Naturally, he had no idea that the reason the Empire did not eliminate people was because cold machines could not give birth to the power of order. The meaning of the Empire's citizens' existence was to operate entirely according to the Empire's order. So long as they followed the Empire's order, the power of order would arise. This was the greatest value of the Empire's citizens after the Empire had achieved an industrial closed loop.
But even if Zhao Cheng had known all this, it would not really have meant anything.
Thus, Zhao Cheng's thoughts quickly leapt from social structure to the matter of the Empire constructing wonders.
The Empire had always been constructing wonders—building them every day, every year, never once stopping.
The textbooks said that wonders represented the majesty of the Empire and the majesty of the Emperor.
That was what the books said. That was what everyone said. And so it became truth.
Yet with dreams existing, Zhao Cheng sensed that something was wrong.
Zhao Cheng did not know whether there was something wrong with the Empire, or something wrong with the world he dreamed of.
Finally, after an unknown amount of time had passed, the wasteland shook. A sharp pain shot through his wrist—the alarm had gone off. The wristband Zhao Cheng wore released a powerful electric current, forcibly waking him.
The fleeting joy ended just like that. A new day began.
Zhao Cheng washed up numbly, walked out of the dormitory numbly, and arrived at his workstation numbly. There were no pauses, no conversations. It was not just him; everyone was like this.
Everything they had been taught, every piece of information they had received from birth until now, had constantly told them that this was how a qualified citizen of the Empire ought to