The Ignited Powder Keg

"...Oh, another big fish took the bait." In a small Western-style house by the shore of Ling Lake. Glancing at the bouncing lines and figures on his trading terminal, Fang Chang, sitting at the table reading the newspaper, curled his lips into a smile. Just moments ago, someone had injected five million chips of capital into the market. Though broken up into small purchase orders, he could tell at a glance that they all came from the same hand. To facilitate these gamblers playing their zero-sum game and minimize the frictional losses on their chips, he hadn't even set any transaction fees. And that lad he had known for less than a month certainly hadn't disappointed his expectations; a full thousand people had already entered the S-coin trading platform. If his guess was right, those thousand people covered at least half the inner city's nobility and their relatives, and eighty percent of them had probably bought in without even looking at what the electronic contract said. Fueled by the nobles, this easy-to-join game of musical chairs would soon trigger a chain reaction down to the next tier—the decadent Queen of the Night Bar, pulling in some of the dancers on the stage and the mercenaries and traveling merchants roaming below. These people were definitely the high-income crowd of Boulder City, with chips in their pockets reaching four, five, six, or even seven figures! As for the bank clerks, City Hall agents, bespoke designers at tailor shops... while these middle-income groups didn't possess vast wealth—their savings topping out at five figures at best—their craving for wealth was the most astonishing. It was just a pity Boulder City really didn't have much juice left to squeeze, or else the grand finale would have been magnificent. As the developer of the trading system, he could see the cards in every player's hand at the table, without even needing to guess from their trading patterns. Then again, honestly speaking, making money off these people wasn't all that interesting. After all, as everyone knew, bullying fools was unethical. "Whoa, just how many newspapers did you subscribe to?" A sound came from the entryway as Dolly walked in, clutching a tall stack of newspapers. "Every single one available," Fang Chang said with a smile as he stood up and took the stack from her hands. "Just supporting Miss Investigator's career, of course." "I'm a reporter!" Dolly blinked, peering at him curiously. "And by the way, what on earth is an investigator anyway? I thought it was some kind of Alliance guard, but when I asked around, everyone said they'd never heard of it." Hearing that, Fang Chang's face instantly went green. Nearly choking on his own spit, he coughed hurriedly. "Cough! D-Don't go around asking people that anymore! I'll tell you later..." Save me! He had no desire to suffer social death! Seeing the big villain looking at her pleadingly, Dolly curled her lips smugly, but had no intention of letting him off so easily. "Pinky promise!" She held out her little finger. "P-Pinky promise." Fang Chang awkwardly extended his hand, but the thought of having to explain it to her later made him flush bright red. How in the world was he supposed to explain that? He couldn't mention things from the other world... It wasn't like he could show her the movies... No, way too dirty! Besides, data transfers had to go through review, and Ah Guang would definitely see it! Did he really need to make something like this so formal? A pinky promise, of all things... Still, Dolly was as easy to coax as ever. Showing no curiosity over why he was blushing, she sat down contentedly across the dining table after the pinky swear and happily enjoyed her breakfast. Fang Chang picked up a steamed bun and took a bite to cool down his agitated emotions, then turned his gaze to the tall stack of newspapers beside the table, shifting his attention to them. Come to think of it, the Survivor Daily had recently added a series of sub-publications. Including the Workers' Daily, Agricultural Daily, Fashion Weekly, and more... The outflow of Boulder City's industries was injecting fresh blood into the Alliance, and the Survivor Daily was merely a microcosm—and the most visibly apparent one. The greatest treasure left by the Era of Prosperity wasn't the black boxes, but the Human Alliance language. Even if names across the wasteland were bizarre and varied—some named Table, Stool, Wrench, or Hammer, others Li Lei and Han Meimei—everyone spoke the exact same tongue, with only slight differences in accent. Thus, cultural exchange and the spread of ideas faced none of the barriers seen in the real world. And precisely because of this, the effects of industrial transfer and population siphon were amplified. What should have been a slow, gradual process was now plunging as crazily as a free fall. Yet he felt no sympathy for those people. Arrogance was the greatest original sin. Those nobles were not only arrogant, but greedy. A money-printing press meant to serve over half a million people had been turned into an ATM for a