As it turned out, Factory Manager Glenkin was right. Those young men who received their wages blew through an entire week's pay in just three days, before trudging grudgingly back to the factory.
Lasov had initially complained about the "animalistic nature" shown by the locals, but he soon embraced the concept—and contentedly accepted all of their bad habits.
Because before his new gas cylinder production lines had even started running, the bicycles he had wholesaled from Golden Gallon Port sold like wildfire!
Upon witnessing these vehicles where "you just pump your legs and fly like the wind," the locals' eyes went as wide as copper bells.
And after hearing that buying one didn't require the rank of decurion or any official permit—just a few hundred silver coins—the native lads thrust their hands straight into their pockets without a second thought...
Only to find not a single coin.
No money... then go get money.
To live the dream of tearing down dirt country roads on classic 28-inch roadsters, and to secure prime mating rights within their tribes, these swaggering young lads—simultaneously the most primitive and most avant-garde youth on the wasteland—eagerly signed up, throwing themselves grudgingly into the tide of industrial transformation.
At first, they wanted to work two jobs at once, drawing advance wages from multiple factories. But the shrewd Moon Clan merchants had already anticipated that they would pull this stunt and plugged the loophole in advance.
To protect the factories they had spent fortunes purchasing, they took the initiative to establish the first civic organization in the Lavinka Industrial Zone: the Federation of Industry and Commerce.
Unlike the two federations in Bolo Province, this association did only one thing:
Register biometric data for their own employees and share the information amongst themselves, acting as an early prototype of a credit reporting system.
The technology behind this was not particularly difficult.
The wasteland lacked the internet, but it was by no means devoid of computers and cameras.
Doing this was impossible in the Alliance only because anyone who tried it would be cracked down on. However, the Autonomous Committee of the Lavinka Industrial Zone had not yet implemented laws protecting labor rights, so naturally, there were no such obstacles here.
This time, it was the locals of the Lavinka Industrial Zone who were dumbfounded.
When they collected their wages from their first employer and tried to head to a second, they were kicked straight out the door. The same thing happened when they went to a third or a fourth.
The factory owners had united.
Now, they had no choice but to actually work...
Originally, Fang Chang had believed that conditions were not ripe for the locals to form social organizations, and so he had postponed plans to establish a representative council. Little did he expect that this blueprint, shelved for the future, would end up being realized by a bunch of Bolo folks who had fled from Bolo Province—the people least interested in politics.
In truth, he had also fallen into the trap of empiricism. It wasn't that the Bolo people were entirely apolitical or incapable of solidarity; they simply couldn't care less when something didn't affect them personally.
When the fire was burning their own asses, staying indifferent meant crying to King Yan in the underworld, so they had to show a little solidarity.
Take right now, for instance.
If they didn't bring out real competence, every single one of them would go bankrupt.
Yet the irony lay right here: once the fire cooled down enough not to burn their behinds, they would likely turn around, praise how wonderfully warm the flames were, and complain about how damn noisy those shouting about burned behinds were.
Still, no matter how one looked at it, humans were more advanced than animals.
The natives of the Lavinka Industrial Zone had given the newly arrived bosses from Bolo Province a scare with their raw "animalistic nature," but in the end, they were whipped into shape by those who had launched the beachhead assault.
As for whether the Workers' Association would catch up and discipline the latter, that depended on how well the bosses developed.
If they could replicate a success that even Fang Chang himself could not easily replicate—making the "Golden Gallon Port model" shine brilliantly in the Lavinka Industrial Zone so that the locals wouldn't mind that minor growing pain—then the Alliance radicals wouldn't stand a chance either.
Of course, that was a matter for the future.
In any case, the 3,000 bicycles Lasov brought over from Golden Gallon Port were snatched up the moment they hit the docks.
Those native youths who had landed jobs lined up outside his factory, clutching their fresh, barely warm wages with expectant eyes.
The mechanics brought from Golden Gallon Port didn't rest for a second. Right outside the factory doors, they assembled frames, installed chains, applied grease... Practically every bike was sold the second it was assembled!
Lasov stood right alongside them collecting the cash. Gazing at the thick stack of bills in his hands, he was grinning ear to ear.
A wholesale cost of 300 gallons (roughly 30 silver coins), and he was selling them for 200 silver coins—with demand vastly outstripping supply!
If all 3,000 bicycles were sold, the profit alone would amount to 510,000 silver coins!
It was sheer, unadulterated extortionate profit!
Not only did he earn back the wages he had paid out, but he also scooped up the wages paid out by other factory owners!
