The evening sun gradually sank beneath the sea, its shimmering golden ripples drifting farther and farther away against the incoming tide.
Draped in a sapphire-blue shawl and wearing a suit tailored from devil silk, a young man stepped directly out of the warehouse district, just as the most luxurious hotel in the port district caught his eye.
The hotel was called the "Triumph."
Word had it that the owner was a local citizen of Golden Gallon Port.
After seizing control of the settlement and verifying the property's rightful ownership, the Alliance had returned the seaside hotel to its original master and issued a replacement business license.
To express his gratitude for the Alliance's generosity and celebrate the liberation of Golden Gallon Port, the owner had promptly changed the hotel's name from "Empire" to "Triumph."
Rumor was that the fellow had originally wanted to name it "Alliance," but City Hall had rejected the request on the grounds that "misleading designations may not be used."
Dalia cared little about the hotel's origins, but what truly caught his interest was the Alliance's posture toward this port.
Evidently, with the war having reached this stage, the Alliance's soldiers were unlikely to withdraw—and even if they did, they certainly wouldn't pull out completely.
After sinking such astronomical costs, even if they had no intention of directly annexing this territory into the Alliance, they would at least establish a puppet government under their indirect control.
Otherwise, there was zero reason for them to distribute grain to the locals; they would have simply emptied the pockets of these survivors like the Wilantes did.
Or at the very least, stripped the filthy-rich aristocrats bare.
Yet judging by their conduct so far, Dalia was virtually certain that the Alliance hadn't simply unlocked the slaves' shackles and abandoned them; they genuinely intended to govern this land.
If that was truly the case, this settlement of over a million souls would undoubtedly usher in a colossal opportunity for growth—it might even become a second Silver Moon Bay!
As an armed merchant with his own cargo vessel and private security retinue, if he lacked even this basic commercial instinct, he might as well sell his ship and go home to till the fields.
Still, he could not weigh only the potential profits while ignoring the objective risks; wealth earned was utterly meaningless if it could not be taken away.
Doing business on land was fundamentally different from trading at sea. The latter was a one-off transaction—at most requiring an eye on the weather before setting sail and dealing with mutants and rather feeble pirates. The former, however, demanded constantly navigating an intricate web of local factions.
Especially in a place like Golden Gallon Port.
This had once been the largest slave-trading port along the Polo Sea; local conditions were likely far more tangled than he imagined.
He needed to determine two things:
What kind of order did the Alliance intend to establish here?
And—
Just how far could they actually go?
He was convinced he wasn't the only one wondering about these two questions; every merchant docking here harbored the exact same curiosity.
It so happened that the Golden Gallon Port authorities had prepared a welcoming reception at the Triumph Hotel for these guests arriving from afar.
He had heard that all the settlement's notable figures would make an appearance at this banquet.
It offered him the perfect once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to observe...
Stepping onto the red carpet at the hotel entrance,
he presented his invitation to the waiter standing by. The latter bowed slightly and gestured toward the inner doors.
"This way, please, sir."
Sensing an uncommon air about the waiter, Dalia couldn't resist asking out of curiosity,
"Are you a local nobleman?"
The waiter blinked in mild surprise, then offered a gentle smile.
"Of course not. I was a nobleman's house servant... but the 'Iron Men' returned my freedom, and now I am employed by this hotel."
"'Iron Men'..." Mulling over the words, Dalia continued inquisitively, "You do know they are actually from the Alliance, right?"
The waiter nodded slightly, answering with cultured poise.
"I know, but I've grown accustomed to the term, as have many people here."
Dalia stared into the waiter's eyes for a moment, searching for the brand of servility typical of a slave, yet to his surprise, he found no such mark.
The waiter's gaze did not waver; he met Dalia's eyes with calm composure, showing neither fawning subservience nor self-deprecating deference reduced to the dust. It was simply one human being looking at another.
A flicker of astonishment rose in Dalia's eyes.
All along the way from the warehouse district, every local he had encountered kept their head bowed low, scurrying away in panic if their eyes met his even by accident.
And that was despite most of them being born freemen.