handful of VIPs. Lacking foreign exchange reserves, they still insisted on playing debt games with the Alliance. If not fleece them, who else? Their ancestors probably never imagined that the chips, originally invented so wasteland survivors wouldn't have to barter, would be shifted around like toys by their descendants. Had Boulder City's nobles not accumulated so much domestic currency and instead allocated some silver coins or silver-denominated assets while lending chips to the Alliance, it would have been quite difficult for the Alliance to fleece them. The bonds of trade would have genuinely tied both sides together, making them partners who relied on each other like lips and teeth. Then again, that was mere hindsight. The Administrator had seen right through them from the very start, which was why he had never yielded an inch on allowing the free exchange of silver coins and chips. Boulder City Bank had likely sensed the danger gradually, but merely sensing it was already too late. In truth, the benevolent Administrator had offered them a chance. Up until the end, these gamblers had had opportunities to hit the brakes and stop. As long as Melvin could suppress inflation within five years, allow the Alliance to get through its initial development phase, and open free exchange between chips and silver coins, the bubble accumulated within the megalithic walls could have naturally squeezed outward. If the Alliance wanted to grow strong and expand, it would certainly not play default tricks, and their private morals were not for the Alliance to judge; that was Boulder City's residents' own business. Yet the gamblers were too eager to win—too obsessed with being the sole victor—turning a game that could have continued indefinitely into a deathmatch ring that determined not only victory, but survival. If it was a deathmatch ring, then someone had to die. This was a war, and it had already begun. Only it was different from a shooting war. Often, by the time most people realized what was happening, it had already ended without a sound, and only upon looking back would they gradually grasp what they had lost in this war. Pity there were still too few financial instruments in this game; otherwise, shorting the chip could yield a fortune. That way, he would achieve financial freedom not just in reality, but in the game as well... "By the way, what is this thing anyway?" Noticing the trading terminal on the table, Dolly curiously reached out and picked it up. Staring at it for a moment without understanding, she murmured, "You've been staring at it all morning." Hiding nothing, Fang Chang smiled with his usual composure and said softly, "A criminal tool for bad people. Good kids shouldn't touch it." "...A criminal tool?" "Yep." Looking at the utterly bewildered Dolly, Fang Chang teased further, "For example... there's a liquidate button over there. If you press it, a few people over in the inner city not far from here will drop dead." "Want to give it a try?" Although that would prevent him from maximizing profits and his chips in the inner city bank would be frozen, he didn't really care about such vanity. The plan was only meant to verify a theory he had anyway. Doing it just to make a pretty girl smile wouldn't be out of the question. Dolly, however, couldn't laugh at all. Startled by his words, she hastily and carefully placed the dangerous contraption back on the table. "For real...? Th-that terrifying?" Looking at Fang Chang's breezy smile, suspicion crept into Dolly's eyes, and she raised her brow. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was messing with her again. "Of course it's real. And conservatively speaking... far more than just a few would die." Reaching out to tousle her emerald hair, Fang Chang met her dubious gaze and said with a gentle smile, "I haven't forgotten what those scoundrels did. They dared to bully my gentle, lovely, and kind Miss Dolly, so naturally, I have to make them pay a little price for their insolence." "...Ew! So cheesy!" Flushing red, Dolly skipped aside. Though she said so, her heart couldn't help fluttering with sweetness. She had already decided to turn the page, yet he still remembered... Seeing that his eyes didn't look like he was joking, Dolly hesitated for a moment and whispered, "Actually, I don't hate them that much anymore. Don't go out of your way to retaliate against them. It's not like I'm ever going back anyway... But still, you sure hold a grudge." "It's not holding a grudge. It's called..." Not very skilled with cheesy lines, Fang Chang thought for a moment before smiling. "It's called: I remember everything about you." Lines that would draw eye-rolls in reality proved surprisingly effective on the wasteland. Dolly's cheeks flushed crimson in an instant. Grabbing her briefcase from the chair, she darted toward the door like a startled critter. "I-I-I'm going to work!" Listening to the clattering at the entrance, Fang Chang couldn't help but chuckle softly, his gaze returning to the newspaper in his hand. When he saw the report on Boulder City's recent