Next Stop! Port French Fries!

The Governor's Manor of Ring Island. Channing walked into his office as usual, tossed the newspaper he had casually bought onto his desk, and prepared to start another day of sipping tea and reading the news. Yet the moment he settled into his chair, a pungent, rancid stench hit him, making his brow furrow in spite of himself. "What is that smell?" Why does it stink so bad! Standing up and walking over to the window, Channing intended to open it to air out the room. But the second he cracked the window open a sliver, a foul odor swept into the room along with the sea breeze. His eyes narrowed from the stench, and he finally understood where the sickening smell was coming from. He slammed the window shut, pinched his nose, walked to the office door, and waved his secretary over from the adjacent room. "Damn it... What on earth is happening over at the harbor? Why does it smell so awful!" Clearly choking on the stench as well, the secretary wore a helpless expression when faced with the governor's questioning. "...The freighter Northwest Wind docked just a moment ago. It brought in over a thousand pelts." "Pelts?!" Channing stared blankly at him and blurted out, "How could pelts smell this bad?!" The secretary replied with a grimace, "They're the kind freshly skinned from mutants. Not only have the blood and grease not been cleaned off, but it looks like they've been fermenting for quite some time, too." "Freshly skinned mutant hides?" Channing's eyes widened in astonishment. "Where did they get them?" Over a thousand freshly skinned pelts... That was no small amount! Although residents of the thirteen islands across the Southern Sea occasionally sailed to the beaches south of Baiyue Province to hunt, even experienced hunters rarely dared linger for long. Bringing back just one or two beasts from a single voyage was already an incredible feat. The islands' primary food sources remained fish from the sea and farmed algae extracts, along with occasional shipments of grain and livestock sold from Silver Moon Bay. He had never heard of any port capable of producing so many pelts— Wait. Channing suddenly thought of the Alliance outpost on the northern shore of the Baiyue Strait. Those people had previously sent a congratulatory greeting to the Southern Islands Federation authorities via Ring Island's radio station under the name "Port French Fries." He had initially treated them as a joke, thinking they would soon hit a wall and back down. He had never expected they would actually endure and hold their ground?! As if confirming his suspicion, the secretary swallowed hard and said, "I heard from the patrol crew that the Northwest Wind imported them from the settlement at the eastern exit of the Baiyue Strait... from that Port French Fries." Channing fell silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I see." Watching the grim-faced governor lost in thought, the secretary nodded carefully and turned to head back to his own office next door. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, however, the door was shoved violently open from the outside, nearly clipping his nose. Before he could see who had entered, an aggressive voice swept in alongside the gust stirred up by the door panel. "Governor! We must do something about that ship!" Watching the man stride into the office with large steps, Channing, who stood beside his desk, pinched the bridge of his nose and cast a glance at the secretary by the door. "Go pour Director Stilwell a cup of tea." "Right away... sir." The secretary nodded, shot a fleeting glance at the rude intruder, turned out of the room, and closed the door behind him. Watching the door shut, Channing turned to the furious Harbor Affairs director and said in a placating tone, "Have a seat first—" "Don't waste time," Director Stilwell cut in rudely with a wave of his hand, pressing forward aggressively. "I don't understand why you're being so lenient with those people! We are a settlement of the Southern Islands Federation, not of the Alliance! If they can scrub hides on our docks today, tomorrow they'll be selling their bodies right under our noses!" Channing coughed lightly. "I doubt it would come to that... They've followed the rules so far." "You call this following the rules?" Stilwell walked over to the window, pointing furiously at the two freighters outside. "The whole port reeks of rot right now! Anyone who didn't know better would think Shelter 70 had delivered biological weapons to us!" "Still, there really isn't any regulation stating that ships docked in port can't wash laundry on their own decks..." Seeing Director Stilwell glaring straight at him, Channing felt his explanation sounded a bit flimsy himself, so he gave a dry cough and added, "Fine, one week... If that ship is still lingering here and refuses to leave after a week, I'll issue an ultimatum." "You said the exact same thing last week!" Director Stilwell snapped bluntly. "Give them a week! Why don't you just grant them an extension until next month!" Exposed so mercilessly to his face, Channing felt a flash of awkwardness and a surge of irritation, yet he remained powerless. "Fine, I admit it! I'm wary of provoking the Alliance, so I don't dare kick them out. But is there anything wrong with that? We're at war with Shelter 70, and our current situation is already turning against us. Those old turtles can simply shut their vault doors and be done with it, while we're responsible for the daily sustenance of over a million people! We also have to keep the Federation Navy supplied! If