"Dear listeners, this is your very own Mr. House! The snow has finally arrived today! Praise this year's first snowfall—doesn't it look like a maiden dancing on the wind? Though it's a mild winter, don't forget to bundle up when you step out to admire the flurries. From the bottom of my heart, I wish all my dear listeners good health.
"Furthermore, for the sake of everyone's well-being and to keep diabetes and obesity at bay, the Good Taste Food Processing Plant of the Weijia Trading Firm has expanded its product line! We have launched a brand-new nutrient paste—healthier, more nutritious, and tastier than ever. You will see it on the shelves very soon—"
The smooth, raspy quack of the broadcaster's voice sliced through the sparse pedestrian traffic, echoing down the street again and again, drifting from the bustling commercial district into the squalid, overcrowded alleys.
Sberg shut his patched wooden window, shutting out as much of the snow-laden voice as he could. He blew on his numb fingers, rubbed his hands together, and pulled a warm letter from the breast of his coat.
Over the past few days, he had lingered around the Alliance's embassy every single day.
He had not dared to harbor much hope, yet against all odds, the *Survivor Daily* had actually written back!
Pulling a sheet of pristine white paper from the crisp envelope, he heard a sharp *clink* as a token slipped out and bounced onto the table. Sberg jumped in fright.
When he saw the number "100" stamped on its face, his eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
A hundred chips!
Working himself to the bone on the assembly line, he earned only a hundred and twenty chips a month!
And this month, they had only handed out IOUs!
The Alliance's newspaper office was astonishingly generous!
Carefully stashing the chip away in the wooden desk drawer, Sberg swallowed hard in excitement and eagerly unfolded the crisp letter.
The handwriting on the page was neat and elegant, completely unlike his own crooked scribbles.
Skipping past the body of the letter, Sberg glanced hurriedly at the signature at the bottom. His jaw dropped—the letter had been written by none other than the Editor-in-Chief of the *Survivor Daily*!
In an instant, his face flushed scarlet, and his breath hitched.
*Dear Mr. Sberg,*
*We have reviewed your submission and made efforts to recover the original unfinished manuscript. We are in unanimous agreement that this is a truly brilliant story. The narrative broke off at just the right point, and you picked it up with remarkable skill—something even the original author had never conceived. To be frank, he himself had no idea how to carry the plot forward, but you solved it for him.*
*In light of length constraints, we plan to follow your city's practice by introducing supplementary publications under the Survivor Daily banner. We intend to serialize Boer's story in the Workers' Daily, carrying only brief excerpts in the main paper for promotional purposes. I believe this is a splendid idea, allowing people to read more about ongoing events that matter to them. Considering our readers have not seen the beginning, we plan to serialize the first thirty chapters over thirty issues before publishing a collected edition and moving on to your continuation.*
*Regrettably, the original author of Boer's story has departed for Sunset Province. He supports your continuation, but has no wish to revisit his memories of Boulder City. Fortunately, Miss Dolly, who once worked as a reporter for Boulder City's Survivor Daily, is willing to serve concurrently as this book's editor. You may communicate with her regarding future manuscripts.*
*The 100 chips enclosed with this letter are an advance payment. By standard practice, payment should be made after publication, calibrated to circulation and reader reception. However, we agreed it would be better to provide an advance so that you will no longer have to write on old scrap paper, which will also improve our editorial workflow.*
*...On a side note, our Administrator holds your work in high regard. He was delighted to extend an invitation: should you find the time to visit Dawn City, please do pay him a visit. He offered to let you try on a suit of power armor, so you may study firsthand how to soundly thrash one, if that proves helpful to your writing.*
Sberg's face burned hot.
Great Horned Deer God above! He had never dreamed of actually defeating the Alliance's power armor, let alone harboring treasonous designs against the Administrator!
Besides, this was originally a Boulder City tale; the Alliance was never even mentioned in the text, save for a few vague references to the northern suburbs' survivors.
And yet...
That generous invitation caused a rush of heat behind his eyes, bringing tears to their rims.
He knew his own station well enough. He was an utterly insignificant nobody; even Kent, who worked alongside him on the very same assembly line, spat at him with impunity.
Yet that formidable man—someone even President Melvin had to treat with utmost gravity—had read his words with care, and had even invited him to visit...
