Hope Breaking Through the Soil

Before coming to Golden Gallon Port, Suni had always believed that the residents here were conservative, feudal, and stubborn to a fault. Much like those believers in the Spirit of the Sand Sea in Sunset Province, who always carried a handful of rust-scented sand in their pockets. Thieves never dared to slash their pockets; after all, if those fanatics lost their money, they would at most call the police, but if anyone dumped the sand from their pockets, they truly wouldn't hesitate to kill. To avoid offending the locals—and to keep from being beaten to death with clubs by some girl's family while trying to pick up chicks—he had consulted a Moon Clan girl working at the Fair Lady Bar in Port French Fries back when he was still in the Southern Sea. He had carefully studied the religions, taboos, and customs of Brahma Province, even jotting them down in a pocket notebook. He could honestly say he had prepared extensively. Yet when he actually arrived in Golden Gallon Port, he discovered what he heard and what he saw were two entirely different things. There weren't nearly that many twists, turns, and taboos here at all. The locals' conservatism was directed strictly toward their own; toward an outsider like him, not only were they not conservative, they were open beyond his wildest imagination. Port French Fries had bars, and so did Ring Island, but nobody there had such poor alcohol tolerance that they would get tipsy after a single sip of beer, collapse into his arms, and blow softly into his ear. Seriously, was everyone's tolerance here really that pathetic?! If he hadn't carried a pocket mirror with him, he might have started suspecting he was actually drop-dead gorgeous—that it was just because Ring Island was too small for anyone to notice, or that his useless circle of drinking buddies had deliberately held him back. Although he had enjoyed it at first, after so many times, he grew sick of it. Compared to raw, primal desire, he actually preferred the sparks that flew when two different souls collided. Most people here simply wanted to sleep with him, and when they finished, they would lie on his chest talking about life, dreams, future plans, bicycles, the next generation... His head felt like it was going to burst. He was only twenty years old—why the hell would he want to think about any of that? Besides, what good was a bicycle? If you wanted to go fast, wouldn't driving a speedboat be ten times better? What depressed him most was that he had come here with the impure motive of chasing skirts, only to find himself becoming the prey upon arrival; the girls sitting at the bar counter were even more experienced players than he was. The feeling was not pleasant at all—downright awful, in fact—so much so that in his depression, he even quit drinking. It wasn't just in the bars either. His work was the same. Take his first job, for instance: working as a private tutor for the daughter of a wealthy local merchant. The job had been arranged by a Wilante broker. Supposedly, the wealthy merchant had once been a noble of Golden Gallon Port, filthy rich ever since the Nihak era. The salary was remarkably high, paying ten thousand silver coins a month. The employer had only one requirement: the tutor had to be from the Alliance. The South Sea Alliance counted as an alliance, and since the Wilante broker said there was no issue, he accepted the post. He had assumed nobles living in grand estates would be more reserved, never imagining that not only did the daughter constantly grope and touch him under pretexts of carelessness, but even the merchant's wife would cast flirtatious glances his way, whether intentionally or not. Suni felt like he was losing his mind. Especially when he heard that the merchant had business dealings with the notorious local gang, the Assassin Gang. Faced with a choice between a handsome salary and his own life, he ultimately chose the latter, reluctantly quitting the high-risk position. Of course, it had to be said that those behaving so abnormally were only a tiny minority. Just as when a starving crowd rushed into a dining hall, it was inevitable that a few would act like hungry ghosts reborn, desperate to gorge themselves on everything they had missed in their previous lives until they were carried out on stretchers. Compared to the extremes of starving oneself or gorging to death, most people were quite normal. Working diligently and studying hard was the everyday reality for regular folk. After taking a week to reset his mindset, he visited the City Hall Employment Office and was referred to a public school established locally by Baiyue Company, becoming a language teacher. Most students studying here were children from neighboring communities, some from poor families, others from ordinary citizens. Because the Golden Gallon Port authorities promised free breakfast and lunch, and because literacy was the only way to find better work, the vast majority of locals cooperated enthusiastically with the compulsory education policy promoted by the