Wasteland Online official website.
The forums were as lively as ever.
This place had practically become the best-informed information hub across the entire wasteland. Though its scale couldn't rival Ideal City's Endpoint Cloud, its reach spanned across two worlds—an expanse the latter couldn't catch up to even aboard a warp-drive starship.
Mei You Jia Ren: "Big news! A new 'shadow port' has appeared on the southern border between Golden Gallon Port and the Xilan Empire! Key landmark: the 'Home of the Abandoned Ship' inn—the derelict cargo ship stranded on the beach! Talk to the bartender to trigger smuggling quests! Any extra Xilan coins you can't get rid of can be spent there!"
Flying Pig: "Awesome!"
Gimme a Latiao: "Big boss! Any level requirement? [drool]"
Mei You Jia Ren: "None! Just watch your kidneys! If you're nervous, bring two Strength-type beasts of burden. Of course, just one of our Burning Corps tin cans is enough! [grin]"
Mei You Jia Ren: "Ah! Right, one more thing: people from the Empire show up there at night. Friends interested in smuggling should try to go during the day! Or train a few NPC proxies to go for you!"
Shortly after the thread went up, lifestyle players active around Golden Gallon Port flooded in, stacking up over a hundred replies in just a dozen minutes.
Lao Bai, who had been baffled by Fang Chang's riddles for half the day, finally spotted the thread and couldn't resist griping in the Niuma group chat:
"...Damn, so that's all it was."
Fang Chang: "You finally figured it out? [smirk]"
Lao Bai: "By the way, doesn't smuggling need to be reined in?"
Fang Chang: "Depends on the goods. Golden Gallon Port's agriculture mainly produces cash crops—you can't eat those to fill your belly. At this stage, what's coming in are goods the locals need, which are also goods we need. Losing a bit of tax revenue to export our accumulated inflation over to Xilan is acceptable to Golden Gallon Port's new authorities."
In classical market models, the flow of inflation matches the flow of money, running opposite to the flow of goods.
The reason the Alliance could spread inflation evenly among its allies was largely because silver coins flowed from the Administrator's hands into other people's pockets. And for the sake of greater interests, the Alliance's allies were willing to foot that insignificant cost.
This was true not only inside the game, but outside it as well. Participants on the "Silver Exchange" weren't just players, but also spectator fans jumping on the bandwagon. The exchange rate between silver coins and other currencies reflected a similar supply-demand dynamic. The fact that every auction caused sharp fluctuations in the price of silver coins clearly demonstrated that this supply and demand was mirrored in the auction lots.
It was the same for Golden Gallon Port. Not only the funds lying in the vault of the Xilan Empire's emperor, but also vast numbers of nobles and private banks were eager to offload the Xilan coins in their hands. A "shadow port" like Banana Head Bay provided them with an outlet.
The people on the other side accepted Xilan coins and could supply them with the mountains of goods piling up on the imperial side that Golden Gallon Port desperately needed. In turn, they could exchange those goods with laborers, factories, shopkeepers, and others for the "new money" pegged to silver coins: Gallons.
The Xilan Emperor thought imposing an embargo would cause Golden Gallon Port to collapse, but he had likely forgotten that forces act mutually.
There were far too many villages, settlements, and noble estates surrounding Golden Gallon Port that relied on it to consume their piling, single-variety goods.
While Golden Gallon Port faced mere inflation in Xilan coins, the other side faced a far more severe deflation.
If they couldn't sell those towering piles of goods, they would have no choice but to dump them into the Everflowing River. To keep that from happening, the local nobility would do everything possible to open import-export channels across the border, whether by bribing the border guards or exerting pressure through their authority.
By declaring an embargo when imperial authority was already compromised after the Gray Wolf Army's defeat, His Majesty had largely dealt a thousand points of damage to his enemy while inflicting ten thousand upon himself.
Once new interest groups formed locally, the two armies stationed at the border might well turn into warlords who took orders from no monarch while in the field.
Assuming the game really was that realistic.
Fang Chang: "...That Banana Head Bay probably popped up recently, but people were actually doing this business right when the ceasefire began. According to my observations, the most active bootleg riverports are mainly along the northwestern banks of the Everflowing River. That's primarily an area under the de facto control of the Black Panther Army. Once night falls, the river is crawling with smuggling boats."
