German Red Prince

Thallman looked at Thorne walking ahead, his expression complicated. He was really struggling to process what Thorne was doing.

Thorne, as a prince, should have no connection with this kind of life. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Shouldn't his life be one of ease, free from worries about food and clothing, and untouched by hardship?

Although Thorne would grumble and curse almost every day after get off work, saying things like, "If I come back tomorrow, I'm a dog!" he would still get up on time the next morning and go to work at the factory.

At first, Thaler thought Thorne was just putting on an act and would leave after a few days. After all, Thorne had never experienced hardship. Even ordinary kids around Thorne's age would find it difficult to endure working in such a harsh factory environment for long.

But to everyone's surprise, Thorne became more and more enthusiastic as he worked, and started to learn seriously. He would often ask questions of the people around him, and recently he even learned some mechanical assembly techniques, and he became more and more proficient.

"What a strange prince," Thallman muttered to himself. He didn't see a trace of nobility in this prince, and he didn't put on airs when talking to ordinary people. Strange, so strange.

Back at his lodgings, Thorne, who was about to open the door, suddenly paused, waved his hand behind him to tell Thallman and Holman to be quiet, and pulled out a strange pistol from somewhere.

“Someone’s here,” Thorne said to the two men. It couldn’t be the Stasi; the Stasi would never open the door and come in without permission.

Besides, they wouldn't be stupid enough to leave the door unlocked after entering. If the people who came were really the Stasi and did something so idiotic, Thomas might as well just kill himself. All that training would have been for nothing.

Ordinary petty thieves wouldn't even bother with their house. Although even a fly is still meat, this fly was really too small. For someone to steal from this dilapidated little house, it can only mean that the petty thief who came here really had no vision.

If we rule out the thief and the Stasi, then who entered the house? Did they give themselves away? Were they discovered by the Darmstadt people? Impossible, they hid so well, how could they possibly find out?

In short, the point now is to go in and see what's going on. Thorne raised his gun; he couldn't kill the person who broke in, he still needed to interrogate them properly. So Thorne used a non-lethal Taser. Although it was a Taser and not a lethal weapon, getting shot would still be very unpleasant.

Thorne slowly opened the door and quietly slipped into the house. This guy is pretty bold; he even turned on the lights. He slowly walked into the house and heard a noise coming from the side room.

"Hiding here, huh?" Thorne snorted, slowly crept over with his gun in hand, pressed himself against the wall, reached out a hand to turn the doorknob, and opened the door.

"You little thing, you're quite good at hiding things, aren't you?" Thorne sneered to himself.

He raised the gun with one hand and yanked open the curtain with the other, yelling, "Don't move!"

"what--"

A woman's scream echoed throughout the room.

"what--"

Thorne screamed at this moment.

Thorne covered his face and lay on the chair, while Elena sat beside him with a flushed face. The atmosphere was a little awkward. Thaler forced himself not to laugh and took Holman aside. The old father was also in a dilemma, so it was better to take him away and let the two young people solve it themselves.

That slap was really hard; it almost knocked Thorne over. His head was still spinning. Who would have thought Elena would come back? Wasn't she living with Margaret in the house at the Philsonmer Sanatorium? Thorne thought it was someone else who had come; he never expected to make such a big blunder.

Looking at Elena, who sat there silently with her head down, her face flushed, Thorne felt a headache coming on. To be honest, he couldn't really blame himself; there hadn't been any prior notice. If he had known, how could he have dared to go in?

But it's not entirely their fault; this is Elena's house, after all. Why should she report to Thorne when she gets home? What kind of logic is that?

"Um, um, I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry. I thought a thief had broken into my house. If you feel bad about it, slap me again."

Thorne gritted his teeth and said that the girl was shy and he should speak first. Otherwise, if they just sat there silently, how long would it take?

"It's alright." Arya finally spoke after a long silence. "It's my fault for not telling you beforehand."

She came to see her father and clean the house, since these men were too lazy to tidy up and would just make do with whatever they could find.

She had just finished tidying up and was taking a shower in the bathroom when Thorne suddenly lifted the curtain. Her mind went blank, and without thinking, she slapped him.

"Are you hungry? I'll go prepare some food," Elena said and left, leaving Thorne sitting there alone.

"Why are there so many unlucky things happening lately?" Thorne scratched his head and sighed. "Everything's just not going right."

After dinner, Elena was about to go home. Holman was worried about her, so he personally escorted her home, leaving Thaler and Thorne in the house.

Seeing Thaler trying to suppress his laughter, Thorne rolled his eyes. "If you want to laugh, then laugh. Don't hold it in. It's making me uncomfortable to watch."

“No, no, Mr. Carl.” Thallman coughed. “I’m a professional; I don’t laugh.”

Thorne, seeing his attitude, didn't bother to argue anymore and took out his notebook to record what he had seen and heard that day.

“What is this?” Thallman asked.

"Experience report, some recent observations," Thorne said as he wrote.