administration. And no matter which class the children hailed from, they proved remarkably diligent—so diligent, in fact, that Suni felt a twinge of shame. They yearned to change their fates. Ring Island also had free education, but he had muddled his way through university, worked at a canning factory after graduation, drifted to the docks later on, and eventually just lived on unemployment benefits, letting himself rot... Compared to these boys and girls, his past twenty years felt like a blur of wasted days. Inspired by those earnest, hungry eyes, he rallied his spirits one hundred and twenty percent, throwing himself whole-heartedly into the teaching profession. He even wired his friends on Ring Island to send books over, aggressively cramming to relearn everything he had forgotten. Although the public school's salary was modest—only 12,000 gallons a month—it was still considerably higher than the wages of the local residents. Moreover, the cost of living was very low here. Food, transport, and haircuts were cheap; only imported goods, luxuries, and capital assets were expensive, making it ideal for a loafer with few ambitions like him to slack off. To be fair, however, his current life could hardly be called slacking anymore. One could even describe it as deeply fulfilling and elevated above low tastes. He had found something that could truly be called a "vocation"—something worth dedicating a lifetime to ponder. Of course, even so, rebellious individuals still showed up from time to time, attempting to create waves or surprises in his otherwise unremarkable teaching career. It was a clear, sunny afternoon. Having just covered a class for an upper grade to explain geometry, he was cornered in his office by a tall girl asking for help with math problems. At first, they genuinely discussed mathematics, but before long, the girl changed the subject, her bright eyes shimmering as she looked at him. "Teacher, what is your surname?" Suni looked at her in confusion. "Su... why?" The girl looked at him with surprise. "I see! I always thought Suni was your given name and that you had another surname." Seeing her curiosity about his homeland, Suni smiled and said, "We have many naming conventions where I come from, mostly depending on parents. My father told me my great-great-grandfather was probably a shelter resident, while my great-great-grandmother was from the archipelago. Besides that, there are also people with no surnames at all, just given names, like you folks here." The latter was common among wastelanders, and some special shelter residents chose incomprehensible slang as their names—like those from Shelter 404. The girl's eyes sparkled with curiosity about the outside world, tinged with a faint yearning. "...We don't only have given names. We do have surnames, actually. For instance, the Rat Clan has thirteen pronunciations, the most common being Skaven, but the Snake Clan also has Skaven, which is why we rarely use surnames." "So that's how it is. I thought you simply didn't have surnames... Ah, sorry, I didn't mean any offense." Suni looked at her in surprise, but quickly realized his remark might have sounded frivolous, hastily adding the apology. The girl smiled softly and said dismissively, "It's fine. It's only natural you wouldn't know when you just got here. By the way, my name is Anushka." Suni complimented, "That's a very nice name." "Is it...? But I don't think it sounds very nice. Too many syllables. I've always wanted to change it." A hint of melancholy flickered in Anushka's eyes, and then she gazed at him with shimmering eyes once more. "What do you think of Su An? Or Su Ka?" The sudden fastball caught Suni completely off guard, especially with her face leaning in close and the ends of her hair swaying beside her cheek. A faint fragrance drifted into his nostrils. He gave a dry cough and instinctively took half a step back. "That kind of thing... I think you should consult your parents." "But you have better ideas than they do," the girl stepped forward, looking at him with bright, intense eyes. "You came from the Alliance, right?" "I'm from the South Sea Alliance... which is actually quite different." Suni explained with a wry smile. "Not that different, really. After all, someone who came from there like you is so knowledgeable... If only I could go see it for myself." Her eyes shone with a glimmer of hope, subtly laced with yearning. Suni desperately wanted to tell her that it wasn't all that great there—the streets were narrow and short, and he had only come here to try his luck because he couldn't stand staying there anymore... Yet looking at the expression on her face, he knew full well that whatever he said would be pointless. Just when he was at his wit's end, footsteps from outside the office finally shattered the awkward atmosphere. Rescued, Suni let out a sigh of relief. The girl, having failed to hear the words "I'll take you there," showed a look of disappointment, but she still thanked him for his instruction, bowed slightly, and trotted out the door clutching