we offend those people now, do you know what that entails?" Stilwell sneered. "Across more than two thousand kilometers, can they just march straight over?" Seeing his nonchalant look, Channing chuckled dryly. "I'm not joking. They really possess that capability. I've heard the guys to our north took a hard fall at their hands." Noticing Director Stilwell's expression turning unnatural, Channing grabbed the teacup on his desk, took a sip, cleared his throat, and continued. "If I were them, I wouldn't even need to go to such trouble. A single word to the Camel Hump Kingdom to cut off the shipping route from Silver Moon Bay to here, and guess how many people on this island would end up starving on the cold sea wind? Are you certain you want me to take that risk for a thankless task?" Stilwell's lip twitched. "Are we supposed to just keep enduring it like this?" "A little generosity does no harm," Channing said with a shrug, lifting his teacup for another sip. "Since they are paying their demurrage fees according to regulations, we will let them stay according to regulations. They can't stay forever anyway... Or do you have a better idea?" Silence hung in the office for a long time. The harbor affairs director clearly had no better solution. His lips worked for a while, but not a single word came out. Right at that moment, the office door opened, and the secretary who had stepped out to brew tea walked in carrying a tray. "Mr. Stilwell, your tea." Stilwell glanced at the teacup on the tray, then looked at the spineless governor. In the end, he swallowed his words, turned without saying anything, and walked out through the open door. He still believed the Ring Island Governor's Manor was far too soft toward the Alliance. Yet he also had to admit that, just as Channing had pointed out, facing a behemoth like the Alliance left them with no better option than to exercise restraint... ... Minute by minute, time slipped away. The sun soon moved from east to west, sinking beneath the horizon and leaving shimmering ripples of golden light across the distant blue waves. Squatting along the docks, dockworkers enjoyed the sea breeze while sipping beer, leisurely watching the nearby freighter coated in blood and grease foam, along with the busy girls bustling across its deck. By around four in the afternoon, the stench along the docks had already dissipated. Some of the women scrubbed with mops, others kneaded with their hands, and some scraped with small knives, cleaning the pelts thoroughly. Next, bucket after bucket of seawater was drawn from the ocean and splashed over the surfaces of the hides. Under the steady wash of seawater, the foul-smelling bits of flesh and fat were swept into the sea, turning into bait for the fish. After rinsing the pelts clean, the girls hung them on wooden racks, arranging them in tidy rows across the deck like sets of sails. Those "sails" formed natural obstacles. A short-haired girl and a large white bear were running wild around the drying racks, playing hide-and-seek with a group of giggling children. Of course, they weren't entirely making things difficult for those busy drying the pelts. Earlier, when the hides required vigorous pounding with wooden rods, the two lively goofballs had contributed a fair share of strength. Watching the girl and bear play hide-and-seek with the children, many mothers wore knowing smiles. It felt as though they hadn't seen a sight like this in a very long time... On the other side of the deck. Around twenty girls, roughly fifteen or sixteen years old, worked under the guidance of an elderly woman, rubbing buckets of marine mutant fat into the inner layer of the pelts. This fat from marine mutants was rich in unsaturated fatty acids, which would slowly oxidize in the hot and humid environment. The resulting polymers naturally coated the collagen fibers of the inner hide, granting it a supple texture and excellent water resistance, while the aldehydes produced cross-linked with other oxides and skin collagen fibers, achieving a tanning effect. The craft of tanning hides involved far more than just these steps, encompassing alkaline steeping, rinsing, and a whole series of procedures. Once this work was completed, however, the decay of the pelts was essentially halted. The goods, which had originally been worth only a hundred-odd thousand silver coins combined, more than doubled in value as a result. If they hauled all of it to Silver Moon Bay, each piece could easily fetch a price of at least a thousand silver coins! A thousand pieces would be a million! That wasn't even factoring in premium goods like blood-mink pelts included among them. The royal families across the entire desert would go crazy for them! Yet while these pelts were worth a fortune, they were far less appealing to the men lounging on the docks than the exotic girls working them. Especially since a job requiring so much water inevitably soaked their clothes. Many full-blooded young men watched with dry throats and fixed gazes, able to do nothing but down bottle after bottle of beer. Thanks to this, business at the dockside taverns had improved considerably. "Are they Moon Clan?" "Yeah." "They don't seem much different from other folks who came here from Bolo Province." "Speaking of which, that ship's been parked here for over a week, and this is the first time I've seen them all up on deck." "I'm more curious about how that many people crammed onto the ship in the first place." A young man with curly hair scratched the back of his head and turned to his companion. "I still don't