"Grass is the producer of the food chain, possessing a vast base, yet it also sits at the very bottom."
"A healthy society does not raise too many Sheep; the strong prefer to raise Cattle."
"Because Cattle eat only the leaves of the grass, and the following year the grass grows back even more lush. Sheep, on the other hand, chew the roots clean, killing the goose that lays the golden eggs."
"Cattle manure also enriches the soil with nutrients, while sheep dung is relatively dry and causes the soil to lack moisture."
"Cattle are also more hardworking and enduring than Sheep, they can plow fields and pull carts."
"What society needs is exactly this kind of beast of burden."
A boy raised his hand.
Caelan nodded, "Durm, go ahead."
The infant was gripping Caelan's shoulder with his little palms, his short legs kicking upward with effort.
Caelan had to hold him and set him on his shoulder.
The baby sat obediently, fixing his green eyes on Durm.
Durm stood up. "Mentor, you said earlier that gangs are bugs, the scourge that ruins the pasture. Then why does order tolerate their existence?"
Caelan answered, "Bugs gnaw at the pasture grass, competing with Cattle for nutrition, and even parasitize the Cattle themselves."
"When Cattle eat less, they produce less meat, and the Tigers and Lions also get less to eat."
"If bugs multiply unchecked, the entire grassland may be exhausted."
"But bugs are both a scourge and the managers of the pasture."
"Bugs nibble the grass, plague the livestock, yet they also manage the grassland and channel benefits to the Tigers and Lions."
"We can assert that gangs exist precisely because of an absence of grassroots governance."
"Tigers and Lions will not deign to go down to the grassroots to manage the pasture themselves. As long as they receive sufficient returns, they do not care who those grassroots managers are."
"In ancient Terra's Beacon Country, the racial knights ruled the land under a caste system."
"The First Caste were the Anglo-Saxons; the Second Caste were the Africans; the Third Caste were the White Commoner; the Fourth Caste were the Indians."
"The Anglo-Saxons were the masters of the nation; the Africans were the Anglo-Saxons' slaves."
"Among the White Commoner, the Irish were representative. Driven by the Great Famine, they crossed the oceans and came to the Beacon Country to work as laborers."
"The Anglo-Saxons of the Beacon Country completely ignored grassroots governance. The Irish suffered oppression and humiliation, receiving no fair treatment, their status even lower than that of the Africans."
"Some among them refused to endure the disgrace. They spontaneously united and formed Irish gangs."
"These gangs replaced the Beacon government, taking over the function of grassroots governance among the Irish."
"With this grassroots governing power, they began actively recruiting more Irish immigrants from abroad. As the Irish population base expanded, they gained a large number of votes and successfully sent their own people into the Beacon Country's centers of power."
"From then on, the status of the Irish rose sharply."
"The same model was later applied to other ethnic groups as well. Italians, Chinese, and Africans each established their own gangs, taking over grassroots governance for their respective communities."
"Grassroots governance was the source of their power and the foundation of their standing."
"As long as the Beacon Country did not firmly grasp the power of grassroots governance in its own hands, it could never rid itself of gangs."
"Wherever there was a power vacuum, someone would inevitably occupy the corresponding ecological niche."
"Gangs, landlords, clans, all were fundamentally parasites of power vacuums."
Power was there. If you did not seize it, others would.
Durm asked, Since the power vacuum exists, why don't they fill it themselves?"
Caelan replied, "Once the ecological niche of the power vacuum is occupied, those people will find every way to get close to the legitimate centers of power, forming a deeply intertwined community of interests with the upper echelons of government."
"To move against these illegal gangs would inevitably implicate a chain of legitimate legislators."
"To protect themselves, those legislators would do everything in their power to obstruct anti-gang legislation in the legislature."
"They dare not let the government investigate, and the government dares not investigate either, if anything were really uncovered, even their superiors might be on the list."
"Even if the Beacon Country were truly determined to ban these illegal gangs, "
"If they still did not carry out grassroots governance, new gangs would arise again in the future."