situation, he shook his head and muttered a critique: "These days... there are too many fools; swindlers can hardly keep up." An editor of Economic News had spun a joke mocking their neighbor: An Alliance merchant dined at a restaurant in Boulder City and was shocked to see everyone paying with paper. He asked in horror, "Where are your chips?" The waiter proudly told him, "Paying with IOUs is all the rage now," and pulled out a slip with a long string of zeros. The Alliance merchant turned his pockets inside out without finding that many chips, so inspiration struck—he tore off a paper napkin, scribbled an even longer string of zeros, and bought the whole restaurant. This was clearly a prank submission by players. Most likely, a player doing quests in Boulder City had asked a player in the Alliance to submit it on their behalf. Yet it reflected what was taking place in Boulder City from another angle. Even more amusing, at the very moment they should have been on high alert, they had stabbed themselves and buried their heads in the sand like ostriches. A segment of Boulder City's residents firmly believed Mr. House's rhetoric, convinced that the noble lords certainly had a plan. The inner city not only had a real research institute, but was also home to a whole division's worth of think tanks; they simply closed the doors to whisper in secret so the hyenas of the wasteland wouldn't overhear. After a chuckle, Fang Chang turned a little serious. An unavoidable issue was that the Alliance currently lacked a comprehensive Financial Law, having only standard provisions in the player handbook like any other game, restricting players from using illegal means to scam ill-gotten wealth from Alliance NPCs or fellow players. However, the game's scale was expanding rapidly now. Both player and NPC populations were surging dramatically, and there was no guarantee a few bad apples wouldn't slip in to prey on their own people, causing the Alliance to repeat Boulder City's mistakes. He loved this community more than anyone. After all, the very first brick here had been fired by him alongside everyone else, and this land was soaked in their blood. For the common good of all, he had to do something. A thought struck him, and the corners of Fang Chang's lips curved upward. "Come to think of it... Beta 0.5 just updated 'Public Affairs'." I'll draft a proposal for a Financial Law in a bit... ... Day after day passed, and December soon arrived. On at least one matter, Mr. House hadn't lied: this winter was indeed milder than in previous years. At this time last year, quite a few people had frozen to death, but this year, no one had heard of any deaths in anyone's family. Business at the cannery had improved, which was a good omen, indicating that some outer city survivors were getting wealthier. For instance, the private tutor Melvin hired for his youngest daughter had recently started wearing Deathclaw leather shoes. Ever since they discovered that the Alliance had gifted a Deathclaw to every survivor faction that attended their celebration, the inner city nobles' craze for Deathclaws had cooled considerably. Perhaps... only Ideal City was worthy of being their eternal idol. Sberg couldn't help wondering whether his novel needed to keep up with the times too, changing the material of that chiliarch's leather shoes from Deathclaw to something else to highlight the dignitary's status. How about mutant scalp? His imagination fell short. Aside from the weird and varied "evolved organisms," he truly couldn't think of any other mutant creature on the wasteland that was more terrifying than a Deathclaw while existing in sufficient numbers. In any case, everything seemed to be gradually improving. Sberg felt somewhat comforted; perhaps one day this grace would bestow its blessings upon his own head. The only thing that saddened him was that this month Mr. Weijia had tried to fob them off with IOUs again, leaving everyone fuming. Even Kent had cursed the shameless profiteer a few times for leaving people no way to live. Then an incident occurred: someone covertly removed the wire from the slicer, and the others were spiteful enough to stay silent and pretend not to notice, causing the assembly line to ruin an entire conveyor of canned goods and infuriating their boss, Weijia, to the point of turning purple. That culprit was naturally ferreted out; word was that someone had snitched on him. Regardless, thanks to that fellow, Weijia's attitude toward them grew a bit more cautious, and he didn't renege on last month's interest, even though what he paid was just some unsold nutrient paste... Sberg felt a bit despondent. He had once indulged in the fantasy that the boss might give those ruined canned goods to them. But to his shock, his boss would rather dump the food in front of their faces than distribute it, even ordering someone to piss right on that precious food. That very day, an advertisement was added to Mr. House's radio broadcast: "Good Taste Food Processing Plant would rather destroy defective goods than let a single substandard can