Sberg was a coward who feared death and pain. As long as he could scrape by, he would never take a single step beyond Boulder City, nor did he possess the nerve to look the wasteland in the face.
Yet for a man like that...
He would willingly lay down his life!
Hastily grabbing an old newspaper, Sberg tore off the blank margin. Gripping his sputtering pen, he wrote with great care:
*"The title was a misunderstanding! The lads at the Workers' Association were simply curious about how an Awakened could ever defeat power armor, so I used it as a hook for the title. In the final battle I envisioned, it is worn by a villainous chiliarch... I meant no offense to any of you whatsoever!*
*"Thank you, and thank that great lord for his kindness and grace. But I must continue reading Boer's story to the brothers at the Workers' Association. Once this winter passes, I will certainly scrape together the travel fare to visit your city..."*
Pausing there, Sberg hesitated for a few seconds before adding an extra line below:
*"...Furthermore, could you include a copy of your Workers' Daily in your next reply? You may deduct the cost from my next royalty payment. The brothers at the Workers' Association would love to look back over the earlier chapters. Our collection of old newspapers is missing several issues, and recently fellow workers from other factories have joined our gatherings. I would like to read them news of what is happening across the wasteland."*
Folding the paper carefully, he tucked it into his most secure inner pocket, shoved his chair back, and hurried out the door.
Moments later, as though remembering something vital, he darted back inside, snatched the letter from the desk, and stuffed it into his coat.
He intended to read this reply to all the brothers at the Workers' Association.
Someone in this vast wasteland truly cared about them!
At that thought, a wave of warmth surged through Sberg's chest.
Perhaps this winter would not be so cold after all...
***
Just as Sberg rushed out of his drafty shanty toward the Alliance embassy, a traveling merchant from the Alliance passed him going the opposite way, heading toward the place Sberg normally worked.
To be precise, right next door to the Good Taste Food Processing Plant—the Infinite Strength Steel Works.
This steel mill enjoyed quite a reputation in Boulder City, though its owner bore a very common name: Fred. To keep himself from looking too plain, he always wore an absurdly tall top hat and perched a gold-rimmed monocle on the bridge of his nose, despite rarely reading books and having no vision trouble whatsoever.
Under normal circumstances, he refused to stand anywhere near the entrance of his own mill; the grime belched from the smokestacks would ruin his leather shoes. His personal office was located further toward the inner city, where the streets were orderly and the residents spoke with far better manners.
Today, however, was an exception.
A distinguished guest from the Alliance had taken an interest in his dust-caked machinery.
What was a speck of dust on his shoes? If he could unload equipment worth tens of millions of chips, he would gladly have licked the guest's boots clean.
"Haha, welcome! Welcome, my friend from the Alliance!" Seeing the distinguished guest approach the gate, Fred's face split into an expansive smile.
Sun Shiqi stepped forward, grabbed his hand, gave it a vigorous shake, and said with a smile, "A pleasure to meet you!"
The Alliance was planning to construct a batch of apartment buildings using precast reinforced concrete slabs, which were said to go up as quickly as stacking toy blocks.
Previously, Daybreak City had produced a run of corrugated iron sheds, but those prefab shanties were only good for getting through the summer; come a harsh winter, they would double as walk-in freezers.
He cared little about what the Alliance intended to use the housing for, but he was immensely interested in the lucrative construction contracts.
The Alliance's ambitious fiscal initiatives, in particular, revealed boundless market prospects.
Determined to expand his steel plant's production capacity, Sun Shiqi had jumped at the news that a Boulder City proprietor was liquidating equipment and rushed over to take a look.
Fred patted his arm warmly and made a welcoming gesture, treating him like an old friend not seen in years.
"...The pleasure is all mine! Haha, truthfully, nothing pleases me more than making friends with people from the Alliance. Doing business with you is always a delight... Still, it's rather dusty out here. Shall we step inside to talk?"
Sun Shiqi smiled and nodded. "You're too kind. Why don't you show me around the plant first? I'd like to inspect the machinery. It will help me provide a fair offer."
"Of course, of course!" Fred readily agreed, leading him toward the mill's largest—and only—operational workshop.
All along the way, Sun Shiqi quietly observed his surroundings.
This mill, dubbed the Infinite Strength Steel Works, was undeniably massive and impressively built, presenting a sharp contrast to the filthy, chaotic residential quarters next door.
