[There is no love or hatred without cause beneath heaven and earth. If you were passing through some remote country, one without cultivators, inhabited only by mortal beings, would you specifically stop there and teach them the path of cultivation?]
The Abyssal Demon King's ethereal voice echoed between heaven and earth.
Zhang Qingyuan remained silent.
The answer to that question was obviously no.
He was no saint,
nor did he harbor the grand ambition of making everyone in the world into dragons.
In his eyes, the possibility of everyone becoming dragons simply did not exist. In a sense, so-called everyone becoming dragons was equivalent to everyone becoming insects!
Why did everyone yearn to become dragons?
Because those who truly became dragons were one in a hundred million—phoenix feathers and unicorn horns!
But once everyone became dragons, dragons would no longer seem precious. Their status would be no different from insects by the roadside. At that point, people would only yearn for symbols that stood higher and were rarer,
just as the cycle had always been.
Zhang Qingyuan had seen through this long ago.
In his previous life, he had also been a miserable worker at the bottom layer, looking up at housing prices that would take an entire lifetime to reach, resentful of the world's inequality between rich and poor.
But after he lay flat,
he suddenly realized that the life he had once lived, placed in that impoverished era forty years ago, was it not precisely the prosperous life everyone in that era had dreamed of?
Being able to eat one's fill of white rice every day, never lacking oil or salt, having meat at every meal, with a television, refrigerator, and air conditioner at home—the three great household appliances.
To people of that era forty years ago, was