"To fill the power vacuum, they would need to invest massive amounts of manpower, resources, and finances."
"They had no money, and they were unwilling to spend it."
"Moreover, in the process, the gangs and landlords would fight back desperately."
"Unrest among them would mean chaos in grassroots governance, eventually plunging all of society into disorder, with incalculable losses."
"Some countries dare not touch gangs, some dare not touch landlords, some dare not touch clans, "
"Because these groups hold grassroots governing power. If they are thrown into chaos, all of society follows."
A boy muttered, "Then isn't this an unsolvable deadlock?"
Caelan said, "It's not a deadlock, it's just that the Beacon Country lacks the courage and the capability to break it."
The boy hadn't expected Caelan to respond to him, and he shot to attention in fright.
Caelan joked, "Sit down, Winston. Don't be so formal. Do I really look like some fearsome gang boss?"
Winston shook his head like a rattle-drum, his cheeks flushing bright red.
In his heart, the Mentor was a good man, definitely no gangster!
The Mentor had given them freedom and safety, freeing them from the struggle for survival and even giving them the chance to receive an education.
Though they were still young, children who had wrestled with hardship from birth cherished the present all the more.
They might not fully understand all the profound principles Caelan taught, but the food and water Caelan gave them were very real blessings!
"The answer lies in the question itself, the crux of grassroots governance is grassroots governance."
"If the beneficiaries of the old order cling to the old ways, that order will only grow increasingly rigid."
"With that comes ever-intensifying social contradictions, and the people's longing for a new order will grow by the day."
"There are two paths to establishing a new order."
"It can be reform from the top down. Reform is bound to face heavy resistance from vested interests."
"Or it can be revolution from the bottom up. Revolution will smash the old order to pieces."
"If the power vacuum of grassroots governance has already been occupied by gangs or landlords, then to change the situation, the old order must be broken."
"Without destruction, there can be no establishment."
"Precisely during the transition between old and new orders, when the new order is as yet a blank slate, is when the cost of changing the world is lowest."
Durm asked, "Mentor, do you lean toward reform or revolution?"
Caelan said, "Reform is moderate revolution; revolution is extreme reform."
"You shouldn't ask which I prefer, you should ask which is more suited to the world."
"As long as the old order has not rotted to its roots, as long as there are still people who harbor hopes for reform, it will not develop into revolution."
Winston muttered, "Not just the roots, Cthonia has rotted all the way into the soil."
"Then go and revolutionize. Use violence to overthrow the old order."
Among the crowd, a frail girl timidly raised her head. "But Mentor, where would we get the strength?"
"No one can reach the sky in a single bound. Accumulating strength takes time; nurturing ideas requires fertile soil."
"As long as you don't give up, that strength will eventually gather into a storm."
"That storm will shatter every obstacle, level the old order into a blank slate, upon which you can paint freely and build a new order."
"Can we really do it?" Durm's eyes were filled with confusion. Not long ago, he had been participating in a gang's initiation rite, proud to become a gangster. Now he was thinking about what revolution meant, even envisioning using a new order to overthrow the old.
How could a person change so drastically in such a short time? Had the world gone mad?
Even counting everyone, they numbered only fifty or sixty, and they were all just children.
On Cthonia, where adulthood came at twelve or thirteen, many of them were still minors.
Though they were remarkably mature, even three-year-olds had been forced to learn to fend for themselves,
Without Caelan's protection, they could not survive in the underworld at all.
Even if they were to start a revolution, what could they actually do?
They were indeed dissatisfied with the old order, and they all wanted to shatter this old world.
But how should they shatter it? And how should they establish a new order?
They knew nothing of it.
Caelan had not yet taught them that deeply; he was still cultivating their correct understanding of the world.
He was in no rush to have these children change the world.
Caelan would give them equal access to education, but disparities would still exist.
They were destined never to step onto the grander stage; the spotlight was reserved for the Primarch.