her notebook. Glancing at the girl hurrying out, the colleague sitting down at the neighboring desk could guess what had happened with his eyes closed. He looked at Suni and teased, "Quite a headache, isn't it? The girls here are far too enthusiastic." This colleague was the longest-serving teacher here and hailed from Dawn City, his status fully stacked with prestige. A female colleague sitting across the desk wasn't pleased with that framing. She curled her lip and said, "It's not just the girls; the young men are the same. I run into three locals asking for directions every time I get a meal. Who gave them the absurd impression that people in the Free State host orgies every day? Honestly, enough is enough." Watching her roll her eyes, the colleague from Dawn City chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "Hahaha... truth be told, I actually heard rumors like that back when I was in Dawn City!" Met with a murderous glare from across the desk, he shivered involuntarily and quickly dropped the tasteless joke. Suni brewed himself a cup of tea and settled back into his chair. Watching the steam curling above the teacup, he sighed. "Honestly, I'm worried. It doesn't matter if this kind of atmosphere shows up in bars, but it shouldn't be in the classroom... Many girls in Port French Fries are from here too, but they're completely different. Sometimes I can't help wondering if something is wrong with our educational approach. What we should teach them isn't just knowledge, but self-respect and self-worth. Otherwise, if they aren't slaves to Wutuo, they'll just become someone else's slaves... In the end, what difference does it make?" The teacher from Dawn City patted his shoulder. "Relax, and don't always blame yourself. Maybe... the girls in Port French Fries were just cold to you because you gave them the cold shoulder before." Suni shook his head. "Fine, you're from Dawn City, so it might be a different story for you. But you have to admit that even though they're the same people, the ones over there are definitely a bit more normal than here... Dammit, all I want is to teach properly! Wait—holy shit, I actually just want to teach properly?!" He remembered vividly that before coming here, his sole purpose had been chasing women. Yet after only a month or two, he found himself an entirely different person—turned completely ascetic. Perhaps that saying was right: only those who respect themselves will be respected, and only those who love themselves will be loved. Those walking through this settlement were hollow husks without souls. Before those people found their own souls, it was truly hard for him to fall in love with anyone here, or to find the kind of love he yearned for deep down... rather than just a roll in the hay. At that moment, Suni noticed a newspaper lying on his neighboring colleague's desk and reached out to pick it up out of curiosity. "Wait, they have the Survivor Daily here too?" He leafed through it casually, only to find it completely different from the paper in Port French Fries. It mainly covered current happenings in Golden Gallon Port and published literary submissions from locals. "Just recently," the teacher from Dawn City said offhandedly over a sip of coffee. "Word is a few Moon Clan and Rat Clan folks started it. I don't know much about it, but the pieces in it are pretty good. I brought it back to use for student literacy; it's a bit more effective for teaching reading than Dawn City's textbooks. Lately several schools have proposed making Golden Gallon Port's own textbooks, asking us to select articles from the Survivor Daily to include. So I've been collecting the recent issues." A look of interest appeared on Suni's face. "Mind if I borrow them for a look?" "Go ahead," the Dawn City teacher shrugged with a smile. "Just don't lose them." "Thanks." Since there was still time before his next class, Suni opened the borrowed newspaper with curiosity, and his attention was soon captured by the headline piece. "Red Soil" Author: Mr. Rat. Was this about the origins of red soil? That was what he initially assumed, but he soon realized it was nowhere near as simple. "...Long ago, I wanted to write a biography for General Rowell. "In that year of freezing snow and sunless skies, he performed an immortal feat, finding a shortcut for his descendants to survive—living off eating soil. Yet the irony is that having performed this monumental service, he met no good end. He was buried in the dirt by a mob of ignorant people, who even spat upon his grave... like the martyr who carried firewood for the multitude only to freeze to death in the blizzard. "At first, I thought those people simply weren't intelligent enough. It wasn't until later, when I came into contact with descendants of the 'Shovelers,' that I was stunned to discover their ancestors were scholars, experts, engineers of the glorious era, and even soldiers who had originally supported General Rowell. These people were hardly foolish. Explaining it through intellect clearly didn't hold up; mocking them only