"I was just young and fearless, after all. I'm a man of letters, and know little of military affairs. How could I understand how quickly things change on the battlefield?" Despite Yu Lian's praise, the soon-to-be-seventy-year-old newcomer to politics remained modest. "Brother Yu Lian, I've figured it out now. To tell whether a scholar is an old feudal type or a people's cultural worker, just see whether he's always spouting off about things he knows nothing about."
Very well put! Yu Lian gave him a thumbs-up.
"From that perspective, scholars, journalists, legal scholars, economists, and everyone else in the social sciences are all cut from the same cloth. We can't indulge them."
A fine summary! Yu Lian gave him two thumbs-up.
Even so, Mr. Qi couldn't help feeling sorrow over the fall of the Farshore Line. When it was all but certain that Admiral Sylvester had died for his country, he fell silent for a full minute before finally speaking in a hoarse voice. "That kid wasn't much like a proper soldier, actually. He was more like a shrewd businessman."
Sylvester was still a few years shy of sixty, but to Mr. Qi, he really was a "kid." Judging by the way they addressed each other, though, the two had been quite close. That came as a surprise to Yu Lian.
Then again, Mr. Qi had governed New Shenzhou for three years, and Farshore had been a neighboring district the whole time. The two sides had done plenty of trade together, so it made sense that they'd formed some personal friendships.
"Come to think of it, those twelve artificial suns on Baichuan were installed and calibrated by Farshore's engineers. In exchange, I saved him a seaside villa on Mingxia Island. It's worth five times what it was before. Of course,