House: "Sinking into sweet dreams, perishing in madness... that is perhaps the truest portrait of the survivors of Dawn City! A fish-selling company was hyped up to twenty-five billion silver coins by them! The entire Alliance combined doesn't have that much money. That's vastly more expensive than the S-coins that destroyed Boulder City!"
"It's plain to see they haven't learned Boulder City's bitter lesson at all. Instead, they cradle garbage in their palms like treasure, while casting true treasure away like worn-out shoes!"
"Boulder City was never great because of casino chips, but because of those hardworking, resilient laborers! Yet the Alliance actually hands out free money to those fellows... Ahem, what I mean is, if people can get an income without working, what fool would still work? They are using the wrong methods to corrupt these hardworking people into lazy bums and drunks!"
"Mark my words: one day or another, the Alliance will collapse. Those walking around with silver coins in their pockets will end up regretting it. It's only a matter of time!"
Host (applause): "Then, Mr. House, what would be the proper approach in your view?"
House: "Mr. Sigma is doing quite well. Although the Flint Group monopolizes Bugra's most lucrative industries, that gentleman isn't foolish enough to pay dividends to shareholders... Of course, what I mean is, that's a good thing! The Flint Group subtly nourishes the pockets of everyone in Bugra, giving back to the entire settlement rather than fattening the wallets of a handful of shareholders. Their loss-making financial reports are the best proof: they've been losing money constantly, yet they continue operating with utmost dedication! Unlike a manager who merely buys popular favor, Mr. Sigma is an unsung philanthropist, a truly good man!"
Host (sound of sipping water): "I also think Mr. Sigma is doing the right thing, but that gentleman is not someone you're in a position to judge... Well, that's all for our interview. Today's topic is Baiyue Company. Next guest, please..."
Soft music began playing from the radio on the bar counter as the host moved on to interview the next victim of the Boulder City bankruptcy.
Recent events in Dawn City had stung the residents of Bugra, who needed some spiritual massage to lower the blood pressure of their tender, bruised hearts.
After all, the Alliance and Bugra were too close. Heaven and hell were located in the very same province, and traveling merchants frequently went back and forth between them, inevitably carrying rumors and gossip along with them.
This held true for both sides.
Just like right now, the radio in Boulder City could pick up this very broadcast.
And as for that distinct, raspy drake-like voice, Boulder City residents were all too familiar with it.
"Sometimes I don't get it... Has that guy ever actually listened to what comes out of his own mouth?" A middle-aged man eating breakfast at a table made a helpless face.
Checking on how Mr. House was doing had been his idea in the first place, but now he regretted switching stations.
Listening to that dog bark was worse than listening to battle reports from the front line. At least those, while a bit dry, weren't quite so mind-numbing.
The waiter walked over carrying a tray, shrugged, and set a palm-sized grilled rib onto the table.
"No clue, but apparently we've collapsed again. After all, it's already morning."
"Hahahaha!"
The waiter made everyone chuckle. The dining workers burst out laughing, several of them nearly choking on their food.
This was the Walnut Tavern near Boulder City's industrial zone, its timeworn sign bearing the traces of years gone by.
In the past, workers from the cannery were used to coming here to scavenge discarded cigarette butts and drink watered-down rotgut. Now, they were accustomed to ordering a three-silver-coin beef rib before going on shift, keeping their energy at its peak between eight in the morning and noon.
Drunks who got plastered first thing in the morning were a rare minority after all. Most people cared about dignity, especially after acquiring savings and families.
And only after having it all did they realize that things like "refinement," "elegance," and "decency" were not the birthright of nobility at all. They were just a web of lies spun by those parasites who reaped without sowing, meant to keep them down spiritually.
They saw it clearest themselves: once their lives improved, they understood shame and etiquette far better than those old nobles ever had.
At the very least, they didn't use money to humiliate their compatriots, nor did they demand privileges that trampled on others' dignity.
Although the mainstream media of the Bugra Free State preferred to refer to what had happened as the "Great Boulder City Bankruptcy," the residents of Boulder City preferred to call it the "Great Boulder City Transformation."
For instance, House, whining on the radio right now, was a "victim" of that transformation.
Watching the workers laughing at House, only one person had a faintly sympathetic look.
He had been among the group when Joy and Lovett led the men to seize the radio station. When they let House go, he had seen the expression on the man's face clearly.
