You Can't Eat Hot Tofu in a Hurry

At the airfield of the military base, Alliance Foreign Minister Cheng Yan was engaged in an amicable conversation with the senior leadership of Golden Gallon Port, while players from the Burning Corps stood in the distance, watching the spectacle. Unlike the local onlookers from Golden Gallon Port, the players were not curious about what Cheng Yan looked like. After all, they bumped into him from time to time on the streets of Dawn City. All they wanted to know was whether this war was actually going to be fought, and if so, when it would start. "Achoo!" Crouched atop a stone bollard, Mei You Jia Ren sneezed violently without warning, nearly tumbling off the post. This was already his tenth sneeze of the day. Crouching nearby, Yin Chai Yang Cuo glanced at him with an odd look. "Did you catch a cold or something?" Logically speaking, such a thing was practically unheard of. Even if the guy was an Intelligence-type, after two Awakenings, his constitution stat had to be at least twice that of an average human. Rubbing his reddened nose, Mei You Jia Ren muttered with a string of curses, "Hell if I know... Damn it, can you actually catch a cold in a video game?" He did not feel sick or uncomfortable, but lately he just could not stop sneezing. Ban Bu Cuo Tuo clapped him on the shoulder and said with a chuckle, "Take care of yourself, young man. If all else fails... ever thought of respawning?" Yi Bu Deng Tian chimed in immediately, "If you pass through Dawn City on your way back, grab some stuff for me." "Get lost." Mei You Jia Ren rolled his eyes in annoyance, but could not hold back another loud "Achoo!" Crouching beside him, Yin Chai Yang Cuo chuckled. "Or maybe somebody's missing you. Spill it, buddy—did you hook up with an NPC like Ling Chong did?" Ling Chong: "???" Mei You Jia Ren answered his question with a glare and a raised middle finger. Watching the rowdy bunch, Erliang Yueguang could not help but sigh with emotion. "This game is way too damn realistic." ... "Family! A single chopstick is easily snapped, but when ten chopsticks are bound into a bundle, breaking us won't be so easy!" In the slums of West Sail Port, low shacks had sprouted once again across the ground churned by artillery fire. People who were clever to a fault tended to be forgetful, and that held true for most people in Brahma Province. Even though the Legion had slaughtered countless people here just over a month ago, it did not stop the survivors from working for the Legion in the slightest. That was in the past now. Almost everyone thought this way. Some had even fled over from the neighboring Lion State—territory belonging to the State of Brahma. No matter how sweet the pie Absaik promised tasted, it did nothing to change the reality of their poverty. The Legion might not pay much, but at least they paid in cash, which worked out to over a hundred dinars a week. To the locals, this handsome sum was almost unimaginable. A slave cost only a thousand dinars. Saving up three or four months of wages was enough to buy a wife from an impoverished village! Even if most of the cargo they were hauling ashore these days consisted of munitions meant for invading Brahma Province... Not a single ray of light crept into the crooked shacks. The laborers clearly did not treat this place as a home, having merely thrown it together haphazardly. Yet from inside one of those low hovels, stirring sounds drifted out from time to time. Like a glimmer of light in the darkness. A family member bound with green gauze stood inside the shack, preaching with impassioned fervor. Before him, pairs of wide eyes gleamed in the dark. At that moment, a hand went up. A scrawny young man spoke with trepidation. "Boss..." "Call me family. We are all family here; no one is above anyone else." The Green Family member looked at him with an amiable gaze, as if looking at his own kin. "I see you have a question. Speak up, let me hear it, and see if I can clear your doubts." Never having been treated with such kindness, the Rat Clan lad's eyes turned slightly red. He had been alone for a very long time, remembering only that his name was Amin. He had drifted like duckweed, going wherever the current took him, never expecting to feel a father's warmth from another person. In truth, far more than the money, this was the real reason he had joined the Family Association. Working for other gangs, he had to call the foremen 'master.' But here, the foremen called him family, and truly treated him like one. He yearned to have a family. And even more, he yearned to be treated like family by others! Afraid of being mocked, Amin hesitated for a long time before asking timidly in a small voice, "May I ask... what are chopsticks?" Hearing his