The old man found it very laughable.
So laughable that although he wanted to burst out laughing, for some reason, all he felt was sadness.
This was probably politics—and its immediacy.
When he held power in his hands, everyone showed their best side.
Gladstone was a humble "student." He had an excellent family background, outstanding personal abilities, and some unique political views of his own.
And all those political allies revolved around him, one after another.
They would firmly carry out every task he assigned without ever questioning him, and would occasionally open their hearts to him.
Sometimes, when he recalled that period of the past, he felt that in some ways, he had been a "god."
Because in the political arena, his influence and what he could accomplish had been almost the same as a "god's"!
But at this moment, after he had lost his power, Gladstone showed his fangs, and some of the close allies who had once surrounded him betrayed their friendship.
Countless memories flashed through his mind like the rushing waters of a waterfall. He thought of a conversation he had once had with a capitalist.
The capitalist had come to him, hoping that he could help him reclaim what he had lost in a business rivalry.
His wealth.
At the time, the old man had asked the capitalist a question: "Is wealth really that important?"
He still remembered his tone back then. He had been sitting behind his desk, holding the tea-cup dog that had not yet died in his arms and scratching the back of its head. "Think about your family. Think about other things. You'll find that there are many things more worthy of your attention than wealth!"
He had refused to help that man whose eyes were blinded by wealth. Of course,