It was clear that the master this waiter had once served must have been an extraordinary individual; otherwise, not even a household servant would have received such a fine education.
At least in Brahma Province, such self-respect was remarkably rare...
"...You give off a completely different impression from the rest. It seems your former master must have been quite a remarkable fellow."
At those words, the waiter smiled faintly and spoke in a soft voice.
"I am very grateful to Governor Nihak for cultivating me. Whether he did so out of vanity or some other motive, it was he who taught me to read and write. As for whether he was remarkable, please permit me to disagree. That is an entirely separate matter from my gratitude toward him."
Amused by this witty perspective, Dalia chuckled.
"You shouldn't be working as a waiter here. You should take a ship out to sea and make far more money in the wider world."
The waiter inclined his head slightly.
"It has been less than a month since I gained my freedom. I intend to begin with work I can perform well, though perhaps I will consider your suggestion in the future... That being said, we have lingered in conversation for quite some time. May I escort you to the banquet hall?"
He was not the only waiter at the door, but the banquet was about to begin.
Realizing he had held up the man's duties, Dalia laughed heartily.
"Please, lead the way... By the way, I'm Dalia. Might I know your name?"
The waiter bowed his head slightly.
"Of course. My name is Zayed."
Zayed...
Dalia committed the name to memory.
It seemed this land was not completely devoid of hope after all.
Among a million faces, not every single one wore the exact same mask of despair; faint sparks still glowed with the luminescence of fireflies.
Following in Zayed's footsteps into the banquet hall, Dalia saw that the spacious hall was nearly packed with guests in lavish attire.
A kaleidoscope of faces mingled within the sumptuously decorated hall, gathered in clusters of threes and fives, engaged in conversation.
He spotted two familiar faces.
One was Bugala, Silver Moon Bay's sausage magnate, whose meat-processing plants produced sausages for the entire Camel Hump Kingdom!
The other was even more formidable—none other than Ikab, president of the Silver Moon Bay Merchant Association! The textile enterprises under his name accounted for thirty percent of the Camel Hump Kingdom's market and twenty-three percent of its textile exports. Having contributed colossal tax revenues, he had been granted an audience with the King of the Camel Hump Kingdom and bestowed the title of honorary knight.
A look of astonishment crossed Dalia's face.
He had no idea this titan was here as well!
He was only learning of it now!
What shocked him even more was the subject of their discussion.
While he was still hesitating, they seemed to already be plotting investments and factories here?!
"I hear the Baiyue Company plans to build a steel mill and a cement plant here."
"Oh? Who told you that?"
"I took a stroll near Knight First Road earlier. There were recruitment notices posted offering workers fifteen hundred Gallons a month."
"Fifteen hundred Gallons... isn't that a hundred and fifty silver coins?!"
"Dirt cheap, isn't it? In Dawn City, even a dog wouldn't spare that wage a glance, but to the locals, it's already a fortune. If import tariffs aren't too steep and port supplies remain steady, that sum is enough to buy over a hundred kilograms of corn. They probably haven't eaten that much dirt in a month."
"Hiss... Putting it that way, I'm suddenly thinking the wage is set too high."
"I'm just worried the Alliance might push their labor laws here too."
"It's not impossible, though they'll likely adapt them to local conditions. Dawn City didn't adopt its current rules overnight either... Besides, if they actually enforced Alliance law and paid them seventy-two hundred Gallons a month, I bet the first thing they'd do is blow their entire paycheck on food."
"Haha, that would be an absolute disaster... But even with a monthly wage of a hundred and fifty silver coins, if they spend a third of that income on clothes, bedding, and curtains, that's already a considerable market."
"You're planning to open a textile mill here?"
"Why not? This region is already a production hub for flax and dyes. The Empire's embargo might be an issue, but things should improve once the ceasefire agreement formally takes effect."
Though eavesdropping was poor manners, Dalia hung on every word of their exchange, the business opportunities stirring an unbearable itch in his heart.
He operated in grain import and export; expanding his trade onto dry land would be difficult, and venturing across industries meant he could never beat these moguls who had cultivated their respective fields for decades.