The workers assembling the bikes watched with burning envy, itching to quit on the spot and turn into scalpers themselves.
Factory Manager Glenkin wasn't the least bit surprised that the bicycles were selling like crazy; he merely looked upon the heaps of bikes with an envious gaze.
The Southern Legion didn't lack steel, rubber, or motor oil, and it possessed technologies far more formidable than this.
Yet simple materials like these, assembled with unremarkable technology, had been treated as "affordable luxuries" accessible only to those ranked decurion and above.
Otherwise, one had to earn a mountain of money to buy them on the open market outside the logistical supply system using dinars.
Of course, he had a bicycle of his own, and his son and daughter had them too, but he had never seen a scene where bicycles were sold like nail clippers.
In the past, he hadn't believed that ordinary people in the Alliance could afford automobiles regardless of whether they held the rank of myriarch, but now he believed it.
At the thought that he might buy one himself in the future, his nostalgia for the Southern Legion diminished by another fraction...
After sunset, Lasov handed the day's revenue over to the staff at the local branch of White Bear Bank.
Watching the bill-counting machine whirr and rustle non-stop, his face beamed with a brilliant smile. In high spirits, he handed out a 1,000-silver-coin bonus red envelope to each assembly mechanic, and finally stuffed a stack of banknotes into Factory Manager Glenkin's hands.
"Haha! Brother, your idea was pure genius! Just a small token of appreciation, don't be polite!"
"You are the genius," Glenkin replied. Having little concept of silver coins, he didn't count how many bills were in the stack, casually slipping them into his pocket before saying with deep emotion, "Less than two weeks... It takes that long just for troops from Evernight Port to march to West Sail Port, yet your shipping containers arrived faster than an army."
Lasov dismissed Glenkin's astonishment; after all, no matter how fast the containers moved, that was the shipping company's capability.
As long as he was willing to spend the money, it could be even faster.
For instance, flying them in by cargo plane.
Though flying low-value-added goods like these wasn't worth the expense.
"There's nothing strange about it. To us, time is money. Work with me for a while and you'll understand." Lasov winked at him and said with a broad grin, "Don't worry, I never shortchange my brothers. When I make money, you'll get your fair share."
Glenkin felt a flush of heat in his chest at those words.
Though he had little grasp of silver coins, the bills stuffed in his pocket felt delightfully heavy.
An urge suddenly struck him to pull them out and count how many there were, but he felt embarrassed to do so on the spot.
That stack had to be at least 5,000 silver coins...
Word was that in the Alliance, an LD-series assault rifle cost a mere 200 silver coins.
"Are we still going to manufacture gas cylinders, then? I feel like bicycles make more money."
"Of course we will! Don't let short-term gains turn your head; this bike business is just quick cash." Clapping Factory Manager Glenkin on the shoulder with a chuckle, Lasov's eyes darted around as he continued, "Though you did remind me, we can develop some product lines catering to local demand on the side... How does that saying go? Right, adapting to local conditions!"
"Such as?" Glenkin asked.
Lasov chuckled.
"Such as pots, pans, cargo tricycles, or furniture and the like."
Glenkin frowned slightly.
"Iron furniture? Iron ore is cheap here, but wouldn't that be too heavy?"
Lasov shook his head like a rattle-drum.
"Wood, of course! What kind of added value can you squeeze out of iron junk? Selling something worth one silver coin for one-point-one silver coins isn't skill. Getting people to shell out ten silver coins and shower us with gratitude—now that's skill! We won't just sell wooden sofas, either; we'll have genuine leather and pure cotton."
Looking at his boss speaking with such fervor, Glenkin gave a wry smile.
"I should remind you, even if a few trees grow along the banks of the Lavinka River, this place is still called the Great Desert."
Lasov chuckled.
"Of course I know that! But Port French Fries has wood to spare, not to mention the timber mills at Port Steamed Bun... If I recall correctly, the mills there are even run by you Wilante."
The wasteland was knitting together into a unified whole; limiting one's thinking to the Great Desert was simply lacking vision.
He could hire the finest artists from Dawn City, import top-grade wood, furs, and cotton from Baiyue Province, and ship them to factories in Golden Gallon Port for rough processing.
Watching Lasov describe his commercial blueprint with such animated excitement, Glenkin suddenly felt as though he were looking at a stranger, finding it hard to believe this fellow was actually a Bolo.
He had seen Bolo people before.
Their subservient, timid demeanor had once made him despise them from the bottom of his heart, to the point of never regarding them as equals.
Now, he finally understood why the Alliance had won.
