All these tyrants in chaotic times, all those with sinister intentions, aspiring to be dictators, and those who have already become dictators—all share a highly consistent trait: when they speak or act for themselves, their words are always particularly grandiose, filled with justice, responsibility, and saving the masses, full of benevolence and morality. They never claim to come to seize power; instead, they say they are here to "rescue the suffering."

The so-called "rescuing all beings from the hanging pain" is an apt description—it's as if the common people are hanging upside down, suffering unbearably, and they are merely acting out of conscience to let them down. As for what happens after they are let down—whether a new rope is used to hang them again—that's a matter for later.

Once such rhetoric is thrown out, it immediately finds sympathetic ears: you are outside, I am inside, working together from inside and outside, and the great affairs of the world seem to be falling into place. Justice has always been the cheapest and most efficient language of cooperation. And in a broader social context, it’s not surprising that such rhetoric can be effective. Because this society has been thoroughly domesticated in long-term peace, becoming "stable."

Decades of peace have gradually distanced people from the pressures and dangers of reality, immersing them instead in refinement, elegance, and self-indulgence. Cultural pursuits emphasize aesthetic form, life advocates for illusory pleasures, and even substances made from various toxic materials are regarded as elixirs of immortality, with unwavering faith.

When illusions are mistaken for truth, reality appears vulgar and superfluous. In such an atmosphere, qualities like "strength," "decisiveness," and "risk-taking" gradually fade away; replaced by an aesthetic of fragility and a reverence for helplessness. Weak bodies and slow actions become symbols of elegance and status.

A society begins to systematically despise power, yet fantasizes that it will never face moments requiring strength. Therefore, when truly impactful dangers emerge, the entire system appears absurdly ridiculous.

There is such a highly ironic scene: a person responsible for managing the capital city is so frightened by the neighing of a warhorse that he becomes panicked and confused, unable to distinguish between a horse and a tiger. This is not because he is stupid, but because decades of "peaceful days" have caused him to lose the ability to judge reality.

This precisely explains a cruel logic: when a society has long been immersed in false tranquility, the "justice narrative" of chaotic times will sound especially appealing; yet, the real disaster often begins quietly within such appealing language.