Ideals Are Beautiful, Reality Is Skeletal

In a village beside the industrial zone, a sun-baked, dark-skinned young man returned to his tent, sitting down furiously on a wooden bench. His rage was not directed only at the Wilante, but also at the Alliance people who had stopped them from taking revenge, and partly even at his own useless self. He was the bravest lad in the village. He was supposed to lead the villagers in asserting their rights, yet even now his shoulders trembled uncontrollably. He despised his own cowardice, though he had no idea what he could do to stop being a coward. Looking at his grandson, a wrinkle-faced elder sighed and spoke in a slow drawl. "Bokassa, you were far too reckless." Bokassa turned back and glared at him, pouring out all the anger and grievances bottled up inside his chest. "I don't understand what they're trying to do! Aren't the Wilante their enemies? We could finish off their enemies for them! It's not like we're asking for much!" The elder shook his head. "In the desert, friends and enemies are clearly distinct, but out beyond the desert, the world doesn't run on just those two concepts. Your way works in the Great Desert, but it won't work out there... There's a man in Brahma Province named Laxi. Someone wrote a biography about him. I bought a copy from an Evernight Port merchant and left it on your nightstand, but you've never once cracked it open. If you ask me, you ought to learn from him and see how he handled the exact same situation." Bokassa looked blankly at him. *Laxi?* *The world beyond the Great Desert?* What did any of that have to do with his confusion? He had seen that book on his nightstand, but he barely knew a few words, and learning was far too much trouble. Seeing that the youth was still oblivious, the elder gave an earnest piece of advice. "No matter what, the Alliance is the master here now. If you really don't know what to do, keep a low profile and follow behind whoever you think is powerful." Bokassa grumbled resentfully, "And then work for the Alliance? How's that any different from before they got here?" "The difference is that back then, if you talked back to the Wilante, they would whip you, lash you to a post, and torture you until your last breath. Now, nobody will do that to you... Although, I suppose you were never truly afraid of their whips, or you wouldn't have provoked them time and time again." The elder glanced up at the ceiling of the tent, tapped his tobacco pipe against the sole of his shoe, and let out a long sigh. "In truth, there's no need to hate them that much. Before the Wilante arrived, did you really think the Lavinka River was some paradise from a fairytale? Don't be so naive. The most fertile land was never in our hands—it belonged to the mutants and abominations." Looking at the old man, Bokassa sneered, "You old codger, actually speaking up for the Wilante. Have you lived long enough?" The old man shook his head. "I lived long enough ages ago. I just don't want to watch the only child I have left throw away his chance to become a decent person and turn back into a beast." "I don't want to be some 'decent person.' That soft crap only gets you bullied, turning you into a wretch who follows behind everyone else picking up scraps to eat... But you're right about one thing: I should follow behind someone powerful. Even if I don't get meat, I can at least get a sip of soup." Bokassa clenched his fist, turned his gaze outside the tent, and muttered under his breath, "I wonder when the Alliance is going to hand out wages." The elder reminded him, "I hope you remember your own words and follow behind the strong. And stop skipping shifts. We're almost out of pipe tobacco at home." Glancing at the old-timer, Bokassa said impatiently, "I got it. I'll bring some money back. You make it sound like I'm lazy or something." ... With wave after wave of Alliance engineers, purchase orders, and capital pouring in, and with Enterprise's 100th and 101st Divisions seizing multiple mines and power stations from the Southern Legion in rapid succession, the Lavinka Industrial Zone finally showed signs of revival after restoring its former order. Time slipped into December. Under Fang Chang's coordination, the Lavinka Autonomous Committee tackled property rights first, rolling out its first initiative for industrial restructuring—the December Act. Under the provisions of the act, to raise capital for the Lavinka Development Fund, the Lavinka Autonomous Committee would auction off 172 facilities across the industrial zone. These facilities were primarily obsolete, inefficient production assets that suffered from various issues—such as steel mills producing billets, aluminum processing plants, garment factories manufacturing uniforms, stamping workshops making cartridge casings, and fuel power stations. Alliance engineers had studied them and determined that if the Alliance funded their renovation directly, it would not only squander immense sums of taxpayer money but would also likely prove thankless. It was better to let private enterprise figure out how to turn this junk into treasure. These factories would be put up for