Chapter 947 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 947: Idealism is Beautiful, Reality is Harsh In the village beside the industrial zone, a young man, tanned and darkened by the sun, stormed back to his family's tent and sat angrily on a stool. His anger was not only directed at the people of Willant, but also at those from the Alliance who prevented their revenge, and even a part of it was directed at himself for being so unworthy. He was the bravest youth in the village, and he should have been leading the villagers to fight for their rights. Yet, his shoulders were still trembling uncontrollably. He despised his cowardice, though he didn't know how to change it. Watching his grandson, a wrinkled old man sighed and spoke slowly. "Bosaka, you're too impulsive." Bosaka turned to glare at him, unleashing the anger and grievances in his chest all at once. "I don't understand, what do they want? Aren’t the Willants their enemies? We can help them deal with their enemies; we don't ask for much!" The old man shook his head. "In the desert, enemies and friends are clearly distinct, but outside the desert, there are more than just these two concepts. Your methods work in the great desert, but they don't work beyond it... There's someone named Lassi in the Porro Province, and someone wrote an autobiography for him. I bought it from a trader in Yongye Harbor and put it on your nightstand. You've never once opened it. I say, you should learn from him and see how he dealt with similar situations." Bosaka was puzzled. Lassi? The world outside the great desert? What did that have to do with his confusion? He had seen the book on the nightstand, but he couldn't recognize many words, and learning them was a hassle. Seeing the still unenlightened child, the old man earnestly advised. "Anyway, the Alliance is the master here now. If you truly don't know what to do, then stay low-key and follow those you deem powerful." Bosaka retorted resentfully. "And then work for the Alliance? How is that any different from before they came?" "The difference is, when you mouthed off to the Willants, they'd whip you, tie you to a post, and torment you until you were barely alive. Now, no one will do that. Although I suspect you were never afraid of the Willants' whips, or you wouldn't have provoked them repeatedly." The old man glanced at the tent ceiling and tapped the pipe in his hand against his shoe sole, suddenly letting out a long sigh. "Actually, you don't need to hate them so much. Before the Willants came here, did you really think the Ravenka River was a paradise from fairy tales? Don't be naive. The most fertile lands were never ours; they belonged to mutants and other species." Looking at the old man in his family, Bosaka mocked. "You old thing, defending the Willants like you're tired of living." The old man shook his head. "I've been tired for a long time, but I don't want to watch my only child miss the chance to become a good person and turn back into a beast." "I don't want to be a good person. That weak stuff only gets bullied, picking up scraps behind others… but you're right, I should follow someone powerful. Even if I can't get meat, I can at least drink some soup." Bosaka clenched his fist and looked outside the tent, muttering under his breath. "I wonder when the Alliance will pay the wages." The old man advised. "I hope you remember your words: follow those who are powerful. Also, stop skipping work; we're running out of tobacco." Looking at the old immortal guy, Bosaka impatiently said. "I got it, I'll bring back some money. You're acting like I'm lazy or something." ... As waves of engineers, orders, and funds from the Alliance arrived one after another, and as the 100th and 101st divisions of the Enterprise seized several mines and power stations from the Southern Legion, the Ravenka Industrial Zone, after regaining its former order, finally showed signs of resurgence. It was already December. Through Fang Chang's coordination, the Ravenka Autonomous Committee first tackled property rights and launched the first plan for "capacity transformation" — the "December Act." According to the act, to raise funds for the Ravenka Development Fund, the Ravenka Autonomous Committee would sell 172 industrial zone facilities. These facilities were mainly outdated capacities needing elimination, with some issues, like steel mills producing billets, aluminum plants processing materials, clothing factories for military uniforms, shell stamping workshops, and fuel power stations. After research by Alliance engineers, it was concluded that if the Alliance funded the renovation of these 172 facilities, it would not only waste taxpayers' money but might also be futile. It was better to let private entities figure out how to transform this waste into treasure. These factories would be auctioned through the Dawn City Stock Exchange and the five major banks of the Alliance. The auction would be completely public. Any qualified individual or organization could bid at the branch of the entrusted party. With Dawn City Stock Exchange branch offices located in places like Dawn City, Gold Gallon Harbor, Silver Moon Bay, Settlement No. 1, French Fry Harbor, South Sea Alliance North Island, Ring Island, Coral City, and even Ideal City on the East Coast, participating in the trade was quite accessible. Meanwhile, companies involved in the ownership reform of the Ravenka Industrial Zone, like Baiyue Corporation and the Niuma Group, would not participate in the first auction round, only to bid on any unsold items. This was done for fairness and to prevent the wealth of Alliance citizens from leaking. After