"So, what is a bad person supposed to do?"
"Kill people, of course!"
As he spoke, the Confucian Scholar looked at Yu Mo again, his eyes now filled with indifference.
"That logic doesn't hold."
"According to what you said earlier, we're the cancers of this world."
"So if a cancer clears away other cancers, are you doing good or evil?"
"If you really want to be a thoroughly evil person, shouldn't you create more cancers and wars?"
"Only then would the world's cries of anguish grow louder."
"Your path is wrong."
Facing the Confucian Scholar as he gradually approached, Yu Mo remained utterly calm. He was even in the mood to pick holes in a madman's logic.
The madman froze in place.
The hand he had slowly raised stopped in midair, as though he were seriously considering the argument Yu Mo had presented.
Time continued to pass.
The Confucian Scholar and Yu Mo both remained motionless. Within the woods, there was only the rustling of withered yellow leaves in the breeze.
Then the wheelchair began moving on its own again, following the same familiar route. At the end, it just as earnestly bumped over a stone and bounced up, stubbornly completing the dot beneath the question mark.
Yu Mo felt somewhat helpless. This time, he did not bend down, merely waving his fingers slightly toward the camera, and everything fell still again.
"I'm not wrong!"
"How could I possibly be wrong?"
"It's this world that's wrong. Perhaps this world shouldn't exist at all."
After a long silence, the Confucian Scholar suddenly spoke again.
Only this time, his tone had become firm once more, his voice somewhat hoarse.
"Yes, that's right."
"This world has always been diseased, which is why it needs us to purge it."
"Only you can do it."