auction, entrusted to the Dawn City Stock Exchange and five major banks of the Alliance. The entire auction would be completely public. Any qualified individual or organization could place bids through branch offices of the designated institutions. Branches of the Dawn City Stock Exchange existed in Dawn City, Golden Gallon Port, Silver Moon Bay, Settlement No. 1, Port French Fries, the North Island of the South Sea Alliance, Ring Island, Coral City, and even as far as Ideal City on the eastern coast. Participating in the bidding was very convenient. Meanwhile, Baiyue Company and Niuma Group, who were participating in the ownership reform of the Lavinka Industrial Zone, would not bid in the initial auction; they would only place bids on lots that failed to sell. This was done firstly to ensure fairness, and secondly to prevent the outflow of Alliance citizens' wealth. After all, if Baiyue Company entered the fray backed by the capital of Alliance citizens, ordinary citizens wouldn't be able to compete at all. And so, the 172 facilities were quickly auctioned off. Even though these assets were plagued by various issues, industrial entrepreneurs snapped them up in a feeding frenzy. Aside from players and Alliance citizens, the buyers included wealthy figures from Golden Gallon Port and the South Sea Alliance, and even business tycoons from Ideal City. Some had their eyes set on the post-war reconstruction dividends of Batoya Province, while others aimed at the space elevator in the Southern Sea. Although Ideal City possessed plenty of factories of its own, considering exchange rates and local labor costs, the plants in the Lavinka Industrial Zone had distinct advantages. All they needed to do was transfer a little bit of technology from Ideal City. Regardless, thanks to these investors rushing in with capital and technology, the Alliance integrated the Southern Legion's Lavinka Industrial Zone into its supply chain without spending a single cent. In the process, the Lavinka Industrial Zone raised a staggering sum of nearly 1.5 billion silver coins! Even when Baiyue Company entered Golden Gallon Port, they hadn't raised that much money. With this enormous fund, the Autonomous Committee gained immense confidence and momentum for reforms. Chairman Antoine patted his chest and assured Fang Chang that he would turn the Lavinka Industrial Zone into the pearl of the Great Desert—the Golden Gallon Port of the western coast of the Central Continent! That was bold talk indeed. The man had already looked beyond the Great Desert, setting his sights on rivaling Avent City and Triumph City. Yet Fang Chang didn't think he was bragging. If anything, he felt Antoine's estimate was conservative. With a hand full of aces, paired with the tailwinds of post-war reconstruction and the space elevator, he couldn't think of any reason it wouldn't take off. Amid this grand surge of industrial transformation, everyone rolled up their sleeves, ready to make a fortune—whether it was the Wilante plant managers and executives who had gained new bosses, or the new owners rushing in from the Alliance. Lasov, hailing from Golden Gallon Port, was one of them. In his early years, he had earned his first pot of gold following Ah Xin in demolition and relocation work. Later, like many hot-blooded Rat Clan members, he threw that money into the real economy. Driven by the ideal of saving the nation through industry, he founded a factory producing natural gas and LPG tanks. While the industry seemed modest, its profit margins were extraordinarily generous, and demand was booming. Although the Alliance was highly electrified, Brahma Province and Baiyue Province were an entirely different story. Even in Golden Gallon Port and Port French Fries, countless restaurants relied on gas cylinders for cooking. As for the territories carved up by warlords, it went without saying. Many warlords even purchased his LPG cylinders as munitions reserves: once the gas ran out in the kitchens, they stuffed them with explosives and hauled them to the front lines as artillery shells. In other words, his clientele included not only small restaurateurs, but also military officers leading men into battle. Thanks to the booming demand for his products, he had long contemplated opening a new factory, even scouting land near Banana Head Bay adjacent to Golden Gallon Port, needing only to make the payment. Just then, however, news of the Alliance liberating the Lavinka Industrial Zone and the Autonomous Committee holding an open bidding process spread down every street and alley via the Survivor Daily. Seeing this gift dropped from the heavens, Lasov's heart instantly caught fire. At a single glance, he locked onto a steel mill that supplied billets for the Conqueror 10 tank! While the Alliance looked down on the mill, slapping it with the label of "obsolete capacity," he didn't find it backward in the slightest. In fact, he looked upon it as if it were a sacred artifact. This place had supplied a tank factory! With this under his belt, wouldn't his gas cylinder factory's production skyrocket through the roof?! His sheer joy was not an ounce less than when Boss