all, if Baiyue Corporation, carrying citizens' wealth, entered the fray, the citizens wouldn't be able to compete. Thus, the 172 facilities were quickly auctioned off. Despite carrying some problems, they were eagerly snapped up by industrialists. Besides players and Alliance citizens, buyers included wealthy individuals from Gold Gallon Harbor and the South Sea Alliance, and even boss figures from Ideal City. Some eyed the post-war rebuilding bonuses of the Bartoa Province, while others aimed at the space elevator in the southern sea. Though Ideal City itself had plenty of factories, considering the exchange rate and local labor costs, Ravenka's industrial facilities still held advantages. All they needed was to bring a bit of Ideal City's technology over. Thanks to these individuals entering with their funds and expertise, without spending a single coin, the Alliance seamlessly integrated the Southern Legion's Ravenka Industrial Zone into their supply chain. In the process, the Ravenka Industrial Zone raised nearly 1.5 billion silver coins! When Baiyue Corporation entered Gold Gallon Harbor, they hadn't amassed this much money. With this huge sum, the Autonomous Committee felt even more confident in their reforms as Chairman Antoine enthusiastically promised Fang Chang that they would make the Ravenka Industrial Zone the pearl of the great desert, the Gold Gallon Harbor of the entire Central Continent's west coast! Such an ambitious statement indeed. This guy had already jumped out of the great desert and set his sights on rivaling Avont City and Triumph City. However, Fang Chang didn’t see it as bragging, even thinking he was being conservative. With a hand full of trump cards alongside post-war rebuilding and the space elevator's momentum, he couldn't think of any reason it wouldn't take off. In this massive "capacity transformation" wave, everyone was gearing up for a big endeavor. Whether it was the Willant factory directors and managers who had changed owners or the new owners from the Alliance. For example, Lasov from Gold Gallon Harbor was one of them. Years ago, he made his first fortune with Asin in demolition, then, like many spirited rat folk, used that money to venture into the real industry with hopes of industrial salvation, establishing a factory that made natural gas and propane cylinders. Though the industry seemed unimpressive, the profits were substantial, and the demand was strong. Although the Alliance's electrification was high, the Porro and Baiyue Provinces were vastly different. Even places like Gold Gallon and French Fry Harbors had many restaurants relying on natural gas for cooking. Not to mention lands divided by warlords; numerous warlords even bought his propane tanks as military reserves, stuffing them with explosives to serve as makeshift bombs on the front line once the gas ran out. In other words, his customers were not only small restaurant owners but also military officers. Due to the robust demand for his products, he had long considered opening a new factory and had even selected plots near Jiatou Bay, next to Gold Gallon Harbor, just waiting to pay. Yet, just then, news of the Alliance liberating the Ravenka Industrial Zone and the Autonomous Committee's open bidding spread widely via the "Survivor Daily." When Lasov saw this opportunity falling from the sky, he felt a surge of excitement and immediately set his eyes on a steel plant being auctioned, which supplied steel billets for the Conqueror No. 10 tank! Although the Alliance had dismissed this steel plant, labeling it as "outdated capacity," Lasov did not see it that way. To him, it was like a divine tool. This was a supplier for the tank factory! With this asset, the production of his gas cylinder factory would skyrocket! This surprise was no less than when Boss Sun, the "legendary steel magnate" from the Alliance, scooped up the "Mighty" steel factory from entrepreneur Fred of Boulder City for 2 million silver coins. Lasov was not just looking at the profits this steel plant could bring; he also valued the technology it possessed, which Porro Province lacked. If he could bring the technology for producing armor steel back to his hometown, it would be a magnificent achievement! Though Abossek was not a great leader, Porro was not just his country. Lasov still hoped to improve his homeland. With this in mind, he unhesitatingly poured out nearly ten million silver coins, seizing the factory from rivals. Once he secured ownership, he rushed to the Ravenka Riverbank, less than 100 kilometers from the frontline, where he met the factory director who had just been released from an Alliance POW camp. The director, a Willant man named Glenkin, held a centurion rank in the logistics department of the Southern Legion's general affairs and had previously worked under District Chief Antoine. Perhaps due to being subdued by the Alliance, Glenkin didn’t exhibit any Willant arrogance in front of Lasov. After the meeting, he immediately began arranging for the factory's reopening. Upon hearing that "Glenkin’s factory" was resuming operations, a group of local youths eagerly gathered at the factory's hiring point. Seeing the line of strong, young men stretched out, Lasov was all smiles. He seemed to already envision the boiling steel leaping in the boilers, being cast into billets, then pressed into uniform steel plates under high temperatures, and finally transported via assembly lines to cutting and stamping workshops to be shaped to clients' needs. Just like what he read in the newspapers, this place was set to become the largest industrial base on the entire western sea! Perhaps he should consider