question, the Green Family member did not ridicule him. He merely offered a warm smile and explained, "They are an eating utensil. Far more hygienic than eating with your hands, brought over from our friends in the Alliance." "Hy... hygienic? What's that?" Another young man spoke up curiously, his eyes sparkling with longing for the Alliance. An eating utensil! That had to mean they had plenty of food to eat, right? The Green Family member smiled amiably. "Hygienic... means clean. According to science, most illnesses come from eating unclean things. For example, hands that have touched filthy things are dirty, and eating with chopsticks can prevent many diseases from happening." The light in the eyes of the people in the shack burned brighter, as though they could truly see that day. A day when they would have endless food and never have to eat dirt again. Not just them, but their children too. And they would be able to sit properly at dining tables just like the children of respectable folk, using utensils instead of their bare hands. "...Whether it is disease or hunger, these are the things we must eradicate." His heart surging with excitement, Amin asked, "Then how... how do we eradicate them?" "Through solidarity!" A gentle smile spread across the Green Family member's face as he answered those expectant gazes. "So long as we are united enough, just like the survivors of Dawn City, Boulder City... and thousands upon thousands of survivor settlements! From now on, everyone will be able to use chopsticks, everyone will have enough to eat, and it will be clean food!" Thunderous applause erupted inside the dark shack. Although he had not answered a single concrete question, that abstract answer seemed to speak straight to everyone's heart. That was precisely the answer they carried inside. Someone had finally put it into words for them. Two workers from Boulder City stood by the doorway, listening to the thunderous applause. One wore a gratified smile, while the other's expression was mixed with both joy and concern. "If you want to fill your belly, you have to till the soil. If you only have solidarity, all you'll do is starve together. In any case, theory can never replace practice. Though they're doing well, I'm always worried they'll swing toward another extreme." His name was Eugene, one of the veterans of the great upheaval in Boulder City and a comrade-in-arms of Lovett, the president of the Boulder City Workers' Association. During that bitter winter, he had used his hammer and craftsmanship to build a stove for his imprisoned comrades. One day, he had heard about these survivors in need of help while at a tavern, and had resolutely set out on this journey. Saving others was saving oneself. This was a consensus shared by all the workers, and something he believed without the slightest doubt. When the eager-to-learn Zayed sought out the Workers' Association, Eugene had come here from Golden Gallon Port upon the association's recommendation. Yet after working alongside the Family Association for some time, an indescribable unease lingered in his heart. The fellow worker beside him did not share his worry, chuckling teasingly, "But like you said, they're doing a fine job." Eugene's throat bobbed, and he managed to say, "I admit, their recruitment speed is indeed astonishing—even faster than ours. It took Sberg reading newspapers for a month just to gather enough people to fill a beer hall, but they've grown to over a thousand in less than a week..." "Then what are you still worried about?" The worker beside him clapped him on the shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. "Just like we say, theory can't replace practice. We have to give them time to find their own way. Don't forget the lesson from Golden Gallon Port. Why did the *Survivor Daily* flourish, while we ran into walls everywhere?" Eugene stared at him blankly before ultimately shaking his head. "I hope you're right..." They had indeed hit wall after wall in Golden Gallon Port, but he did not believe it was due to a failure to adapt to local conditions. Rather, it was because Golden Gallon Port had not yet completed its industrialization, and the local industrial workers lacked any class consciousness or sense of solidarity. Their opponents, on the other hand, had accumulated rich 'struggle experience' in the Alliance. Even before the Workers' Association arrived in Golden Gallon Port, those opponents had proactively carved out a piece of the pie to win over the people. It was the same in Mammoth State. That Lister had even taken the initiative to build dormitories for local workers and schools for their children, making those workers' lives more comfortable than soldiers', to the point where they felt a sense of honor just going to