Sun, the Alliance's "legendary steel baron," bottom-fished the "Mighty Strength" Steel Mill from Boulder City entrepreneur Fred for two million silver coins. Moreover, what Lasov saw was not merely the profit this steel mill could generate, but the technology it possessed—technology that Brahma Province sorely lacked! If he could bring the Legion's armor-steel manufacturing techniques back to his homeland, what a wonderful thing that would be! Although Absaik was no good, the State of Brahma was not Absaik's private property after all. Lasov still hoped to make his homeland a better place. With this thought, he did not hesitate to shell out a fortune of nearly ten million silver coins, snatching the asset from his competitors. The moment he secured ownership of the plant, he rushed without stopping to the banks of the Lavinka River, less than a hundred kilometers from the front line, meeting the factory director who had only recently been released from an Alliance POW camp. The director was a Wilante named Glenkin. He had held the rank of millurion in the Logistics Department of the Southern Legion's General Affairs Ministry, previously serving under District Chief Antoine. Perhaps because the Alliance had thoroughly beaten the fight out of him, he put on none of the usual Wilante airs before Lasov. Once their meeting concluded, he immediately began organizing the resumption of production. Hearing that "Glenkin's factory" was restarting operations, a crowd of local native youths cooperatively flooded the recruitment booth at the factory gates. Watching the long queue of young, robust lads, Lasov beamed with a radiant smile. He could already envision the boiling molten steel churning in the furnaces, cast into ingots, pressed under searing heat into neat steel plates, and finally carried across assembly lines to cutting and stamping workshops to be forged into whatever shapes his customers needed! Just as the newspapers claimed, this place would become the greatest industrial base across the Western Sea! Perhaps he should consider buying a few properties nearby... His first pot of gold had come from real estate, and if the opportunity presented itself, he certainly wouldn't mind scooping up a few more. Yet just as Lasov was lost in his daydream of sudden wealth, an argument at the recruitment desk shattered his reverie. A dark-complexioned youth thrust out his hand toward the recruitment staff, demanding self-righteously, "I've already registered. When do you plan on handing out the wages?" Never in his life having heard such an absurd demand, Lasov stood utterly dumbfounded. The employee from Golden Gallon Port was visibly stunned as well. He wasn't the kind of person who gave his boss much consideration; he worked for Lasov purely for the paycheck. But demanding money right after signing up was taking things too far. Even the fanatics in the Workers' Union had never been this radical. After choking on his words for a long moment, he squeezed out, "...You just registered. You haven't done a single stroke of work yet! What wages are we supposed to pay?" Hearing this, the native youth flared up instantly, shouting in fury, "What kind of talk is that? If you don't pay us, how are we supposed to eat? We need to eat! Are you expecting us to work for you on empty stomachs? Are you even human?!" At these words, the natives queuing behind him grew furious as well, shouting and clamoring in uproar. The Brahma employee handling the registration list couldn't hold his ground against the barrage and shot a helpless, pleading look at his boss. He had seen people twist logic and act unreasonable, but this was the first time he had met his match in his own area of expertise. Seeing the scene descending into chaos, Lasov hurried forward to mediate, shouting to the applicants, "Everyone, we know times are tough, and we completely understand! In fact, we are just like you—we Brahma people were enslaved by the Wilante too... Tell you what, since we're all fellow survivors, we'll solve your problem! We'll set up an employee cafeteria in the factory, and all workers can eat for free!" The Brahma employee was thunderstruck upon hearing this. *Since when was this guy so generous?!* His boss certainly didn't have an employee cafeteria in his Golden Gallon Port factory. However, he didn't realize that Lasov had weighed the pros and cons carefully. Local labor costs were vastly lower than in Golden Gallon Port, and food was cheap. Feeding the workers wouldn't cost much at all. Yet the youth wasn't buying it in the slightest. He pressed forward aggressively, yelling, "An employee cafeteria? We have elderly at home, and I have three younger brothers and two younger sisters! Can they eat in the cafeteria too?" Looking at the self-righteous young man, Lasov's brow twitched. But to win over hearts and minds, he gritted his teeth. "Fine! Bring them along. I'll cover their meals for a month! But only for one month! Once you collect your paycheck, this perk ends, and it'll only apply to you!" The native youth seemed surprised that he actually agreed. He stared blankly at Lasov, then turned and left without a word. Lasov let out a