Yet at that moment, someone sprang to his mind—
the very waiter he had just met at the hotel entrance.
Competition in primary and secondary industries would surely be cutthroat, but the tertiary sector—hospitality and services in particular—seemed largely overlooked for now.
He didn't possess vast capital, but while speculative hot money had yet to flood Golden Gallon Port, investing in a hotel or two was well within his means.
If so many heavyweights were bullish on the commercial future here, making money off the moguls themselves sounded like a splendid idea.
Dalia's mind buzzed with possibilities.
Perhaps after the banquet concluded, he could have a word with that intriguing young fellow...
The guests conversing in the hall weren't just merchants from Silver Moon Bay; there were also local traders and aristocrats residing on Tulip Street.
Perhaps because they had been dragged from their estates not long ago, while many lesser and middle nobles maintained their dignity through strained smiles, quite a few great nobles whose interests had been damaged wore their displeasure openly on their faces.
It was not entirely resentment toward the Alliance.
There was also bitter indignation toward the "new aristocrats" stirring up trouble.
Take Laxi, that militia chieftain, for instance—dead drunk before the reception had even begun, looking just like a baboon unable to find its way home.
Even more detestable was Police Chief Bihari. Once merely a dog at Governor Nihak's feet, now that he had found a new master, his nose was practically pointed at the sky!
As for figures like Port District Police Chief Mandal, they were hardly worth mentioning; the way he wagged his tail was utterly revolting.
The blind fools!
Did they not even see who possessed the truly noble blood?!
Just then, a measured round of clapping rang out from the center of the banquet hall.
"May I have everyone's attention for a moment? Before the banquet begins, please allow me to take a brief moment of your precious time."
Hearing the voice, the crowd turned toward the center of the hall, where a man in a blue coat stood with a smile on his face.
Whether it was his handsome features, the effortless air of cultured grace between his brows, or that iconic coat on his back, he instantly became the focal point of every eye in the room.
Shelter residents all possessed striking looks, but aside from the noblewomen and young ladies whose eyes burned with fervent admiration, most guests focused their attention on his coat.
Shelter 404!
Gazing at that youthful face and the unmistakable jacket, a flicker of anticipation ignited in Dalia's eyes.
The main event had finally arrived!
...
Watching the sea of expectant eyes fixed upon him, Fang Chang finally grasped a taste of the Administrator's thrill.
People craned their necks in anticipation, hanging on his every word, scrutinizing every syllable, staking all their hopes and fortunes upon him.
It gave him a rush of pleasure even greater than looking at a bulging bank account.
He could feel immense power resting in his hands.
With this power, he could not only turn dirt into gold, but gold into dirt, and perhaps even turn last night's dream into reality—
Of course, that was just an exaggerated metaphor.
Ever since he got the helmet, he hadn't experienced bizarre dreams in a long time.
"...Welcome to Golden Gallon Port, everyone. This banquet was prepared for you; you are the true masters of this evening, and I have no desire to overstay my welcome."
Opening with a modest prologue, Fang Chang cleared his throat before the assembly and continued with practiced courtesy:
"I have only two things to say."
"First, our original intention in coming here remains unchanged: we will establish an enduring order in Golden Gallon Port—a normal order—otherwise, the blood shed for this cause will have been in vain. Naturally, we will not demand that the local survivors eat the exact same grain as us; we only set basic requirements on foundational principles. As for what kind of life they wish to lead in the future, that is a question the locals must answer for themselves."
"Second, an order that cannot fill stomachs is mere empty talk. Alongside establishing a new order, economic development will be our core focus. After all, only when the local survivors enjoy comfortable lives and reclaim hope for the future will hospitals and schools sprout like bamboo shoots across this land, and only then will our order gain true substance."
"To this end, the new administration has approved thirty-seven infrastructure initiatives, including road paving, bridge repairs, drainage overhauls, and shantytown renovations. Detailed engineering plans have already been posted on City Hall's notice boards. Those interested may inquire at the administrative service center, and if anything remains unclear, you may come directly to the Governor's Office at the port to ask me."
