Chapter 658: The Crimson Sea

Oliver's expression finally changed; he slowly widened his eyes, staring at Shi Ler with shock. Shi Ler exhaled slowly, smiled at him, and said: "Surprised? I don't look like it, do I?"

"But… you're not… you're not German?" Oliver struggled for a moment, finally blurted out only this, then suddenly froze, looking at Shi Ler: "You weren't born in Berlin, were you? East Berlin??? Or somewhere near the eastern edge of West Berlin????"

"You're clever, Oliver, but it's unrelated. Your experience should be much like mine—you encountered Marxism during university, didn't you?"

"I'm not… I…" Oliver turned his head away. "I just read some works—the most famous ones—and it was long ago…"

"Have you forgotten?"

Oliver pressed his lips shut, fell silent for a moment, then spoke: "You know that once you've truly examined those theories, you never forget them."

Shi Ler smiled again. "I know that—which is why I dared tell you. But even if you're not a Marxist, your reaction to these things is nothing like that of a capitalist heir. You should naturally enjoy all this."

"There's no 'should'!" Oliver grew angry, feeling insulted. "I didn't choose where I was born! If I could, I'd rather be born in a slum than live off blood-stained money!"

Shi Ler wore an expression of confirmation. He dared speak to Oliver because he knew—in the comics—Green Arrow was a left-wing hero, an officially recognized Marxist who even gave other heroes copies of "Das Kapital" as holiday gifts.

Moreover, his collaboration with Green Lantern Hal Jordan's "The Longbow Hunters" series was among the most famous and influential left-wing comics in history. Though many issues it explored were not radical and remained somewhat conservative, it was still a landmark comic that genuinely cared for and empathized with the oppressed. Before this, no comic had ever addressed such realistic problems.

In the comics, Green Arrow became a hero only after returning from the island and witnessing the suffering of the poor. Though the comics offered no detailed depiction of this transformation, ideological foundations aren't built in a day or two.

Thus, Shi Ler deduced that Oliver Queen could not have encountered Marxism only after returning from the island—he must have read related works before, or at least held left-leaning views.

Though it sounds incredible—a scion of big capital being a Marxist—it was normal for the era. Whether old aristocracy or petty bourgeoisie, there were always those who carried their own provisions. Philby was the best example.

Yet clearly, Oliver was still in a state of confusion. The Marxist texts he'd read could answer theoretical questions, but offered no practical weapons. He remained in the realm of abstract thought, and the more he thought, the more confused he became.

"I know you've drawn much knowledge from those works. Those theories answer many questions—but the world always has more problems than answers. For instance: how did Mexico become like this? And how do we fix it?"

"Perhaps you've already thought of some solutions, but doubt whether they're too violent, feasible, or—if they are—how to actually implement them?"

Oliver fixed his gaze on Shi Ler. He felt his inner thoughts echoing endlessly. He bit his lip but said nothing. Shi Ler spoke:

"You feel guilt—you believe you've profited from others' suffering and death. But guilt alone won't drive you down that path. Without true resolve, no amount of guilt matters."

Oliver rubbed his palms for a long time before asking: "What do you think I should do? Should I reread those books? Can I find answers in them?"

"That depends on whether you're willing to pay the price."

Oliver looked up, staring directly at Shi Ler. He sensed something else in Shi Ler's tone. He understood the implication—and suddenly his throat went dry.

He took a deep breath, poured himself a large glass of water with trembling hands, drank it all down, then slammed the cup onto the coffee table, his facial muscles quivering.

"You're trying to… recruit me? I think… I…" Oliver frantically swallowed saliva. He knew he was making a dangerous decision—this might be the final step into the abyss, or the last second before dawn. He felt he knew nothing, and wanted to know nothing.

"No. I'm simply introducing you to a discipline, a theory, a method. I won't ask you to do anything. You can treat today's conversation as if it never happened."

From Oliver's expression, Shi Ler knew he'd misunderstood. Shi Ler did intend to stir things up—but he wasn't trying to recruit Oliver as an asset. After all, he himself was no longer a KGB officer.

The "Sixteenth Bureau of the Soviet State Security" identity? Just a random lie. He didn't even know which bureau he was supposed to belong to—he picked a number that sounded plausible. After all, he had no idea which KGB bureau the original Shi Ler had joined.