Its towering smokestacks reached almost to the crest of the great outer wall, billowing thick plumes of gray smog beyond the perimeter to merge with the churning, grayish-green spore clouds hanging within the Second Ring. The cavernous workshop stood like a giant's hall, its broad bulk shielding the interior from the squalor outside. The soaring blast furnaces and the glow of molten iron kept Sun Shiqi's eyes glued in wonder.
He felt like a rat that had wandered out of the gutter and stumbled straight into a titan's kitchen.
Whether it was the skilled laborers, the awe-inspiring mechanical behemoths, or even the grease-blackened wrenches and files tossed carelessly into wooden crates, every single item was an absolute treasure in his eyes.
Were those noble lords complete pigs?
How could they bear to starve the very people who least deserved to go hungry?
Yet at the realization that he would soon become the master here—or at least the master of a portion of this equipment—Sun Shiqi's breathing grew rapid.
Praise be to the noble lords!
The fruits of countless generations of survivors' sweat and wisdom were being sold off for a mere fifty million chips!
And the price was still negotiable!
Naturally, he did not possess fifty million chips in liquid cash. But with his factories in the Alliance as collateral and a written contract in hand, the Alliance Bank would readily lend him the acquisition funds... The supreme irony was that this very money had originally been lent to the Alliance by Boulder City's own aristocrats at under five percent interest.
Keeping any sign of greed carefully off his face, Sun Shiqi merely nodded casually.
"Not bad... A bit too hot, though. Let's step outside for some air."
Fred replied with consummate courtesy, "Certainly! Truth be told, had you not asked to see it, I wouldn't have brought you down here... A place like this is hardly fit for gentlemen like us."
As he escorted the businessman outside, Fred began chattering away about the mill's operations, painting a glowing picture of industry prospects that he did not believe for a second.
It was only then that Sun Shiqi learned the Infinite Strength Steel Works was actually a supplier to Boulder Military Industries!
Before the Alliance's expedition began, the mill had primarily supplied steel ballistic inserts for exoskeletons and structural components for heavy equipment.
Once the Alliance's war machine roared to life, its primary client became the Alliance's construction enterprises, earning the mill fortunes from exporting rebar.
By rights, with the Alliance approving a slew of infrastructure projects, business ought to have been booming. Yet the reality was the exact opposite.
The Alliance's infrastructure rollout had been designed to help its own domestic steel industry transition from military to civilian production. The bidding terms explicitly gave preference to local building material suppliers whenever cost disparities were negligible.
In truth, even without that clause, the Infinite Strength Steel Works would have struggled to compete.
The reason was singular: cost!
Driven by spiraling inflation, the mill had completely lost its competitive edge.
The Alliance Bank was cunning. It stubbornly refused to budge on its grossly outdated exchange rate, insisting on a rate of two silver coins to one chip—when a single chip was actually worth barely 0.2 to 0.5 silver coins.
Of course, they had every right to set the price for their own currency. But such an exchange rate was a blatant fleece for fools, and everyone knew that taking advantage of fools was in poor taste.
Simply put, back when manufactured goods priced in chips were cheaper and the currency inversion was less pronounced, the Alliance had imported whatever it could not produce on its own.
Now, however, as raw material costs priced in chips skyrocketed, Boulder City's manufactured goods were forced to inflate in tandem, eroding import margins to nothing.
Had Boulder City produced some indispensable component the Alliance could not make itself, the Alliance would undoubtedly have been digging its own grave.
Unfortunately, the rebar used to reinforce concrete was not one of those things.
Previously, the Alliance's steel capacity had been tied up in tank armor and treads. Now that the war was over, those hands were free.
Naturally, the ledgers had to be recalculated...
Leading Sun Shiqi outside, Fred respectfully pulled out a cigarette and lit it for him, then gestured toward the bustling factory grounds.
"The economy around here has shown signs of recovery lately. Days are getting better and better."
Sun Shiqi followed his lead and remarked offhandedly, "How can you tell?"
"Hustle is the finest indicator," Fred replied with a smile. "As long as those lazy bums stay busy, life improves."
"Busy yet impoverished—that's hardly a good omen," Sun Shiqi said, narrowing his eyes at the miserable laborers engulfed in smoke, offering a rare moment of honest conscience. "They don't look like they have much fat left to trim."