buying a few properties here... He had made his first fortune in real estate, and if conditions allowed, he wouldn’t mind earning a few more. However, just as Lasov was dreaming of getting rich, a commotion at the hiring point interrupted his thoughts. A young man with slightly dark skin stretched out his hand towards the registration officer, asking assertively, "I’ve registered. When do you plan to pay the wages?" Such a peculiar demand left Lasov dumbfounded. The employee from Gold Gallon Harbor was equally stunned. He wasn't one to overly concern himself with his boss's interests; he worked for Lasov for the money, but for someone on their first day to demand money was outrageous. Even the union radicals hadn't been this audacious. After a long pause, he squeezed out a reply. "…You just started working and haven’t done any work yet. What wages are we supposed to pay?" Hearing this, the young native quickly grew indignant and retorted angrily. "What do you mean? If you don’t pay us, how are we supposed to eat? We need to eat, right? You want us to work on empty stomachs? Are you even human?" With those words, others in line grew agitated, shouting in protest. The Porro employee managing the registry list was suddenly overwhelmed and looked to the boss for help. He had seen people argue and twist concepts, but this was the first time he met his match in what he considered his forte. Seeing the scene escalating, Lasov quickly stepped forward to mediate, addressing the registered workers. "Everyone, we understand your difficulties and empathize with you! In fact, we are just like you. We Porro people were also enslaved by the Willants... How about this? In recognition of our shared survival, we will solve your problems! We will establish a canteen in the factory where all employees can eat for free!" The Porro employee was taken aback by this. Since when had this guy become so generous?! At least, his boss's factory in Gold Gallon Harbor never offered such an amenity. What he didn't know was that this was a calculated move by Lasov. The local labor costs were much lower than in Gold Gallon Harbor, and food was cheaper too, so even feeding all employees wouldn’t cost much. But the young man wasn’t satisfied, continuing to press, "A canteen? I have elderly at home, three younger brothers, and two sisters. Can they eat at the canteen too?" Watching the audacious young man, Lasov's eyebrow twitched, but to win hearts, he bit the bullet. "Alright! Bring them over, and I'll feed them for a month! But only for a month! Once you get paid, this benefit ends, and it’s only for you!" The young man was taken aback by his agreement, paused for a moment, then left without a word. Lasov breathed a sigh of relief, proud of his cleverness, only to be surprised when the young man returned with dozens of people. Among them were elderly folks in their fifties and sixties, some leaning on canes, and babies still babbling in their mothers' arms, having not yet learned to speak. This guy probably didn’t just call his immediate family but relatives from neighbors' families too. Before Lasov could speak, the young man introduced everyone, linking them all as family. And he wasn’t the only one. Other local recruits seemed to have coordinated, each gathering a crowd of friends and families to join in. The crowd in front of the factory at least doubled, with more freeloaders than job seekers. Seeing this, Lasov nearly fell to his knees in front of these folks. He had decisively purchased the factory, easily spending ten million silver coins without batting an eye. But it was, after all, the bank’s money, borrowed against his Gold Gallon Harbor factory! If this newly acquired factory crashed, even his boxers would end up with the bank! Seeing Lasov in near tears, Director Glenkin, calmly smoking aside, seemed unfazed by the spectacle. After finishing his cigarette, he crushed it underfoot and walked over to Lasov, saying, "This is how natives are here. They need the money first to work. Otherwise, they just laze around, or worse, break the machines, and even whipping them doesn’t help… Their so-called relatives aren't here to freeload either. Just pay them and forget about everything you said before." Lasov stared at him, dumbfounded, before finally managing to ask, "Was it always like this when you were in charge?" Glenkin displayed a wry smile and responded, "Do you know why we went to Porro Province? When our people saw the laborers in West Sail Port would rather work themselves to death on the docks than cause trouble, every officer in Avont City went crazy with envy and jealousy, wishing we had spotted this golden mine beneath our noses earlier." Though they previously purchased slaves from Wutar, often from Gold Gallon Harbor, the transport losses were too high, and they didn’t believe those small slaves would serve well in the factories. Indeed, most Porro people sent to the Ravenka Industrial Zone eventually assimilated with the locals, given their similar origins. It wasn’t until clerks from Triumph City started a factory in West Sail Port that Southern Legion lords realized the true value of Porro labor. The West Sail Port massacre was an inevitable consequence. They should’ve blamed the clerk faction for being too weak to protect such a vast fortune... Lasov stood there, filled with frustration, helplessness, and eventually sighed in resignation. "Fine, I’ll accept my loss... Pay them their wages." Director Glenkin nodded with a slightly mocking smile, stating, "A wise choice." As the Willant director indicated, after receiving their wages, the young natives indeed sent away their supposed