understand... Why would that Xilan Empire drive away such hardworking girls? Couldn't they just give them work to do?" He had never seen people capable of enduring such hardship. They could work nonstop under the scorching sun from noon until dusk, whether they were eleven- or twelve-year-old girls or elderly women. To the islanders of Ring Island, who enjoyed relatively comfortable living conditions, this was practically incomprehensible. Beside him, an older man narrowed his eyes, took a swig from his beer bottle, and muttered casually, "Who knows? Beyond the sea, it's all wasteland. Haiya Province is, Baiyue Province is, Sunset Province is, not to mention Bolo Province... God knows what those wastelanders are thinking." In his youth, he had once ventured into the wasteland, escorting the blue jackets of Shelter 70 north to a place called Qingquan City to recover some kind of data. Ever since that trip, he had lost all interest in the world on the mainland, coming to fully appreciate why their ancestors had insisted on relocating to this secluded island. That wasteland was pure hell. No matter what happened out there, nothing was surprising... While the dockworkers spent the twilight hours admiring the lovely scenery on the deck, Mogavi, standing on the deck of the Northwest Wind, was likewise staring with wide eyes, his heart racing and his breath catching in his throat. What had captured his attention, however, was not any exotic beauties, but the renewed pelts before him! The soft, lustrous fur swayed gently in the sunset, gleaming with a dazzling sheen that, in his eyes, looked just like shimmering gold coins! Of course. Describing it that way was certainly an exaggeration. After all, most of the pelts had only undergone preliminary washing, and reaching the final tanned state would still take some time. Even so, compared to their previous bloody, grease-caked, raw state, these washed hides were already worlds apart! "Simply magnificent! Thank you! I truly don't know how to thank you enough!" Handing the bag containing 110,000 silver coins in banknotes to Sisi, Mogavi looked thoroughly excited, babbling in his elation. Without exaggeration, of all the business deals he had made this past month, this was the one he felt offered the best value for money! It seemed the Alliance wasn't entirely made up of unreliable folk after all. Taking the payment from the NPC, Sisi opened the pouch, counted it carefully, and drew out a few bills to check their authenticity. Once she verified there were no issues, a smile appeared on her face, and she teased, "That's easy enough. Just pay us a few tens of thousands more silver coins." Hearing that, Mogavi nearly choked on his own saliva. He gave two dry coughs and said, "Ahem... while that sounds like a lovely idea, I honestly don't have a single bill left in my pockets." Not believing his nonsense for a second, Sisi merely smiled faintly, then handed the money pouch to Sesame Paste beside her and whispered instructions. "Go hand the payment over to them. I won't step in." "Mm! Leave it to me!" Sesame Paste nodded with a smile and trotted off happily toward the other side of the deck. Mogavi's eyes remained glued to the bulging money pouch until it disappeared around a corner of the deck behind her lively figure. Pulling his gaze back, he looked at Sisi again with an embarrassed smile. "Right... um, please don't forget about washing the ship, alright?" Sisi offered a faint smile. "Don't worry, my memory isn't that bad." With that, she turned to head toward the cabins. Watching her figure about to vanish into the hatchway, Mogavi called out on some inexplicable impulse. "Hey, are you free in a bit?" Seeing her pause, he forced a bright smile onto his face—one that didn't quite match his demeanor. "If you're free... how about having dinner together? My treat." Watching the NPC's comical expression and raised hand, Sisi couldn't help but smile. However, she had no desire to waste time on a side quest that was already finished, and this NPC's looks weren't quite to her taste anyway. She politely declined the invitation. "Thank you for the offer, but I've already eaten." "Ah, alright..." Understanding the polite rejection, Mogavi awkwardly lowered his hand and scratched the back of his head. "That's a shame then... I recall there was a decent restaurant around here." While being turned down was disappointing, to a merchant like him, that amount of disappointment was no bigger than a sesame seed. Especially when he thought of the value of those pelts, he immediately threw that trivial regret to the back of his mind, and his confident smile returned to his face. He had no doubt that once he transported this precious cargo back to Silver Moon Bay, his name would become a new legend in Silver Moon City! Every noble lady and young mistress in the city would go mad over the rare treasures he had brought back from the east! In that lavish port, was there anything money couldn't buy? If there was— it only meant there wasn't enough money yet! ... Meanwhile, on the other side of the deck. Weaving past rows of racks draped with hides, Sesame Paste searched the deck for quite a while before finally finding Grandma Sangru, who was imparting her hide-tanning experience to the clan's youth. She handed over the pouch containing the 110,000 silver coins. To Sesame Paste's surprise, however, when she cheerfully told the elderly woman that these silver coins were their payment, the grandmother looked at her in shock and pushed the bag of money right back into her hands without another word. "Take it