He came here with a mission: to understand and unite the working class. He needed to know what the workers needed, what they wanted, and what they thought. Only by knowing what they needed and giving it to them could he gain their support.

"An investigation report? Mr. Carl, what are you planning to do? Organize a strike?" Thallman was puzzled. He had thought Thorne was just here to experience life, but he hadn't expected him to write a report? So professional!

"strike?"

Thorne stopped writing and looked at Thallman.

He took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, smoked one himself, and handed one to Thallman.

"Have one."

Thorne lit a cigarette, and Thaler lit one too. The taste of this cigarette? Why is it different from what he's smoked before? This pack of cigarettes has a full and pure flavor, and a moderate strength, much better than what he's smoked before.

"What kind of cigarette is this?"

"Soft Zhonghua." Thorne leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Here's a pack for you." He then pulled another pack from his pocket and handed it to Talman.

Thallman looked at the red-packaged cigarettes. "That's strange," he thought, "I've never heard of it before. What does 'Soft Zhonghua' mean?"

"Do you think a strike will be effective?" Thorne suddenly asked. "A strike is a complete sham, a futile effort. It's impossible to achieve anything by relying solely on a strike." Thorne continued speaking without waiting for Talman's reply.

“I’m not here to incite the workers. I’m here to understand them, to understand their food, clothing, housing, and transportation, to understand their lives. Without the right to investigate, one has no right to speak.”

"Workers' lives are terrible now. The working environment, working hours, daily meals, and all the protections that labor laws require workers to have are all ignored by capitalists."

"They try every possible way to exploit loopholes, even creating mandatory training periods. The workers' working conditions are almost completely unsafe, and accidents always happen to temporary workers. Capitalists use all their wisdom to extract every bit of value from the workers. The rest areas they provide are extremely rudimentary, and the food is skimped on at every level. The workers have almost no rights here!"

Thorne wrote angrily, saying it was hard to imagine a nobleman empathizing with the workers, given that there were quite a few scabs within the working class.

Thorne was telling the truth; capitalists only care about profit, and everything else is secondary.

Who would have thought that the author of "Report on an Investigation of the German Working Class" was a prince? Who would have thought that this prince would personally go to the front lines to complete this report?

Thallman and Thorne had been spending time together for quite some time, and Thallman was increasingly unable to understand the prince. The prince's revolutionary beliefs and will were by no means much less than his own, so why was he so eager to oppose him? To oppose the class that represented his own interests?

"Your Highness Thorne? Why did you do that? Won't you regret it?"

"regret?"

Thorne closed the notebook and looked at Thaler with a smile.

"This is my ideal. Even if no one supports me, even if everyone betrays me, I will persevere. I am a prince, but does that matter? No matter what my identity is, I will never abandon my ideal."

"For the liberation of the class and the nation, I have no desire for magnificent mansions, but would rather live in a humble, damp hut. I have no desire for delicious food, but would rather chew on tough black bread and rotten vegetable roots. I have no desire for a comfortable, soft bed, but would rather sleep in a pigsty or doghouse!"

"What I yearn for is a world of equality. For this ideal, I am not afraid even to die. Even if I am ultimately outnumbered and hanged by those reactionaries, I can still proudly say to the world, 'I was here! I fought! For a great ideal!'"

"The enemy can only cut off my head, but can never shake our faith! Because the doctrine I believe in is the truth of the universe! I have no regrets about sacrificing myself for communism!"

After hearing Thorne's words, Thallman admired the slightly immature young man even more. He was a flame! A burning fire!

"For our ideals! For communism! Comrade, let us advance together!" Thallman grasped Thorne's hand tightly and said solemnly.

"For the ideal, for communism!" Thorne said solemnly.

Chapter Sixty-Six: Human Life Is Worthless

It was still dark, with only a few stars twinkling in the sky. The city was still asleep, but Thorne had to get up now; he had to start his work for the day.

Although it's gradually warming up, the temperature isn't high right now, so it's hard to get out of bed, which makes Thorne very grumpy every morning.

Therefore, it's best not to disturb Thorne during this period after he gets up. He's very resentful during this time, and if you do anything that annoys him, he'll start arguing with you.

Without weekends off, there's no sense of anticipation in life. At least with weekends, there's something to look forward to. Now, going to get off work and coming home every day, repeating the same mechanical life, really makes one feel lost and uncertain about the future.

These capitalists want you to be busy, so busy that you have no time to think. As long as the workers have no thoughts, they can do whatever they want, and the workers will become puppets in the hands of these capitalists, at their mercy.

Although France has now taken the lead in raising the red flag, breaking the monopoly of capitalism, capitalism still holds the advantage in the world, and most people are still slaves to capitalism.

Capitalists exploit and oppress workers with cruel methods, sucking their marrow dry. They are a group of monsters who devour people without spitting out the bones.

They are parasites that leech off the people. The reason why these people can become the richest people in various countries around the world is because they control the relationship between the capitalist financial empire and the economic system. They control various resources and have mastered the world's wealth code.

