"The future network possesses a memory."

He Rui had once spoken these words to Li Runshi and Cheng Ruofan. Both had forgotten the phrase until the advent of the internet age, when different events at different times had brought it screaming back to their minds.

Cheng Ruofan had compiled the various articles posted by the netizen known as "Three-Flowers-at-the-Peak Cat." Li Runshi noted with a sigh that the young man’s digital footprints ranged from reputable sites to foreign adult forums.

As a man, Li could understand the biological impulses involved. Yet he felt the youth should have devoted his time to more meaningful pursuits—was discovering the real world not more valuable than indulging in fantasies before a glowing screen?

The adult forums "Three-Flowers" visited were few, mostly specialized communities. Li’s attention was soon drawn away from these to the user’s other posts.

It was clear that the young man was a member of the "keyboard politician" fraternity. The emergence and development of the internet had expanded the scope of social exchange at a staggering pace. Before the network, a person's social circle was small; an ordinary person might speak with only twenty people in a lifetime. To know a hundred was to be a man of the world.

Now, one could easily "meet" hundreds and read the words of thousands without ever leaving home.

Though Li still regarded He Rui as an Idealist, his estimation of the man continued to rise. Even thirty-five years after He Rui's death, Li’s evaluation of him was still climbing.

To derive the silhouette of the future from pure imagination—and to have every prophecy match reality with such precision—was a feat Li found breathtaking. He had to admit that He Rui, as an Idealist, had mastered the tools of Materialism to a degree of absolute perfection. Idealists were not bound by the constraints of Materialists; their thoughts could soar, skipping the necessary links of logic. But when that imagination aligned with the laws of reality, the result was a degree of overlap that left even the most sophisticated Materialist in the dust.

Coincidentally, "Three-Flowers" held the same view. According to his bio, he was a student of psychology, specializing in brain mapping, adolescent psychology, and behavioral correction.

He Rui had described many "frontier fields" to Li—hypotheses born of his imagination. Of these, brain mapping was the one Li had most resisted, second only to molecular biology.

It wasn't that Li had a grievance with He Rui; it was that racism had been branded a reactionary view in the modern world, yet the soil for its growth remained. These two hypotheses were pure science to He Rui, yet in the hands of others, they would inevitably be weaponized to provide a "theoretical basis" for the inherent hierarchy of mankind.

However, "Three-Flowers" shared He Rui's mindset; his posts showed no trace of racial bias. He was a man who addressed facts as they were.

As a "keyboard politician," Three-Flowers was neither a Party member nor a civil servant, yet he published numerous political commentaries.

Li was preoccupied by this phenomenon—a challenge the Civilization Party now faced. Those joining the Party today were increasingly utilitarian, seeking to leverage the system for personal gain. Had they not lived in the internet age, they might have achieved elite status through organizational channels alone.

The digital age had shattered the barriers of information and education. Those with limited social skills or interest in the establishment, yet possessed of a hunger for learning, had joined the loose networks of the internet. The web provided them with access to knowledge and insight across every level.

This universalization of knowledge had empowered everyone. In a thread discussing China’s leadership, Three-Flowers had written:

Li finished the post and paused the screen. He turned to Cheng Ruofan. "Are you worried the tragedy is related to this?"

Cheng shook his head. "I don't think anyone would dare do it so openly. If it were truly about this content, we would have felt the shift."

Li detected a lack of confidence in Cheng’s voice. After 1970, when Li declined to stand for re-election, the government’s policies had changed significantly. The tilt toward equity had been replaced by a "User Pays" model.

If one calculates from 1915, during He Rui’s thirty years of revolution, China transformed from an agricultural nation to an industrial one. From 1945 to 1970, the Li Runshi era utilized He Rui’s industrial plans to maintain high growth while promoting equity.

The massive wealth accumulated over those fifty-five years had empowered the people to consume, and the internet age provided them with unprecedented information to fuel that consumption. Consequently, the past decade had seen an explosion of consumer goods and services. This unprecedented domestic demand had left the rest of the world’s economies in China’s wake.

Not only at home, but Chinese consumers had made over 800 million overseas trips in ten years, swarming every corner of the globe. From cities to villages, plains to mountains, land to sea—wherever a history book mentioned a name, the Chinese consumer wanted to be there.

This consumption shared the dividends of China’s rise with the world, yet it also created countless deceptive gimmicks and shallow trends.

Many loathed these developments. The emotional view was that "rites and music have collapsed, and hearts are no longer ancient." The rational view was: "Rational consumption, restraint of impulse."

When these debates escalated, they often turned into "mutual flaying"—a mess of half-baked theories and erroneous concepts. Eventually, the struggle took the form of pitting He Rui against Li Runshi—two flags of supposed ideological opposition, held up by those who ignored the facts of their actual partnership.

In truth, those involved and those who lived through it knew there was no such opposition.

Thus, Li had to wonder if someone was fueling the fire behind the scenes—stirring the pot for personal gain.

From an interest-based analysis, some promoted consumerism for profit, others for political achievement. Academically, many made shocking pronouncements to secure their status. Some sought to hijack public opinion to build their own influential systems of thought.

Li supported laborers earning a good living through their work. He did not oppose new, legitimate business models that reduced circulation costs to gain profit. Even his struggle against those who sought to create "technical barriers" was a form of progressive engagement with the "laggard drivers of progress."

*But while a monk may be a misguided fool who can be taught, a demon in the guise of a spirit is a disaster.* Li could not support those who manipulated human nature and manufactured consumer habits or ideologies to extract interest from others. Such people were simply evil.