away quickly! How could we accept this! Doing what little we can is our duty. You took in our homeless clan, and we are already beyond grateful. How could we have the nerve to take your money?" Seeing that Grandma Sangru had clearly misunderstood, Sesame Paste explained, half-laughing, half-helpless, "No, you misunderstand. This isn't our payment to you... It was paid by that freighter opposite us. You helped them process these pelts, so this is the fruit of your labor that you rightfully earned—" "Even so, we cannot!" The old woman stubbornly shoved the money pouch back into her hands. Her withered hands grasped Sesame Paste's tightly, as if terrified she might let go, and she spoke with heartfelt sincerity. "Even if you give us money, we have nowhere to spend it. It's better left in your keeping. If we need to buy anything in the future, just use this money first! We trust you!" It wasn't just Grandma Sangru. The other Moon Clan girls nearby chimed in as well, pleading with her to take the money back, refusing under any circumstances to accept the payment. "Yes, please hold onto it for us!" "We just wanted to help out. We never expected any reward." Never having dealt with a situation like this, Sesame Paste was at a loss for words, looking at the stubborn crowd without knowing how to persuade them. Just as Sesame Paste was caught in a bind, an energetic voice chimed in from the side, coming to her rescue. "Oh! Don't worry, Grandma, this huge fortune will find its use very soon!" Hearing that clear, ringing voice, everyone turned toward the sound, only to see Tail standing there with her hands on her hips, with Rou Rou trailing beside her. "Tail?" Seeing Tail's sudden appearance, Sesame Paste wore a surprised look. Giving her a look that said 'leave it to me,' Tail turned to the surrounding crowd, cleared her throat, and continued. "Just now, I discussed it with my companions. Lingering at someone else's port forever really isn't right. Besides, there's a war going on here, and who knows when we might get dragged into it." "It just so happens that our companions have established a new settlement on the northern shore of the Baiyue Strait. It's a vast expanse of unclaimed land, and as long as you obey Alliance laws, anyone can settle there!" Hearing this, the gathered crowd broke into a flurry of whispered murmurs, exchanging bewildered and startled glances. A vast expanse of unclaimed land? But... They had heard that place belonged to mutants. And would the people already settled there truly accept them? Seeing the reservations in their eyes, Tail pressed on with boundless enthusiasm. "Don't worry! Even though there are tons of mutants there, we're the Alliance that defeated even the broodmother of Qingquan City! A few mutants are nothing to us—these pelts were skinned from those very creatures!" Facts seen with one's own eyes were more persuasive than any rumors. The survivors of the Southern Islands Federation had retreated from Baiyue Province, and the kingdom of Oasis No. 4 had taken a heavy beating there as well. Having fallen flat on their faces, those losers naturally spared no effort in describing the terrors of Baiyue Province and the unconquerable nature of that forest. Yet now, the players of Port French Fries had not only established a foothold on that unconquerable land, but had also proven through facts that those savage, bloodthirsty mutants were by no means invincible. Although most survivors here had no idea what the Qingquan City broodmother was, their brows smoothed out in unison the moment they looked at the rows of pelts stripped from mutants around them. Now, only one lingering doubt remained in their hearts— "Will they... accept us?" Glancing hesitantly toward the distant harbor, a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girl stepped out from the crowd and asked Tail in a small voice. "Oh! Absolutely!" Tail gave a thumbs-up and an affirmative look, continuing with a confident smile. "In fact, it was the survivors of Port French Fries who invited us to settle there, and they promised to guarantee the settlement's safety." "There are plenty of formidable experts there who can take down monsters and bosses without breaking a sweat, but basic tasks are still seriously short-handed. Not just tanning hides, but the salt pans near the port, and the orchards planned for later... In short, so many places need people! As long as you're willing to work, you can earn wages just like today and buy lots and lots of things!" Watching their eyes gradually light up with yearning and hope, a smile tugged at the corner of Tail's lips as well. "Of course, everything there is just getting started. Conditions are still very crude right now, nowhere near Ideal City, of course... But Tail can promise you that everything will slowly get better! What do you say? Are you willing to come with Tail?" More and more people gathered around, and the growing hum of discussion rippled outward through the crowd. While some eyes brimmed with anticipation, there were plenty who showed uneasy expressions, nervous about altering their current situation. Just as everyone hesitated, a firm voice suddenly rang out from the side. "I want to go... I'll follow you!" The voice sounded familiar. Sesame Paste instinctively glanced back to see Misa, her hair tied in a ponytail, looking toward them with a resolute gaze as she pushed through the crowd. A look of surprise crossed Sesame Paste's face. It was the first time she had ever seen such a brave expression on this shy girl's face. Hearing someone take up her offer, Tail