made me appear conceited and foolish. There remained only one explanation... they had all gone mad in unison, burying the only sane one among them, Lord Rowell. "I could not understand why so many people had lost their minds, why they would harm a man who cherished, loved, and even saved them, simply because he was a little tyrannical... until I met L, a young Rat Clan man living in White Elephant City. "He wore ragged clothes—if they could even be called clothes, mere rags to cover his nakedness. He had a scar on his head, reportedly burned into him when he worked as a day laborer on a plantation and a stroll-about young master flicked a cigarette butt at him. It should have been a matter of fury, yet whenever that glorious moment was mentioned, he spoke with distinct pride, boasting to anyone he met that the scar was a blessing from nobility, guaranteeing he would be reincarnated into a noble family in his next life. Fortunately, others thought such words bordered on blasphemy and dared not pass them on to the young master's ears, or the young master would surely have had his head severed alive, leaving him unable even to enter the red soil. "The first time I saw him was on the master's plantation. He was going on about how brilliant the young master was, how much of the old master's fine seed he was, only to receive no favor, earning instead a savage beating from the servants. Hearing he was also of the Rat Clan and seeing his bloodied, miserable state, I wanted to step in and reason with them, but was held back by bystanders. Only after chatting with them did I learn who L was. "I despised his lack of spine, but then realized that relying on the master's favor just to eat a bowl of rice, I had no right to reproach him. Had I not praised the young master as well? Over time, I consoled myself and forgot about it. Until a major case erupted in White Elephant City: they said the Moon Clan had rebelled again, throwing the whole city into panic as they sought to arrest more Moon Clan folk. I consoled myself again, thinking this had nothing to do with the Rat Clan, much less the master's household servants. Yet to my utter shock, I saw him on the execution ground. "How tragically similar fate can be: both the man who planted the red soil and those who ate it ended up buried within it. Thus, before singing the praises of General Rowell's greatness, I wish to use the story of L as a 'preface'—for it is equally a tale of tears and song..." Suni had opened the newspaper merely to pass the time, never expecting to be so thoroughly entranced. He lost all track of time until the bell for class abruptly startled him awake. "Good grief." Was this... something written by their own people? Though the opening seemed dry, the further one read, the more one glimpsed the dripping blood beneath the skin and the ghost-like, soundless wails. Suni murmured under his breath, feeling as though rolling thunder echoed in his ears like a deafening roar. He was not a survivor of Brahma Province, yet between the lines, he could still hear that cry: what the people here ate was not dirt at all, but generation after generation of people buried in the soil! He rose from his chair, clutching the newspaper tightly as he rushed out the door. His expression was agitated, his spirits ablaze, his stride swift as the wind. He didn't even bring the lesson plans that never left his hands... because right now, he didn't need that kind of thing at all. His duty as a teacher told him that he had to read these words to those children. They shouldn't be sitting there holding books just for a boat ticket, let alone for a work visa promised by Port French Fries, or to sell themselves off to some chaotic corner of the wasteland. They should study for themselves! To study true knowledge, to understand the social bonds between human beings, to comprehend the laws governing nature, and to reflect on their own place amidst the mountains and rivers... They needed souls! ... A private box at the Triumph Hotel. It wasn't only a half-baked teacher passionately reading aloud in a solemn classroom; a rather precocious youth had also read that piece, "Red Soil," in the Survivor Daily. Or, to be precise, the preface to the serialized novel Red Soil. That fellow calling himself "Mr. Rat" had practically stripped the Rat Clan down to their skivvies. Yet upon listening to the entire article, Axin, seated inside the private box, burst into hearty laughter, slapping the armrest of his chair twice with his right hand. "Hahaha! Brilliant! Fucking brilliant!" A crowd of suited underlings stood solemnly behind him, a fierce edge in their eyes. They were core members of the Assassin Gang, who had lived alongside their boss on the street before the governor's mansion; among them, there were naturally quite a few Rat Clan men. The girl who had read the article to him was filled with dread, staring anxiously at the man seated at the table. She belonged to the Bull Clan, formerly minor nobility in Golden Gallon Port, forced by circumstance to tutor people in reading