Solidarity was the means.
Equality was their true core.
The Legion had reduced wastelanders to beasts of burden.
The Alliance turned them into human beings.
Animals were destined never to defeat humans; the downfall of the Southern Legion—and indeed the entire Legion—was all but inevitable...
...
Small commodities from Golden Gallon Port sparked a wave of fashion in the Lavinka Industrial Zone.
Everywhere along the dusty dirt roads, one could spot figures reminiscent of Aldebio—lacking only the soulful touch of overloaded bananas.
After all, this wasn't the tropics; strictly speaking, it was temperate. The heat was merely because this was the Southern Hemisphere, and December here marked the blazing peak of summer.
Precisely for this reason, what sold like hotcakes wasn't limited to Golden Gallon Port's bicycles, but also short-sleeved T-shirts and sandals.
Especially the latter.
Styles that had long fallen out of fashion in Golden Gallon Port became wildly coveted blockbusters here!
Those natives, savage as orcs, would literally come to blows over an outrageously tacky printed floral shirt.
Conversely, vault-dweller-certified artisan goods like those from Tengteng's Cabin gathered dust; men and women alike seemed completely allergic to understated luxury.
Instead, the flamboyant, meme-worthy designs churned out by players enjoyed an enormous market.
For example, a red T-shirt printed with a baby-faced boy whose beaming smile had practically become the spiritual totem of several tribes.
Watching the swaggering youths strutting around in driving loafers with Want Want milk bottles plastered across their chests, Elena had a deeply subtle look on his face.
Back when closed beta slots had been flooded open, this kind of performance art had briefly surfaced in Dawn City, but who would have thought that after beta qualifications tightened, it would reemerge among the wastelanders?
"Is this... a Renaissance?"
Rubbing his temples and massaging his eye sockets, Elven King Fugui tried to relieve his mental fatigue.
"Uh... I guess you could call it that."
There were more and more unfamiliar faces in the server, and it was no longer just the small circle of veteran players. Although Wasteland Online still hadn't launched an open beta, it practically made no difference anymore.
Mosquito was still flying planes on the front line, Tail was building snowmen in the Arctic Circle, and several of the most famous jokers weren't around.
At the very least, he couldn't guess who had concocted this meme—and maybe it wasn't even the players' doing at all.
While the players had their minds blown, the 172 suckers who had bought the factories finally caught on to the trick of tapping this market. One after another, they wrote letters to the Autonomous Committee urging them to erect the harbor's gantry cranes as soon as possible to speed up cargo unloading, and then began dumping light industrial goods imported from Golden Gallon Port.
To some extent, this indeed stimulated the market in the Lavinka Industrial Zone, but a river still separated the market from the factories.
The debt-ridden youths had indeed been forced back into the factories by the bosses brought in by the Alliance from all over the world, but they clearly had no real desire to build up their homeland; they just wanted to make quick cash to trade for a flashy bicycle.
There was nothing fundamentally wrong with thinking that way. Disliking savings wasn't inherently wrong either; people ought to live for themselves first and foremost, living for the present... But one should not live with zero plans for the future.
Especially when everyone in a society had no future planning whatsoever—neither good nor bad—that society was almost inevitably doomed to stagnate, or even spiral downward.
Under such conditions, any stimulus measures designed for civilized societies would fail.
The locals lived like animals: foraging when hungry, drinking when thirsty, mating when the mood struck, laboring at day-labor jobs, and never mastering any core skills. Even expecting them to become skilled workers was an extravagant hope.
Although nimble-minded Golden Gallon Port merchants led by Lasov made a quick fortune in the short term, this money was largely a windfall dividend generated by the Lavinka Industrial Zone auctioning off the Southern Legion's assets.
The local workers were able to borrow money precisely because this dividend served as collateral.
Otherwise, no one would ever have advanced them their wages—just as nobody would lend money to the seagulls of Port French Fries.
And once this dividend was consumed, everyone here would suffer.
Fang Chang had no doubt that seasoned Golden Gallon Port merchants like Lasov could escape before the great deluge arrived, but as the captain of the ship, knowing who held the last lifebuoy was meaningless to him.
There would never be enough lifebuoys to go around.
What he had to do was steer this ship well, keep it from running aground, and ensure every passenger on board reached the shore safely.
At a meeting of the Lavinka Industrial Zone Autonomous Committee, Fang Chang sat at the head of the conference table, looking at the committee members seated before him.
"...The wastelanders of River Valley Province don't like saving money either, living by the philosophy that life is brief as morning dew. But even so, they have a clear concept of what they want to do tomorrow.
