What a Mess!

What a mess!

Zhang Yuan had no interest in talking to anyone. He was about to flee Earth—who cared who they were? He might as well take a nap.

For some reason, he could never fall asleep in his dorm room, but in a classroom or some other public place, he always seemed to get drowsy.

Half an hour flew by...

Award ceremonies usually started with the third-place prizes. If they handed out the first-place prize right away, what would be left to look forward to?

The atmosphere in the hall was wonderful. The host was professional and funny, and this was the country's most prestigious award. Applause surged through the room.

"Next, the winner of the Galaxy Award's First Prize is..." The host deliberately paused for effect, then glanced at Zhang Yuan, who was still asleep, and froze for a moment.

Zhang Yuan suddenly heard his father's name and jolted awake.

A video was playing on the screen: an introduction to his father's life. Renowned mathematician, engineer, lead engineer for the spacecraft's main control system and nuclear engine, and more...

As the lines of text appeared on the screen, the audience murmured and gasped in amazement.

Any one of those achievements would have given an ordinary person enough to brag about for the rest of their life.

As the audience marveled, a mournful tune began to play. Professor Zhang had passed away in his prime from overwork, at the age of sixty... so a family member would accept the award on his behalf.

When the host finished speaking, Zhang Yuan went onstage, bowed slightly, and accepted the gold medal.

A microphone was held out to him.

The host wanted him to say a few words about winning the award.

The hall gradually fell silent.

Zhang Yuan had prepared his speech in advance and wasn't nervous.

"It is an honor to accept the Galaxy Award's First Prize on behalf of my father."

"First, please allow me to thank the judging panel, the Science Committee, and..."

It was a very formulaic speech. After all, three thank-yous was the usual number: more sounded redundant, while fewer didn't seem formal enough.

The First Prize was normally a huge event. In keeping with the principle of awarding it only when truly deserved, it had gone unawarded for several years at a time.

But now, with the winner deceased and a family member accepting the award, the moment felt less momentous, and the reporters weren't particularly interested in interviewing him.

What could they get out of interviewing a family member?

Zhang Yuan sighed inwardly. If he had won the award himself, that would have been a genuine honor...

He was grateful to his father for letting him experience what it felt like to be surrounded by accolades.

It was both a lot of pressure and a great source of motivation.

But what he said next was something he had genuinely intended to say.

"...In accordance with my father's last wishes, I would like to donate the entire prize—ten million in cash—to the Deep Space Foundation, to support the development of the space industry!"

That was like kicking a hornet's nest. A buzz of whispers rose from the audience.

Although Zhang Yuan was only accepting the prize on someone else's behalf, his decision to donate all the prize money still stirred up a lot of discussion.

No one would believe that this had been his father's last wish. No matter how brilliant Zhang Qiming had been, he couldn't have known he would win an award after his death.

So this had to be the young man's own decision.

Ten million!

That was no small sum. An ordinary person could live quite comfortably on it for the rest of their life.

And he'd just given it up.

Applause erupted from the audience, more thunderous than ever.

"Thank you, everyone!"

Zhang Yuan bowed slightly, handed the microphone back to the host, and prepared to leave the stage. He saw Professor Wang Zhong and several prominent figures seated nearby beaming with delight at the unexpected gift.

"Mr. Zhang, could we ask you a few questions?"

A crowd of reporters surged toward him, like eager dogs that had caught the scent of meat.

"Mr. Zhang, I have a question for you..."

"Mr. Zhang, could you come over here?"

"May I ask why you...?"

Zhang Yuan's head began to spin.

Oh no. He'd meant well, but somehow he'd stirred up trouble with all these reporters!

The host cleared his throat. He knew exactly what the reporters wanted to ask.

He quickly stepped in to help. "Ladies and gentlemen, due to time constraints, we can only take one question."

"Let's hear from this lady. What would you like to ask?" He pointed to a woman at the front.

Zhang Yuan's heart sank.

Of all people, it was the blonde reporter he'd once bullied: Angelica, from the Humanities Association. Yes, the one he'd teased.

Would she really use this opportunity to get back at him?

Angelica regarded Zhang Yuan with a complicated expression. She did want revenge, but she didn't dare go that far in front of everyone.

Still, she quickly composed herself, considered her words, and spoke in fluent Xia Language. "Hello, everyone. My name is Angelica, and I'm from Lan Kingdom."

"My dream is to travel the world. I've visited many places: prosperous Xia Kingdom, beautiful Mi Kingdom, and some poor little countries as well..."

"...I once visited a small country and met a very wealthy man there. He wore clothes made of burlap—a kind of, um, dull yellow plant fiber. They were the finest clothes in the whole area. He had eight wives. Please don't laugh; polygamy is legal in his country."

"How rich was he? He owned a cassava-processing mill with two machines that could grind cassava into powder."

"That alone made him a local magnate. Almost every girl in the village was willing to marry him."

"Just imagine: poverty like this still exists in every corner of the world—not just in one place, or affecting only one person, but affecting many, many people..."

The hall fell completely silent for a moment.

Then whispers began to ripple through the room.

Zhang Yuan could already guess what she was going to ask.

Angelica continued, "My question is, Mr. Zhang Yuan, why didn't you donate this money to people who need it more?"

"There are still so many poor people in the world who need our help. The Deep Space Foundation is already wealthy enough. It spends hundreds of trillions each year on space exploration and aviation—I'm sorry, I can't remember the exact figure. Yet so little goes to people living in poverty. Isn't that a case of putting the cart before the horse?"

It was a pointed question, and even politically sensitive.

Several senior political figures had already begun to frown, afraid the young man would give a poor answer.

The entire award ceremony was being livestreamed. Every word and action would be recorded and spark widespread public debate.

Especially since donating the entire prize was bound to attract attention.

The hall fell silent, every eye fixed on Zhang Yuan, waiting to see how the young man would respond.