He Rui had been ruthless against such elements in his time. In the struggle against those who profited through deception and inducement, He Rui and Li Runshi were in complete agreement.

After a period of talk, Cheng shared his overall view: "We must start with the leak of personal data. I hear the killer’s parents are members of the establishment who used official data systems to dox the victim."

Li said nothing, merely nodding. A political struggle required a "hook"—an angle that most people could agree upon. Of course, if a significant portion of the establishment believed that "public power is for private use," that would be another matter entirely.

Cheng continued: "In the old China, only a few could use their own or their family's wealth to live as they pleased. Chairman He foresaw this era, yet he never had the chance to guide the people's thinking through it. I have always believed he expected you, Chairman Li, to utilize your skills as a philosopher in this age."

"...Comrade Ruofan, do you believe I should have changed policies sooner?" Li asked the question he had long avoided.

Cheng nodded. "I have realized you would never make that choice, for that is the Idealist model. Chairman He believed in pushing for technical breakthroughs to create this era, and then having a philosopher like you point out the 'correct lifestyle' amidst the people's confusion to solve the social issues.

"From a Materialist perspective, that is a flawed path. Social development will never be exactly as He Rui envisioned. Yet, I must admit, I often feel an impulse to believe the situation might unfold exactly as he predicted."

Li shook his head. "Society has not yet reached that stage. To force it there would only ensure its development diverged wildly from the vision. My stance remains unchanged; had Chairman He been alive, I would have voiced my opposition to him directly."

"...But in my eyes, Chairman He’s expectation for you *is* exactly what you must do now, is it not?" Cheng’s heart remained unsettled.

"Chairman He’s imagination for the world's development left a deep impression on me," Li replied. "I have seen the reality of industrial impact on social life overlap with his vision with incredible precision. But to treat imagination as reality is not the attitude of a Materialist."

Li let out a sigh. He reached into his desk drawer for a cigarette—something he hadn't touched in years—and offered one to Cheng before lighting his own. Enveloped in the smoke, as they had been in their youth, Li felt the nicotine counter the anxiety of his thoughts.

"I have always believed," Li continued, "that Chairman He wished to become a true Materialist. It was only the social environment of the time that denied him the chance. To solve the problems quickly, he was forced to use the talents he possessed. While the direction of China’s development was fundamentally altered, his personal expectation remained unfulfilled.

"His hope for the China of the future was a new era where every individual mastered Materialism. In such a China, Idealism would exist only as a tool, a mode of thought—not like He Rui’s... or rather, not as the unconventional means a genius was forced to adopt in desperation.

"Only when the Chinese people keep their feet on the ground, acknowledge problems, face them, and solve them—that is the future he hoped for.

"From a Materialist viewpoint, I propose a methodology for understanding and a path for resolution to address the problems before us, not to act as a fortune-teller making definitive pronouncements.

"Some of the judgments made by this 'Three-Flowers' cat have a degree of merit. Geniuses do not make 'definitive pronouncements'; their judgments are built upon their capacity for imagination. To judge a man a genius is to deliver a final verdict on his life. He Rui’s greatness lay in his courage to bear the risk he knew existed, thereby pushing the real world toward development and progress. That is a completely Materialist attitude.

"The appearance of He Rui was China's good fortune. To *wait* for another He Rui would be China's misfortune."

Cheng nodded reluctantly. He understood the logic, yet his deep bond with He Rui made Li's detached assessment difficult to stomach.

Li knew his friend’s feelings. In his own mind, had the man not been He Rui, and had he not achieved such historic success, Li would have analyzed his "Idealist" actions as a negative case study. He refrained from doing so only because He Rui’s achievements were so deeply woven into the fabric of New China that Li lacked the means to keep such a critique within the bounds of a purely academic discussion.

In Li’s view, perhaps in another fifty years—when China had reached the era He Rui dreamed of, where everyone had mastered Materialist Dialectics—only then could a truly thorough and definitive verdict be delivered on He Rui.

Li set the thought aside. He turned to Cheng. "We must continue the revolution—in economics, in thought, and in culture."

"A... Cultural Revolution? Why not a 'Correction of Terminology'?" Cheng was confused.

"The development of productivity has caused a total transformation of society, shattering the lifestyle built upon agricultural production. The foundation of the old China is gone. Those we now oppose merely borrow the vocabulary of the past. We are not fighting the rising dregs of history; we are struggling against a newly emergent attempt to limit and imprison the minds of the people. This is a genuine revolution."

Li crushed out his cigarette. He seemed to have regained twenty years of vitality; his arm swept through the air with power, as if brushing away an invisible shroud. "The people must master their own destiny to continue their development. As Materialists, as the vanguard of the revolution, we must carry it through to the end!"

Cheng Ruofan had come seeking a struggle, yet Li’s attitude exceeded his expectations. He wondered if the scope of the battle Li envisioned was not too vast.

Li understood his thought without a word. He smiled. "Heh. Comrade Ruofan, we struggle against policies—perhaps even only parts of policies.

"For a state, a failed policy or a policy adjustment is routine. For human society, it is common as dirt. A government fails when its policies fail. A nation fails when it can no longer produce effective policy.

"Heh. Have you lost your confidence in China?"

The words cleared the last of the doubt from Cheng’s heart. He nodded and quipped, "I haven't lost confidence in the nation. I'm just getting old."

Li stood and walked to his desk. After a moment’s thought, he took up his pen.

Cheng rose and moved to his side. He watched as Li’s pen flew across the paper in an elegant, sweeping hand: