Chapter 33: Do you like racing? You

“Envy the rich?”

He Chen clarified: “Are you talking about me?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Ji Yangyang, unafraid, raised an eyebrow and said bluntly: “Ever since you clung to my 3-million-yuan sports car, every word you’ve said has been dripping with ‘I’m poor, so I envy the rich!’”

“Thanks for the compliment!” He Chen nodded with a smile.

“Compliment?” Ji Yangyang and Deng Xiaoqi stared at He Chen in silence, watching him calmly accept this as praise.

“Are you mentally ill? Is this a compliment?”

“Isn’t it?” He Chen countered: “Is ‘envy of the rich’ really a derogatory term? If it is, it’s only been twisted from its original meaning!”

You think envy of the rich is problematic, but you never ask why people envy the rich.

Since ancient times, there have always been wealthy men who exploit the poor, and tales of knights killing the rich to aid the poor have been celebrated.

Killing the rich was always a term of praise, an absolute admiration—so what’s wrong with merely envying them?

This exists because so many have committed the evil acts of ‘rich men feasting while the poor freeze to death’ and ‘why don’t they eat meat?’

Yet throughout history, China’s common people have always been too kind—they won’t rebel unless they’re nearly starving, or unless the whole world is on the brink of collapse.

As long as they have a mouthful to eat, even as slaves or servants, they endure—and still praise the rich for their kindness.

Yet even so, for thousands of years, dynasties have changed almost every one or two centuries—why?

Precisely because those rich men became too arrogant, indulgent, and reckless in exploiting the poor, plunging society once again into the historical cycle of officials oppressing the people until they revolt.

Because this is historical necessity, killing the rich to aid the poor—though always illegal and criminal—became a term of praise passed mouth to mouth among the people, born alongside the martial heroes who defied authority.

Envy of the rich?

Among the wealthy, whose fortunes carry the bloody original sin of capital, envy of the rich is indeed a derogatory term—shameful, hateful, even terrifying!

Because history has given you the answer.

But for ordinary people like us, raised in truly common families, envy of the rich may not be an absolute term of praise, but it’s certainly not derogatory either.

The masses’ judgment is clear-eyed.

Everyone knows, deep down, who the enemy is—and knows this has nothing to do with laziness or lack of ability!

“A bunch of twisted logic,” Ji Yangyang’s expression shifted, but he quickly sneered: “It’s just jealousy—you hate others for having what you don’t! Not everyone relies on their parents!”

Here, he lifted his chin, almost saying: “It’s all about ability, not parents! Yes! That’s me!”

“You’re still as funny and blindly confident as ever,” He Chen laughed, shaking his head: “Do you really think you’re that capable?”

“Aren’t I?” Ji Yangyang declared: “Grades? I don’t care. You have no right to judge me.

My ideal has always been clear.

And you?

Just a useless guy who trains all day and sleeps in, yet you keep envying the rich and boldly claim it’s right!”

So what if you’re the second generation of a rich family?

Everyone works hard—who’s higher, who’s lower?

You’re just incapable, so you spend your days blaming fate and others.”

“So confident?” He Chen smiled: “You’ve always had ideals? I remember—this morning’s Chinese exam, and by noon, the teachers were gossiping that you wrote zero words in your essay—just drew a race car.

Do you think that’s cool?

Proves you’ve always had a clear ideal and stick to it stubbornly?

I told you—you’re funny!

Do you really like racing?

You’re just greedy for a racing track with no competition!

You’re low!”

“What the hell did you just say?!” Ji Yangyang flew into rage, stepping forward—but Deng Xiaoqi, who’d been watching the show, reached out and blocked him. He stopped, pointing at He Chen, furious.

“Isn’t that true?” He Chen mocked: “The college entrance exam is the most relatively fair arena in the world.

Yet you dare not face the challenge and compete fairly with the majority—you only dream of becoming a race car driver like Han Han.

It’s because deep down, you know you’re not good enough!

So you seek shortcuts—what for?

Do you really love it?

Nonsense!

The real reason is that this track has no one else on it.

Just like in ‘The Outlaws of the Marsh,’ the third son of the West Street shopkeeper, Hao Xiaohu, won second place in a youth guqin contest in Pinggu County.

Though only three competed, and the third-place finisher was deaf, that didn’t stop his father from throwing a huge celebration and treating everyone to wild game.

Is Master Hao stupid?

No!

This is real!

Because in a contest as watered-down as the ocean, this second place actually means something—if no one points it out, who’d know it was actually second-to-last, or even last?

With that certificate, Master Hao can secure a better future for his son.

Same with the son of Autumn Shopkeeper, who beat a Go master at five-in-a-row chess—and to celebrate this so-called grand event in the chess world, he treated everyone to abalone!

What are they doing?

Isn’t it exactly what you’re doing now?

Just like rich kids overseas, who skip school and get into top universities through niche sports medals, recommendation letters from wealthy, famous uncles and aunts, or long-term donation receipts to elite schools.

They all avoid fair competition with others—they create their own racing tracks, ensuring most people lack the money or energy to even enter the arena, eliminating competition at its root.

Because everyone knows: you so-called elites chasing niche dreams? In true fair competition, you’d be utterly useless!

“Same effort, no one’s higher or lower?”

Those who dare not take the college entrance exam and compete fairly with everyone else, who use money to build barriers and keep the majority out of the arena entirely—that’s low-class effort!

You’re clearly a back-alley, bottom-tier path, yet you dress yourself up as elite, even believing deep down that being niche makes you superior—that’s the lowest of the low!

Isn’t this just the ancient system of recommendation, long discarded by the imperial examination system?

Only aristocratic families could recommend people for office—no exams, just forced appointments.

What if there are too few slots and too many applicants?

Then you create a big scandal—like stories of lying on ice to catch carp, absurd tales that make no logical sense—weren’t they all invented this way?

Look!

Isn’t it exactly the same as you, the son of an official, with terrible grades, refusing to study, wanting to imitate Han Han and become a professional race car driver—something almost no one has even seen or heard of?”

Ji Yangyang’s face flushed crimson; he wanted to explode again.

Because He Chen’s words had crushed his hidden pride into the mud.

Especially remembering how proudly, during the class placement exam, he’d drawn his dream directly onto his essay page—a race car—as his “My Dream” composition, thinking he was so cool.

Now, thinking about it, he nearly broke down.

There was no way around it!

The truth hurts the most.

He hadn’t thought of these ideas before—or hadn’t wanted to face them—but now, once He Chen spoke them, he knew they weren’t lies.