reacted with delighted surprise, as if discovering a new continent, and struck a solemn pose toward the brave girl. "Oh! Maiden, you'd better think it through carefully. Once you board our pirate ship—pah, once you step onto our port, you won't be able to go to Ideal City anymore." "Ideal City... That's someone else's home, isn't it? Even if it's wonderful there, there's no place for us." Casting her gaze toward the nearby port and the spectating faces lining the docks, a relieved smile appeared on Misa's face. "Rather than living under someone else's roof forever, I'd rather have a home of our own. Even if it's still crude for now, that doesn't matter. I'm willing to be there as it slowly gets better." With that, she turned to face her gathered kin and raised her voice with newfound courage. "Everyone... How long has it been since we lived under the sun like we did today!" Ever since they were herded into the internment camps of Golden Gallon Port, left to be picked over by buyers like cattle. Ever since the Xilan Empire stripped them all of their property and freedom on absurd pretexts. Her voice was not overly melodramatic, yet it struck a deep chord with countless people. Even the venerable Grandma Sangru wore a deeply moved expression on her wrinkled face. The elderly woman took two trembling steps forward, reached out a withered hand to clasp the child's, and offered a warm smile. "Misa... You've said what none of us knew how to express. I feel as though those words have been locked in my heart for a very, very long time." Turning toward Sesame Paste and then toward Tail, gratitude and sincerity shone in her aged eyes. "I am willing to follow you to that settlement. If there is ever anything we can help with in the future, please don't hesitate to tell us!" The moment her words fell, more and more powerful voices chimed in from all directions. "Me too!" "Please take us with you!" Seeing everyone brimming with drive, moved glimmers shone in both Sesame Paste's and Rou Rou's eyes. Tail shouted even more excitedly: "Oh! Then it's happily decided—next stop, Port French Fries! Rou Rou, hurry up and stoke the boiler so we can set sail!" "Who's the captain here anyway!" "Don't sweat the details! Faster, faster!" Watching the two lively goofballs suddenly make a fuss, Sesame Paste laughed helplessly. "Wait, um... shouldn't we wash their ship before we leave? They already paid us." Tail, who was pushing Rou Rou from behind, froze mid-stride. "Giao! I almost forgot." "Hahaha!" Hearty laughter drifted over the boundless sea with the ocean breeze, blending into the deepening night and the rolling waves. Watching the crowd from afar with a notebook held to her chest, Sisi couldn't help but smile softly. Although this was undeniably a wasteland... With these lovely companions beside her, she would always find herself forgetting that fact from time to time. Returning to the cabin, Sisi spread her notebook open on the table, laid out the newspaper she had bought from the port that morning beside it, and began clipping out noteworthy news items. The side quests in this game were buried deep, requiring players to actively collect and analyze relevant clues in the game. Perhaps thanks to Shelter 70, the media industry across the settlements of the Southern Islands Federation was fairly developed, making gathering information far easier than it had been in Silver Moon Bay. This wasn't just to gather intel for side quests. She also needed to deduce the progress of the war in the Southern Sea from subtle hints in the news and gauge the right timing to enter Shelter 70. That place was currently under blockade by the Southern Islands Federation Navy. Not only were warships patrolling the surrounding waters, but submersibles were also conducting underwater search and mine-laying missions. It wasn't a place one could slip into just by throwing on a diving suit. After all, the Southern Islands Federation was a faction nurtured by Shelter 70. Based on her observations over this period, these people largely resembled an "Alliance without players." To a certain extent, they had ended the wasteland beneath their feet, establishing an order distinct from the primitive survivor settlements across most of the wasteland. Yet for various reasons, the members of Shelter 70 had detached themselves from the local survivor masses, transforming from "pioneers" into an aloof, privileged class—and thus heading down a completely different path from Camp 101. What puzzled her, however, was that the spark igniting this war had been far too slapdash, riddled with all sorts of baffling anomalies. Not just the spark that started the war— There were even strange details within the battle reports. "'Golden Coast' research vessel sunk... Good grief, they sure have a lot of ships." Reading the caption beneath the image under her breath, Sisi clipped it from the front page of the newspaper and pasted it into her notebook, lining it up alongside three other images cut from different papers. Standing up, she walked over to the nautical chart and, based on the rough locations provided in the newspapers, drew a red circle as a marker in the northern waters of the southern archipelago. Counting the previous three, all four red circles were concentrated in the north. A pensive expression surfaced on Sisi's face. "That's already the fourth one, and just like the others, it was outside the trade routes..." Would submarines really lie in ambush in places like that? Although she lacked hard evidence, she felt as though she was already very close to the truth...