work. Under such circumstances, running into walls was inevitable. Eugene did not view this as a lesson in failure, but rather as proof that their work was succeeding. Even if the local workers did not identify with them, the end result was that those workers still lived far better lives than before. Although others in the Workers' Association were not satisfied, believing the minimum wage in Brahma Province was still too low, Eugene was quite content with the outcome. Impatience and chasing quick gains were never good things. While every region had its own circumstances, their upheaval had ultimately triumphed precisely because of their restraint... "I'm just worried we're in too much of a hurry." ... Elsewhere, inside another low shack, a candle flickered atop a table. Sitting beside the candlelight, Zayed checked the ledgers and rosters in his hands, an amiable smile gradually curving the corners of his mouth. Just moments ago, the membership of the Family Association had officially surpassed ten thousand! Although he had not yet broken the good news to his friends in the Workers' Association, he could already imagine the disbelief on the faces of those 'investors.' This was an absolute miracle. A miracle that could only be born in Brahma Province. "Do you know, Sava... the most brilliant business model in the world is actually religion. Compared to religion, all those messy ways of making money aren't even worth mentioning." There were plenty of labor agencies at the port, but none could match the laborers of the Family Association. Their workers were the most hardworking and the most united. Because of that, the docks and factories were willing to offer them more positions and pay a premium for their extraordinary efficiency. Squeezing out 0.5 dinars per hour yielded 4 dinars over an eight-hour shift. Each person contributed 28 dinars a week to the Family Association. Ten thousand people meant 280,000 dinars! That was already a staggering figure. At an exchange rate of three to five dinars for one silver coin, that worked out to roughly seventy thousand silver coins! A rifle cost only one or two hundred silver coins. That money was enough to arm an entire company! Lower the standards a bit, and they could outfit two or three companies! Though still far from realizing his ambitions, this was undeniably a splendid beginning. Standing beside Zayed, his young follower Sava said in a low voice, "But sir... the gangs at the port don't seem happy with what we're doing." Zayed chuckled, curling his lip in disdain. "Why bother with them? Nothing more than a bunch of sewer rats." Sava remained worried. He was not particularly afraid of those big-noses, but he could never put his mind at ease regarding those ferocious gang members. One look was enough to tell they were desperate thugs. And the Wilante would never interfere in their mutual slaughter. "Still... those guys are violent organizations after all. We've cut into their profits, so they're bound to retaliate against us..." Looking at Sava's anxiety-ridden face, Zayed merely gave a faint smile. "My dear Sava, you are still too young. When even those violent organizations don't dare look down on us, what gives you the illusion that we aren't one?" Sava was thoroughly bewildered. He clearly remembered what Mr. Zayed had told him about why they had returned to Brahma Province in the first place. How had they suddenly turned into gang members now? Zayed gently closed the roster in his hands and spoke in a very quiet voice. "If the inner-city nobles hadn't thrown Sberg into prison, Boulder City's dungeons wouldn't have been crammed full of people in just a few days... Do you understand what I mean, Sava?" Sava shook his head blankly, then nodded after a moment. "You want to... emulate Mr. Sberg?" Zayed suddenly burst into laughter. Only after nearly half a minute did he seem to have had his fill of laughing, gently shaking his head. "That's why I say you're still too young. You look at problems only on the surface, never at their essence." "The essence?" Sava stared at him blankly. Zayed nodded softly. "Precisely." That clever young girl thought he knew nothing about Boulder City's history, but the reality was quite the opposite. While others were still chasing after Boer, he had already pierced through the core of the story and found that blood-soaked heart. That was the thing buried beneath the white snow of Boulder City—a sword capable of slaying anything. Even an unkillable ideal. "...Revolution is a blood transfusion, and how can there be a transfusion without bleeding? If you want to accomplish great things with me, you can't lack this bit of resolve." Just as his words fell, a commotion suddenly erupted outside the window. Accompanying it were crude