Chapter Ninety: A Christmas Prayer for Peace

Aside from the Hunter family, no one wanted war; America’s terror of conflict had become so acute it could be likened to a startled bird. The Russians, whose thinking often took strange turns, realized their stockpile of long-range missiles was insufficient, so they schemed to place one right on America’s doorstep.

Everyone knows what happened next. The situation was truly perilous—Kennedy’s memoirs record it plainly: humanity was sixty seconds from the outbreak of World War III. Thankfully, disaster was averted. Otherwise, even traveling through time would have been pointless; the earth would have been ravaged beyond repair, and any attempt to survive would be futile, likely ending worse than that film “I Am Legend”—at least he had a dog for company.

It’s hard to fathom the purpose of creating so many weapons. One round of planetary annihilation is more than sufficient; any further is redundant, unless you plan to wage war against extraterrestrials.

This Christmas, some prayed for economic recovery; whether there would be war seemed irrelevant compared to the need to fill their stomachs. Many more prayed to God, hoping America would not join the fray.

In truth, they were overthinking it. The American treasury was depleted—there simply wasn’t enough money to fight. No country spends more on war than America. If it’s only an aerial campaign, perhaps it’s manageable, but should ground troops be required, the price of gold would likely soar past a thousand dollars an ounce.

This year, God was busy indeed—not only managing the economy but also striving for world peace. By American logic, he ought to get a raise, lest he simply resign.

A donation of several hundred thousand dollars was made to the local church. For a small country chapel, it was more than enough for renovations. Size aside, Europe’s most extravagant buildings are churches; many have taken centuries to finish, their expense beyond reckoning.

After the discovery of the New World, how much wealth did Europeans plunder in total? Where did it all go? The answer: it went to the churches. Europe’s most opulent churches were all constructed during that era. Eventually, they realized the folly of such excess; with so much invested in grandeur, there was little left for economic development.

Americans, being Protestant, are not so extreme. You won’t find any outrageously lavish churches in America. Of course, history is a factor—America has but two centuries to its name, hardly enough time to build a grand cathedral.

Yet, while American churches may lack splendor, faith remains a sacred matter—an untouchable taboo. One must never speak carelessly about it.

Nowadays, with mainstream belief on the decline, many have chosen atheism. Take Reagan’s daughter, for example; not only did she renounce her faith, she also underwent sterilization. That’s not merely against the mainstream—it’s blatant rebellion, a hallmark of the new generation. Were it not for such an unconventional daughter, Reagan’s ascent would have been easier.

The election isn’t a simple popularity contest. First, parties divide between donkey and elephant, then family comes under scrutiny. Without a proper family, Americans will never trust you. Say you prefer to stay single, and you’re instantly branded a misfit. If you lack the courage to form a family, how could you possibly govern a nation?

This is how Americans think: those responsible for their families will be responsible for society, and perhaps then, for the country at large. Every election year, candidates flaunt their domestic bliss, showering the public with displays of affection. Without this persona, your campaign is as good as finished.

At the Christmas service in a small town, you shouldn’t expect much in the way of entertainment. Under the guidance of the pastor, the congregation makes a modest gesture, and the event concludes. As with the saying from the East, sincerity brings blessings.

Admittedly, that phrase is untranslatable—a heap of empty words that, even explained, would remain incomprehensible. William White’s mother was of Chinese descent, so he understood Eastern culture well; many expressions from there were far more convenient. To William, idioms were simply stories, much like Americans’ running jokes or slang.

For foreigners, the more idioms mastered, the higher their Chinese proficiency. Sadly, even among Americans, not to mention ABCs, few truly grasp them. The Chinese language proficiency exam is no joke—its difficulty is legendary, and even natives might not achieve full marks.

Conversely, Americans aren’t guaranteed to breeze through English proficiency tests. Listening is no problem, but grammar is another matter. In reality, their grammar is loose; speech comes naturally, and any deviation feels awkward. Don’t overestimate Americans’ vocabulary—those with higher education are an exception, but among the lower and middle classes, spelling mistakes abound.

The American government isn’t particularly reliable, so people place their hopes in God. Don’t think this is a jest—it’s unequivocally true; God’s status far exceeds that of the government, a sentiment widely held by the populace.

Perhaps the Lord is simply too busy, and Americans will continue to endure hard times. As for war, maybe the prayers have been heard—America will not be drawn in.

After the Christmas feast, most of the servants dispersed; after all, it was Christmas, and they deserved an early holiday.

William White was busy in the training room. He’d eaten far too much that evening, and if he didn’t burn off those calories, a paunch was inevitable.

In his previous life, he belonged to the slightly overweight crowd—call him fat if you wish, he certainly had plenty of flesh. They say every inch gained in girth is an inch lost elsewhere; for the sake of future happiness, longer is better.

With such thoughts, he couldn’t allow himself to grow fat. Unable to control his appetite, exercise was the only solution.

What is the life of the wealthy? Eating, drinking, and merrymaking. If he couldn’t enjoy food, half the pleasure of being rich would vanish. Avoiding high-calorie dishes was possible, but abstaining entirely was out of the question.

Bear in mind, this was Texas—the capital of culinary oddities. If you ate like a cat, you’d likely be mocked.

White’s ranch lay near Houston, a fairly decent spot in Texas. Yet the place was peculiar: tornadoes from April to June, hurricanes from June to November. In a whole year, good weather was scarce. William White had no intention of battling tornadoes; he needed to find another plot of land.

“Money, money—I don’t have enough.” William White was grumbling again. His current assets didn’t leave much spare capital; acquiring land all over the world was out of reach. He simply didn’t have that kind of money.

“Looks like I need to make more. Why is it so hard to earn?” He sparred with the punching bag, still complaining inwardly. If outsiders heard these words, they’d probably cough up blood.

His money-making skills were already remarkable—if this wasn’t enough, what was he aiming for, the moon?

After exhausting himself, William White returned to his room for a shower and sleep. Though the servants were gone, he didn’t mind; if his college years had taught him anything, it was how to keep himself presentable.

His short hair required no blow dryer—just a quick towel dry sufficed. Despite it being midwinter, Texas was hardly cold and never snowy. Santa Claus likely wouldn’t bother visiting; his sleigh would be of no use here.