"The total budget for these projects is roughly one billion Gallons, projected to unlock a market on the order of ten billion... After all, this settlement is home to so many people. Even if you only help each person earn an extra fifty-five Gallons a day and recoup half their annual income from their pockets, you'll easily reach that figure."
Fang Chang noticed that when he spoke those words, even the local nobles and gentry who had worn sullen scowls could not help but look visibly moved.
Pedantic though they were, that did not mean they couldn't do math.
Ten billion Gallons!
In other words, one billion silver coins!
Although the Xilan Empire did not treat silver coins as its primary foreign exchange reserve, judging from the attitude of the Silver Moon Bay merchants, the widely accepted exchange rate of dinars to silver coins was three to five to one.
In other words, this market was worth at least three billion dinars! That was even more staggering than His Majesty's local treasury deposits!
Counting on their fingers through this arithmetic, disbelief appeared on almost every nobleman's face.
After all, even if they sold every head of cattle—every beast of burden—in the entire settlement, and all at an average price of a thousand dinars, they could never fetch such an astronomical sum.
No—
in truth, it wouldn't even cover the fraction of that three billion!
Fang Chang knew exactly what they were gaping at—nothing more than childish addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division, attempting to comprehend things beyond their horizon through shallow notions. One million head of livestock could never sell for billions of dinars, of course, but that was because a bunch of fat pigs had sold human beings as cattle.
In reality, any individual's needs could become fertile soil for another's creativity. Demanding needs and meeting needs were threads running through the propagation of humanity and the birth of civilization. Even in the most extreme cases, an indentured laborer whose needs were stripped down to bare necessities could produce value far exceeding that of a slave in a feudal lord's hands.
And if it were an educated worker possessing human dignity, he would actively seek ways to improve tools and methods of production, constantly striving to enhance his own dignity... even if he consumed more, used more, and had no shortage of demands and quirks.
Of course, Fang Chang had no intention of explaining all that to them.
Aversion and resistance to progress were innate traits flowing in the veins of feudal nobility and conservative forces, whether it was the advancement of productive forces or anything else; after all, their sense of superiority derived largely from the suffering of others. Explaining further would be wasted breath. They had ten thousand sophistries at their disposal—such as how the Sun-Bearing Holy Cow was the universal truth, just as the sages of the Era of Prosperity had proclaimed.
The esteemed Administrator never bothered explaining anything to slave owners who had lost their slaves, nor to slaves yearning for their masters.
When the sun rose, the cold night would naturally scatter; if once was not enough, rise again and again, and from the ashes a glimmer of hope would always sprout.
Pausing briefly, he continued:
"...To demonstrate support for the new administration's infrastructure projects, as well as the infrastructure initiatives at Port French Fries, the Baiyue Company has resolved to take the lead. Allocating a budget of at least twenty million silver coins, we will import a steel and a cement production line from the Alliance to build a steel mill with an annual output of five hundred thousand tons and a cement plant with an annual output of one million tons right here in Golden Gallon Port."
"We sincerely hope the lives of the local survivors will get back on track as quickly as possible. At the same time, we look forward to Golden Gallon Port playing a more significant role across the wasteland... one of positive impact and beyond!"
Watching the guests listen with bated breath, a relaxed smile returned to Fang Chang's face, and he continued in an easygoing tone:
"That's all. Nothing more. My throat is dry from talking, and you must be tired of listening... Enjoy the banquet, friends from afar!"
"By the way, the fine wines tonight are all private reserves that Governor Nihak was keeping on behalf of His Majesty—even if Nihak himself is currently sitting in a cell praying his emperor comes to rescue him. Frankly, though, rather than those dizzying concoctions, I recommend the delicacies on the food carts. While they aren't rare mountain game or oceanic delicacies, just everyday fare common back in our hometown..."
As his words fell, waiters wheeled carts laden with food into both sides of the hall and lifted their domed silver covers.
Golden-roasted duck with crisp skin, red-braised pork glazed in rich scarlet sauce, Mapo tofu sprinkled with Sichuan pepper and chopped scallions, alongside sizzling grilled shrimp, skewers of meat, charcoal-roasted scallops and oysters, not to mention a vibrant assortment of fruits, steamed dishes, and pastries.