enter the market." Fortunately, that was the only foul event dampening spirits; good things still outnumbered the bad. More and more fellow workers gathered outside the Walnut Tavern to hear the story of Awakened Boer. And not just from Mr. Weijia's factory—they came from the steel works, the sawmill, and even an engineer from the weapons assembly station... It turned out those educated, decent folks enjoyed listening to their story as well, expressing sympathy for their plight. That engineer was short, with a cybernetic eye manufactured by Boulder Military Industries replacing his left. He was a generous man who occasionally bought everyone a round... even if it was just cheap, watered-down beer. One day, after having too much to drink, he hollered that if Boulder Military Industries ever dared to swindle him with IOUs, he certainly wouldn't take it lying down—he swore he would pack extra gunpowder into every casing and throw in some sticky syrup for good measure. That was no laughing matter. Sberg had stopped reading the story on the spot and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, pleading with him not to do anything foolish; the early spring Tide was nothing to sneeze at. A bitter winter killed a few poor devils at most. When a mild winter struck, the following spring would be sheer hell... "Must be nice," a young man mumbled with an envious look after listening to him finish reading the contents of the Workers' Daily. "If only we had an Administrator too." He had seen through it all. Those profiteers would never willingly pull what was in their pockets out for them unless someone pointed a gun at their heads and forced them to change. Hearing the lad's murmur, Sberg couldn't help curling his lips into a smile. Everyone here had heard him read the reply from the Survivor Daily's Editor-in-Chief. The Administrator had not only invited him to visit the Alliance, but had also promised to let him try on a suit of power armor. What an approachable lord. "Once next year's Tide passes, let's head there together. I heard the marauders in the north are almost entirely wiped out by those blue jackets." Hearing this, the workers exchanged glances and began murmuring among themselves. "But I heard they only pay in silver coins, not chips..." "What does that matter? I heard the dancers at the Queen of the Night Bar take silver coins now!" "Exactly!" a man with a full beard grumbled. "Whatever they give, it's better than IOUs!" Others looked worried. "What about the Tide the year after that? Come back here to hide?" An old fitter nodded, saying nervously, "I heard the Tide sweeps across the entire wasteland, leaving not a blade of grass alive in its wake..." If not forced by hardship, no one wanted to leave the megalithic walls. After all, returning required one or two chips, depending on the mood of the old man at the gate. If they truly weren't afraid of the mutants and marauders outside, they would have become mercenaries long ago rather than staying obediently in the factories to work. Those who stayed were all honest folks. Generation after generation. Sberg harbored the same worries, which was why he had mentioned in his reply that he needed to save up travel expenses before heading over. Those twenty to thirty kilometers were no walk in the park; who knew what dangers lurked among the concrete ruins? He had never seen those bloodthirsty mutant hyenas, but he had seen President Melvin traveling with a massive entourage of bodyguards. Just then, the engineer who often bought them drinks let out a laugh. "Come off it! You guys definitely haven't been reading the papers! I remember an issue of the Survivor Daily mentioning that those gnawers are some kind of fruiting bodies of mutant slime mold, and that mutant slime mold has this thing called self-limitation. Anyway, once they expand to a certain scale, they can't spread any further. The Tide in the suburbs probably isn't as crazy as inside the city ruins. Otherwise, how did the survivors in the northern suburbs make it? They didn't just sprout out of cracks in the concrete." The crowd looked at one another, and Sberg wore a look of surprise as well. This was indeed a blind spot in his knowledge. He had been fixated on the Workers' Daily, treating it like his own child, so much so that he'd forgotten about the Survivor Daily and Mercenary News, which shared common sense and lore of the wasteland. Evidently, that Boulder Military Industries engineer was a reader of the Survivor Daily's main publication and had happened to read that issue. Surprise turned into excitement. Sberg clenched his fists with passion, looking at the surging crowd of fellow workers outside the tavern. "Fantastic! Since the wasteland isn't that terrifying after all, let's go take a look together once spring comes next year!" Indeed, there was strength in numbers! As long as one person was willing to share what they knew, united workers would gain more knowledge, and knowledge was power. Just then, however, a ferocious-looking squad of guards marched over from not far away. Catching