Surging Undercurrents in Boulder City

"Good morning, my dear listeners, this is your beloved House! Before our news bulletin, allow me to offer my highest respects to our great Castellan! "Qingquan City remains calm and peaceful today. Out of sheer terror of us, those primitives with pythons tattooed across their faces have begun fleeing east! What a pity. If they had come our way, I would have loved to interview those brainless fools... Heading south? What were they thinking! "Terrified by our towering military might are not just the marauders, but also our northern neighbors. Those fellows who scrambled so desperately during the Tide recently got beaten black and blue by the lackeys up north, and now they're hiding in the sewers, licking their wounds. "What a pitiful bunch, tsk tsk. But recently, their heads have finally seen the light. They've dispatched their castellan—the castellan of whatever Shuguang City—to negotiate with us at our City Hall. "It seems they've finally realized that on the wasteland, latching onto the strong is the only way to survive!" On the counter of an unnamed tavern sat an old radio, its dust-caked speaker blaring with an agitated, theatrical voice. *The Voice of Boulder City* was forever the favorite broadcast of Boulder City's residents; after all, there were only a handful of signals one could pick up on the wasteland. The channel played pre-war classical music twenty-four hours a day, occasionally intercut with a news snippet or "wealth-building tip" from Mr. House. It satisfied the residents' appetite for entertainment while providing daydreamers with fuel for their imaginations. However... Not everyone was pleased by that shrill, grating voice. Especially those whose lives were falling apart. "Can't that nuisance shut his damn beak?" Gulping down a mouthful of beer thinner than water, a man in a brown leather jacket muttered under his breath, the scruffy corners of his mouth twitching in anger. His name was Sibeige. In Boulder City, it was an utterly insignificant name. And the work Mr. Sibeige did was just as insignificant as his name—he was merely an ordinary worker at a canned food factory. As for why he was sitting here drinking at this hour... Naturally, it was because he was about to lose his job. In Boulder City, canned food was hardly a hot commodity. High officials and nobles wouldn't touch it, and ordinary residents couldn't afford it. Only a few large caravans and mercenary corps bought canned goods to improve their rations and boost morale. As for lone-wolf mercenaries, they preferred taking nearby day-rate jobs, making do with dry rations for two or three days out in the field. Though their spending power wasn't bad, they far preferred spending their money on liquor and women. With low profit margins and limited sales volume, food processing giants like the Weijia Commercial Firm looked down their noses at the trade. In all of Boulder City, only two small factories produced canned food, offering no more than two varieties: two-headed beef and hyena meat. Yet... Recently, "instant noodles" and "ham sausage" had suddenly appeared on the shelves of Boulder City's shops. The former was, as the name implied, a kind of noodle that had been deep-fried and sold in paper cups. One only had to peel open the lid and steep it in boiling water for five minutes, or simply eat it dry without hot water. The latter was made of some unknown meat that had a starchy texture, but perhaps due to a generous amount of salt, it tasted surprisingly good. In short, Sibeige had never seen such bizarre food before. Without a second thought, it had clearly been made by their northern neighbors. Ever since instant noodles and ham sausage entered Boulder City, their canned food had completely stopped selling. By the time their boss finally realized the severity of the problem, the cannery was already on the verge of shutting down. The boss gave all the workers time off, telling them to go home and await further notice. Sibeige knew full well that while it was called time off, it was essentially no different from being fired. The cannery's closure was only a matter of time. While the machinery was still worth a bit of coin, that fat-headed bastard would undoubtedly sell it off without hesitation. Now, only two choices remained before Sibeige. Either become a mercenary or caravan guard, or head to the northern suburbs to try his luck. With the northern threat recently neutralized and trade routes to the northern part of River Valley Province restored, major caravans and mercenary corps were all hiring. No experience was required; anyone who could carry a gun could join. As for the northern suburbs, demand for labor there seemed perpetually high, though he heard they paid not in chips, but in their own "silver coins". Yet regardless of which option it was, Sibeige found it hard to make up his mind. After all, no matter how poor he was, he at least had a roof over his head in Boulder City to shelter him from the wind and rain. Stepping beyond the Great Wall, however, meant venturing into a dog-eat-dog barbarian world. He had heard it on the radio: there were no law-abiding people outside the Great Wall, and those uncivilized savages would capture civilized folk and toss them into boiling pots of oil. The mere thought kept him awake with fear all night. It was simply terrifying! *** Sibeige was not the only minor figure worrying about Boulder City's future. Ever since hearing that the Boulder City Hall would sign a *Friendly Cooperation Agreement* with the New Alliance, Weijia had suffered through sleepless night after sleepless night. He didn't care what rifles or canned goods were stocked on Boulder City's shelves, but the existence of Didiwei nutrient paste posed a grave threat to the Weijia Commercial Firm's business. Its dirt-cheap price had completely smashed below his cost line. Without exaggeration, if he shut down his factories entirely, imported nutrient paste from the northern suburbs, and resold it to the south, he would make more profit than manufacturing it himself! This was simply absurd! Were those bumpkins running factories for charity? "Those bastards at City Hall are a