These people possess hundreds of millions in wealth. With such a huge advantage, capitalists will never allow anyone to touch their interests. If anyone dares to resist, they will immediately show their fangs.

When all costs are squeezed to the extreme, the pressure on workers will also reach its limit.

Thorne was incredibly frustrated. He lit a cigarette and walked down the street. To be honest, he really didn't need to work so hard. Wouldn't it be better to just lie down and relax?

He's a prince, the second prince at that, isn't that even better? He doesn't have to worry about any national affairs; he can just lie back, eat and drink as he pleases, and live a carefree life as a prince. Even if Germany eventually collapses, what does it have to do with him? He can just rake in the money and continue living a good life.

"Who told me to have such a broad perspective?" Thorne shook his head and threw his cigarette butt on the ground. "I'd better just get back to work."

Upon arriving at the factory, Thorne noticed that the atmosphere seemed off. The foreman looked displeased and unhappy, and the workers all looked serious, working with their heads down.

"What's wrong?" Thorne asked Williams as he moved a bunch of parts over and started assembling them.

“Someone died.” Williams shook his head, somewhat saddened.

"Someone's dead? What happened?" Thorne was quite surprised. How could someone have died?

"Houghton worked the night shift last night. When he changed shifts today, he said he needed to rest for a bit. When his coworkers went to check on him, he had already passed away."

"The foreman just took him to the hospital to see what's wrong. Look at his worried face, he's worried about his money. If he died in a work accident, he'll have to pay compensation."

Williams sounded angry, but there was nothing he could do; he couldn't change anything.

Thorne felt a pang of unease listening to Williams' words; these days, human life is truly worthless.

"Cough cough cough cough."

While Thorne was still sighing, Williams suddenly started coughing violently.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" Thorne asked with concern.

"Cough cough cough, no, it's nothing, just an old ailment," Williams quickly waved his hand and said.

After he finished speaking, he coughed violently again, as if he were coughing up his lungs.

Seeing that something was wrong, Thorne quickly ran to his side.

"How about I take you to the hospital to get checked out?" Thorne said, and started to help Williams up.

But Williams shook his head and refused: "No need, it's just that it's been raining lately and it's a bit chilly. I'll rest and feel better in a few days."

"But......"

Thorne wanted to persuade Williams further, but Williams waved his hand, interrupting him.

"Really, it's not necessary, Mr. Carl. I know my physical condition. Don't worry, I'm fine, really."

“Besides,” Williams forced a smile, “Mr. Carl, it’s hard enough just to be alive, where would we get the money to go to the hospital? If we’re not going to die, we’ll just keep going.”

“Living is already hard enough,” Thorne muttered to himself.

Yes, it's already hard enough to just live. The lives of ordinary people in Darmstadt are not as wonderful as the mayor described. Their lives are as insignificant as ants, and no matter how hard they try, this is all they can do to survive.

The machines on the assembly line kept running, continuously transporting parts. The workers were expressionless, numbly repeating the same actions. These cold, heartless machines alienated people, turning them into the same machines, causing them to lose all emotions and the characteristics that should belong to humanity.

At lunch break, the foreman returned with a big smile on his face. If he was smiling so happily, it couldn't be anything good.

Sure enough, Thorne soon received the news that the worker died from a cold and tuberculosis, which was not considered a work-related injury and therefore did not require them to pay compensation. Even if it were a work-related injury, he could simply dismiss it as a temporary worker, thus saving a lot of compensation.

Thorne looked at the shabby shed. It was drafty and had several holes. Some old and broken pieces were scattered around, and it was filled with the smell of mold and decay. It was better not to build it at all. The food was also bland and meager. How could people not get sick living here?

In the afternoon, while working, the foreman suddenly discovered that someone was missing—a child was gone! Someone dared to skip work! How audacious!

Several men grabbed their tools and started searching. If they found this lazybones, they'd give him a good beating. How dare he come here to slack off? How dare he fleece the capitalists? He's insane!

Thorne silently prayed for him, that he wouldn't be caught by the foremen, that he could go home and never come back.

"what--"

A female worker opened the side door and suddenly screamed.

The child committed suicide. He found a rope somewhere and hanged himself from the roof beam. His body is now cold and completely dead.

"Damn it, this is so incredibly unlucky!"

The foreman, cursing and swearing, pulled him down from the roof beam, grabbed a rag from somewhere, wrapped him up, and prepared to bury him. "This dead man," he said, "is like losing a money-making machine! Losing money means losing a lot of money!"

"Why did he commit suicide?" Thorne asked the person next to him.

"His father died this morning. Now that his father is dead, he's the only one left in the family. He's probably in despair and doesn't want to live anymore." The person next to him shook his head.

"It would be better if he died, so he wouldn't have to suffer this torment."

Hearing this, Thorne felt dizzy.

"Life is so cheap!"

How many more people will die from illness? Freeze to death? Starve to death? How many more people will die in this world, in this era? Reality is truly cruel, but this is how reality is supposed to be.