"It's precisely because they have no fat left that they work that much harder," Fred chuckled, puffing smoke alongside the Alliance businessman. "Besides, you shouldn't keep your eyes fixed on the dregs. You have to walk the streets at night to truly feel the flourishing vigor of this settlement."
"Like the street around the Queen of the Night Bar?"
"Not just there," Fred traced a circle in the air with the lit tip of his cigarette. "The entire ring circling the inner city... My friend, you surely wouldn't go wandering around the industrial district in the dead of night, would you? There's nothing here but wretches scrounging for cigarette butts and madmen drunk on rotgut."
Even with bodyguards in tow, Fred rarely dared to venture into the narrow alleys. God only knew what filth lurked within.
Sun Shiqi gave him an odd look. "If things are poised for a recovery, why are you in such a hurry to cash out?"
Fred cleared his throat and gave a sly grin.
"Running a factory here isn't easy. In the past, there was decent profit to be made, but now... aren't there easier, better paths?"
"Such as?"
"Bonds, S-coins—there are far too many splendid investment vehicles out there, none of which will scuff your shoes," Fred said with a grin. "Around here, opportunities to make a fortune outnumber the people!"
There was one truth he kept from his client.
His decision to shed assets was not merely due to better investment channels; rising raw material costs and a slew of other headaches played a major role.
He couldn't see the full picture in the Alliance, but the rising cost of iron and copper ore priced in chips was an undeniable fact. Rather than processing it into finished goods, one was better off hoarding it in warehouses to sell next month to other factory-owning fools.
Yet there were too many clever operators nowadays, and a dire shortage of fools. More and more people had caught on to this exploit.
Lately, he had even heard that Weijia, who ran food businesses, had stockpiled a warehouse full of copper ore... What was that fellow planning?
Fred sensed that something was amiss. Though he couldn't pinpoint where the breakdown lay, he suddenly realized that in this grand casino of Boulder City, he could no longer find anyone who was losing money.
That was the truly terrifying part.
And so he had resolved to lock in his gains immediately.
*You lot can play on; this master is cashing out!*
While Fred ran his private calculations, Sun Shiqi was equally torn by conflicting thoughts.
This was by no means his first visit. Back when he traded out of Red River Town, Boulder City's general merchandise market had been his most frequent stop.
Calling this place depressed was vastly underestimating it.
Most survivor settlements on the wasteland comprised merely two or three hundred households, and even that was thanks to an abundance of pre-war technological relics.
A permanent population of five hundred thousand carried obvious weight across the wasteland.
Especially considering that Boulder City lacked a single acre of farmland or a single active mine, relying entirely on trade for all its raw materials.
Its industrialization rate and manufacturing profits were frankly astonishing.
Yet because it had faced no competition, there had been no impetus for industrial upgrading, leading to absurd anomalies.
For instance, a nutrient paste factory might boast the most advanced filters equipped with polymer ultrafiltration membranes, yet its packaging lines relied entirely on manual labor.
Sun Shiqi had no idea what went through their heads, though perhaps they looked at him the same way—unable to understand why someone would choose the clumsiest method when cheaper alternatives existed.
Now, however, he had begun to comprehend that Administrator who had once struck terror into his heart.
Some costs were invisible.
This was nothing less than a war fought without gunfire.
Had the Alliance taken a single wrong step at a critical juncture, the one wearing a fawning grin and dumping productive assets at fire-sale prices might well have been Sun Shiqi himself.
Deep down, he knew.
At his core, he and Mr. Fred were cut from the exact same cloth. After all, when the Alliance had shorted copper ore, he had abandoned Red River Town without a second thought.
"...Fifty million chips is a reasonable price. If you are satisfied, we can sign the contract in the next couple of days. I will arrange the manpower to ship the equipment out."
Though waiting longer might yield an even lower price, Sun Shiqi worried that other Alliance enterprises had their eyes set on these prime assets as well.
Hearing this, Fred struck while the iron was hot.
"Done! Boss Sun is truly a decisive man... However, I recently took an interest in an investment project in Dawn City. Could a portion of the payment be settled in silver coins?"