sight of them, Sberg's expression changed slightly. Leading them was Philis, head of the industrial zone's guards, flanked by security captain Alec and Sberg's "old friend," Kent. "What are you gathered here for? Planning a rebellion?" Philis barked, using his baton to disperse the drinkers crowding the tavern entrance. Sberg glanced at Tang, the tavern owner, who shook his head with a pale face. "I didn't call them..." Before he could finish, Kent suddenly charged forward like a hero, grabbed Sberg by the collar, and looked eagerly toward security captain Alec. "It's this guy! He's making a racket here every single day, reading his sickening... story of Boer or whatever!" Sberg's temper flared. In a rare burst of courage, he glared at Kent and snapped, "I'm reading my story. Am I reading it outside your doorstep? What business is it of yours?" Shocked that this coward dared talk back to him, Kent was about to spit on him, but seeing the surrounding workers watching him in silence, his heart gave an involuntary tremor. "It... it is my business! How could an A-Awakened beat power armor anyway? Aren't you spouting nonsense and misleading people! Childish! Vulgar!" Lacking any real education, he couldn't formulate grand arguments and could only parrot Mr. House's words before looking pleadingly at Alec. He swore to himself: If it were some hidden bastard son of the city lord beating up the Alliance's power armor, he wouldn't object at all; he'd even happily wank off against a wall in excitement... But the damned problem was, why did these dogs insist on writing what poor devils liked to read instead of following the tropes he loved? Kent was so furious his teeth ached. Alec had no interest in the yapping of stray dogs. Whether Kent or Sberg, both looked identical in his eyes: Nothing more than worthless wretches. Later, he still had to head to the Queen of the Night Bar to bolster his boss and his boss's mistress; his drinking capacity was an indispensable entertainment at such gatherings. At this moment, he only wanted to wrap this up quickly, so he turned to Philis and murmured, "These people gather every day making a racket. For all we know, the malfunction on our assembly line the other day was some scheme cooked up during their chatter." "Respected Captain, please take care of it." Philis looked down on a mere factory security captain, but Alec's boss was Weijia, and Weijia's boss was the renowned Lord Xide. That dignitary was a big shot. Still, it wasn't wise to arrest people without cause, or he might easily be thrown to these poor wretches as a scapegoat by the big shots to vent their rage. So his beady eyes searched around until they caught sight of the newspaper on the tavern table. As if stumbling upon a treasure, his voice cracked with surprised delight as he shouted, "What is that?" Without waiting for an answer, Philis strode forward, picked up the paper, snapped it open, and swept a sinister, haughty gaze across the surroundings. As if brandishing a sword in his grip. "Workers' Daily! City Hall explicitly banned this trash!" "This isn't the old one!" Unable to stand by, the engineer interjected defensively. "This is a sub-publication of the Alliance's Survivor Daily! They're completely different!" "Heh, from the Alliance, huh...? That makes the crime even worse!" Philis shot a mocking glance at the pale-faced Sberg, his tone turning icy. "Take this traitor away!" Several guards stepped forward, ignoring Sberg's struggles and shouts, gave him a punch, and dragged him away from the tavern entrance in full view of the crowd. Alec casually tossed a 25-denomination chip to Kent as a dismissal tip, then waved his hand and left with several hired enforcers. Kent clutched the chip in excitement. Bowing and scraping, he thanked Alec's retreating figure, then glared after Sberg as he was hauled away, spitting with satisfaction, "Serves you right! You damned traitor!" His voice rang out strikingly conspicuous amidst the crowd. Because it was the only voice. A sudden panic seized Kent. Instinctively hiding the chip in his hand, he backed away under the gaze of dozens of eyes fixed on him. "What... what are you staring at me for? I... I did it for your own good! None of you want to lose your jobs over that despicable scum, do you—" "Drop the hypocrisy." A furious voice cut him off. A young man stepped out from the crowd, glaring unblinkingly at him. "Given the chance, you'd crawl on the ground to lick Lord Melvin's boots, or even eat his whole family's shit. And you have the nerve to say you did it for our own good? In your heart, you wish every last one of us were dead so you could hog all the work for yourself." Kent's eyes bulged. "Y-You dare speak Lord Melvin's name directly?!" The young man regarded him coldly. "Yes, I said it. And now I'll say it again: go call your Lord Melvin to come punish us! Better yet, lock us all up with Sberg! It's freezing out here anyway—the outside isn't any better than the inside, and I can hear him finish his story in there. But what a pity, I bet that lord wouldn't give you the