bunch of pigs! No... calling them pigs is flattering them!" Inside a sumptuous room, Weijia sat before a long conference table and couldn't help but curse furiously. This was the reception hall of the Weijia Commercial Firm. Seated here at this moment were the bosses of the city's major commercial enterprises. Although they were all men of status, there was no need to maintain appearances here. Every single one of them was incensed by City Hall's actions. "The funniest part is... those swine actually have the nerve to flaunt that so-called friendly agreement, acting like they've done some grand deed." Anger was written plainly across the face of a man in a high-collared shirt. His name was Qiaona, and he operated Boulder City's largest cotton textile mill. The cotton cloth, cotton clothes, and shirts his mills produced not only commanded over sixty percent of Boulder City's market share, but were also exported to Jinchuan and Luoxia provinces. Starting at the beginning of the year, those bumpkins in the northern suburbs had also begun producing cotton fabrics and garments. At first, he hadn't paid it any mind; one or two small workshops hardly warranted his concern. Before long, however, he realized just how outrageously wrong he had been. In a mere six months, the clothing produced by the New Alliance had first conquered Boulder City's bars, then won over the big-spending mercenaries through those bars, and subsequently seized the entire outer city. They manufactured durable gun holsters, bulletproof vests, and backpacks, as well as less durable jackets and daily wear. There were even those long stockings worn like pants... he recalled they were called black silk stockings? Of course, they weren't necessarily black; there were white ones, other colors, and even sheer, translucent varieties. And it wasn't limited to stockings. How on earth had those indecent fellows come up with such scandalous contrivances? Qiaona was thoroughly irritated. What irritated him most was that even though his rational mind told him those things were the culprits shrinking his wallet, he simply couldn't keep his eyes and hands off them. Another boss running a liquor business spoke up with equal indignation. "And that Nuka-Cola thing... Ever since it showed up, orders at our distillery have plummeted by ten percent! It's madness! What's so great about sugar water!" As several tycoons spoke up one after another, the floodgates at the conference table burst open. The crowd chimed in with righteous indignation. "Their trade plundering has gone on for a full six months, yet those useless fools at City Hall haven't lifted a finger!" "I truly don't understand. We have cannons, aircraft, power armor, thousands of mercenaries, and tens of thousands of reservists! Why on earth are we negotiating with them?" "We wouldn't even need to mobilize the militia! Just throwing a few chips around would let us crush those grasshoppers effortlessly!" Watching the boiling uproar around the table, Weijia maintained an expressionless face. He had originally convened today's meeting to discuss countermeasures with everyone, but it had turned into a grievance session instead. Everyone was venting the resentment accumulated over the past six months, yet not a single soul could propose a concrete plan. Still, he didn't stop them. Sometimes, emotion was a weapon in its own right. After letting their feelings simmer for a moment, Weijia planted both hands on the table and slowly rose from his chair. Sweeping his gaze across the room, he spoke. "Previously, I couldn't fathom how they kept their costs so low." At these words, everyone seated around the table fell silent. Pausing briefly, Weijia continued. "Especially since I had someone look into it. The New Alliance mandates that in all factories, workers can work at most twelve hours a day, with a minimum hourly wage of one silver coin. If they work a full twelve hours, they must be paid at least twelve silver coins a day—which converts to six chips! That is nearly three times the wages we pay our workers!" "That claim is misleading. Ordinary people can't freely exchange silver coins for chips at all; they can only convert chips into silver coins." One factory owner frowned in dissatisfaction. Framing it that way made him sound stingy. In all fairness, he had already kept those people fed, hadn't put shackles on their feet, and even paid them wages. Was that not generous enough? If electricity and maintenance costs weren't so high, he would have long replaced the workers on the assembly line with bioroids that were both capable and obedient! Another factory owner nodded in agreement. "I've heard of that too. They have some rule called mandatory foreign exchange settlement, don't they? Export profits must be settled in local currency—those silver coins. Only when needed can they be converted into foreign currency at the bank." "Isn't that an absolute scam?!" "No wonder... A friend of mine who went there to open a factory complained to me before, saying it was a complete trap and that he could barely make any money. He warned me never to go." The crowd buzzed with chatter. Just then, Weijia cut them off. "...Be that as it may, that money is still real, isn't it?" The room went quiet. Looking at the hushed crowd, he continued. "If those silver coins were truly waste paper, I believe no matter how much they offered, the workers wouldn't accept them, and the factories would have fled long ago." Hearing this, the factory owners fell into silence, looking at Weijia with puzzled eyes. They couldn't understand why he was speaking on behalf of the New Alliance. At a time like this, shouldn't everyone be cursing those crafty blue moles together? Wasting so much breath trying to prove they weren't exploiting workers and that silver coins weren't waste paper—was he implying their own management skills were deficient? Who did he think he was looking down on! Seeing that the moment was ripe, Weijia continued. "Only later did I discover where the crux of the issue lay. "According to research by my sales agents, setting up a factory in the New Alliance allows wage expenses to be deducted from taxes. I ran the numbers