Caught off guard by the latter half of the sentence, Sun Shiqi froze for a moment, wiped away his smile, and frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Heh, exactly what it sounds like," Fred said, pulling the free-spending boss to one side and dropping his voice to a smooth, confidential murmur. "For instance, on the books... you pay me forty million chips. That's on the cheaper side, but certainly no fire sale. As for the remaining ten million chips, convert them into ten million silver coins, and you can wire it to my Alliance account or hand over cash!"
At these words, Sun Shiqi snapped to his senses and shot Fred an astonished look.
*Good heavens.*
*He's swindling his own shareholders?!*
As a law-abiding Alliance citizen, he had no interest in seeking justice for Boulder City's shareholders. But the proposal to swap ten million chips for ten million silver coins made his brow furrow.
"Ten million chips are hardly worth ten million silver coins. I cannot accept that rate."
Far from panicking, Fred felt a surge of delight.
He had only rejected the rate.
In other words, the deal was on the table!
Instantly putting on an ingratiating smile, Fred pressed eagerly, "No matter, we can negotiate... How much would you find acceptable?"
Sun Shiqi raised an index finger.
"One million."
"One million?!" Fred's eyes popped, and he nearly failed to keep his voice down. "No! That's far too low! Your official rate is one to two; offering you a one-to-one parity is already a tremendous concession!"
Watching the man's clumsy performance, Sun Shiqi coughed softly.
"Drop the act. That rate... do you believe it yourself?"
Fred's weathered face flushed. Gritting his teeth, he held up five fingers.
"Five... five million! No, three million! How about two million silver coins? Not a coin less! Even on the black market, it's one to five at best!"
That, at least, was the truth.
Looking at the two fingers remaining and Fred's sour expression, Sun Shiqi finally succumbed to the temptation and nodded slowly.
"Fine."
After all, he had no desire to saddle his company with excessive debt; borrowing from the Alliance Bank was not without its own costs.
Still, these two million silver coins could not pass through the corporate accounts; they had to be drawn from his personal savings, and the bank wouldn't lend for that. The thought brought Sun Shiqi a twinge of heartache.
The purchasing power of silver coins vastly outstripped that of chips!
Seeing the Alliance boss nod, Fred's face broke into a broad, satisfied grin, and he threw an arm over Sun Shiqi's shoulder.
"Thank you for your understanding! We'll have countless opportunities to cooperate in the future... Join me for dinner tonight. I hear nightlife in the Alliance consists of nothing but beer and fireworks."
"We don't actually set off fireworks every day, and we certainly have more than just beer," Sun Shiqi countered instinctively.
He had considered himself an Alliance man for quite some time now, and he wouldn't let anyone disparage them lightly.
"I know, but you certainly don't have *that*," Fred said with a chuckle, shooting him a look that needed no explanation. "At the Queen of the Night Bar, most people can only stand below the stage and watch. But as long as you have chips, you can invite the dancers into a private box for a private show. I happen to have a black card that grants access to VIP suites ordinary wealthy patrons can't dream of entering. The pleasures inside exceed anything you could imagine."
Sun Shiqi caught his drift in an instant, and a bashful grin appeared on his face.
"Is it truly just a performance?"
Seeing his client's interest piqued, Fred laughed heartily. "Of course! And there's an endless variety of acts! You're a boss from the Alliance; the girls there will fawn over you! If you tip them in silver coins, they will absolutely adore you!"
Sun Shiqi teased, "I thought they would call me a country bumpkin."
Fred waved a dismissive hand.
"How long ago was that? Here, there's nothing you can imagine that money can't buy."
Sun Shiqi meant to decline.
Yet his legs refused to obey.
He admitted that unlike the vault dwellers, he was a man of coarse tastes. He would likely never become a vault dweller in this lifetime, which was probably why that reserved young lady had never truly opened her heart to him.
If only the Alliance were a little freer.
Ideally as free as Boulder City, where chips let one indulge in whatever one pleased.
Yet Shelter 404 would never permit it, and their Administrator would never agree.
After all, that man had declared in no uncertain terms: the Alliance's currency could purchase any commodity, but no currency would ever be permitted to trade in honor and dignity.
And yet...
Things weren't so bad this way.
No matter how fond of indulgence a man was, nobody liked dragging filth back into his own home. The wasteland was vast; finding a privy to relieve oneself was easy enough.