time of day. After all, a dog only licks its master, and your tongue is far filthier than a dog's." Kent cursed in fury, "You're the filthy one! Y-Your whole family is rotten to the core!" The full-bearded man looked at him and gave a bored shrug. "Just admit it openly: you simply worship the whip in Lord Stephen's hand. You don't care about Rudy, you don't care about Cassie, and you don't give a damn why Bill lost his job. You've never loved a single person here—you just wish you were the one holding the whip." Someone in the crowd called out, "Hey friend, he's never listened to the story of Awakened Boer! He has no clue who those names are!" Laughter immediately echoed in response: "Haha, he doesn't even know what Lord Stephen's whip was used for!" "Doesn't matter! We all know who this fellow is!" They shared a common language now. Kent's eyes bulged until they seemed ready to pop. "You're lying! I... I—" He truly hadn't read that paper. And precisely because of that, a sudden chill of panic seized him. It felt as though he had been cast out of the ranks, left stranded entirely alone. That damned Sberg... How dare he—how dare he write him into his novel! Kent had no idea that Sberg had never written his name, nor was there any character like him in the book. Yet the people seemed to recognize him, seemed intimately familiar with him... as if they had written his name in on that annoying pest's behalf. The crowd began to move. They all seemed to know what needed to be done next. Even without anyone telling them, their minds were made up. Thinking they were banding together to beat him up, Kent shrank back, terror mounting on his face. The young man who had spoken up first cast a pitying glance at him and raised his right hand. Kent raised his arms instinctively to brace for a blow, but the young man neither struck him nor snatched the chip from his grasp; he merely patted his shoulder. "Face it: you don't love Lord Melvin, you don't love Lord Weijia, and you certainly never cared about any of us... You only see yourself. How can words like 'for your own good' even come out of your mouth? You wish we were all dead; you dream of shitting on our heads. But pity you—you were born in a rat hole. Twenty-five chips won't make you a nobleman. You're stuck sharing a nest of rats with the rest of us." One by one, the people brushed past him, each clapping him on the shoulder. "We don't blame you." "Hang in there, Kent." "You're a fine fellow." "Go buy yourself some candy with the big guy's pocket money—while it can still buy anything, hahahaha!" Kent backed away in terror. His shoulders were smeared with machine oil, dusted with flour, and stained with multicolored smudges... left by hand after hand. Those people seemed possessed. Clutching the chip to his chest, he stared at the workers heading in the opposite direction and shrieked in a trembling panic, "Where are you going?! Stop! Are you... crazy?!" "Where are we going?" The young man stopped, looked back at Kent—at the coward cowering into a ball—and sneered: "To do what Boer would do, of course!" "That guy wouldn't abandon a comrade in trouble!" "He told us to stand united!" ... "Something big happened!" Dawn City. Alliance Building, Administrator's Office. Hurried footsteps broke Chu Guang's train of thought, causing him to pause his pen. Standing in the doorway was the head of the Foreign Ministry he had appointed, a young man named Cheng Yan, who had been selected alongside Sun Ruicai of the Ministry of Finance from the same batch of young talents. Originally, Shuyu would have been the more suitable candidate for this post, but the Alliance needed its best diplomat stationed in Ideal City. No one was more suited than that unflappable young man to speak on behalf of the Alliance at the Supreme Council. Both reported directly to Chu Guang, and Shuyu himself had raised no objections; he was willing to do anything for the Alliance. Like Lü Bei, they were among the Alliance's most loyal youths. "What happened? Don't rush. Catch your breath and take it slow," Chu Guang said seriously, offering no reprimand for the sudden intrusion. "It's Boulder City! Something happened over in Boulder City!" Cheng Yan swallowed hard, rushing on. "Our embassy sent a message saying that the industrial zone workers have surrounded the guard station! They're demanding the release of their arrested fellow worker, or else they want to be locked up along with him!" Chu Guang frowned. "And then?" Cheng Yan gave a wry smile. "And then... their jail ended up packed to the brim..." Silence hung in the office for a moment. A complex wave of emotions welled up in Chu Guang's chest. He let out a sigh: "Were there casualties?" "None dead... but quite a few injured. Moreover, because Boulder City guards searched the arrestee's home and found our newspapers, a letter from our Editor-in-Chief, and a hundred chips, the Boulder City authorities suspect we're behind it." Cheng Yan shot Chu Guang a cautious glance. "Our Editor-in-Chief mentioned you in the letter... I wanted to confirm, is that true?" "I