shouts and curses. "Right here!" "Where those cultists hold their classes!" Vaguely, he could also hear the furious roar of that friend from Boulder City. Sava remembered the gentleman was named Eugene, seemingly a blacksmith. Yet that gentleman knew far more than forging; his erudition extended to carpentry and chemistry, and he even possessed culinary skills, with a stew so exquisite that even professional chefs conceded defeat. He had heard the gentleman say his skills had been learned from a cannery worker while he was in prison. "What do you think you're doing—" A thuggish curse cut off the gentleman's roar. "Doing? We're taking care of you bastards who cut into our money!" "Boys! Beat them!" Realizing something had gone terribly wrong, Sava rushed to the window and witnessed a terrifying sight. A gang of men brandishing clubs, knives, and pitchforks charged through the slum alleys and barged into the place where the class was being held. It was the Black Rat Gang! In West Sail Port, they were a major gang second only to the Assassin Gang! Terror flared in Sava's eyes. Having never witnessed such savagery, his shoulders shook uncontrollably. Through the crack in the window, he watched helplessly as the teacher giving the lecture was dragged outside. The green gauze wrapped around the man's arm was dyed red with blood. The thugs struck with lethal force, beating him mercilessly to make an example of him. Seeing the Green Family member getting pulverized, the family members in the shack were terrified, scattering in panic with their heads in their hands, while other slum laborers gathered around to watch the spectacle. "Help..." The man pinned to the ground let out a dying gasp for help. Eugene's eyes widened and he tried to rush forward, only to be wrestled to the ground by several men tattooed with rats on their arms. "You bandits!" The other worker shouted as well, his eyes bloodshot with rage. Right at that moment, the lad named Amin suddenly erupted. "Aaargh! I'll kill you all!" Scrawny and gaunt, he was like an infuriated bull calf. Gripping a dagger he had scavenged from somewhere, he charged forward and plunged the blade straight into the thigh of the nearest thug. As luck would have it, the blade severed an artery, and blood spurted out like a crossbow bolt. "Aaargh! My leg! Fuck! You little shit, beat him—" The thug cursed in agony, his face turning paler and his voice growing fainter by the second. Seeing their comrade's gruesome state, the surrounding thugs were not intimidated. Instead, inflamed by the spraying blood, they raised their weapons and charged at the youth. This time, however, was different from before. Perhaps inspired by the boy's bravery, the surrounding family members no longer cowered. Grabbing whatever handy implements lay within reach, they surged toward the tattooed thugs. "Goddammit, you think we're easy targets?!" "Brothers, get them!" "For the family!" "Fight them to the end!" The surrounding laborers swarmed forward. Whether they were family members of the Family Association or laborers registered with other gangs, all rallied around the youth at this moment. They had long grown sick of the docks' rules. They traded their own sweat and blood for money from the Wilante, yet someone had to take a cut from the middle—what kind of logic was that?! Now that a Family Association that charged no agency fees had finally emerged, giving them a glimmer of hope for a better life, someone was trying to snuff it out. At this moment, the furious laborers vented all the resentment they usually harbored against these gangs. Even laborers registered under the Black Rat Gang turned a blind eye to their own gang's enforcers being beaten, some even secretly spitting on the ground in contempt. Confronted by this explosion of wrath from the laborers, the tattooed enforcers were frightened out of their wits. Battered by a hail of clubs, they scattered in panic, and some who were cut off even dropped to their knees, begging for mercy. Standing by the window watching, Sava swallowed hard and turned to rush out the door, only to be stopped by Zayed's outstretched arm. "What are you doing?" "I have to stop them! Someone's going to get killed at this rate!" Anxiety was written all over Sava's face, yet Zayed showed no intention of letting go, merely gazing out the window with an impassive expression. After another five or six minutes, a gunshot rang out at the end of the street, and several Wilante soldiers marched into the slums. Hearing that thunderous gunshot, the shouting, brawling crowd instantly froze, pulling their necks in and looking toward the big-noses. People on the fringes of the crowd began slipping away quietly. The once-crammed alley emptied out on its own, leaving only a dozen or