breath of relief, secretly feeling proud of his own cleverness. To his shock, however, only a short while later, the youth returned with dozens of people in tow. Among the crowd, the oldest was a man in his fifties or sixties who could barely walk and leaned on a cane, while the youngest was an infant still cradled in its mother's arms, babbling without knowing how to speak. This guy hadn't just dragged his aunts and uncles over; he had brought along his neighbors' aunts and uncles as well. Before Lasov could say a word, the youth took the initiative to introduce them, chattering away in rapid babble and claiming every single person he brought was a relative. Nor was he the only one doing this. Several other newly registered natives seemed to have coordinated, calling over large mobs of friends and relatives. The crowd gathered before the factory more than doubled, and the freeloaders outstripped the actual job applicants. At this sight, Lasov's knees nearly gave out, and he almost fell to his knees before them. He had indeed spent money lavishly when buying the factory, slapping down ten million silver coins without blinking an eye. Yet that was bank money, borrowed against the collateral of his factory in Golden Gallon Port! If this newly acquired plant went under, he would lose even the shirt on his back to the bank! Seeing Lasov on the verge of tears, Factory Director Glenkin, who had been smoking off to the side, showed no surprise at all. Finally finishing his cigarette, he crushed the butt under his shoe, walked up to Lasov, and said, "The natives here are like this. You have to pay them before they work. Otherwise, they'll slack off at the machines or break them, and even whipping them won't help... The relatives they brought aren't really here to freeload either. Just hand them their wages, and treat whatever you said earlier like hot air." Lasov stared blankly at him, choking on his words for a long while before asking, "Is this how you ran things too?" A meaningful smile crept onto Director Glenkin's face. "Do you know why we went to Brahma Province? When our men saw the laborers in West Sail Port willing to work themselves to death on the docks without causing us the slightest trouble, every officer in Avent City went mad with envy. Our mouths watered so hard we cursed ourselves for not discovering that gold mine right under our noses earlier." Previously, they had purchased slaves from Wutu, buying them right out of Golden Gallon Port. But transit losses were far too high, and they never believed those frail, scrawny slaves could be of any use in factories. In truth, that had been accurate: most Brahma people transported to the Lavinka Industrial Zone had simply been assimilated into the local populace... After all, they shared the same roots and heritage. It wasn't until the civil bureaucrats from Triumph City opened a factory in West Sail Port that the lords of the Southern Legion suddenly realized the proper way to use Brahma people. The West Sail Port Massacre was bound to happen sooner or later. The only ones to blame were the civil bureaucrats themselves, who were far too weak to defend such immense wealth... The boss stood dazed for a long time, bitter, furious, and helpless. Finally, he let out a long sigh. "Fine, I concede... Pay them their wages." Director Glenkin nodded, wearing a slightly mocking smile. "A wise choice." Just as the Wilante director had said, once the native youths received their cash, they promptly dispersed the relatives they had brought. Both sides took a step back. Lasov revoked his promise regarding the employee cafeteria, but agreed that in the future, pay would precede labor. Though the native youths cursed him under their breath as a miser, they took no further action. Gradually, Lasov felt that he was finally mastering the trick of dealing with the locals. Yet immediately afterward, another bewildering turn of events struck him. The moment these lads pocketed the cash, they scattered like birds and beasts, every single one of them vanishing without a trace. Staring at the utterly abandoned recruitment booth, Lasov flushed crimson with rage, his fists clenching white. "This is outrageous!" Director Glenkin, who had already lit up a second cigarette, offered a faint smile and consoled him, "That's how it is." Looking at the unsurprised Wilante, Lasov couldn't help but complain, "Did you people come here to run a charity? You just coddled them like this?" "Coddled?" Glenkin narrowed his eyes slightly, smiling with quiet amusement. "If you had seen how we treated them, you wouldn't say that... But facts are facts. Even when we strung them up on posts, whipped their backsides with brine-soaked lashes, and dragged out the laziest ones to kill as warnings to the rest, they would go right back to doing the exact same thing the next day." Lasov stared at him in utter incomprehension—unable to grasp how the Wilante could be humbled by such people, nor why the locals could be so lazy. Reading the confusion in his eyes, Glenkin said casually, "That isn't called laziness. That's animal nature. Deal with them long enough, and you'll understand." After a