had him mention it." "Understood! Then I see!" Cheng Yan nodded at once, a knowing look dawning on his face. If it was the Lord Administrator's plan, then all was well. He harbored zero doubt about the Administrator's correctness. His only worry had been that the Editor-in-Chief of the Survivor Daily had let something slip. One look at his face told Chu Guang the guy had completely misunderstood. Unable to help a chuckle, he said, "While it can't be said we have nothing to do with this, it's definitely not what you're imagining. Bribing more people than a whole jail can hold with a mere hundred chips... Even if I told them I did it, would they believe it themselves?" Cheng Yan gave a bitter laugh. "Well... I don't know about that. But actually, it's not quite that dire. I get the sense they don't plan to blow this out of proportion; they merely warned us to stop pulling petty tricks behind their backs." Chu Guang: "And then?" Cheng Yan shook his head. "That's all." That was it? Chu Guang clicked his tongue. "Seeing you in such a panic, I thought they had shut down our embassy." If they had done that, he would have at least respected those nobles as having some backbone. Like that fellow Yade, who dared to bring guns to the Alliance's outpost demanding an explanation—Chu Guang had turned a blind eye and even regarded the man with a measure of admiration. There was good reason the subjects of the Honey Badger Kingdom rallied behind him. Yet thinking of this, Chu Guang felt puzzled. By all rights, River Valley Province boasted fierce customs, with no shortage of ruthless wastelanders. How was it that up at the landlord class, from Old Leech to Old Brown, their knees went weak one after another? Cheng Yan cleared his throat and said, "That shouldn't happen. They probably also worry you won't repay the loans, so they won't push things to extremes over a minor incident..." "This is no minor incident. As the fuse igniting a crisis, it's already grave enough." Chu Guang sighed, glanced down at the draft paper on his desk, and crossed out what he had just written. Those moderate measures were certainly not going to make it in time. Honestly, with peace prevailing since the celebration and Boulder City even showing signs of economic recovery, he had relaxed a bit, thinking they could hold out until the spring Tide passed. He hadn't expected something like this to happen. He had no interest in guessing at conspiracies behind it. Not everything stemmed from a meticulously calculated scheme; history itself advanced through countless coincidences. Perhaps the whole affair was started by some careless smoker who didn't stomp out his cigarette butt, tossing it straight into a bin packed with gunpowder. Chu Guang suddenly remembered something. "By the way, why did the workers suddenly surround the guard station?" Taken aback by the Administrator's sudden question, Cheng Yan frowned in thought before replying, "According to our embassy head over there... it seems a food processing plant owner bribed the guards there to arrest the man who reads the newspaper every day at the workers' gathering." Chu Guang: "..." Good grief. It really was that?! Having pieced together the chain of cause and effect, Chu Guang's feelings were rather mixed. The accelerator had been installed on Boulder City by him, and he was the one who stepped on the gas first. But he truly hadn't expected things to spiral out of control right at the start. His players were all absolute geniuses who immediately jumped in to slam on the pedal, and the Alliance NPCs hadn't held back either, following right behind to add their own blows. To top it off, the lords of the inner city felt it wasn't fast enough, violently stomping the gas pedal several times themselves and even welding the doors shut. Behind all this, it wasn't just the Alliance—other factions were likely fanning the flames and skimming off the top as well. Melvin was probably the most clear-headed among them, and one of the few "good guys" willing to let outer city residents benefit—at least compared to his shareholders. Yet it was already too late for him to stop it; he could only drink poison to quench his thirst using the method Chu Guang had handed him. Ironically, Chu Guang, who had pressed the accelerator first, had now become the one who wanted to slam on the brakes the most. "Let's hope they can at least survive this winter..." Chu Guang rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Otherwise, the Tide come spring will be a massive problem." Cheng Yan paused slightly. Due to job requirements, he had conducted thorough research. With help from the embassy, he had gathered historical records that even Boulder City's nobles might not have taken seriously. In the less than two centuries of Boulder City's history, similar incidents had occurred before, and in the end, those lords had always managed to smooth things over. Otherwise, the city lord would have been replaced long ago. Barring any surprises, this time should be no different... He muttered under his breath, "It shouldn't be that bad..."