"I don't actually hate him. The guy is a pitiful soul, and he's even more pitiful now. We were all hamsters in the same cage. We finally broke out of the cage and were able to run somewhere beyond the exercise wheel, yet before dawn even arrived, he panicked and scurried right into a new cage... I have to admit, we really did scare the living daylights out of him back then."
That broadcasting studio was just another kind of assembly line, and the lofty host clearly didn't have much respect for House either—to say nothing of Sigma, whom House had praised so lavishly.
The men at the table exchanged glances.
"I can't agree with you. At least to me, that guy doesn't deserve any pity. He never said a single good word about us, and right up until the end he claimed he was forced. Looking at him now, he was lying back then too. The bastard never once reflected on himself."
"That's right. If he really thought he was wrong, he wouldn't have fled this place. Isn't there a saying? A liar isn't afraid of his lie being exposed; he's afraid of someone remembering he lied. And here, every single person remembers."
This drew nods from many, but not all.
"...Still, because of that, I actually think his running away was understandable. We made laws, but too many people hated his guts. Even if we didn't systematically persecute him, nothing could stop some guy who lost his temper from throwing a liquor bottle at him—or even putting a bullet in the back of his head."
The noisy debate continued until the chiming clock struck the hour. The workers abandoned the mess on their tables and headed off to work.
In the past, they had to be at the cannery the instant the bell rang. But the Workers' Association, citing reasons like "workers don't own watches and only know the time when they hear the bell after leaving home" and "only on a full stomach can one work with full energy," demanded that factories either provide free meals or grant workers twenty minutes of commute time.
Though the reasoning sounded somewhat absurd, choosing the "lesser of two evils," the Proprietors Association ultimately chose the latter. In exchange for the conditions that production plans would not be affected and drinking before work was prohibited, they granted the workers twenty minutes of "paid commute" time.
For the factories, getting these drunks to drink less was already enough to boost productivity significantly.
And for the workers, if only to preserve the dignity they had fought so hard to win, they worked with a bit more diligence.
What no one anticipated was that the biggest beneficiaries of the bargaining between the Workers' Association and the Proprietors Association were the breakfast shop owners and food cart vendors around the industrial district. Some taverns that previously didn't open in the morning even expanded their hours to eighteen or twenty-four hours.
Longer hours meant more staff, or else paying exorbitant overtime. As a result, even Boulder City, the place least short on manpower, began experiencing a labor shortage.
Fortunately, the steady stream of survivors pouring into the Great Wall filled the gap—especially immigrants from Brahma Province and the Central Provinces, most of whom started out by washing dishes.
However, that did not mean all of them did.
Niyang, for instance, was a special case.
While most people earned their IDs by washing dishes, he immediately conceived the idea of paying to work, hiring an Alliance citizen to act as his boss.
Not only that:
While the foolish wolf-kin guards were still racking their brains to please the duke, Niyang had already come up with a brilliant idea—start a newspaper of his own, specifically writing what Duke Garava loved to read.
It was actually easy, requiring none of his own brain cells, because House had already thought it all up for him. All he needed to do was hold his nose, transcribe that fellow's studio ramblings onto paper, add a bit of seasoning, and serve it onto Duke Garava's desk.
The newspaper was called the *Dawn Huayuan Street Daily*. "Dawn" naturally referred to Dawn City, while Huayuan Street Subway Station was an old historical landmark in Qingquan City.
No one would ever know this was just an inferior rag, because it was never distributed publicly at all.
This was another loophole he had found in Alliance law, just like how he had obtained his ID in the first place.
Only publicly circulated newspapers needed qualification certification from the Industry Commission. His newspaper had an audience of only Duke Garava and the staff of the Xilan Empire's embassy, and it was printed under the pretext of office supplies—it didn't even need to carry the "Entertainment News" label.
In fact, the *Dawn Huayuan Daily* wasn't even registered as a newspaper; its business category was listed as office supplies and infant products.
It only had "newspaper" in its name.
Of course, because the Dawn City authorities "ruthlessly suppressed honest folks who dared speak the truth," the *Dawn Huayuan Daily* was in dire financial straits and needed sponsorships from kindhearted benefactors to keep telling the truth.
Beyond having the typesetter cry poverty on the page, Niyang had a bank account number for donations placed on the back page.