and literacy to make a living. Evidently, Bull Clan heritage didn't carry much weight around here anymore. Whoever could feed the folks and fatten their purses was the true nobility. Like the Rat Clan youth before her, who paid no heed whatsoever to her lineage. Still, he showed great respect toward knowledge and had treated her politely, seemingly harboring no anger toward her over the piece she had just read. Seeing that the hour was growing late, Axin waved to the side, took a cheque, jotted down several numbers, and handed it to the "private tutor" seated before him. "This is for last month. I might be busy over the next few days, so I'll give it to you in advance." The girl nodded quickly, hurriedly taking the cheque. A glance at it made her instinctively hold her breath. One hundred thousand gallons! She cast an incredulous look at him, but he merely waved his hand gently. "The rest is a bonus... My guest is about to arrive, and it's getting late. Go on home." The girl murmured her thanks, lowered her head, and scurried off with reddened eyes. Watching the aristocratic young lady depart, Kunal looked in confusion at his boss, who was pretending he could actually read the newspaper, and grunted, "Boss... didn't you feel offended?" Trying to match the words and sentences he had just learned to the page, Axin said patiently, "Kunal, my friend, only terminally ill patients take their anger out on the doctor. If a man is beyond cure, letting him eat well, drink well, and have a grand funeral is true kindness. Urging him to smoke two fewer cigarettes only harms him and burdens his family... But you and I clearly haven't reached that point yet. Do you eat soil?" Kunal shook his head like a rattle-drum. "Who the hell still eats that stuff nowadays?" "Exactly," Axin smiled faintly. "At least the residents of Golden Gallon Port don't eat it anymore. At most, those swimming across the river might eat some, and only at the very start... Sooner or later, that thing will be torn down without a trace, just like the thousand needles of the City of a Thousand Pillars." He was still very young, and the survivors of all Brahma Province were very young. What was setting like the sun were those feudal lords and old nobles. He was glad to see so many young people sharing his righteous indignation, walking the same sunlit avenue, even if their ideas differed. As they spoke, footsteps came from the entrance, and a strapping, hulking figure strode in through the door. A gun was tucked into his waist, and only two attendants followed behind him. Yet the LD-47 assault rifles slung across their backs utterly suppressed the presence of the surrounding gang members. Both attendants were ruthless veterans of the battlefield, the kind who had charged through hailstorms of bullets. The man walking in front looked languid, a streak of arrogance etched into his brow. He sauntered in nonchalantly, paying no mind to the people around him. Yet not a single person, Axin included, thought him arrogant or rude. After all, this fellow truly had the right to be proud. When everyone else had been shackled by chains, he alone had caught the rifle tossed by that lord. And if catching the rifle had been luck, he had subsequently relied on sheer ruthlessness, leading from the front to push the cannon and blast open the gates, stubbornly taking down Camp Rowell. Compared to a rat lurking in the shadows like himself, Axin knew full well that this man was the true big shot. This was none other than Laxi, Director of the Golden Gallon Port District Civil Defense Office, in charge of strategic dispatch and logistics for the militia—practically the top commander of Golden Gallon Port's military forces. To invite this prominent figure, Axin had spent a small fortune greasing palms and pulling strings. Even so, the big man had only agreed to grant him an audience, promising nothing beyond that. Axin rose promptly to his feet, putting on a genial smile as he made an inviting gesture. "General, please, have a seat." Sitting down directly opposite him, Laxi showed him a sliver of courtesy and got straight to the point. "You invited me here as your guest—what's this all about?" Signaling with his eyes for the waiters to serve the dishes, Axin smiled warmly at him. "I heard that the general has been in low spirits lately. Knowing how hard the general toils for the people, I merely wished to help ease your burdens and solve your troubles." "Hah." Laxi snorted through his nose, brushed aside the waiter's hand reaching for the flagon, grabbed it himself, poured a cup, and set the flagon down on the table. "Help ease my burdens... What the hell do you know? If you ask me, businessmen ought to stick honestly to trading. Do less illegal shit, keep your paws from poking where they don't belong, lest you end up dead without knowing how. I'll drink your wine today, but when the time comes to put you away, my hand won't waver." Kunal's mouth twitched, but pinned under the stares of the two soldiers, he dared not move a muscle in his shoulders. Axin, on the other