Looking at Fred's obsequious smile, a trace of amusement tugged at the corner of Sun Shiqi's mouth.
Since this noble lord had extended such a cordial invitation...
Then before this colossal whale plummeted to the ocean floor, he might as well savor a generous mouthful of its rich, succulent flesh...
***
It was not merely the Infinite Strength Steel Works that had gone up for "fire sale." The Alliance's very first issuance of chip-denominated bonds had reached a staggering scale of three billion, swiftly followed by distribution channels opened through the Boulder City Bank.
The speculative froth whipped up by financial instruments came crashing down upon Boulder City's factory owners like a collapsing torrent.
This was a "tide" far more terrifying than the Tide itself.
Prime productive assets were slapped with distressed labels, and what had once been prized commodities were now shunned like refuse—because something far more fragrant had been dangled before everyone's eyes, and the bitterness that followed the sweetness was not so easily discerned.
In this feast held in the name of prosperity, some clutched their heads and wept, while others laughed with maniacal glee... Xide, without question, belonged to the latter camp.
He was arguably the greatest victor in this entire game. Having cashed out early with piles of chips and exited the market, he was naturally the one smiling brightest.
Yet when he saw the secondary market trading price of the bonds climbing relentlessly, the beaming smile on his face slowly melted into a scowl.
Staring at the palm-sized trading terminal, Xide gnawed on his thumbnail and abruptly cursed aloud.
"Tch... Weijia, that dog, got off too easy!"
Noticing her husband's sour expression, Bonnie sat beside him and asked with tender concern, "What is it, darling... has something happened?"
"Nothing, my dear," Xide offered his wife a gentle smile, his features regaining their customary elegance. "Just a trivial matter... The bonds I sold to Weijia went up a bit. By rights, he owes me another twenty million."
Though she had little grasp of finances, Bonnie could not help admonishing him gently, "Oh, you... You have to let that Weijia make a little profit too. Otherwise, why would he work so hard to make money for our family? Don't you dare go demanding that twenty million from him; begging for money is thoroughly unrefined."
"You're right, darling... I was being greedy." Xide rolled his eyes, realizing upon reflection that his wife was correct.
He had nearly forgotten the ancestral adage.
A greedy hyena choked on the bone; only shared profits ensured longevity. Once the master finished the meat, he had to toss a bone to the dog.
Weijia was an old hound; it was only fair he earned a small share.
Even so, watching those undulating lines, Xide couldn't resist the itch in his fingers to buy back a small position... After all, anyone with eyes could see that the jagged line was trending unmistakably upward.
So long as the trading yield remained below the redemption yield, arbitrage was ripe for the taking.
Bonnie left to dress and apply her cosmetics; this afternoon, she was visiting an upscale beauty salon in the inner city with her circle of friends for skin treatments. Xide held no interest in such pastimes, his gaze remaining glued to the palm-sized display.
Though watching it grew increasingly vexing, his curiosity burned: just how high would these bonds climb?
Just then, his younger son, Kermit, returned from outside. Catching sight of the terminal in his father's hands, he scoffed.
"That stuff is child's play."
Xide shot the boy a glare. "What the hell do you know, you little brat?!"
Kermit sat beside his father with a cheeky grin, eager to show off what little knowledge he had picked up.
"I heard my pal Kish explain bonds. They're nothing special. A ten-year bond with a face value of 100—even if it shoots through the roof, it tops out at 140 chips, right? It's not like it could ever cost more than ten years of interest and principal combined!"
Leaving aside the trading premium born of tax avoidance utility, that logic held up perfectly well.
Xide shot his son a surprised look. "Well now... you seem to know a fair bit. That Kish told you that?"
So the absolute ceiling was merely 140.
With the mystery solved, he lost all interest in the terminal in his hand.
Kermit cocked his nose in pride. "Of course! I told you, my pal learned real things out there. He came back this time planning to pull off something huge!"
Kish had laid out that grandiose blueprint for him. Issuing S-coins was merely to raise capital for the plan, and the fruits of that blueprint would deliver all the promised returns, ushering Boulder City into an era of unprecedented glory.
Xide let out a dry chuckle and curled his lip.
He had heard Melvin say he had given his boy a vicious thrashing, all because Kish had returned home unannounced and spouted a load of nonsensical rubbish.