Sure enough, his paper received one "anonymous donation" after another.
These donations were signed sometimes as "The Supreme Giant of White Elephant City," sometimes "The Benevolent and Loving Elephant Clan Poet," and other times "The Boatman Fighting for Equality on the Eternal Flow River." But Niyang knew better than anyone that all these personas belonged to a single man.
After all, in the entire Xilan Empire embassy, only one person read the *Dawn Huayuan Daily* from front to back.
What's more, every time a deposit was made at the bank, Niyang went on Duke Garava's behalf.
If not for the bank receipts, he could have saved himself the trouble of sending the money altogether.
Whenever Duke Garava was overjoyed by the paper, he would have Niyang telegraph the news of the Alliance's imminent collapse to the Heaven Capital of Brahma Province to share that pure joy with the esteemed Lord Wutuo.
Yet neither Duke Garava nor His Majesty had any idea that the entire newspaper, from beginning to end, was run by his loyal servant.
"You're playing with fire, Boss... Dawn City isn't Boulder City. The people here won't tolerate anyone making fun of their revered manager. Even the most outrageous *Goblin Observer* wouldn't mock a living god." Looking at the increasingly outrageous contents on the draft, the typesetter shook his head and spoke to the man standing by the blinds.
He was a recent immigrant who hadn't lived through the past events. He hadn't even received his ID yet, and his feelings toward the manager were not as fanatical as the ordinary folk—just normal respect.
After witnessing Sigma's hypocrisy, he understood how wonderful a boss who truly cared for his subordinates was.
But the folks in Dawn City didn't think that way. Their devotion to the manager was like that of the residents of Sunset Province toward the "Spirit of the Sand Ocean."
Niyang didn't look back. Peering through the slats of the blinds toward Embassy Street nearby, he spoke in a low voice.
"No one understands the Alliance better than I do. No one understands the manager better than I do... I'm a true fan of his. As long as we don't break the rules, nothing will happen."
The editor smiled bitterly.
"You must have never heard of the Sindisen case."
Before coming to the Alliance, he had heard about it. Bugra Free State TV stations had made a huge fuss over it to mock the state of freedom in the Alliance.
Niyang replied unhurriedly:
"Of course I've heard of it. I even watched the court's verdict and studied the case file thoroughly. As for you, you probably only know the name Sindisen and think you've figured out the whole Alliance. You're just like those people from your hometown in the Bugra Free State—you drank so much sewage you lost your sense of taste, and you can't survive without simplistic definitions and labels."
The editor was clearly unconvinced, but suppressed his temper because Niyang was his boss: "Isn't it the truth? He had the Guards Corps arrest the man."
Niyang turned around, looked at him, and smiled.
"Then guess what would have happened to that Sindisen if he hadn't done that? This is the wasteland. The law can punish wrongdoers, but it can't bring the dead back to life. I bet you, forget catching a train home—if the Guards Corps hadn't arrived in time, he wouldn't have made it out of that hotel alive."
The editor laughed. "By your logic, he was actually protecting the guy?"
Niyang chuckled:
"Protecting him? Haha, indeed, I am the only one who truly understands that gentleman... He wasn't protecting Sindisen, nor was he protecting those troublemakers shouting in his name. He was protecting the order of the Alliance."
In fact, it was precisely because of the Sindisen case that Alliance citizens exploded with unprecedented enthusiasm, voluntarily participating in the Representative Assembly's affairs and improving a whole series of laws, such as regulations governing the press.
Unlike the Emperor of Xilan or Sigma of the Free State, he guided people's fanaticism and loyalty into the right channels.
And that was what Niyang admired most about him.
Looking at the speechless editor, Niyang continued:
"Just do as I say. That gentleman is not petty. I told you long ago: our job is to deceive. I need Duke Garava's money, and even more, I need him to keep being an idiot. Besides that, I have a lot of things to do. It's not just about improving my own life... I also need to do a little good."
In fact, after spending some time in Dawn City, his mindset had undergone some shifts, especially after reading *The Awakened Bol*.
He could never forget that line—
"The visible Stephen can be destroyed, but the invisible Stephen can never be eliminated. We are their specters, and they are ours."
Those words had been like an epiphany, jolting him awake when he had been wandering in a maze without a way out. What Brahma Province needed wasn't actually that esteemed lord he idolized.
