Chương 10: The Art of Mental Victory

What kind of person is Ah Q? Essentially, he is a character who chooses to escape reality because of failure, and who is extremely arrogant because of his inferiority complex, thus appearing absurd.

These days, he has seen too many absurd escapist dramas on the streets.

A broker lost all his deposit yesterday, but then loudly announced in a bar that he had finally "broken free from the shackles of money."

A banker was ousted from the board of directors, but told reporters he was ready to "embrace greater freedom."

This kind of attitude of treating funerals as celebrations and slaps as kisses is just like Ah Q's spiritual victory method.

Since these New York gentlemen all like to deceive themselves, let's set an example for them.

He intended to create a gentleman named "Silas." Silas was not like Van Dyke, a petty character prone to madness; Silas was more respectable, more learned, and therefore more comical.

Silas' tragedy lies not in the loss itself, but in how he uses a sophisticated yet absurd rhetoric to disguise loss as another form of gain.

Silas's image gradually became more complete in his mind: A guy who always wore a crooked but self-proclaimed decent bow tie, with sparse but slicked-back hair, and only a few coins left in his pocket, yet still scrutinized the menu prices with his monocle.

……

3 p. m., Broadway, St. James' Club.

Mr. August Winslow sat upright in his usual dark red leather chair.

His suit was still crisp, and his shoes were so shiny they could reflect the shadow of a chandelier. Only he knew that his bank account was now cleaner than a ransacked barn.

"August, 'Honest Man' has a new article."

The companion's voice sounded a bit strange.

An extra edition of the New York Daily was presented to August.

August adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze falling on the headline: Mr. Silas's "Mental Dividends": How to Go Bankrupt Gracefully August's eyes, which had been slightly narrowed, suddenly widened when he read the first paragraph.

Mr. Silas was a man of principle. When his stocks plummeted from a hundred dollars to a penny, he didn't become as dejected as most people. He straightened his tie in front of the mirror and thought proudly, "The stock price drop means my assets have become lighter. The money hasn't disappeared; it's just stayed with me in the form of shares."

August's hand trembled slightly. Just yesterday, he had said the same thing about the twenty thousand dollars he had lost.

He continued reading.

Mr. Silas was slapped across the face by a creditor on Wall Street. Instead of retaliating, he smiled and thought: "When I was a billionaire, he was still drinking milk. These days, young people have such poor manners, even their way of hitting someone is so rude. The world is going to the dogs."

Moreover, he reasoned that this slap was physical contact, a real, warm interaction, far more humane than a cold, hard bond default notice. He viewed it as a "brutal compliment," proving he still deserved such intense treatment.

"Pfft..." A suppressed laugh came from the side.

August didn't look up; he was already sweating profusely.

Arthur wrote in the article: Mr. Silas lost his office. He sat on a park bench, looking at the homeless people passing by, and thought: This place has a good view, fresh air, and no one is nagging me to pay my deposit. This isn't homelessness; this is clearly an open-air office that God arranged for me.

When his stomach growled with hunger, Mr. Silas soothed him, "Don't complain, this is called economical dieting. Those people spend a fortune to lose weight, while I, through the stock market, get this high-class physiological enjoyment for free."

If someone asked him, "Silas, why won't you admit you lost?"

Mr. Silas would glance at him disdainfully: "Loss? I'm just searching for a deeper level of prosperity. A shallow person like you has no idea what 'gravity-driven success' means."

Upon seeing this, August felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.

This article is so simple that even a newsboy could understand it. But it's also so ruthless that every single sentence precisely tears away the last fig leaf of these "elites."

The section on "fundamentals" in the text is a stroke of genius: Mr. Silas loved listening to President Hoover talk about "fundamentals." Whenever he saw his stocks hit their daily limit down, he would tell himself, "Look, fundamentals are like the keel of the Titanic. Although it has sunk to the bottom of the sea, it is still intact, solid, and trustworthy."

As for the passengers and their wealth on board? Oh, those are trivial details, mere surface disturbances. True investors only care about the keel.

With a loud "clang".

August's coffee cup fell onto the carpet, the dark liquid leaving an indelible stain.

He looked around and found that all the gentlemen in the club, who had previously appeared respectable and chatted amiably, were now bowing their heads.

Everyone was clutching that extra edition in their hands, and everyone's face alternated between pale and flushed.

They all saw in Mr. Silas their own selves, desperately weaving lies in front of the mirror.

That kind of "spiritual victory method" was their last straw to maintain their dignity, but now, this bastard called "Honest Man" has burned it all away, and even took pictures of their ugly state illuminated by the firelight.

"This is... a piece of sleazy writing!"

August shouted in a trembling voice, but he found his rebuttal so weak and feeble.

Because he knew in his heart that just moments before, he was about to tell others that the reason he moved out of Manhattan was because he "longed for the pastoral life in Brooklyn."

Isn't this Silas? Isn't this the self-deceiving, ridiculous, and pathetic Silas?

The article concludes with a fatal blow to Silas, and to all "Silas" in general: Last night, Mr. Silas slept under the bridge. The wind was biting, and he wrapped his thin coat tighter around himself, a contented smile spreading across his face as he gazed at the glittering reflection of New York in the river.

He thought, "Look, the whole city is shimmering beneath my feet. I am so close to the essence of things, so far removed from all that superficial noise. My bankruptcy is not a fall, but a philosophical sinking."

While they were struggling with numbers in their skyscrapers, I had arrived at the solid riverbank and enjoyed this unparalleled waterfront view room for free.

And so, filled with anticipation for the wisdom of tomorrow, Mr. Silas fell into a blissful sleep, despite his hunger and cold.

After reading it, silence filled the club for a long time. Only heavy breathing and the rustling of the newspaper being clenched tightly could be heard. No one looked into each other's eyes anymore.