193: Chapter 193 The Flow of Public Sentiment: Voting with Their Feet
The instructions for the "Purifying Fire" project had not yet fully reached every nerve ending of the GDA, but a more primitive and majestic force had already taken practical action, providing the most direct response to the fog of public opinion and the technical shadow war surrounding the digital great wall.
This force was called "Choice."
More accurately, it was "Voting with One's Feet."
Location: "New Silk Road," a border crossing bordering the European Union and the GDA core area (formerly Western Dragon Country).
Once just a cargo passage, it now featured a crowd of people winding for several kilometers, stretching as far as the eye could see. In the queue were well-dressed researchers carrying precision instrument cases; young students with backpacks and eyes full of expectation; middle-class families with their families, looking apprehensive but unable to hide their hope; and even elderly people in wheelchairs accompanied by relatives. They were of different skin colors and spoke different languages, but their eyes were all fixed on the brand-new, sleek gate ahead, symbolizing the GDA's jurisdiction.
Beside the queue, reporters from several international media outlets authorized to conduct limited reporting here were aiming their lenses at this unprecedented sight.
"Doctor, why did you choose to leave now?" A reporter handed the microphone to a gray-haired old man wearing thick glasses, with the logo of a famous university pasted on the suitcase beside him.
The old man pushed up his glasses, his tone calm but firm: "I have worked in the field of condensed matter physics for forty years. For the past year, in the old academic circles, I could only read filtered technical briefs released by the GDA. Meanwhile, my colleagues—those fortunate enough to enter GDA laboratories through collaborative projects—described in their private letters... a completely new physical landscape, subversive concepts like 'Field-Induced Phase Change' and 'Graviton Modulation,' and experimental data that could make an old man's blood boil! Knowledge has no borders, but the opportunity to acquire knowledge does. I don't want to be barred from the gates of truth during my lifetime. There," he pointed behind the gate, "are the most advanced laboratories in the world, the boundless academic exchange of 'Kunlun,' and the industrial power to turn theory into reality. I want to see it with my own eyes and touch it with my own hands."
A young mother holding a child was a bit shy in front of the camera, but her tone was resolute: "My child has a congenital immune deficiency. In our country, the treatment cost is astronomical, and the effect is limited. I heard... the GDA has a new gene therapy technology still in the clinical trial stage, and they have a global patient assistance program. I don't know if I qualify, but I want to try. For my child, I am willing to go anywhere and try any possibility."
Beside her, a middle-aged man with dark skin and rough palms was a senior technician from a former traditional automobile factory that had closed due to technological obsolescence. He spoke in less-than-fluent foreign language: "I only know how to build cars, but now no one wants fuel-powered vehicles. The new floating vehicle factory built by the GDA is recruiting, providing a full set of new skill training, double the previous salary, and even housing. I need to support my family. Wherever there is opportunity, I will go."
The camera panned across the queue, capturing more determined faces: refugees escaping war, teachers seeking better educational opportunities, artists and programmers eager to display their talents in the "Kunlun" world, and a large number of ordinary people who had simply lost confidence in their own governments and yearned for the stability, prosperity, and sense of technological security displayed by the GDA.
This was not a sporadic escape; it was a torrent.
The system's social dynamics model updated global population flow data in real-time. The curve representing the net inflow of talent and labor into the GDA core area and close allies soared upward at almost a ninety-degree angle. Meanwhile, the curve representing the old sphere of influence (the non-GDA core area led by the Pretty Country) showed a shocking "blood loss" trend, especially with the loss of high-end scientific researchers, senior technicians, medical experts, and the young population reaching historical peaks.
This "voting with one's feet" was more lethal than any economic sanctions or military threats. It drained the most precious vitality and future of a civilization—talent, labor, and hope.
Pretty Country, Washington, White House underground bunker.
On the screen in front of Wilkins, one side showed real-time footage of the surging crowds at the "New Silk Road" port, while the other side showed emergency reports on the loss of top talent in various domestic industries. His face was no longer just ashen, but a deathly, pale gray.
"What about the 'mist' plan? What about our propaganda war?" he growled at the intelligence director, his voice carrying a weak hoarseness.
"The results are negligible, sir." The intelligence director lowered his head. "Our 'expert doubts' and 'victim stories' appear pale and powerless in the face of the GDA's tangible technological dividends and hope for survival. The public, especially those with the ability to choose, trust their own eyes and personal experiences more. Many of those people at the border have seen our 'analyses,' but they still chose to leave."
"Blockade! Strengthen border control! No one is allowed to leave!" Wilkins slammed the table almost frantically.
"Sir... we've already tried." A military representative nearby spoke with difficulty. "Some land borders can still be controlled, but the coastline is long, and there are gaps in air control... Moreover, domestic pressure is immense. Heads of many universities and research institutions have jointly protested, believing that blocking the outflow of talent is 'destroying our own great wall.' Some state governments have even privately contacted the GDA to discuss the possibility of 'regional cooperation'... The centrifugal force can no longer be contained."
Just then, a top-secret urgent telegram was delivered to Wilkins. He took one look, and his body shook violently, nearly making him unable to stand.
The content of the telegram was concise: "Dr. Robert Lee, President of the National Academy of Sciences, arrived in the GDA Polar Bear Federation Zone early this morning along with his core research team of seventeen people, via a pre-arranged 'informal channel' flight. Dr. Lee left a message: 'Science needs soil, and this is the only place where it is still growing.'"
Robert Lee, President of the National Academy of Sciences and a titan in the Pretty Country's physics community, had publicly criticized the GDA's "technological monopoly" multiple times and was one of the most important banners of the old forces in academia. His departure was not just the loss of a top scientist, but a symbol—marking the complete internal collapse of the old force's elite class and their despair over their own path.
"Even him..." Wilkins slumped into his chair, as if all his strength had been drained in an instant. His carefully planned fog of public opinion, technical rust, and even the darker Plan B seemed so ridiculous and vulnerable in the face of the most basic survival and development choices of the people and the elite.
He could block information, but he could not block the yearning of the human heart.
He could manufacture doubt, but he could not stop the desire for a better life.
He could play with conspiracies, but he could not reverse the grand trend of history.
"The people's hearts... have scattered," he murmured to himself, the last flicker of madness in his eyes dying out, leaving only endless emptiness and gray defeat.
The camera pulled back to the "New Silk Road" port.
The gate slowly opened, and GDA staff efficiently and orderly guided the flow of people, conducting biometric verification, basic health screening, and temporary resettlement allocation. There was no condescension, only pragmatism and efficiency. Every person who passed through the gate showed a look of relief or hope on their face.
In the crowd, a little blonde girl with blue eyes curiously asked her mother, "Mom, are we going to live here from now on? The sky here seems a bit bluer."
The mother hugged her tightly, looking at the clearly visible outline of the new city under construction in the distance, and nodded vigorously, her eyes slightly red: "Yes, baby. There is... a future here."
This torrent-like inclination of the people's hearts, this unstoppable "voting with one's feet," became the loudest and most ruthless answer to all the struggles of the old forces.