pause, he added, "You don't need to be so depressed. Once they spend all that money, they'll naturally come back to work... Don't worry, it won't take long. They've never had the habit of saving money. And since they already owe you, they won't have any excuse to ask for wage advances. "When that time comes, debt will be your leash. You can use debt to control them—whether by whipping their backsides, sending prominent figures from their villages to collect the debt at their doors, or sleeping with their women right in front of them... so long as you can stomach the fact that most of them don't have the habit of brushing their teeth. Of course, I'd recommend hiring some locals or mutants to do the dirty work, or simply selling that right to their neighbors." Lasov stared at him, dark lines practically running down his face. "I came here to make money, not to run a brothel." Glenkin chuckled. "Isn't this me teaching you how to make money? If you don't learn to adapt to local customs, they'll band together against you. Besides, aside from the last option, I gave you plenty of other choices." He considered himself quite generous for passing on the Southern Legion's "core secret" without holding anything back from this Brahma man. That the Legion had managed to conquer such a vast territory and squeeze productivity out of this barren land was hardly due to swinging clubs and whips alone. Debt was the fundamental core of their exploitation; everything else was merely a tool. The locals would slip the noose of debt around their own necks voluntarily, transforming themselves from wild animals into domesticated livestock. That was the one area where they were superior to the Brahma people. While the Brahma people were easy to manage, they loved saving money far too much. They would tighten their belts just to squirrel away a few coins, stubbornly refusing to stick their heads into that noose. As a result, neither the Southern Legion nor the civil bureaucrats dared to pay them too many dinars. Pinching pennies on those wages hardly amounted to much exploitation—no myriarch cared about two measly gold coins. The main objective was to keep them trapped in perpetual poverty. The Southern Legion's rule over West Sail Port had been too brief. The clever minds in Avent City hadn't yet figured out how to slip the leash of debt around the necks of the Brahma people, so they could only continue the civil bureaucrats' strategy of using poverty to keep them obedient. And facts had proven their method effective. Given twenty years, Lion State would certainly have grown into an industrial center even greater than the Lavinka Industrial Zone. Yet as things stood, that could only ever exist in the realm of imagination... Looking at the still-troubled owner, Glenkin continued, "Also, if I were you, I'd go buy a shipment of scissors, lighters, and nail clippers." Lasov blinked. "What would I buy that junk for?" Glenkin smiled and enlightened him, "The locals love buying cheap, useless little trinkets. Didn't I just say? Once they run out of money, they'll naturally come back to work. Don't you want them back sooner?" Unfortunately, the Southern Legion's light industry had been underdeveloped, so procuring trinkets to placate these folks had cost a fair number of dinars. However, Glenkin had heard that the Alliance's supply chain had no shortage of such goods—a single silver coin could wholesale a whole heap of nail clippers. In truth, in his view, this was one of the reasons the silver coin had become the hard currency across the wasteland. The Alliance had not only built a stable supply chain on the wasteland, but also supplied an unimaginably rich variety of light-industrial products to most of its chaotic regions. Just like the "scarcity" of Cr, whoever issued the silver coin understood their own strengths intimately, as well as how to expand on them. As for the dinar, while it had its own merits, its robust purchasing power was only evident when buying slaves and tanks—things that the vast majority of ordinary people never used in their daily lives. Perhaps breaking away from the dinar system and issuing a sovereign currency might have allowed Avent City to hold out a little longer. Precious metal currencies were simply too cumbersome, and Triumph City, which controlled them, carried far too much historical baggage... This was Glenkin's technical reflection on the Southern Legion's failure, viewed from the perspective of an industrialist. Lasov was silent for a moment, pressing his index finger against the space between his brows, looking thoroughly exhausted. "I know the owner of a bicycle factory in Golden Gallon Port. I can bring in a shipment of bicycles..." Selling nail clippers would take until the year of the monkey. Glenkin's eyes lit up. Seeing that his boss was finally catching on, he gave an appreciative thumbs-up. "Not a bad idea! It'll also cut down on the time they waste dawdling on their way to work." Lasov stared at him, dumbstruck. "Wait... You mean to say they used to be late often?" Glenkin let out a soft chuckle. "Late? Often? Let me think... which of those questions should I start answering first?"