To the players, these dishes were intimately familiar—taking off the gaming helmet and strolling downstairs in real life, one could find them almost anywhere.
To the wasteland survivors, however, especially those on this uncivilized land, the sight struck their eyes with absolute wonder.
What amazed them was not merely the dishes themselves; it was obvious the ingredients were common enough, yet the methods of preparation were beyond anything they had ever conceived.
Dazzling culinary marvels unfolded before them one after another, their mouthwatering aromas teasing every nostril.
It was not just technological superiority—
even their last shred of pride as the "Land of Spices" was utterly eclipsed before such an unfathomable culinary culture.
Chief Mandal swallowed hard.
Compared to this, what Prince Dilip dined on was practically swill!
The dead-drunk Laxi reacted the same way. At the sight of the breathtaking spread of food, he rubbed his red nose as if beholding paradise, his drunken stupor clearing considerably.
Compared to the merchants from Silver Moon Bay, the ones truly struck dumb were the local old-money nobles and wealthy gentry.
While a single meal wasn't enough to change their stance on the Alliance—after all, none of them lacked for food—the endless parade of food carts shook their decades of entrenched superiority to the core.
These...
were merely ordinary staples common in Dawn City?
Even ordinary folk could enjoy this?!
Blank bewilderment spread across their faces, spiraling into self-doubt.
What did that make them?
Beggars?
Once upon a time, they could comfort themselves with the belief that while the Alliance was militarily formidable, it was resource-starved, devoid of throngs of slaves to serve them, and ignorant of true luxury.
Now, however, they realized that let alone comparing themselves to the Alliance's Administrator, their quality of life didn't even match that of the most common survivor in the Alliance...
"Bragging nonsense... as if ordinary people can afford this. If you're so tough, don't buy cattle from Brahma Province! Starve yourselves, you groundhogs..."
And don't buy any from Sunset Province either!
A wealthy merchant of the Cattle Clan muttered curses under his breath in a voice audible only to himself, though his beady eyes darted ceaselessly toward the food carts, eager to glimpse what kind of meat that plump, rounded delicacy was.
Aside from the distinguished guests from Silver Moon Bay and Golden Gallon Port's nouveau riche who had already crowded around the food carts, hardly a single noble moved their aristocratic feet.
It wasn't that they weren't curious about how those fancy dishes tasted; rather, they were waiting for servants to serve them on plates.
Only when they realized they had to fetch the food themselves, and only when a few could no longer endure the soul-stirring aromas, did some finally deign to step forward and pick up plates from the long tables draped in pristine white cloths.
With a mix of skepticism and wonder, an earl worth hundreds of millions of Xilan coins clumsily used a fork to nudge a piece of braised pork, soft and tender as broth, onto a spoon and slowly placed it into his mouth.
The shock reflected in his eyes at that moment was akin to gazing upon His Majesty's palace, or survivors in Qingquan City setting eyes upon the towering Pioneer land fortress for the very first time.
Rich without being greasy, melting the instant it touched the tongue, tender, fragrant, and savory-sweet...
Just what kind of...
meat was this?!
A dazed, lost expression washed over his face, mirrored across the faces of many fellow nobles.
It felt as if... they had completely lost...
Savoring with satisfaction the kaleidoscope of expressions and the sight of people devouring food, Fang Chang picked up a glass of champagne from a tray offered by a waiter.
This was one of Wutuo Xilan's private reserves, vintage from distant Triumph City.
Those Wilantes certainly knew a thing or two about brewing.
He raised his glass toward the guests from afar, yet it seemed more like a toast to a distant friend, clinking it gently against a beam of light filtering down from the hall's high chandelier.
"Cheers!"
...
The banquet officially kicked off.
The first-floor buffet was primarily for NPCs, while the second floor was open to players active around the port. Shareholders, employees, and partner personnel of the Baiyue Company gained free admission, while casual solo players needed only pay a token fifty silver coins for entry.
While the guests feasted with reckless abandon, Brother Scrambled Eggs stumbled out from the back kitchen and collapsed onto a chair, muttering curses.