As a vacation retreat, Ideal City was certainly pleasant.
Transforming Boulder City into such a place, however, had never crossed his mind for a single second.
"Something huge? Just how huge?"
Kermit said proudly, "He plans to build another outer city outside the outer city!"
"Pfft—hahaha!" Xide laughed so hard tears leaked from his eyes. He teased, "And then? What purpose would that serve?"
"And then we will issue a new currency in the outer city—a currency that benefits everyone! Just like in Ideal City, something akin to Cr," Kermit boasted smugly. "To achieve this goal, he specially used Ideal City's technology to construct an algorithmic framework, complete with smart contracts and digital certificates. The appreciation of this currency is completely controllable; all that messy copper-flation and copper-deflation nonsense will be solved!"
Xide sneered disdainfully.
A new currency?
What a joke!
The reason chips functioned as chips was that the entire power structure of the inner city backed them. A bunch of wet-behind-the-ears brats thought they could issue their own chips?
Did they think this was playing house?
Xide had paid it little mind; playing house was safer than arson and murder, and if one didn't give these unruly brats something to do, letting them run wild was asking for trouble.
Yet Kermit's next words nearly choked him on his own spit.
"...The 100,000 S-coins I'm holding right now are already worth five million chips!"
"*Cough—!*"
Wracked by violent coughing, Xide shot upright and glared at his son. "Five million? You little bastard! Explain yourself right now—where did you get five million?!"
He remembered clearly that he had only given the brat two million last time!
What he hated above all else was theft!
Especially stealing from the family!
Terrified by his father's murderous expression, Kermit shrank back and stammered, "I-I made it myself! Look!"
With that, he hastily whipped out his trading device and thrust it toward his furious father.
Xide took the terminal. A single glance froze him in his tracks, his brow knotting into a tight tangle.
"What on earth is this?"
These lines...
Why did they look so familiar?
Yet the wild, leaping fluctuations were utterly insane. Though the overarching trend pointed upward, the volatility was heart-stopping.
"S-coins," Kermit confessed with sheepish honesty.
"What?"
"The credit currency I just told you about," Kermit said, swallowing hard as he saw his father's bewildered look. "Originally, one chip bought one S-coin. Now we've pumped it to one to fifty... A hundred thousand S-coins—isn't that five million?"
Xide was even more confounded.
Had silver coins surged in value, he could have understood it. But why on earth would this S-coin rise?
And one S-coin traded for fifty chips...
Yet the facts stared him right in the face.
And the sheer scale of the gains was undeniably tantalizing.
A bond with a face value of 100 capped out at 140, but the upside on this S-coin was limitless. Couldn't they pump it to whatever height they pleased?
No wonder his son scoffed at the toy in his hands... Compared to the parabolic surge of S-coins, bonds that moved as "steady as an old hound" were indeed child's play.
Xide stroked his chin, turning the matter over in his mind before asking casually, "Those transaction contracts and algorithmic certificates... Forget it, I don't understand you young people. Just tell me straight: how does one play this game?"
"As long as you have an account at the Boulder City Bank, you can buy with a tap of your finger..." Kermit watched his father warily, reading his expression. "Dad? You want in?"
If his old man joined the fray, the pool could grow vastly larger.
Kish had tried to convince his own father, President Melvin, only to end up locked in a dark room again.
"...Let's just say the concept is mildly amusing."
Xide was too embarrassed to admit he was hooked; actively seeking profits in the inner city was considered beneath a gentleman's dignity, and even if he intended to buy, he couldn't do so openly before his family.
Kermit cared nothing for dignity. Seeing his father intrigued, he leaped off the sofa and beamed.
"Dad! Easy enough! Didn't I borrow two million from you earlier? A debt repaid is a debt settled. How about I pay you back... 40,000 S-coins? Keep them to play with; you can cash out anytime, funds arrive in a second!"
Hearing this, Xide scowled and cuffed the back of the boy's head.
"What 'debt repaid is a debt settled' nonsense? Is that any way to speak to your own father?"
Looking at his aggrieved son, he didn't want to dampen the boy's enthusiasm for a venture, so his tone softened.
"Go to the butler and draw another... five million chips. Consider it practice."
Hearing his father back his endeavor so generously, Kermit trembled with excitement.
