Chapter Five: The Tax on Thought

Mo Wen, who was surfing the internet, could not perceive the exchanges occurring within others’ minds, and the absurd world he encountered online completely absorbed his attention.

The moment he connected, Mo Wen was struck by the startling simplicity.

The main interface had no bundled software; the browser homepage displayed no ads, trending searches, or recommendations. Searches yielded no pop-ups or obvious clickbait, nor were there results evidently pushed to the front by paid placements.

How terrifying!

Mo Wen felt as if he were hallucinating—such abnormalities could never exist in the real world.

Yet since they did appear, there had to be a reason behind this anomaly.

Mo Wen first looked into laws related to death, which unraveled a multitude of information.

On the planet named “Avel,” after the Third World War, national governments disintegrated under the pressure of capital forces, partly justified by the absurd reason that they had caused excessively brutal fratricidal conflicts. Public services and security were handed over to various “companies,” and the concept of the nation gradually faded.

The companies quickly began to act inhumanely, and for the sake of profit, multiple wars erupted. The planet was ravaged by warfare; its ecosystem nearly collapsed.

It was not until more than twenty years ago that the Titan Group, an alliance of multiple companies and now corresponding to the human community concept of a “Group,” initiated the world war known in history as the “Corporate War” and emerged victorious. This victory opened a new chapter for humanity, steering them away from a path straight to wasteland.

Simple jobs were mostly contracted out to intelligent machines. Education, routine medical care, public services, basic food, and housing were all free. Financial flows were open and transparent. Moreover, the Group’s taxation on civilians and individual merchants was reduced to a “Thought Tax.”

The “Thought Tax,” in simple terms, required that as long as one lived in this world, they must ensure a positive overall spiritual and cultural state. Its details were exceedingly complex, involving many aspects.

Violation of most requirements of the Thought Tax was regarded as tax evasion, necessitating psychological treatment, with euthanasia prescribed for severe cases.

Besides the Thought Tax, large companies with some degree of autonomy also levied their own special taxes.

For example, the Dreamweave Entertainment Company, where Mo Wen currently was, imposed a “Brain Tax.” Regardless of inner or outer zones, age, gender, or even race, anyone able to connect to the internet was required to be online during company-mandated times each month.

After overcoming countless hardships to finally access the internet, Mo Wen looked at this almost explicit exploitation of online users as mere resources and felt indifferent.

If this was the price for living in this region, he had to admit it was far better than he had imagined.

Yet Mo Wen still found it strange that Dreamweave Entertainment did not treat murder as damaging brain minerals and did not fine him for it.

According to Dreamweave Entertainment’s laws, simple murder was only forbidden without company approval from entering the inner zone; migrating to the inner zone required passing a Thought Review.

Because of this leniency toward murder, revenge in society almost entirely depended on personal action or hired assassins, sometimes causing more casualties.

Meanwhile, the inner zone was nearly free of violent incidents.

Strange—truly strange.

Mo Wen sensed a conspiracy, but unfortunately, he was an ordinary man who would die if shot, even quicker if bombarded; his bare hands could not pierce steel.

He might be able to take out a few armed gang members, but against nuclear strike drones easily found online, near-earth orbital fortresses, or giant war machines, he doubted he would last a second.

Rather than dwell on such heavy matters, he thought it better to find some useful things online for the future.

He had never tried cybernetic modification and was unsure if such effects would persist after death. Advanced knowledge was not exactly hard currency; the world he traveled to might not operate under the same rules, and some microscopic principles might not apply in another realm.

Still, most macroscopic laws would hold in any world where humans could survive.

“Emergency Guide,” “100 Tips for Wilderness Survival,” “Starting from Zero: Becoming Civilized,” “New Smelting of Ancient Iron”…

Mo Wen effortlessly found many books potentially useful to him, so many that he wondered if he could ever finish reading them all. If only there was something to speed up learning.

Suddenly, he realized this was a near-future world, so perhaps such a thing really existed.

The next moment, Mo Wen found his target in Dreamweave Entertainment’s official flagship store.

The Dream Fulfillment Model II, retailing at 220,000 credit points.

This learning device employed the most advanced import-style learning rather than the old method of activating brain potential or enhancing memory.

Though it had some delay in retrieval compared to older versions, the amount of knowledge it could import far exceeded the old, capable of embedding millions of books and over several terabytes of content directly into the brain.

Most buyers praised it; the few negative reviews clearly cited minor issues with retrieval speed but affirmed the writing process was flawless. Some even proposed special uses, like reading novels mentally when offline.

For others, such mental novels might be trivial, but for Mo Wen, bored stiff at the “Resurrection Point,” this was nothing short of a godsend!

The only drawback was the price.

Mo Wen was uncertain about the upper limit of normal wages, but he learned that most people in the outer zone were unemployed, living solely on welfare. A set of twenty-four Resurrection Model IV units bundled at the flagship store sold for 120,000 credits; even at single-unit retail price of 6,000 credits, total would be 144,000 credits. Unknown sources could push prices down even further.

By contrast, books he deemed useful, even in vast quantities, cost only 1.03 credits due to the Group’s free education policy.

Yet his current balance was negative six credits.

The gap was vast.

So, until he found a way to earn more money, he might as well watch some free videos of young women dancing... right?

Desire was a human nature; such videos usually garnered high traffic. Yet the video site he found had a very normal dance section, and even the anime and secondary dimension categories lacked common adult content.

No matter—joy could be found without temptation.

After five minutes of relaxation, Mo Wen resumed studying human anatomy, combining his practical experience with some free video lessons.

Pain was long-lasting; relaxation, fleeting. Before finding a breakthrough, excessive leisure only weakened his mental endurance and wasted time.

Moreover, learning integrated with practice was not boring; the free online courses were surprisingly engaging, drawing Mo Wen in without his noticing.

It was not until the physical awakening cue “K-ai” sounded that Mo Wen realized they had arrived.

“Please be polite from here on; we’re about to meet the best local intermediary, the ‘Broker.’”