relatives. Both sides took a step back. Lasov retracted his promise about the employee canteen but assured that wages would be paid in advance of work. Though the native youths cursed him for being stingy, they didn’t press further. Gradually, Lasov felt he was beginning to learn the intricacies of dealing with locals. Yet, what happened next left him baffled. As soon as the young men got their money, they scattered, disappearing without a trace. Staring at the deserted recruitment point, Lasov's face reddened with fury, and he clenched his fists tightly. "This is too much!" Glenkin, already on his second cigarette, smiled faintly and comforted him. "That's how it is." Lasov couldn't help but complain, looking at the unfazed Willant man. "Did you come here to do charity work? Do you always cater to them like this?" "Catering?" Glenkin squinted slightly, his smile enigmatic, "If you had seen how we really treated them, you wouldn't say that... But this is just how it is. Even if we tied them to a post and whipped them with salted whips, or singled out the laziest to make an example of, they would be back to their old ways by the next day." Lasov looked at him in disbelief, unable to understand how the Willants could be thwarted by these people, nor why the locals were so lazy. Seeing his confusion, Glenkin spoke calmly. "It's not laziness; it's part of their nature. The more you interact with them, the more you'll understand." After a pause, he continued. "Don't be too disheartened. Once they run out of money, they'll naturally come back to work... Don’t worry, it won't take long; they never have the habit of saving. And now that they owe you money, they won't have reasons to ask for an advance again." "At that point, their debts become your leverage. You can control them through their debts, whether by using a whip, sending a respected figure from their village to collect the debt, or even lying with their women in front of them... though I’d advise hiring locals or mutants for that, or selling the rights to their neighbors." Lasov gave him a bemused look. "I'm here to make money, not to become a pimp." Glenkin chuckled. "Aren’t I teaching you how to make money? If you don’t adapt to local customs, they’ll unite against you. Besides, I provided other options besides the last one." He considered himself rather generous, sharing the Southern Legion's core secrets with this native. They hadn’t conquered such vast lands and made use of this barren terrain through sheer force alone. Debt was their core exploitative mechanism; all else was secondary. The locals would willingly chain themselves with debt, transforming from wild animals into domesticated creatures. This was the one area where they excelled over the Porro people. Porro people were easy to manage but loved to save, tightening their belts to stash away even a small amount, thus never slipping the noose over their heads. Consequently, neither the Southern Legion nor the Civilian Group dared to pay them too many dinars. Cutting back wages didn’t really exploit much; no centurion missed those couple of gold coins. The main objective was to keep them in poverty. The Southern Legion's rule of West Sail Port was too brief; Avont City’s smart thinkers hadn’t figured out how to ensnare the Porro with debt yet, so they continued the Civilian Group's strategy of using poverty to maintain obedience. And it was proven effective. Given twenty years, Lenzhou could certainly develop into a larger industrial center than the Ravenka Industrial Zone. Though now, such thoughts were relegated to the realm of imagination... Seeing Lasov still troubled, Glenkin continued. "Also, if I were you, I'd consider buying some scissors, lighters, and nail clippers." Lasov was puzzled. "What for?" Glenkin pointed him in the right direction with a smile. "Locals love buying inexpensive trinkets. Didn't I mention? Once they spend their money, they'll come back to work. You want them back as soon as possible, right?" Unfortunately, the Southern Legion’s light industry wasn’t well-developed; they had to spend quite some dinars on these trinkets to humor the locals. However, Glenkin had heard that the Alliance's supply chain seemed to lack these items, with nail clippers wholesale for a silver coin. In his view, it was one reason silver coins became so universally accepted in the wasteland. The Alliance not only established a stable supply chain in the wasteland but also provided an unimaginably abundant array of light industrial products to most chaotic regions. Like Cr’s "scarcity," the issuer of the silver coin knew its advantages well and how to expand them. As for dinars, though they had their uses, their purchasing power was evident only when buying slaves and tanks, not in the average person's daily life. Perhaps shedding the dinar system and issuing a sovereign currency would help Avont City sustain itself a bit longer; precious metal currency was cumbersome, and Triumph City bore too much historical burden... This was Glenkin's reflection as an industrialist on the technical reasons for the Southern Legion’s failure. Lasov was silent for a while, pressing his index finger to his brow, sounding a bit weary. "I know a bicycle factory owner in Gold Gallon Harbor. I could get some bicycles over..." Selling nail clippers would take forever at that rate. Glenkin’s eyes lit up, giving a thumbs-up to his now keen boss. “That’s a great idea! It’ll also reduce the travel time to work.” Lasov stared at him blankly. “Wait a minute… are you saying they used to be frequently late?” Glenkin chuckled. “Late? Frequently? Let me think, where do I even begin?” To Be Continued.