Fang Chang: "Some nobles from Golden Gallon Port send their Xilan coins there to trade for two-headed oxen, white sugar, sand and gravel, flax, spices, and the like. But inland river ports have limited freight capacity. If Banana Head Bay can take off, it might let us dump Xilan coins even faster."
Kuang Feng: "What happens when you run out of Xilan coins? [curious]"
Fang Chang: "By then, the reconstruction of Golden Gallon Port will be mostly finished, and the survivors of the Xilan Empire will be interested in things other than waste paper."
Ye Shi: "Damn it, if I'd known, I would've stuck with you guys. [funny]"
Lao Bai: "By the way, are you still in Dawn City?"
Ye Shi: "Left there ages ago. The moment Ice Sea City's save point opened, Kuang Feng and I headed straight over."
Kuang Feng: "To be precise, along with that Academy NPC Jiang Xuezhou and Jiu Jiu. [smirk]"
Fang Chang: "We really are thousands of miles apart now. [crying laughing]"
Ye Shi: "No big deal, at least we're still on the same planet. [funny]"
Kuang Feng: "+1."
...
Order might experience a vacuum, but one thing never would:
Power.
The moment a void opened, something new stepped in to take its place.
For better or worse.
Even if the opening lasted only a fraction of a second...
On the day after Golden Gallon Port's first "Investment Attraction" banquet concluded, a crowd gathered outside Golden Gallon Port's City Hall.
A man in an exoskeleton walked to the entrance, turned on his helmet's loudspeaker, and shouted at the jostling throng:
"Quiet down, everyone! Don't push!"
"Our rules here: bidding is not first-come, first-served. Admission qualifications, review standards, and procedures are already posted on the bulletin board. Once you've read them, take a number at the door and wait to be called. Any interested individual or group can participate! Anyone!"
A voice from the edge of the crowd quickly piped up:
"My lord! Can Pigeonkin join?"
"I said anyone!" Ban Sui Cuo Tuo shouted back at the surging crowd. "And don't call us 'my lord'! The Alliance doesn't have such things!"
The crowd packed outside City Hall erupted into thunderous applause and cheers. A few wore displeased expressions, but for the sake of money, they swallowed their annoyance.
Looking at the young man bowing his hands repeatedly in profuse gratitude, Ban Sui Cuo Tuo smiled and waved, only to suddenly catch himself.
Wait.
That guy was a pigeon?
...
In just one day, the thirty-seven infrastructure construction projects received nearly two hundred bids, and more than half came from Silver Moon Bay and lifestyle players active around Golden Gallon Port.
Background checks and capital verifications took three full days.
During those three days, Fang Chang picked a dozen players from the Burning Corps and nearby areas who had worked in municipal departments or handled administrative roles in large corporations. While mentoring the two hundred newly recruited civil servants of Golden Gallon Port's City Hall to familiarize them with operations, they conducted reviews of the two-hundred-plus bid dossiers.
After weeding out over a hundred companies and individuals whose qualifications fell short or who had engaged in severe fraudulent misrepresentation, twenty-two infrastructure projects were ultimately awarded to specific firms or individuals.
The remaining fifteen projects were mostly capital-heavy, such as revamping trunk highways and constructing port freight and passenger rail lines. Without sufficient strength, no one could swallow them, no matter how much they drooled over the sizable future returns.
Although Golden Gallon Port's bank didn't strictly operate on a "100% reserve" system—issuing 10 Gallons didn't require holding 1 silver coin in actual reserve—the printed notes couldn't stray too far from silver reserves, or it would trigger systemic financial risks.
The tactic of cranking up money printing to extend loans to contractors—trying to fatten an emaciated man with a single gulp—would not work here.
The fragile local economy had zero foundation for "spending the next life's money in this one." The survivors already subsisting on dirt could bear no more suffering.
Thus, Baiyue Company's CEO, Fang Chang, opened a group chat on the forum, gathering Baiyue Company's shareholders for what amounted to a shareholders' meeting. After laying out the project details and holding a vote, it was decided that Baiyue Company would fund and take on all fifteen capital-intensive projects.