"That is why, when we placed books before them and told them tomorrow would be better, it took hardly any effort to get them to study earnestly. And when we laid out a better plan before them, they would strive and struggle alongside us."
Xiao Yu and Boss Xia were prime examples, along with even more accomplished survivors such as Lister, Sun Shiqi, and many others.
Newcomers to Wasteland Online these days had little impression of Xiao Yu, but Fang Chang remembered her vividly.
That little girl who once sat outside the sanatorium counting copper coins had grown into one of the principal architects of the Alliance's financial system, someone whom even an expert like him couldn't fool.
And Boss Xia had become an outstanding engineer.
Though she wasn't particularly wealthy, money was not the sole metric of life's worth; her research and contributions were plain for many Alliance players to see.
As for this place...
After a brief silence, Fang Chang looked up at the ceiling of the conference room, sighed, and shook his head.
"The above represents the experience of Dawn City, and it is the foundation of both the Boulder City model and the Golden Gallon Port model... But based on our observations over this period, I regret to say that this underlying code does not function here."
The locals possessed no concept of the future whatsoever.
Their extreme lethargy and total resignation to whatever came their way were the true root cause of why the Lavinka Industrial Zone's actual output fell so far short of its theoretical capacity.
The reason behind it was not complicated at all, nor did it have anything to do with Tyr or the Enlightenment Society.
And he had indeed misjudged them.
It was not that they hadn't "resisted"; rather, they were resisting at every waking moment, resisting every single person they encountered...
If this same industrial zone had been placed in the Lion State of Bolo Province, with Bolo workers tightening their belts to manufacture guns and artillery for the Southern Legion, Absaik and Laxi might well have been beaten half to death by the Southern Legion.
The people seated around the table looked at each other in dismay, their gazes eventually converging on President Antoine.
Thrust to the forefront by everyone's expectations, President Antoine gave a bitter smile and turned a pleading look toward Fang Chang.
"Please... could you come up with a solution?"
Fang Chang shook his head.
"You cannot pin all your hopes on me alone. Otherwise, what will you do once I leave? The reason I called this meeting today is precisely to hear your thoughts."
President Antoine closed his mouth and shifted his gaze to the head of the Development Foundation.
The man's name was Hope. An accountant by trade, he was a Wilante born in Yavente City. Who knew which factory the Alliance had dug him out of, but he now controlled the Autonomous Committee's purse strings—and held an enormous sum of 1.5 billion silver coins in his hands!
Controlling such a colossal fortune, Antoine was eager to see what this fellow was made of.
Being stared at directly by President Antoine, Hope knew he couldn't dodge the issue. Clearing his throat, he said:
"Perhaps we could allow a portion of the population to get rich first, and then the others—"
Before he could finish, the industrial zone's guard captain interrupted him with a dark face.
"—will be robbed blind by the other natives, just like in Blackwater Alley in Evernight Port. In the past half-month alone, we've handled thirty-seven robberies and twenty-six thefts, half of which involved bicycles."
He was one of the few Lavinka natives at the table, but having grown up in Yavente City, he was also one of the few who had seen the wider world.
His mother had been a servant to a myriarch. Because he had half-Wilante blood in his veins, he had managed to rise to the rank of millurion in the auxiliary forces.
Later, following General Lubis's defeat, he had surrendered with a cooperative attitude, so the Alliance assigned him to the guard force. Thanks to outstanding performance and a recommendation from a battalion commander in the expeditionary force, he had experienced a meteoric rise to his current post as police chief.
And precisely because local blood ran through his veins, he understood the nature of the natives better than anyone.
Without waiting for Hope to answer, he continued:
"...In the end, this place will just become another Evernight Port. Outsiders will keep living in the swankiest neighborhoods, while the locals will continue rotting in the gutters... I don't believe that's what the Alliance wants to see."
As he spoke, he looked toward Fang Chang. While Fang Chang didn't openly take a stance, he gave him a subtle look of affirmation.
Indeed, the Alliance did not wish to see such an outcome.
However, expecting the Alliance to step in with force simply because they didn't want that outcome showed a complete ignorance of what the Alliance was.
Peaceful coexistence was an aspiration.
They wouldn't design a rigged contest where someone was only allowed to win, snatching the trophy from the victor and shoving it into the hands of the weak who needed aid, just for the sake of an aspiration.
Fair rules at least ensured that victory had meaning, whereas trampling over the rules not only failed to help the weak, but made victory itself a joke, ultimately leading to a lose-lose disaster.