"I just want to undo these tragedies, to free everyone suffering because of them." Oliver extended his hands. "I know I should be like Hal—save one if I can. But maybe I'm overreaching. Every time I think I can't save everyone, I feel sorrow and helplessness."

"I've always sought a way to solve all this completely. I know Arthur and Hal think I'm daydreaming—but I can't stop thinking. I can't stop wanting to find an answer."

"In university, I had this thought. My classmates thought I was a freak—and that's why I turned to Marxism, hoping it would give me an answer. Back then, I did find one—I thought I'd found the only solution…"

"But as more events unfolded—especially the tragedies I saw in Mexico—I began doubting that answer. I saw no possibility of resolving such tragedies within those theories. I want to find a new answer—but I don't know where to look…"

siluke.

"Have you considered that it might be the answer—but only half of it?" Shi Ler looked into Oliver's eyes. Oliver looked back. Shi Ler said nothing more, simply pushed the few books forward and said:

"I think if you study what those who actually practiced this theory concluded, you might gain considerable insight."

Oliver swallowed hard, staring at the books. His fingers trembled. He feared they weren't the right answer—and feared they were.

Because he knew: if he truly found the full answer, he might spend his life, driven by excessive morality and conscience, pursuing a cause beyond any single person's power. It filled him with unparalleled excitement—and a trace of fear.

When he opened the first book to its first page, and read the first sentence, he knew: in the endless dark abyss, he had seen the first ray of dawn.

"The most important distinction among social groups lies in class, determined by the economic base: the bourgeoisie and the proletariat are forever opposed, and their contradiction is irreconcilable."

As he read further, Oliver felt his heart race. The next line read:

"To overthrow the bourgeois regime, violence is the only means."

Meanwhile, Kayla and Lila had found the current head of the Queen Group—a shareholder named Williams, who oversaw the company's shipping operations.

When the CIA and DEA arrived together, Williams offered no resistance and revealed everything.

The reason: during the 1984 War on Drugs, Congress had gone all-in. No matter your status as a corporate shareholder, if you touched this trade, they had ways to make you vanish.

Though nearing the end of the Cold War, the Lamp still shone brightly—dimmer than a few years prior, but far brighter than later. Decisions and enforcement were still effective. Thus, that War on Drugs left a deep impression on those in coastal cities who clung to Jiaoxing. Williams was no exception.

"My brother died in a shipwreck—but I know it wasn't an accident. I know you did it. The U. S. Drug Enforcement Administration… because he wanted full cooperation with Guadalajara, you made him disappear…"

"But you must understand: too many people profit from this. I have no choice. If I shut down all such operations, I'd be dead by tomorrow. They'd replace me with someone more useful. I have to do this…"

"Who are 'they'?"

"Too many. I can't…"

"Name them one by one." Lila pulled out a recorder. "We protect whistleblowers—but only if you provide enough information."

Williams sniffled. His fat body trembled uncontrollably, almost comical. He hesitated long, then finally said: "You must promise to protect me, my family, and my child—my child was just born…"

"Precisely why we came to you," Kayla tapped the table. "You're not like those mercenaries who'll do anything for money, Williams. We know that. So you have a chance."

Williams swallowed. "Alright. Old Tott counts—he pressured me hardest… Paul, and Paul—the Italian—he arranged the customs connections…"

Williams named several more names. Kayla and Lila exchanged glances. Lila asked: "What about the Queen family?"

"Them?" Williams hesitated, then said: "Old Queen and his wife are dead. The new young Queen is useless—he's ruined the business. I'm not excusing him, but with his business acumen, he probably doesn't even understand this trade."

"From what I know, Old Tott arranged that shipwreck precisely to keep young Queen out of this business—afraid he'd interfere with their profits—and wanted him drowned at sea."

"But somehow, young Queen survived. I heard he's coming back. I bet they're already plotting to kill him again…"

Seeing Kayla and Lila staring at him, Williams wiped sweat from his forehead. He strained to think—then suddenly cried out: "Oh! Right! He doesn't deal drugs—but… he has other problems…"

Williams wiped sweat again, trembling: "My men overheard Old Tott say he has dirt on young Queen…"

"What kind of dirt?" Lila asked.

Williams glanced at Kayla. "This might fall under the CIA's jurisdiction. It's this…"

"Oliver Queen… he's a communist."