hand, looked completely composed; this was hardly the first time he had guns pointed at him. "You jest, General. What I do *in Golden Gallon Port* is strictly legitimate business. I've even helped the Alliance bust several drug and human trafficking operations. If any of my subordinates touched what they shouldn't, I would clean house myself without needing that lord to drop a hint." "None of my business," Laxi waved his chopsticks to cut him off, focusing only on eating. "Speak your piece." Axin nodded slightly and said respectfully, "There is a Moon Clan resistance army to the north. I wonder if the general has heard of them?" "Heard of them... Heh, so what if I have?" Laxi sneered and curled his lip. "A bunch of useless amateurs. Seven or eight hundred factions in a single village, squabbling without discipline, clumsy at getting things done, bound hand and foot when it matters most. Wielding the finest gear only to fight the clumsiest battles, chased around by second-rate troops—they're worse than roaming bandits." Axin's interest piqued. "Then in the general's esteemed opinion, what should they do?" Laxi answered without hesitation. "My esteemed opinion? Heh, if you ask me, what's with all the damn chatter? Tell them to go east, they go east; tell them west, they go west. Tell them how many steps to take, they take that many steps. I'd like to see who dares take one step more or less. Kill whoever disobeys! If you want to fight well, you have to take the knife to your own first. If you don't have the stomach for that, pack up and go home to farm." The more Laxi spoke, the angrier he became, until anger alone filled his belly. He tossed down his chopsticks and shook his head repeatedly. He indeed lacked formal education and couldn't spout grand military theories, but watching those fellows fight still made his blood boil—after fighting for so long, they hadn't even managed to take a single settlement. He was very sympathetic toward those compatriots. The Moon Clan in Port French Fries and even the people from the Alliance sympathized with them, placing high hopes upon them. At least in Fang Chang's view, these people had suffered persecution, so after overthrowing the empire, they surely wouldn't tread the empire's old path again. To that end, Baiyue Company had contacted those Moon Clan guerrillas more than once, supplying funds and equipment. Yet the result was that these fellows couldn't even defeat local warlords engaged in commerce; instead, the warlords manipulated them, keeping bandits alive to boost their own importance. He had approached Fang Chang more than once, as well as others in the Alliance, but the Alliance thought him too bloodthirsty, worrying he wouldn't be able to govern Brahma Province. Whenever he thought of this, Laxi's temper flared. Why shouldn't he be able to handle it? The Alliance's methods were fine and good, but only a few hundred of them had landed ashore. Could the transformation of Golden Gallon Port have gone so smoothly without a shred of credit to his name? To deter the reactionaries and looters taking advantage of the chaos, he had killed plenty of people, terrifying those monsters and scoundrels until they didn't dare draw breath, never daring to head west if told to go east. In the end, once Golden Gallon Port's transformation was complete, he was discarded like a chamber pot. Stripped of military authority through an ostensible promotion by that gentleman, he was parked in an office as a mascot, serving merely as a token gesture to appease the locals. Axin could actually understand the grievance festering inside this man, for his own line of work was also a kind of chamber pot. Golden Gallon Port's infrastructure required a massive labor force, while simultaneously absorbing immigrants wading across the Yongliu River. A massive, unregulated labor force inevitably bred violence, and on land lacking relevant traditions, laws or preaching alone could never fully suppress it. A basket was needed to contain all that misplaced energy so it wouldn't be vented on ordinary people. The Assassin Gang had risen on that very tide. As for Banana Head Bay, it was the retreat he had carved out for himself, along with investing in various warlords. When Golden Gallon Port's infrastructure was finished one day and the Alliance decided to toss aside his chamber pot, he could rely on his investments in Banana Head Bay and imperial territory to secure a way out for himself and his family. Yet he was far more fortunate than Laxi. Golden Gallon Port's infrastructure wouldn't be completed in a day or two. As long as he kept a low profile under the Alliance's nose, he wouldn't draw the Alliance's wrath, receiving at most a rap on the knuckles from the Golden Gallon Port authorities. "...I deeply understand your frustration, General. A talent of your caliber should be realizing his ambitions on the battlefield, not at a dinner table." Laxi chuckled, paying no mind to the flattery. "Cut the beat-around-the-bush nonsense. Tell me straight what you're after." "The Moon Clan