Goading Duke Garava to death had no meaning. Brahma Province had more than one White Elephant City, and more than one duke. What was more, this duke had a whole flock of wives and a heap of sons; he could pass the title down from generation to generation.
If you want to exterminate a nest of cockroaches, you cannot fixate on a single cockroach.
If he really infuriated the duke to death, the Xilan Empire wouldn't change at all; instead, losing a fool who possessed nothing other than noble blood might even grant it a brief resurgence.
That was entirely possible. After all, there weren't many people who could draw hatred like Duke Garava. Niyang couldn't get the Alliance's foreign minister to slam the table in fury, yet that fool could make his ally, Myriarch Bannote, show undisguised disgust without even trying.
In the end, if Duke Garava died, Niyang would lose the only tool he could use.
Therefore, rather than using the *Goblin Observer* to anger him, it was better to pacify him like an infant with a pacifier, keeping him submerged in the sweetness of milk and honey.
Duke Garava would never know where his money was actually being spent.
Niyang was going to use that money to sponsor the *Survivor Daily* in Port French Fries, and sponsor those Moon Clan people fleeing Camp Rowell to set up more *Survivor Daily* branches in Port Golden Gallon, Port Westsail, and every place where a spark could be ignited.
Not only funding them, but he would also submit articles to the *Survivor Daily* in Port French Fries himself, just like Mr. Sberg, who wrote *The Awakened Bol*.
For this reason, he had made a special trip to Boulder City to visit those who had lived through that transformation. He had even conversed at length with the gray-haired director of the Boulder City Library, Mr. Malvin, and read the draft chronicles the old man had written for Boulder City.
He and that old man agreed that Hal's *Survivor Daily* had kindled the spark of enlightenment, and Sberg's *The Awakened Bol* had united the suffering poor of Boulder City.
The prelude to the transformation had already begun long before anyone realized it, and by the time Old Master Xide tried to strangle it in its cradle, it was already too late. As for the casino chips, S-coins, economic overheating, and the series of crises, they were merely the fuses that detonated the powder keg, speeding up the process so fewer people died.
Without that new cultural enlightenment, no matter how many died that night, it would have been useless; Boulder City would always remain Boulder City.
And after speaking with that old man, Niyang had found the way to change the Xilan Empire.
Just as Duke Garava, under the persona of "The Supreme Giant of White Elephant City," generously emptied his pockets for the *Dawn Huayuan Daily* with smug satisfaction, Niyang had already used the pen names "Mr. Rat" and "Great Horned Rat" to publish in the Port French Fries paper the things the duke hated most—*The Emperor's New Carriage* and *A Thousand "Needles"*.
Compared to Sberg, Niyang had a slight advantage: his literary talent and breadth of knowledge were far richer than those of a cannery worker. Most importantly, he didn't need to start by learning how to read.
Thank heavens, whether out of aristocratic pride or sheer laziness when it came to writing love letters to noble ladies, Duke Garava had hired tutors for all his servants. Even a thick-headed fellow like Babulu could write, to say nothing of Niyang.
Looking at the editor working obediently at the desk, Niyang took a sip from his teacup by the blinds.
Looking at the manuscript slandering the manager, his heart remained completely untroubled. But right then, his eyes lit up as a fresh burst of inspiration struck him, and he smiled faintly in thought:
"Actually, House has a point: a 'lazy' Boulder City is doomed to perish, while tight belts are the true cure for staying progressive... Let me think. My next piece will be titled *Red Soil*."
Apart from the thousand pillars of the City of a Thousand Pillars, nothing touched the survivors of Brahma Province deeper in their souls than "red soil"...
...
Because the "War of the Heavens" was fought primarily by shelter residents on the front lines, and the costs were mostly borne by the various parties of the Mucus Community, Alliance residents far in the rear didn't feel their lives heavily impacted.
On the contrary, thanks to war orders, factories in Daybreak City and Boulder City operated in three shifts once more, just like during the battle for Sunset Province.
The difference was that the Alliance's productivity and abundance of materials were nothing like before.
To attract workers to their factories, various factories pulled out all the stops: promising free housing and insurance, offering wages higher than their competitors.
For skilled and experienced workers in particular, factories practically offered to cover the education of their next generation; the perks grew increasingly dazzling and extravagant.
