Moving into the Foreign District

In the Foreign District. Along the main traffic artery, a squad established a temporary checkpoint. Fully armed soldiers intercepted and inspected every passing vehicle. At the highest point of a tall building on the right, a fire team had set up a defensive position, its observer continuously sweeping the surroundings with binoculars. Along the main road, a squad was stationed every three kilometers. A single company had thrust thirty kilometers straight across, taking practical control of an area populated by hundreds of thousands. There had been sporadic resistance along the way, but it was suppressed almost instantly. In the Foreign District, the soldiers operated without hesitation. As long as anyone displayed clear aggressive intent—such as drawing a club, brandishing a firearm, or throwing objects—the troops were authorized to shoot. Most of the gangsters possessed only handguns, along with a few rifles, which posed virtually no real threat to the military. With the evolution of modern weaponry, those most diminished were not superhumans, but helpless ordinary people. The massive popular uprisings of ancient times were no longer possible. Mortal flesh could not stop a tide of steel, and numbers could not withstand a hail of bullets. Furthermore, the Federation's professional military was exceptionally experienced in pacifying the Foreign District. Since the Cataclysm ended eight years ago and the Federation restructured the Hall of Martial Virtue, riots among Federation subjects had never ceased. For any qualified soldier of the Hua ethnic group, only raining down six baton strikes in a second could properly prove loyalty. It would have been a different story in the Hua district, where soldiers had to count every spent round and submit written reports, constrained by public scrutiny over citizens' rights. A convoy drove in from outside, and a fresh detachment of soldiers stepped down from the vehicles. The window of the lead jeep rolled down. The squad leader of 1st Squad stood at attention and saluted Lu Zhao. "Reporting, sir! We have established preliminary control over the main transport routes and Kabukicho, and have successfully captured the target." "Good work," Lu Zhao instructed. "Maintain traffic control. If any other units arrive, report to me first before proceeding to the next objective." "Yes, sir!" The squad leader saluted. As a soldier of the reinforced platoon, he followed Lu Zhao's orders unconditionally. The vehicle rolled forward. Through the window, Lu Zhao could see dense crowds of Federation subjects, decaying buildings that had gone without maintenance for years, and shanties erected haphazardly like eczema across the landscape. The vast majority of labor-intensive goods were produced within these densely packed shacks. Lin Zhiyan said, "Senior, I have a way to discern where local interest groups lean." Lu Zhao asked, "What way?" "An elder of mine once said that the Foreign District is the foundational canvas of every local faction." Lin Zhiyan gazed out the window. "The Hua district operates under a limited planned economy blended with a market economy. Abundant, high-quality jobs are concentrated in state-owned enterprises. People no longer live clustered by village, town, or clan name, but in self-contained state-owned factory complexes equipped with their own schools, hospitals, supermarkets, and commercial streets. "The Foreign District, on the other hand, operates under indirect rule. The Federation only requires a set quota of industrial products; as for the ecosystem that thrives inside, on paper at least, they couldn't care less." Lu Zhao understood. Indirect rule made it effortless for local powers to shape the Foreign District however they pleased, without incurring legal liability. So, what were the interests and demands of Fangshi's local faction? He recalled Lin Zhiyan taking him on a stroll through Kabukicho not long ago. Contraband was everywhere, and even restaurants openly served beef. Some matters only required lifting a single corner of the curtain to see the whole picture. Lu Zhao slowly uttered two words: "Smuggling." "Exactly," Lin Zhiyan nodded. "You can look much deeper into that angle." Lu Zhao nodded, though he had arrived at the answer long before. Lin Zhiyan's previous stroll had been about finding bullets, whereas Lu Zhao had simply been lacking a gun to fire them. ----- Kabukicho. By the time Lu Zhao and his party arrived, the street had already been cleared. The once-bustling bars, brothels, pool halls, and gambling dens had fallen dead silent. A crowd of people had been herded into the middle of the road, squatting under the watch of armed soldiers. Even burly gangsters turned docile before cold steel barrels. They had no choice. Anyone who dared show defiance was immediately struck across the skull with a rifle butt. Whether they were maimed or crippled made no difference. To the Federation soldiers, defiance from Federation subjects was like a dog baring its teeth—their immediate instinct was to kick it right in the jaw. As Lu Zhao stepped out of the vehicle, every eye instantly fixed upon him. Accompanied by the crisp rhythm of his combat boots striking the pavement, the thousands forced down on the road lowered their heads. Whether renowned gang bosses, gang enforcers who possessed a degree of life-force development, or the ruthless juvenile thugs of the Tong Gang, all were forced to bow before the authority of the Federation. The squad leaders of 11th and 12th Squads jogged over, halted, and saluted. "Reporting, sir! The 1st Border Defense Company has completed the pacification operation in the Foreign District." A routine report followed. The 1st Border Defense Company had sustained three light casualties, killed fifteen hostiles, and detained approximately four thousand people. The death toll was modest, typical for operations suppressing riots. Casualties among Federation subjects during riots generally fluctuated between double digits and thousands, largely depending on whether stampedes occurred. The military typically shot only a few dozen before the mob scattered like startled birds. Moreover, the 1st Border Defense Company had executed a surprise raid. Caught completely off guard, the gangsters had been terrified out of their wits; a single shout of "Hands up!" had sent them crouching with their hands behind their heads. Lu Zhao asked, "Where is the mission target?" "Inside West Street Bar. We also detained three hundred and thirty-one people in there. Every one of them has an ID card, and quite a few carry considerable clout." Lu Zhao raised an eyebrow. Holding an ID card meant they were citizens, and citizens who could afford to patronize such an establishment were never ordinary folk. "Take me to see them." Inside West Street Bar. The interior was in shambles, littered with shattered bottles. Two fully armed soldiers stood guard at the entrance. When Lu Zhao entered, the crowd clustered on the dance floor immediately grew agitated. Unlike the terrified subjects outside, these people showed no fear. Several rushed forward to approach him, jostling aggressively even as the soldiers held them back. A wealthy heir shouted, "My dad is Zhao De! My dad is Zhao De!" Lu Zhao had been about to walk past, but stopped in his tracks the moment he heard those words. Turning to Lin Zhiyan, he remarked, "Just when you get sleepy, someone hands you a pillow. If he hadn't opened his mouth, handing him over to the police would've let him slip through without a hitch." Citizens were governed by Federation law, meaning the military could not detain them for long. The hundreds gathered here would soon have to be transferred to local police custody, which was why they were being segregated from the mob outside. Lin Zhiyan said, "Most pampered scions are like this, grown arrogant from childhood. Raising children properly has a very high threshold. Why else do you think so many first-generation figures go into politics, while their second generation goes into business?" Across the entire Federation, there were fewer than thirty clans of the Lin family's stature—averaging fewer than three per circuit. Lu Zhao ordered the heir placed in a private room, then ignored his bellowing and headed up to the second floor. ----- Inside a private office on the second floor. Lü Bowen sat on the sofa, utterly distraught. Three soldiers stood over him to prevent any rash moves. He had already been thoroughly searched; all weapons and potential means of suicide had been stripped away. "Sir!" The guards suddenly snapped to attention and saluted. Lü Bowen looked up to see a man and a woman walk in. The man was remarkably handsome—so much so that Lü Bowen overlooked the woman entirely. "Lü Bowen?" The man looked down at him. Lü Bowen nodded frantically. "Yes, that's me! I'll confess to everything!" Lu Zhao pressed his lips together. He hadn't even opened his mouth yet.