Even though the Primarch was still in swaddling clothes, his very birth had placed him above all mortals. Across the entire galaxy, indeed, across all the Warp, there were precious few beings more exalted than him.
This was the innate gap that mere mortals could never bridge.
Yet they could still mount the stage, they were the masters of their own lives.
Their honors might not shine as brightly as the Primarch's, but the glory they earned would still surpass that of countless millions.
Nor was Cthonia the only thing they would change in the future, but the entire Imperium of Man as well.
The Imperial tax-farming system was also an outsourcing of grassroots governance to planetary governors, and those governors were the Empire's landlords.
There was nothing new under the sun.
It was a cycle no human civilization could escape. No one could establish a perfect order, unless he were a god.
Even the most idealistic of idealists could only make order as fair and just as possible.
To achieve even that was to be a saint.
Guilliman was a case in point.
At least within his Five Hundred Worlds, people lived in peace and enjoyed a standard of living far above that of other Imperial worlds.
Guilliman could be called a saint, but the glory of the Five Hundred Worlds was not his work alone. It was a miracle created by the Primarch, the Ultramarines, and billions of mortals working together!
The people need heroes, but heroes cannot change the world by their own power alone.
Heroes are like torches in the darkness; those drawn to their light, those who cherish ideals, are fireflies.
The torch is the beginning of all things; its role is indispensable.
But those warriors who gather beneath the torch and willingly burn their lives to add fuel to its flames are equally indispensable.
Only through mutual achievement can they blaze a clear and bright path forward.
They are all creators of history.
These children were still young, but Caelan believed they would grow into heroes one day, attracting more fireflies.
And those fireflies would keep growing, becoming new torches in turn.
Passing the flame from generation to generation, enduring without end, with heroes standing firm.
Then, the galaxy burns.
Clap clap!
Caelan clapped his hands. "That's enough cultural lesson for today. Durm, Team A, Winston, Team B, begin tactical drills!"
Durm and Winston both straightened their backs simultaneously, a hint of hidden pride in their postures.
Durm was one of the few survivors among the Corpse-Grinders. Winston had until recently been a meat-person locked in a cage.
They had been specially selected.
Though Caelan strictly forbade them from forming cliques to exclude others, their birth origins naturally inclined them toward different group identities.
The descendants of slaves wanted to cluster with Winston; the gang survivors wanted to cluster with Durm.
Caelan had specifically chosen them as leaders not to deepen the divide, but to bridge it.
Durm looked behind him, half of his team were descendants of slaves.
Winston, likewise, had thirty members, half of whom were from gang backgrounds.
They called it tactical drilling, but what tactics could a bunch of children have? It was essentially splitting into two groups for bare-handed brawling.
Caelan was dedicated to developing these children so they could change the world in the future.
But the underworld was never peaceful. Learning theory alone would not keep them alive, they had to train their martial skills.
The winning team could taunt the losing team, making them pay the price of cleaning the camp.
In this way, they were comrades who had shouldered arms together. Shared honors and humiliations could dissolve mutual estrangement.
Though this could also create new divisions between winners and losers, as long as the balance was maintained, such divides could become healthy competition.
"How should we fight?" Winston lowered his voice, huddling with the others to discuss tactics.
A tall boy suggested, "Same as before, if we can take out Durm, the rest will scatter like loose sand!"
Winston said, "Then it's up to you, Tain!"
The boy grinned. "Don't worry, he can't beat me!"
The two sides agreed on their tactics and formed distinct factions in the spacious hall.
After a brief silence, they charged at each other, shouting Cthonian war cries.
"Strength and Honor!"
"Victory or Death!"
"One for all, all for one!"
The infant suddenly babbled, clapping his chubby little hands in delight.
Caelan gave the baby's soft cheeks a firm pinch. "Having fun? Want to go join the fight too?"
The infant immediately blinked with pitiful grievance, but he was still too young, unable even to stand steady.
He could only reach out with his tiny hand and grab a fistful of Caelan's hair in protest.