resistance is weak and incompetent, toyed with like monkeys by the Fierce Tiger Army in the north. In my view, the root problem is that they lack a valiant commander who can unite them and lead them into battle!" Axin fixed his gaze intently on Laxi, resting his right hand on the table. "With the general's abilities, you are undoubtedly the most suitable choice! Only you can twist those former slaves into a single tight rope! On top of that, having learned the Alliance's modern military doctrine, you will surely beat those feudal nobles black and blue!" He agreed wholeheartedly with Laxi's view; his Assassin Gang had been able to crush rival gangs and carve out a niche in Golden Gallon Port precisely because of unity. Hearing this, Laxi burst out laughing, naturally not one to be swayed by a few flattering remarks. Instead, he teased him: "You're quite a character, kid. Finding all sorts of ways to butter me up. I didn't call you out, and now you're addicted. Talk is cheap while we're sitting here—are you going to conjure artillery shells and bullets out of thin air for me?" He was an unrefined man, true, but he wasn't stupid. War was no child's play. No matter how capable Laxi was, away from the Alliance, he was nothing. Yet beyond his expectations, the young man nodded without hesitation, agreeing immediately. "I'll provide them! Ammunition for a hundred thousand men, I'll provide it. Ammunition for a million men, I'll provide that too! As long as you are willing to come out of retirement and drag that old emperor off his throne, I, Axin, will back your fight even if it costs my entire fortune! If you don't believe me, I'll go withdraw the money from the bank right now!" Laxi narrowed his eyes, the smile vanishing from his face as he stared unblinkingly at him. "...Excessive courtesy masking hidden schemes. I'd like to ask what the hell you're really after." Axin said nothing, simply placing the copy of the Survivor Daily onto the table and gently pushing it before him. "I, Axin, am a businessman. In business, I seek only profit. But in this one matter, it's for nothing else than pride... We of the Rat Clan were not born destined to eat dirt." Looking at the headline on the newspaper, Laxi let out a low chuckle. He grabbed the paper, uncrossed his legs, shook the hem of his clothes, and rose to his feet. "What a coincidence. Neither are we of the Moon Clan. But for something this big, I can't give you an answer right away. Give me three days." With that, he abandoned the remaining dishes, ignored the wine he prized like life itself, and with a flick of his sleeves, walked out with the newspaper and his men. Looking at the table full of barely touched dishes, Kunal felt a pang of waste and turned to Axin. "Boss... do you think he's reliable?" Axin sat back down softly in his chair and picked up his untouched chopsticks, remarking nonchalantly, "Kunal, what do you think true reliability is, and how long would we have to wait for it? Or rather, is what he's doing something where one needs to consider who deserves to do it and who doesn't?" "I... don't know," Kunal scratched the back of his head with a troubled expression. "Whether our general succeeds or not doesn't matter. It's just like the warlords of the Fierce Tiger Army—even though they do business with us, we invest in them while simultaneously investing in their enemies." Pouring himself a cup of wine, Axin said in a very quiet voice, "The wasteland is undergoing convulsions unseen in two centuries. River Valley Province was reborn in blazing fire, Jinchuan Province found hope within the flames, as did Haiya Province... We have stayed quiet for two hundred years; we need a fire too. Now is the best time. The true empires are settling old scores, resuming the war left unfinished two centuries ago. None of them have the time to bother with us. Someone must fire a shot while we have the chance, to let all those restlessly stirring see what kind of thing this Wutuo riding on their heads really is." Outsiders could only see the obedience and forbearance ingrained in their bones, but as a Rat Clan man, he knew better than anyone that behind those two words lay another. Rebellion. Or rather, an innate streak of defiance. Just like rats: usually chased and toyed with by cats, but push them to the brink, and they dare even bite a human. With that, he glanced around at the brothers in the room and said pleasantly, "...Come, everyone, sit down and eat. You know I hate waste. Such a huge spread of food was ordered for everyone in the first place; I couldn't finish it alone anyway." "Didn't you order it for Laxi?" Kunal asked in confusion by his ear as he waved the men over to sit down. Axin smiled faintly and was the first to pick up his chopsticks on everyone's behalf, even though he still wielded them rather clumsily. "A lord like him wouldn't eat a meal with people like us. Word getting out would look bad for both of us. Having a drink before leaving already showed us plenty of face." "His ambitions are far greater than those of a minor figure like me."