As for factories that still failed to attract enough people despite trying everything, they had to seek solutions either in "improving productivity" or "introducing external labor."
Older production lines with high labor requirements were slowly phased out, replaced by ones with higher degrees of electrification and automation.
Thanks to Xizhou City's controllable fusion reactor, the Alliance's energy costs were very cheap. In terms of automation, experts from Camp 101 and the students they trained provided ample support.
Add to that the "reservoir" of Brahma Province, capable of absorbing outdated production lines, and the phased-out sewing machines, locomobiles, and other equipment found a home.
Alliance residents—especially those of Dawn City—had, within a certain scope, ended the wasteland around them through their own diligence and wisdom.
Chu Guang didn't expect too much of them; he only hoped they would keep it up, live their lives well, and influence other wastelanders across the wasteland to the extent of their ability...
Haiya Province frontline.
Today's front line was the same old meat grinder as ever. The only difference was that the newbies, having grown accustomed to dying, were grinding meat with ever-increasing proficiency.
The changes in them were obvious.
Players who previously could only kill a dozen or two fungal mutants before biting the dust could now easily hit three-digit body counts, even without much change in level.
Attributes were only one aspect influencing combat effectiveness, not the sole deciding factor.
That was probably the most realistic part of this game.
Aboard the *Heart of Steel*, Chu Guang received two reports from afar.
One came from Camp 101, authored by Xiao Yu.
The report mainly detailed Baiyue Company's listing and the opinions of Camp 101's expert team, including current market problems and loopholes requiring repair.
Chu Guang was quite satisfied with this report.
Not only because it was written so simply that even someone with half a bucket of knowledge like himself could understand, but also because he saw Xiao Yu's growth between the lines.
Thanks to the scholars at Camp 101, the little girl hadn't squandered her talent for numbers and had even found a vocation she was passionate about.
Sending her to Camp 101 with Pai for further studies had indeed been a wise choice.
After all, had she stayed by his side, at most she might have learned quadratic functions and makeshift economics.
For anything harder, he would have had to seek professional advice himself.
Looking at the delicate handwriting on the tablet, Chu Guang sighed with emotion.
"Time flies. In the blink of an eye, Xiao Yu has grown up."
Sitting on the pen holder, Xiao Qi nodded slightly and rested its cheeks in its hands.
"Indeed... It feels like it was just yesterday when you were teaching her arithmetic and reading."
Chu Guang gave a light cough.
"...That's pushing it a bit."
While he did occasionally feel as though a lifetime had passed, this little fellow's insensitivity to time was rather exaggerated.
With a swipe of his forefinger, Chu Guang set the report aside and opened the second one.
This report came from the Scientific Expedition's Social Science Archive Office, written by Ms. Han Mingyue, who was currently investigating local customs and cultural phenomena in Port Golden Gallon.
He wasn't very familiar with this name; he only recalled that she seemed to be a "little popsicle" unearthed by the Thorn Corps near Pioneer City, formerly belonging to Shelter 288.
The Great Desert was different from other regions. It had endured the "Great Collapse" of the entire space elevator and terminal orbital space stations, making it the most complex environment on the wasteland, and the same was true for the shelters there.
For example, Shelter 288 had lost its Overseer's log, opened its doors prematurely, and suffered a host of other accidents. Furthermore, Han Mingyue's circumstances bore several similarities to Heya's, with the report on her background spanning five full pages.
In short, things had happened in places unknown to him, and Ms. Han, influenced by Thorn Corps Commander Rama, had grown interested in the great survivor migrations of Brahma Province.
Her work wasn't just investigating past events, but also observing the changes underway in Port Golden Gallon.
Because they had salvaged many good items from the Governor's Mansion in Port Golden Gallon back then, the Scientific Expedition had consistently supported her project, and Chu Guang had kept an eye on her submitted reports.
Brahma Province had no shelters, yet it had a massive survivor population.
In a sense, her research was filling in the missing Overseer's log on their behalf.
[...Under the influence of Baiyue Company, the Port Golden Gallon authorities utilized the foreign exchange reserves of the Xilan Emperor to construct a large number of schools and adult night schools in the settlement, and promoted a compulsory education act similar to Dawn City's, which raised local literacy rates to a certain extent.
