of the general, turned their guns, and the guns sprayed flames at Li Ang in front of the searchlight.

It was useless, the bullet couldn't penetrate the barrier that Li Ang released casually, and the copper bullet, deprived of potential energy, could only jingle and fall to the ground, converging into a river of brass.

"...this is the final fight, united, until tomorrow."

The gunshots as an accompaniment could not stop Li Ang from using the Ethernet network to spread his singing to every corner of London. He agitated his mouth and rendered the notes into the brightest red.

There was a smile on the corner of Constantine's mouth. He raised his arm and lowered it heavily, like a musician conducting a symphony orchestra on an international stage.

"We want to recapture the fruits of our labor, let our minds break out of the cage, and quickly burn that furnace into a red fire, and only by striking while the iron is hot can we succeed."

"Who created the human world is our working people. Everything belongs to the working people, and there is no room for parasites."

Harry Potter saw it. He saw the lights of every house turned on one by one, and countless people poked their heads out of the windows and looked in the direction of the singing.

They could hear the tragic gunshots, and they could even hear the summons from the singing.

The expressions of hesitation and struggle swayed on their faces, Harry in the sky clenched his fists tightly, and his sharp nails dug deep into his flesh.

However, the window was closed after all.

Harry lowered his head, choked up, and released the witchcraft to let himself fall slowly.

"We failed," he said, turning to Constantine.

"No, we succeeded," Constantine told him.

Footsteps sounded, ranging from soft to loud.

Harry stared blankly at countless faces emerging from the dark streets, those London residents wearing ceramic masks and hoods, emerging from the darkness.

Among them, there are parents whose children were taken away by blood clans, victims who were hurt by refugees from the Middle East, cynical independent youths, and skinny old people with inconvenient legs and feet.

They have their own life trajectories and their own stories—no matter whether the story is dull or boring, its unique attributes cannot be taken away.

But at this moment, they voluntarily gave up their own personal attributes and completely integrated themselves into the broad definition of "collective".

Want truth, want freedom, want fairness!
They are the masses, and the masses are invincible.

Harry and Constantine quickly blended into the crowd, and they were surrounded by the crowd, heading towards the Capitol.

The singing continues.

(End of this chapter)