He scrambled down from the sofa and gazed at his father with solemn reverence.
"Dad! I won't waste words on formalities... I swear I won't let you down! These five million chips—I will turn them into ten million, no, a hundred million to bring back home!"
Looking at his deeply grateful son, Xide nodded with approval.
Good.
Truly a chip off the old block.
This spirited, ambitious lad bore more than a passing resemblance to himself in his youth.
"You've made something of yourself."
Standing up, Xide patted Kermit on the shoulder and said with earnest gravity, "Go all out. Your father will always stand behind you."
Kermit clenched his fists, flushed with excitement. "Thanks, Dad!"
A real man's word was his bond.
Though he knew his father looked down on petty sums, Kermit still insisted on pressing a brand-new trading device into his hands, then transferred 40,000 S-coins into his account right before his eyes.
"The device and the account correspond one-to-one; the private key is stored inside. You must guard it carefully—recovering a lost key is a nightmare! And another thing: when you sell, keep the volume in check. Don't dump too much at once. If you sell more than a thousand coins, you must consult me first!" Kermit instructed his father with grave earnestness.
Irritated by his son's motherly fussing, Xide waved an impatient hand.
"Fine, fine, I hear you. Stop bothering me over such pocket change."
With that, he shooed his son out the front door.
Xide stared at the terminal for a while. Eventually, unable to suppress the itch in his heart, he called over the maid who had earlier been styling his wife's hair and tossed the device into her hands.
The pretty young maid gazed at Xide with trembling trepidation, asking timidly, "...Master? What are your orders?"
"Input your bank card number," Xide commanded.
The maid dared not hesitate and complied at once. Under Xide's further direction, she punched in "100" and pressed the sell button.
She looked up at Xide in bewilderment, having no inkling of what had just transpired.
"Master?"
Xide waited a moment, then instructed patiently, "Use the house telephone to call Melvin's secretary. Check the balance on your card. Tell them I ordered the inquiry."
Though utterly mystified, the maid followed instructions and stepped into the adjoining room. Moments later, a sharp gasp rang out, followed by the clatter of the telephone receiver crashing to the floor.
Hearing the noise, Xide rose immediately and strode into the room, finding the maid sprawled on the floor, frantically retrieving the handset.
He had already guessed the outcome from the look on her face, but he wanted to hear it from her own lips. He asked eagerly, "Well? How much was credited to your card?"
The maid's lips trembled as she whispered, "...Five thousand."
Five thousand chips!
It would take forty or fifty laborers an entire month of backbreaking toil to earn such a sum.
She could not fathom why the master had suddenly rewarded her with so much money, and she was utterly at a loss for what to do.
Xide's eyes flared with feverish excitement.
It could truly be cashed out!
That damned son of his had actually pulled it off!
Money was the ultimate aphrodisiac. A moment ago he had harbored not the slightest desire, but now his gaze lingered hungrily on the maid standing before him.
Across his sinister face crept a twisted veneer of benevolence.
"That is my reward to you. Keep it and spend it as you like; I won't take it back."
The maid breathed a sigh of relief, a radiant smile forcing its way across her face.
"Thank you, Master..."
Xide nodded in satisfaction.
"Speaking of which, don't you have a sweetheart? I often see you writing letters to him."
Her bright smile flickered with faint tension. "Yes..."
Idly placing a hand upon her waist, Xide drank in her young, lovely features, speaking in an easy, conversational tone.
"The lad isn't bad. I see a bright future for the Boulder City Bank, and Melvin is an old friend of mine. I'll make sure he looks out for him... Haha, but I digress. Still, neither of you is getting any younger; shouldn't you be planning a wedding? Why not put this money toward it?"
He relished her reaction.
Only the newly arrived girls ever displayed such innocence; after a while, they became no different from the painted tarts outside—no matter how pretty, they grew stale.
He was no green youth like Kermit; he had long passed the age of indiscriminate appetite and required a touch of genuine spice to stir his blood.
The maid bit her lip, her face turning pale. Clinging to her last shreds of modesty, she pleaded in a trembling whisper, "...This is the mistress's bedchamber."
Little did she realize.
Far from scaring off the wolf, the spark had set the entire hayrick ablaze.
Xide let out a feral grin and slammed the door shut with a heavy thud.
"Isn't that even better!"
Chapter 534