"Damn it, I'm worked half to death."
A level-thirty-something Constitution-type like him had been ground down to this pathetic state; if he weren't an Awakened, he might have been worked straight into the grave.
Truth be told, this place truly lived up to its reputation as a cultural wasteland. The locals' concept of food boiled down to mashing spices into a paste, throwing in whatever ingredients they had on hand, and stewing it all in a pot. The richness and flavor of a meal depended entirely on the household head's financial standing—the wealthier the family, the weirder the dishes and the more varied the flavors.
Even hotels like this that catered primarily to foreign guests were no exception.
Though locals ate it with relish, the brothers of the Burning Corps unanimously declared they couldn't stomach it. After staying here for a while, they'd rather eat canned spam than dine out, or they took every single meal at the camp cafeteria near the port respawn point.
To improve the garrison's rations and deliver a small dose of Alliance culture shock to the locals, Fang Chang had summoned him to teach the hotel chefs how to cook.
Yet just trying to teach that squad of clumsy dunces how to chop vegetables had nearly driven his blood pressure through the roof.
He could now somewhat relate to what the brothers of the Beasts of Burden group felt when training those raw recruits to fight.
Seeing him sit down, several of his head apprentices hurried over to massage his shoulders and back. Even the owner of the Triumph Hotel hurried out with an obsequious grin, personally pouring him a cup of tea.
"Thank you for your hard work, My Lord... ah, no, sir, hehe." He suddenly recalled that these folks disliked the title "My Lord" and hastily corrected himself.
An "Iron Man" lord personally tutoring his chefs—once word got out, it would be enough to keep the Triumph Hotel booming for years to come.
Besides, his eyes had truly been opened during this period.
To think ordinary ingredients could be transformed in so many ingenious ways; pork alone could yield a hundred distinct dishes.
Forget about these Iron Men paying to rent his hotel—even if they used his kitchen for free, he would have counted himself fortunate!
Brother Scrambled Eggs took the tea, had a sip, and couldn't help grumbling,
"How on earth did your previous guests stomach that stuff? What were they even eating?"
The owner blinked, scratching the back of his head in bewilderment, unable to grasp the point of the question.
After struggling for a long moment, he squeezed out an aggrieved reply:
"Sir, before... before this, it's not like we served it raw."
Brother Scrambled Eggs: "..."
Well damn.
So as long as it was cooked, that was considered good enough!
...
Cups clinked and plates emptied; imperceptibly, the banquet drew toward its close.
Guests walked out of the Triumph Hotel's doors patting their rounded bellies, their glazed, stuffed expressions bearing testimony to their satisfaction with the meal.
Sitting by the second-floor window, watching the stream of guests depart with swollen stomachs, Rou Rou couldn't help mumbling,
"If these guys ate a little less, more people could have full bellies."
"!"
Tail instinctively pulled the meat skewer from her mouth, but seeing Rou Rou's gaze fixed outside, she stealthily popped it right back in.
Blowing gently across her teacup, Sisi set it down upon the saucer.
"It doesn't work that way. More people would starve."
"Even with us?" Rou Rou pulled her gaze back from the window. Sesame Paste, who had been staring dreamily at the moon, also turned to look at her inquisitively.
Sisi replied offhandedly,
"Not even the Administrator could. Maybe the game developers, who can tweak raw data directly, could pull it off, but we clearly can't do that."
Puzzled, Rou Rou asked,
"Why?"
Sisi pondered for a moment.
"Have you ever fed marmots?"
Sesame Paste raised her hand with a beam.
"I have! They're so tiny and cute."
Rou Rou nodded as well, her fluffy face still clouded with confusion.
Adding some sugar to her tea, Sisi continued:
"Those creatures aren't small at all, nor are they cute. They are at their most vicious toward their own kind; even when food is abundant, they'll tear each other apart over scraps. If the strongest brawler doesn't eat its fill, the other marmots stand zero chance of snagging food from tourists and can only wait for the zookeeper to feed them."