so people standing in the middle, trembling and not daring to move. A toothpick dangled from Pete's lips as he cast a cold glance at the battered, bruised gang members, then gave an extra look at the youth clutching the dagger. "What's all the racket! If you've got the energy to brawl, you'd better spend it working on the docks!" The ferocious roar echoed down the alley; not a single person dared meet his eyes. Pete's gaze grew even more contemptuous. From the bottom of his heart, he looked down on these people. They were either fierce only among their own kind, or picked exclusively on the weak. Spitting out the toothpick, he barked at the thugs lying on the ground groaning for pity. "Anyone who can still move, get the hell up! Your legs broken? Waiting for me to fix them for you?" "Yes, yes—oh no! No, sir!" Catching the impatience in his voice, the enforcers who had been howling on the ground scrambled up in a panic. Bowing and scraping, they offered their thanks to the Wilante soldiers, then scurried off toward the mouth of the alley, glaring fiercely at the workers before they left. Watching them go, Pete stepped forward and hauled Eugene up from the ground by the wall. With blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, Eugene stared down the big-nose without yielding an inch, a cold sneer on his face. The locals feared this man, but Eugene did not. He was an Alliance citizen after all, and had entered with an electronic passport. Pete did not hit him. He merely shoved him once, then heavily patted his collar. As if smoothing his clothes for him. Yet anyone with eyes could see how much force the decurion put into the gesture. "...We're watching you," Pete squeezed the words through his teeth, leaning close to Eugene's ear. "If you dare stir up trouble on our turf, I'll throw you into the sea to feed the fish." The threatening tone was no joke. Eugene merely sneered, spitting out a mouthful of bloody saliva to the side. "Stir up trouble? On Wilante turf, teaching the poor to read counts as stirring up trouble? Then why don't you announce that openly at the Mutual Aid Community meetings! And drop the intimidation—if I were afraid of dying, I wouldn't have walked out from behind those massive walls!" "Heh. I hope you're just as brave when the blade is at your throat." Pete gave a cold scoff and spared him no further glance, merely gesturing for his men to withdraw and heading out of the alley. Watching the Wilante soldiers leave, the workers standing frozen in place finally breathed a sigh of relief. They began tidying up the mess outside their doors and picking up the scattered debris. Just then, a man wearing an expression of deep compassion made his way through the dispirited crowd. First, he helped the Green Family member to his feet, then checked on the injuries of his Boulder City friends, and finally went over to see the youth named Amin. Judging that the moment was ripe, he cleared his throat, looked at the injured family members, and spoke. "Family." "I know you must be worried right now, perhaps even frightened and terrified. You worry about the Wilante's attitude; you fear retaliation from those gang members... But I tell you, the ones who should be afraid are not us, but them!" One drooped head after another lifted, along with slumped shoulders. In unison, they turned their gazes toward the man. In their eyes lay trepidation and confusion, but also no small glimmer of hope. Especially the Green Family member lying on the ground, and the youth named Amin. They knew the identity of this young man before them. His name was Zayed! He was their Golden Family member! Bathed in those reverent gazes, Zayed spoke slowly, mimicking that man's mannerisms. He rounded out his words and repeated them once more with ringing power. "The ones who should be afraid are them... the vampires riding on our necks, and the running dogs of those vampires—not us, who have already united!" His voice was filled with power. Like a hand bulging with veins, it gripped those wide, staring eyes and carved its own mark deep within them. "...Out of fear, the flies and mosquitoes have colluded together! They do not want us to claim what is rightfully ours. What we have won through solidarity, they seek to seize by force. They do not lack that little bit of money! But only when we live in misery and hunger can their wicked empire be sustained! "The Wilante find it inconvenient to step into the fray themselves and break their own rules, so they incite those gang thugs to do the dirty work they won't touch... And those violent methods are the very proof of their terror! They attempt to subjugate us with force, attempt to shatter our solidarity! That is precisely what they fear!" Eyes burned with sheer hatred. Zayed