Influenced by rising literacy rates and citizens of the South Sea Alliance who arrived to teach, novel musical, pictorial, and literary works of art have begun appearing in Port Golden Gallon.
Local residents are not only actively pursuing a better life, but also eagerly exploring new theories outside the 'Thousand Clans and Thousand Gods,' attempting to critique and dismantle certain outdated, feudal traditions and notions. The idea that 'gods do not exist' has already grown popular among some progressive circles, which surprised me the most.
Logically speaking, local conservative forces should have been far more deeply entrenched here than in the Lion Kingdom or the Hump Kingdom, but the reality was the exact opposite of what I expected. In this 'New Culture Movement,' 'aligning with the East' quickly became an absolute consensus across both upper and lower classes, just as they had previously aligned with the West. The conservative forces that ought to have formed an opposition against progressive ideas played no role whatsoever, displaying an astonishing compliance instead. Once they judged resistance futile, the conservatives surrendered immediately.
I believe this does not stem from defeatism or xenophilia, nor is it a genuine surrender. Rather, it resembles an 'endurance' ingrained into the cultural character of the local survivor civilization.
The endurance of local survivors exceeds anything I have witnessed in other settlements. Even farm masters in Jinchuan Province would not dare treat their serfs like this, yet they take it for granted.
Moreover, their 'endurance' is as deeply ingrained as the 'obstinacy' they rarely display openly. These survivors will never change easily, yet they do not object to bowing their heads and acting as though they have changed.
Like the old nobles who copied the Alliance's clothing and dining habits, they immediately drew a clear line with the Emperor and Governor they once served, cooperated fully with your subordinates, and attempted to appear even more progressive and studious than the pro-Alliance faction.
You might view this as a good thing, and your subordinates might deem it trivial, but I must voice my differing perspective: this latent force is more like foul pus disguised as blood hiding inside the veins. They are biding their time. The moment an opportunity arises, they will transform back in an instant, block up the window where the wind once leaked through, and make it even harder for fresh air to blow in.
Of course... every coin has two sides. Despite these concerns, the series of innovative measures implemented by your subordinates locally deserves recognition, and the achievements they have made are plain for all to see.
My research is still ongoing, and there may be oversights. I hope I am merely overthinking it.
]
Chu Guang read to the end of the report and stroked his chin. He had intended to reply with "Sociology +3," but realizing this was a report written by an NPC, he ended up replying with "Noted."
His perspective differed from Fang Chang's, and naturally differed from that of the Alliance's scholars.
The issues she raised certainly existed, and he could see them. But as she had noted in the report, local survivors were voluntarily pursuing progress under the influence of the residents of Shelter 404, and the progress they were exploring might very well alter the latent dangers buried deep in their civilization's nature.
It wasn't a matter of talking casually without feeling their pain; this was an obstacle the local survivors were bound to overcome on their own.
Even though Han Mingyue had pointed it out, there was little he could conveniently do.
His players had already done a great deal; taking another step forward would be going too far.
He believed Fang Chang had probably noticed something as well.
Xiao Qi, sitting on the pen holder, looked at him and teased playfully:
"Master, you previously said you weren't too optimistic about what the players were doing, but they seem to be doing quite well, don't they?"
Chu Guang made a helpless expression and reached out with his forefinger to close the report from the rear.
"You've been with me this long; you should know my judgment isn't always right."
The unexpected is the true constant of life. Only gods are omniscient and omnipotent.
If he were truly that divine, why would he need so many experts and scholars?
He could just do all the work himself.
Besides, it was still too early to draw conclusions.
Yet to his surprise, a casual remark somehow caused Xiao Qi to freeze. Even the swinging of its little legs came to a halt.
A faint glimmer of hope flickered in those eyes, though it seemed almost like an illusion.
Seeing it freeze, Chu Guang frowned slightly and tapped its head with his index finger.
"What's wrong? Did you lag?"
"No..." Xiao Qi seemed to snap out of it, looking up at him, and then beamed with a radiant smile. "Nothing... As expected of Master, you made Xiao Qi's sapience plugin throb so hard it almost burned out."
With that, it resumed swinging its little legs, gazing at him with bright, glistening eyes.
Chu Guang made a helpless face.
*Burned out, sure.*
He couldn't shake the feeling that this fellow's cheeky banter was getting more and more shameless.
Chapter 765