This approach was essentially identical to the strategy Dawn City had used during its massive infrastructure push years ago:
Have the well-heeled Vault collective holding enterprise tackle the toughest, indispensable bones. Once the cake grew large enough, the Administrator would step in to gradually divide it among other local survivors, letting them eat their fill as well.
Meanwhile, the "Niuma conglomerates" that had grown into behemoths marched alongside the Alliance's armies or caravans, expanding outward from Alliance territory to carve out fresh profit engines across the wider wasteland—such as Ideal City, Luoxia Province, Boulder City before its transformation, and even the less-than-friendly Free State and Falcon Kingdom.
In truth, both Port French Fries and Golden Gallon Port were products guided by this model; only the specific strategies executed by players varied widely according to local circumstances.
Once all thirty-seven infrastructure projects in Golden Gallon Port were finished, the port's total economic output might even surpass Silver Moon Bay's, making it a new trade hub on the Polo Sea.
After all, Silver Moon Bay was backed by a kingdom of only a million people, whereas Golden Gallon Port was itself a settlement of a million people, backed by a feudal dynasty boasting a thousand clans and a thousand gods.
In this sense, the thirty-seven infrastructure projects and over a hundred spontaneous civilian projects underway in Golden Gallon Port were just as vital to an Alliance striving to unite wasteland survivors as the harbor and submarine pipeline projects underway at Port French Fries.
The latter were visible bonds.
The former were invisible, yet undeniably real...
...
June weather was as fickle as a child's mood. One moment dark clouds hung heavy over the harbor, and the next, a scorching sun hung blazingly in the sky.
It was barely past seven in the morning, yet the entire port was already as sweltering as noon. Even the gulls wheeling around the masts let out pitiful squawks as if dying of the heat.
Palu, currently on duty, yawned and prepared to step under the guard booth to stand in the shade for a bit.
Last time had been around the same hour, maybe a bit earlier.
Standing right here, he had merely yawned, and in the blink of an eye, the Governor and the Emperor were gone. That shifty-eyed Mandal had turned into a police officer of the port district, while former police chief Bihari had achieved an even more astonishing rise, becoming police chief of the entire settlement.
Police chief.
Without question, an unfamiliar title in Golden Gallon Port.
After all, as everyone knew, outside of the port district having real guards, other areas didn't even possess a patrol team. Unless someone was murdered or a noble's puppy or kitten went missing, filing a report with the authorities meant nothing—no one cared.
Daughters of wealthy families never walked down alleyways, and the headcount of the poor was in constant flux. Counting how many people lived in each household this year versus next, or how someone died, was purely thankless toil.
They were like grass growing on red soil: one crop sprouted after the spring breeze, then another. Now a bunch of folks had arrived who actually treated them like human beings—talk about a bargain for those wretches.
Palu felt that his yawn had contributed at least some credit to that.
After all, if he hadn't slacked off, the city defense force might have spotted that group of ferocious beasts landing at the harbor a bit earlier, and General Alaiyang of the Gray Wolf Army wouldn't have suffered that defeat outside the city.
If only another yawn could blow the Alliance away too. Being looked down on and walked all over by a bunch of "snakes, rats, bugs, and birds" was truly exasperating.
He only wanted those haughty lords of ordinary days to politely address him as Officer or Sir; he had no desire to be equal to lowborn wretches who were born inferior.
Take the past, for instance: he could strike those servants with his rifle butt whenever he pleased. But now, if he laid a hand on anyone without a solid justification, those "tin men" would pay a visit to his dear Chief Mandal, and Mandal, having caught an earful, would have ten thousand ways to make Palu suffer in silence.
Slacking off didn't work either.
Those tin men were clever. When issues arose, they never confronted the rank and file; they went straight to their superiors—superiors whose vitals they had firmly by the throat.
Because of that, even though he harbored zero affection for this post, he was forced to put on the appearance of strictly enforcing the law.
Fortunately, the port was as peaceful as usual today. Dust swirled over construction sites, traffic flowed along the roads, and people were far too busy to have time to cause trouble.
Whether merchants bustling across the piers or laborers carrying crates between warehouse zones and docks, all racked their brains and poured out every ounce of sweat just to tuck two more "Gallons" into their pockets. Even the gulls in the sky were busy swooping down to snatch french fries from the hands of the tin men and their pet bears.