"And humans are far more cunning than any animal. Even if we handed food directly into the grasp of every single local survivor like zookeepers, there would always be someone taller, fatter, and stronger who would use threats, bribery, or methods beyond our imagination to wrest that grain away from weaker kin."
"Whichever relations of production we establish, we must prioritize either formal outcomes or substantive outcomes. We either enforce 'correctness' upon their outward behavior, leaving them to probe the edges of ambiguous rules, or we set crystal-clear boundaries, letting them exercise their instincts fully within those limits."
Rou Rou still didn't quite understand and muttered,
"Can't we have both?"
The two didn't seem mutually exclusive, at least in her eyes.
Couldn't they simply write all the right things into the rules?
Just like Kiri imbuing bullets with magic.
Hearing this, Sisi held her forehead, racking her brain for a simple way to explain such an intricate concept, when Tail swallowed her mouthful of food and let out a satisfied burp.
"Burp—! Rou Rou is a grown-up now. Not bad, not bad! Only kids have to choose. But reality aside, this is a game—Ah Guang would never let you have it so easy for free. Ten to one, the price was already quietly paid the moment you made your choice."
"Eh?!"
Looking at Tail's deadpan earnestness and Rou Rou's blank bewilderment, Sisi paused, then broke into a warm smile.
"Yes, exactly like that."
Come to think of it, games truly were a magnificent invention.
Small wonder primitive humans learned to dance around bonfires long before they invented calendars and arithmetic...
...
The NPCs weren't the only ones stuffed to the brim; the players had eaten until grease glistened on their lips. A long line had even formed outside the second-floor restroom, prompting those who couldn't hold it to run down to the first floor.
The appetites of Awakened were staggering, especially fourth-stage Constitution and Strength types. Though their daily metabolism wasn't wildly excessive, when they let loose, they could devour half an ox.
As for the excess mass...
it could only be continuously expelled through their powerful digestive systems.
Having gotten pleasantly tipsy in the first-floor banquet hall and hovering on the brink of disconnection, Fang Chang wagged an index finger, rambling boastfully to Lao Bai beside him:
"This single meal pulled in at least a hundred million silver coins in investment for our projects. Once those fellows head back to Silver Moon Bay, that figure might multiply several times over... By then, not only Golden Gallon Port, but the source of building materials for Port French Fries will be solved too."
Supporting the swaying drunkard toward the save point, Lao Bai quipped,
"Earn Gallons in Gallon Port, spend Gallons in Gallon Port, don't think about taking a cent home—is that it?"
Fang Chang chuckled, rolling his neck.
"Exactly! Cough, excluding us, of course... We don't want a useless pile of scrap paper; we want things of real value. Why not turn it into more valuable assets to bring back? That way, the locals won't hate us for smashing their Emperor's rice bowl—they'll revere us with tears of gratitude!"
Lao Bai joked,
"In the old days, you'd probably have sold their kidneys."
Fang Chang rolled his eyes.
"What nonsense. I never sold any, thank you very much. And even if I ever considered it, I only considered renewable organs! Besides, since when did that become my idea? Weren't those bastards on the forum clamoring every day about selling Rou Rou's and Scavenger's pelts and Constitution-type kidneys to farm cash? I only helped hook them up with a buyer while running a quest."
Of course, because that buyer also took business from marauders, they ended up farming him like a mob.
That was all ancient history now.
Pausing, he let out a drunken hiccup and went on:
"Honestly, compared to luring 'foreign merchants' from Silver Moon Bay and lifestyle players active in the region, what I really want is to spend the hundred billion-plus Xilan coins piled up in the vaults. If we keep relying on under-the-table petty smuggling, the Empire will go bankrupt on its own before we even spend it all."
"Under the table?" Lao Bai gave him a puzzled look.
If memory served, the Empire had imposed an embargo; no goods could enter via the inland river ports along the Yongliu River anymore.
"You don't know?"
Fang Chang shot him an equally curious glance, then lowered his head and mumbled to himself,
"I thought you knew."
At the very moment the two made their way toward the save point, along the ceasefire line between the Alliance and the Empire, a band of furtive silhouettes was creeping toward the imperial army's positions under cover of night...
Chapter 712