carefully: as long as unit-time productivity is maintained, even though wage costs rise, actual expenditures end up lower." This was effectively using a portion of the tax revenue collected from factories to subsidize the workers through tax rebates. With ordinary people's purchasing power boosted, the New Alliance's light industry absorbed demand like a dry sponge soaked in water. As for the factories run by those blue jackets, they were even more preposterous—they seemed to operate on an entirely different system. Due to language barriers and cultural differences, he still hadn't fully deciphered it. None of that was the main point, however. The real issue was that these people were playing dirty! Pausing, Weijia's expression turned fierce, and his voice rose steadily in volume. "Not only that, they're playing tricks with the exchange rate, artificially pegging the silver coin to the chip at two to one! This isn't competition at all! The consumer goods we produce can't penetrate their market whatsoever! "As you can see, our factories aren't losing because we aren't hardworking enough, nor because our production methods are backward. Quite the opposite—we are too honest, and our rivals are too cunning! "They use underhanded means to rob the chips from our hands, watch our factories go bankrupt, and then splash mountains of chips to loot the wealth we accumulated over two centuries! "From the very start, we were never competing on a level playing field. We fell straight into their trap!" Hearing this, many faces lit up with sudden realization, as if waking from a dream. It wasn't that they were foolish for not seeing it; rather, they had never encountered such tactics before. Ideal City? Their goods were certainly superior, but so little trickled down to the southern part of River Valley Province that a few rare items posed no threat at all, and they looked down on the goods produced here anyway. Before the New Alliance emerged, Boulder City was the only industrialized power in the southern part of River Valley Province. Survivor settlements like Bet Street and Brown Farm weren't even rivals in their eyes—at best, they were leeks waiting to be harvested. As for the southern plantation owners, they were merely subjects to be exploited by their factories. Now, however, a catfish had quietly slipped into this clear pond. They had vaguely sensed something was amiss—the once-warm water was growing cold, and they found themselves powerless to fight back. Factories that seemed to have no discernible advantages had managed, through secondhand machinery and workers Boulder City had discarded, to produce a flood of cheap and useful "substitutes," tearing away the market that had rightfully belonged to them. Only upon hearing Weijia's explanation did they suddenly see the light. Good grief! Relying on these "petty tricks," the New Alliance had been shearing their wool for six solid months! And now City Hall was playing the clever fool, signing some Friendly Cooperation Agreement, babbling about expanding trade volume and strengthening civil exchanges—practically selling them out before they even realized what hit them. Of course, that was in the past. Now, they understood the game. How could they possibly tolerate this?! The men around the table could sit still no longer. Qiaona, who had remained silent until now, stood up and slammed his fist onto the table in fury. "We must lay this out clearly to Dulong!" "Either lower the taxes on the industrial zone, or levy tariffs on the New Alliance's goods!" "Not just tariffs! The exchange rate too!" Striking while the iron was hot, Weijia pressed on. "Besides taxes and exchange rates, we must expand the embargo list! Dictate what they can buy, what they can't buy, and how they must buy the things they're allowed to purchase! "If our City Hall doesn't protect our interests, what do we need it for?" "We must unite! Put pressure on those garbage-brained bureaucrats! If our Director refuses to address our demands—" He drew out his words, sweeping his gaze across his seated allies, before declaring with ringing conviction: "We'll give our workers time off!" The words fell like a thunderclap. Cries of support surged like a tidal wave. "Agreed!" "Strongly support!" "Count me in!" Looking at the impassioned crowd, a confident smile spread across Weijia's face. He refused to believe he couldn't derail this agreement! *** The outskirts of the North Fourth Ring Road, Qingquan City. Amidst the ruin-strewn urban district, a squad advanced slowly along the cracked concrete roadway. Soldiers clad in exoskeletons spread out around the perimeter, warily guarding the surrounding shadows. Summer had arrived; lush vegetation and standing pools of water among the rubble made navigation through the city exceptionally treacherous. *Wasteland OL*'s seasonal change system was as realistic as ever, though for a AAA title, that was practically standard operating procedure. "I have a bad feeling about this..." Fang Chang murmured, looking around with rifle in hand. Walking beside him, Lao Bai teased, "Since when did you turn into a Perception-type too?" Fang Chang rolled his eyes. "What does this have to do with being Perception-type? Does it make any sense for a quest this critical to go off without a hitch?" "Fair point," Lao Bai nodded thoughtfully. "Speaking of which, with that kid Ye Shi not around, it feels like something's missing." It wasn't just Ye Shi. Kuang Feng and Jieyan weren't here either, which instantly drained a lot of the fun. At the thought, a strange expression crossed Lao Bai's face. If this weren't a game, those three might never have come back... Just then, a voice came over the comms channel from the scout team he had sent ahead to reconnoiter. "...Five hundred meters ahead, unidentified armed group spotted. Roughly twenty personnel, armed with assault rifles and other light weapons. One heavy machine gun confirmed." Lao Bai halted in his tracks, his gaze instantly turning sharp. Noticing the shift in Lao Bai's expression, Fang Chang cast him an inquiring glance. "Trouble?" Forming a fist to signal the squad, Lao Bai cleanly racked the bolt of his rifle. "Time to get to work."