If he didn't stop to think back carefully, he might almost have forgotten what had unfolded here a little over a month ago...
Just then, a crisp ding-a-ling sounded outside the booth as a bicycle bearing a police plate braked sharply at the door.
With an agile swing of his leg, a young man in uniform dismounted, breezed through the door into the guard booth, and shoved a thick manila envelope into the yawning Palu's chest.
"Could you deliver this to the precinct north of Knight First Road? The one by the train station. They need it urgently."
Noticing that his shift was almost over, Palu couldn't help asking:
"Why me?"
The young fellow's name was Bashak. He reminded Palu a bit of a Yorkshire terrier, a newly hired guard.
Though colleagues at the guard bureau thought rather well of him—warm-hearted, agile, and conscientious—to be frank, Palu didn't care for this Ratkin lad.
First, of course, was his heritage. Second, he seemed overly enthusiastic about his new job, devoid of any dignity befitting a guard.
Was he really so desperate for praise from those tin men?
"Your night shift is just ending, and you live right over there, so you can drop it off on your way home," the Ratkin youth chuckled, pressing his palms together. "Please, pretty please! I'll bring you breakfast tomorrow!"
"..."
Palu rolled his eyes in exasperation, but the thought of leaving early and getting a free breakfast persuaded him. He took the sealed file folder and stepped outside.
Watching Palu stride off into the distance, Bashak called after him:
"Aren't you going to ride the bike?"
"I don't know how to ride that contraption," Palu snorted through his nose. He couldn't shake the feeling that the kid was showing off perks gotten from the tin men, his voice tinged with displeasure.
What was there to be proud of?
That bicycle wasn't his anyway!
Bashak didn't mind in the least, chuckling brightly.
"It's really convenient! Word is the guards in Dawn City ride them too—theirs just have a battery attached! If you have time another day, I can teach you! With someone teaching, you won't take a spill."
"No need."
Palu kept his back turned, waved the dossier impatiently, and quickened his pace down the street.
Everything here was changing.
Things on the streets, people on the streets—whenever he snapped awake to it, he felt as though he had been left behind by everyone.
In the past, Tulip Street was home to nobles and ladies dressed in floor-length gowns, yet now even loathsome rats had wormed their way in.
The name was Axin, wasn't it? The household over there.
Palu glanced at the mansion not far off that had once belonged to a Wilante, disdain and disgust unconsciously creeping into his eyes, as if looking at a pancake gnawed on by rats.
Wealth earned by the Wilante through diligence and courage had been swindled and snatched away by a petty crook of a rat. He really couldn't fathom what was supposed to be so great about this so-called new order.
Given the choice, he would still prefer returning to Governor Nihak's era. Back then, people had been vastly more polite...
Quickening his pace past the fallen Tulip 1st Street, Palu soon crossed Knight First Road, the ring road separating the rich quarters from the paupers.
It was a loop encircling Tulip Street.
The city defense force loyal to the Governor had fought a bloody battle with the Alliance here, yet now not a trace of fighting remained.
Houses riddled with bullet holes and streets overturned by artillery shells had been torn down completely.
Lately, the Alliance had embarked on massive construction here, tearing up not only the bombed-out roadways, but even ripping up previously intact roads right down to their roadbeds, leaving neighboring streets smothered in dust all day long.
The precinct near the station construction site Bashak mentioned was close by.
As Palu walked toward it, he glanced into a trench cordoned off with barrier tape. Several bare-chested laborers were lifting thick, heavy wooden ties and laying them on the ground.
He had seen that sort of timber in the port's warehouse yards; Baiyue Company's chartered freighters had hauled them in from Port French Fries.
Golden Gallon Port had never imported such things before, and he had no idea what use the workers had for laying them down. Clearing his throat, he put on an authoritative tone and barked:
"What are you doing here?"
The busy laborers ignored him; drowned out by the clanging and banging, they couldn't even hear his shout.
Only some off-shift workers resting nearby looked up. Seeing his police uniform, they assumed he was on inspection and offered an explanation:
"Sir, this is an Alliance construction site. We have a work permit."