looked into their eyes—or rather, looked at his own reflection in those pupils. He was very satisfied with their expressions. And very satisfied with himself. That aimless hatred and fury had finally found a direction to vent. At this moment, they were no longer a disorganized rabble. They had found something to loathe to their very bones! "...Yet they are mistaken! And mistaken to the extreme! Because we will not surrender, and we will certainly not let the crack of a few whips break our spines! Never!" The deafening words reverberated down the alley. Leaning against the cold wall, Amin felt his blood surge and could not help shouting in response. "Never!" Soon he realized that he was not the only one shouting; countless people around him were doing the same. Light blazed in his eyes. Standing in the dark, he was not alone. Standing beside him were countless people who shared his convictions. Those people were his family! Watching the boiling fervor in the alley, Zayed wore a satisfied smile. He raised a hand slightly, allowing the noise to subside for a moment, then continued in that unwavering voice. "That is right!" "We will never surrender over this small setback! The terror on the enemy's faces proves our righteousness!" "On this road bathed in hope, we will stand more united than ever before!" "We are family!" ... The alley behind them was still clamorous, with those rats chattering and squeaking about something. Still, it did not seem like another fight had broken out. Walking beside Pete, a soldier curled his lip and grumbled reluctantly, "Why do we even care about those rats? Why not let them keep fighting?" Pete glanced at him, looked away, and drew a toothpick from his collar pocket, sticking it between his teeth. He had been smoking too much lately and was trying to use this method to kick the habit. "...And watch them burn the port down?" He was only a decurion. He did not understand grand philosophies; he simply did whatever his superiors ordered. Lately, however, he had grown somewhat confused, because more and more things were turning out different from what he had imagined. For instance... What were they actually here for? Hadn't they come for revenge? Yet every time he thought about it, that honest, timid face would float into his mind. The man seemed to have been named Govinda. Before dying, he had frantically rattled off a long list of names, but had failed to escape death in the end. Thinking about it calmly, that coward who was as timid as a maggot might not have killed a single one of his compatriots. And not just Govinda, but several defenseless women as well. Rather than perpetrators, they seemed more like the victims. After all, the scars on their bodies could hardly have been left by Wilante fighting back. Every time he thought of this, an irritable gloom settled over him, and he could only force himself to stop thinking further. The comrades following behind him did not think so deeply. As if hearing a hilarious joke, they burst out laughing together. "Burn the port down? Those guys?" "Haha, would they dare?" "I'd actually prefer those wimps to grow a spine, instead of surrendering the second they hear a gunshot." Pete did not join in their laughter. He simply unclipped the communicator on his shoulder and delivered a brief report. "...Risk eliminated, crowd dispersed... Copy that..." He was just about to end the call when a voice suddenly came through the channel. And it was precisely the next words that froze him in his tracks. "...Survivors?! The Church of the Silver Moon? The parents of those children are alive?!" His head buzzed, momentarily unable to process such staggering information. Still alive? How was that possible? The surrounding soldiers gradually stifled their laughter. Seeing their squad leader stop in his tracks, they halted as well, exchanging bewildered glances. They knew all about the Church of the Silver Moon; they had been the first to find those children. The bullet marks on the ground, the blood that could never be scrubbed away, the old nun's account—everything had testified to the final fate of those brave souls. Without exaggeration, at least half of their hatred for the survivors of Brahma Province stemmed from those orphaned children and the tragic scene inside that church. And now someone was telling them that those people were actually still alive? They were completely dumbfounded. "...The northern checkpoint? Understood! I'll take my men over right away!" Having heard his superior's orders, Pete's expression instantly turned grim. He acknowledged the order and cut the transmission. Looking back at his subordinates, he barked crisply, "There are survivors! Follow me!" Without the slightest hesitation, the soldiers responded immediately. "Yes, sir!"