Fang Chang could not voice this thought aloud, but he certainly thought it in his heart:
If the locals truly proved to be worthless mud that couldn't stick to the wall, then they should be left lying in the mud, watching their Wilante neighbors return to their grand homes through their own diligence and courage—and only then reflect on whether they or their next generation should choose a different way of life.
Perhaps having caught Fang Chang's meaningful glance, Hope gained a bit more confidence. Looking at the guard captain, he argued his case vigorously:
"Even so, wouldn't it at least be progress to become another Evernight Port first? At the very least, the other races in Blackwater Alley are different from the other races in the Lavinka Industrial Zone! No matter how poor, paupers in a slum are still more dignified than animals in a primeval jungle—can you deny that? Besides, you came from Yavente City yourself, didn't you? You know better than anyone why the locals are so poor, and why you, with the same foreign blood in your veins, turned out different!"
The guard captain was momentarily at a loss for words. He wasn't skilled at debate to begin with, and having been exposed to civilized thought, he lacked Bokassa's knack for shameless bickering and unreasonable bluster.
With wide eyes, he couldn't utter a single sentence, forcing the words back down his throat.
And it wasn't just him; even the elders from several large tribes seated at the corner of the table could offer no rebuttal.
Deep down, they knew perfectly well what their own young men were like, and what kind of people they themselves were.
Truth be told, they had never imagined that one day they would sit at the same table as the Wilante, discussing the future of the Lavinka Industrial Zone on equal footing.
If their people still couldn't compete with the Wilante under these conditions, they truly had nobody else to blame...
Fang Chang looked at Hope.
"You want to use the 'Golden Gallon Port model,' right?"
"The Evernight Port model!" Gathering his courage, Hope continued, "Evernight Port had no capital, no technology, and no markets... but we have all of those now, and we are riding the momentum!
"Liquidating those 172 factories raised 1.5 billion silver coins. This money shouldn't just be used for industrial transformation; we can also allocate a portion to infrastructure... For example, establishing a local development bank, tendering through the Autonomous Committee to redevelop the old town districts, and renovating old civilian docks, roads, and municipal systems."
As he said this, he looked toward the four tribal elders seated at the table.
"You might not follow all the details, but put simply: we will take a portion of the development fund to help renovate your homes! Move you out of tents and into big houses overlooking the sea!"
Hearing this, the four old men immediately grew thrilled, practically treating him like a savior.
Fang Chang listened through the rest of his pitch.
In truth, this was still the Golden Gallon Port model, though there were subtle differences.
After all, back then Golden Gallon Port had just broken free from the "Nihak era" and knew nothing about market rules. Old aristocrats and the emerging classes had stood at the exact same starting line, and the latter possessed greater drive for change, quickly becoming forward-thinking pacesetters in the shifting society.
The Lavinka Industrial Zone, however, was different.
Whether in terms of competence or experience, the Wilante were playing on an entirely different level compared to the locals. Raising the starting gun now was equivalent to staging a footrace between adults and children.
Still, just as Hope said, they were riding the momentum right now and still had the opportunity to pull it off.
Once this window of opportunity passed, it was hard to say what use that 1.5 billion silver coins would be.
Perhaps they wouldn't even have the chance to speak up before those dividends were either squandered internally or devoured by outsiders.
"There is no choice in matters like this that brings only benefits and zero drawbacks. I cannot decide for you. My only piece of advice is to abandon the fantasy of having your cake and eating it too... Let's put it to a show of hands."
Fang Chang tapped the table, handing the power of choice over to the locals themselves.
"Left hand for in favor, right hand for against, hands on the table for abstaining."
As he spoke, he rested his hands beneath the table, signaling that he—or rather, the Alliance—would not participate in the vote.
Fourteen people sat around this round table: six Wilante, six natives, and one half-blood.
At least for now, a vote was the fairest path.
Hands went up one after another: ten in favor, two against, and one abstention.
Interestingly, of the two dissenters, one was the half-blood and the other was a Wilante.
Antoine, unsurprisingly, cast an abstention; he was the quintessential "competent opportunist."
As for the four tribal elders sitting at the table making up the numbers, every single one held their left hand high.
After all, they had already chosen the leader in their hearts.
"This is the first conference of the Lavinka Industrial Zone, and the Alliance representative has witnessed its fairness... at least in that the process was relatively fair."
Fang Chang looked at the invigorated Hope, bestowing the victor's official stamp of approval with his gaze.
"Do not let down the expectations the survivors of the Lavinka Industrial Zone have placed in you. Go ahead and carry out the future you envisioned."
Chapter 947