Their respectful and cautious expressions brought a touch of satisfaction to Palu's face. He nodded pompously and continued:
"Ahem! Good that you have a permit... You'd better do a proper job on the tin men's site. Don't go cutting corners. If we catch you, you won't like the consequences!"
Much as he disliked the Alliance, stirring up trouble on an Alliance work site was something he would never dare do.
Several men wore innocent looks.
"How would we dare, Officer?"
"Yeah, the foreman runs a tight ship!"
"And forget slacking off... we can't even work longer if we want to! Each shift is capped at ten hours a day. Work any more, and not only do the performance points and wages go to the next shift, you even get fined!"
Palu froze, unable to comprehend why doing extra work resulted in a fine.
Still, he didn't press the matter, only cleared his throat and asked about something that piqued his curiosity more:
"What are you building here?"
"A railroad!" one worker replied with a grin.
Palu was baffled.
"A railroad? What's the point of building that?"
The workers exchanged glances, none quite knowing how to answer, until a sharp-looking young man had a flash of inspiration:
"To make the port more modernized!"
"'Modernized'?" Palu murmured. "I've never heard that word before."
"Funny enough, we didn't know it either—it's what those tin men keep saying! All we know is it hauls things!"
The young man had barely finished speaking with a laugh when someone beside him chimed in, "Doesn't matter if you've heard of it, as long as it earns wages!"
Palu couldn't resist asking:
"Where is it supposed to haul goods to?"
A dark, sunburnt worker replied:
"The ones buried underground are for hauling people. The ones looping around the harbor are for freight. That's being built by another construction crew, not the same project as ours. You'll have to ask them where the goods are going."
"Hauling people?!" Palu's eyes widened in disbelief. How could a few wooden sticks haul people around?
Seeing his shock, the young man chuckled.
"Yep! They say the cars run super fast on the tracks. In the future, folks living out in the suburbs can come work in the port district too!"
Palu's mouth hung open. He couldn't help asking further:
"Then... then how much do they pay? How much wages do the tin men pay you a month?"
At the mention of wages, the sunburnt worker grinned proudly.
"2,200 Gallons!"
"2,200 Gallons?!"
Hearing that number, Palu was stunned once more, secretly doing the math in his head.
Wouldn't that be...
Enough to buy fifty-five kilograms of corn?!
Lately, many citizens of Golden Gallon Port had learned how to cook corn and cornmeal from the tin men. Emulating the diet of the tin men had become a new fashion among the settlement's citizen class. The price of corn had climbed from an initial 1 Gallon per liang to 2 Gallons per liang.
Equivalent to 20 Gallons per jin.
Yet coarse grains shipped in by water, such as black beans or chickpeas, cost only around 8 Gallons a jin!
As for Xilan coins, they rarely appeared at stalls frequented by common citizens anymore; supposedly, only the transactions of big shots could make use of them.
Palu couldn't calculate off the top of his head how many jin of beans 2,200 Gallons could buy, but his own monthly pay was only 1,800 Gallons.
These manual laborers were actually earning more than he did!
"How can it be that much?! I remember the recruitment notice... didn't it say 1,600 Gallons?" Palu asked with unconcealed jealousy.
The workers laughed again.
"That's base pay! On top of the base pay, we pulled in a 600-Gallon bonus last month!"
"The foreman told us as long as we work fast and do good work to earn the tin men's nod, we can even earn bonuses matching our full salary!"
"I'm all set. You guys want to rest longer?"
"Let's head back together... I'm going to pick up some steamed buns on the way."
"I'll buy some fried beans."
"Where'd you get that wine?!"
"Heh heh, let me tell you in secret: those tin men never finish drinking theirs..."
Having rested enough, the group climbed out of the trench via the ladder and returned their hard hats to the rack nearby.
Palu watched them blankly, seemingly sensing something different in those sweat-soaked young men, yet unable to put it into words.
Many people had done hard labor in the past too, but he had never seen anyone smile after finishing work.
No—
To be precise, he had never seen those slaves ever finish their work, let alone have the chance to ponder what to eat after clocking off.
Perhaps...
The world truly had changed.
Deeply troubled, Palu walked over to the neighboring port guard precinct. Guided by a colleague, he found the precinct chief's office.
He knocked, entered, and was relieved to find that the chief sitting there was about his age, in his thirties.
Moreover, the man's lighter skin showed he had rarely endured wind and rain like common folk, and his refined bearing spoke of an educated, respectable gentleman.
Subconsciously adopting a humble demeanor, Palu slowed his steps, flashed a friendly smile, and handed over the envelope.
"Bashak asked me to bring this over."
The chief glanced up, surprised.
"So fast?"
With that, he quickly took the file folder from Palu, broke the seal, pulled out a thick stack of documents, and skimmed through them.
A moment later, he nodded approvingly.
"Good work. Thank that lad for me when you see him. I'll send a note of thanks to your precinct for his cooperation."
Though feeling a prick of jealousy, Palu forced a smile and nodded.
"I'll pass along the message, Chief."
Here he paused, unable to suppress his curiosity.
"By the way, Chief, if you don't mind my asking... what are these papers?"
The chief lifted his cup, sipped some tea to moisten his throat, and answered succinctly:
"Household registration documents."
Palu stared blankly.
"Household registration?"
"That's right, at the request of the tin men. Many refugees have swum across the Everflowing River recently; according to them, famine broke out in several nearby villages. The Governor's Office requires us to establish an identity verification system for local residents as soon as possible—at least recording their names, ages, sexes, and the approximate streets they reside on... The folks living in your port district are people of status, but things are far messier over on our end. Shacks everywhere, and some fellows working at the docks don't go home for days. Good thing we have your cooperation."
Rubbing his temples wearily, the precinct chief looked visibly troubled by the headache this assignment had caused him lately.
Hearing this, Palu froze.
He had indeed heard whispers that the Governor's Office planned to issue Golden Gallon Port residents something called an identity card.
Back then, he had secretly rejoiced, thinking these tin men were finally going to do something genuinely decent—like thoroughly distinguishing Ratkin from normal people. He hadn't expected the registration to cover only these ordinary details.
"Just... just registering those?" Palu couldn't help blurting out, looking at the chief with an expectant face, hoping to hear words like "I almost forgot" or "Oh, right."
To his disappointment, the man merely gave him a blank look.
"Just those. Was there supposed to be anything else?"
"Nothing..." Palu felt suddenly deflated. Under the man's puzzled gaze, he turned and left the office.
He had actually been looking forward to having a horse emblazoned on the card.
Although Horsekin weren't considered particularly noble, they were leagues better than those snakes, rats, bugs, and birds...
Leaving the precinct, Palu dragged his weary body toward home. The rising morning sun baked the back of his neck and shoulders.
Muttering curses at the rat who had stolen his time to go home, he instinctively quickened his steps so he could get indoors before the streets heated up.
Yet just as his front foot crossed his doorway, the toll of the eight o'clock bell drifted over from the port, startling a flock of gulls perched on the eaves.
Palu's weathered face flushed red.
Only now did he realize that he had reached home much earlier than usual today...
...
While the sun past eight o'clock bathed Golden Gallon Port in a coat of gold, the sky over the west coast of Poluo Province still carried only a faint, hazy glimmer of dawn.
A towering mega cargo vessel slowly approached a newly completed concrete pier. Connected to the pier was a sprawling expanse of shacks growing across the yellow earth like dense moss.
A man in a sharp military uniform stood on the deck, smiling as he looked upon the port bathed in morning light.
"West Sail Port, West Sail City, and even the fertile, bountiful Naxite State bordering it... Everything here is our war trophy, as well as the spoils of your father, Mr. Bannote. Pick a good angle and take a photo of it. Remember to catch the morning light falling right across our bow—I love that sparkling gleam."
Standing behind him, Penny sighed helplessly, snapped several shots of the harbor and the bow, and tossed her long hair falling over her shoulders.
"Then I'm afraid we'll have to stay on deck for another hour... Besides, my esteemed Governor Huye, you don't need to teach me photography. I know how to make your ship look grand and gorgeous. Or should I hand the camera to you and let you take my picture instead?"
The man paused, surprised, then broke into hearty laughter without reaching for the camera.
"As expected of Mr. Bannote's daughter!"
"I'll leave it in your capable hands, then!"
Chapter 714