Chapter 948 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 948: Let the Animals Run As it turned out, Factory Chief Glenn was right. The young workers spent their week's wages in just three days and returned to the factory, albeit begrudgingly. Initially, Rasov complained about the "animalistic" behavior of the locals, but he soon accepted it and was content to tolerate all their faults. Even though his new gas cylinder production line hadn't even started, the bicycles he had wholesaled from Gallon Harbor sold like hotcakes! When the locals first saw these "two-pedal, wind-like" vehicles, their eyes practically popped out of their heads in amazement. And when they found out they could buy these without needing the title of a decurion or any proof, just a few hundred silver coins, they immediately reached into their pockets... Only to find them empty. No money... So they resolved to make some. To live the dream of speeding down the country paths on a grand bicycle and to improve their options for future partners in the tribe, these primitive yet avant-garde young men eagerly signed up for the industrial shift, albeit reluctantly. At first, they thought about working multiple jobs and owing money to multiple factories. But the shrewd Moonclan merchants foresaw this and preemptively filled this loophole. To protect their heavily invested factories, they voluntarily established the first civic organization in the Lavinka Industrial Zone—the Industrial and Commercial Union. Unlike the two unions in the Bolo Province, this union only served one purpose. To compile biological information on their employees and share this information among each other, effectively creating an early version of a "credit system." This technology wasn't particularly advanced. The wasteland might lack the internet, but it certainly had computers and cameras. The Alliance didn’t implement this simply because doing so would result in being targeted, but the Lavinka Industrial Zone’s autonomous committee hadn't yet enacted labor protection laws, so there weren’t as many obstacles. This left the local population of Lavinka Industrial Zone dumbfounded. When they tried to collect their pay from a second company after the first, they were summarily kicked out. The same happened at the third and fourth companies. The factory owners had banded together. So, the locals were left with no choice but to work... Initially, Fang Chang thought that the locals weren't capable of forming societal organizations, thus he postponed plans to establish a representative council. He didn't expect this blueprint, delayed to the future, to be realized by a group of Bolo people who cared least about politics. In fact, he had made a mistake out of experience-based bias—Bolo people aren't completely apolitical or uncooperative; they just don't care unless they're directly affected. But when the fire is at their feet, ignoring it means complaining to the king of the underworld, and they do stand up. Like now. If they didn’t reveal their true abilities, they'd all go bankrupt. But the irony lay in the fact that when the fire wasn't as immediate, they might praise it for being warm and call those who felt the burn annoying complainers. Regardless, humans are more advanced than animals. The natives of the Lavinka Industrial Zone, with their "animalistic" instincts, managed to astound the newcomers from Bolo Province, only to be ultimately outdone by the latter. Whether a worker's union will later come to challenge them depends on how well the latter fares. If they can replicate Fang Chang's success, a feat even he couldn't replicate, and let the "Gallon Harbor Model" shine brightly in the Lavinka Industrial Zone, making the locals overlook minor discomforts, the Alliance's radicals won't stand a chance. But that's all to be determined later. In any case, Rasov's 3000 bicycles shipped from Gallon Harbor were snatched up right away. The young local workers lined up outside his factory, eyes full of anticipation, holding their newly earned wages which hadn't even had the chance to warm their pockets. The skilled workers from Gallon Harbor worked tirelessly at the factory gates—mounting bikes, fixing chains, oiling... assembling and selling almost simultaneously! Rasov stood by collecting money, his mouth stretched wide with delight as he watched his pile of banknotes grow. With a wholesale cost of 300 Gallons (about 30 silver coins), he could sell them at 200 silver coins, and demand still exceeded supply! If he sold all 3000 bicycles, the profits alone would tally to 510,000 silver coins! This was sheer profiteering! Not only would he recoup the wages he'd paid out, but he'd also pocket the wages paid by others! The workers assembling bicycles watched with envy, itching to quit on the spot and start their own business selling them. Factory Chief Glenn wasn’t surprised that the bicycles sold out, though he couldn't help but eye them with envy. The Southern Legion wasn't lacking in steel, rubber, or machinery oil, and certainly not in impressive technology. Still, these simple materials, assembled with straightforward techniques, had become "luxury items" that only high-ranking officers could afford. Unless, of course, they made a lot of money and bought them outside the military supply chain. He had bicycles himself, for his son and daughter, but he had never witnessed anything like selling bicycles as if they were nail clippers. He once doubted the Alliance's claim that ordinary people could afford cars, whether they had the title of a leader of ten thousand or not, but now he believed. Thinking of the possibility of buying one himself, his longing for the Southern Legion diminished slightly... After sunset, Rasov handed over the day's profits to the staff at the sub-branch of the Polar Bear Bank. As the money-counting machine whirred on, Rasov smiled brightly, generously giving each assembly worker a bonus of 1000 silver coins and slipping a wad of cash into Factory Chief Glenn's hand. "Haha, brother, your idea is pure genius! A small token of appreciation, please don’t hesitate to accept!" "The genius is you," having no real concept of money, Factory Chief Glenn didn't count how many banknotes there were. He casually stuffed them into his pocket and remarked, "Not even two weeks yet… It takes the Eternal Night Harbor troops this long to reach Xifan Port, yet your container was even faster." Rasov was nonchalant about Glenn's astonishment, considering that fast shipping was the shipping company's expertise. If he was willing to spend, it could even go faster. Like using planes. But using airplanes to transport low-value goods was unnecessary. "It's nothing surprising. For us, time is money. Stick with me for a while, and you'll understand." Rasov winked, beaming as he added, "Don’t worry. I’ve never shortchanged my brothers. If I profit, you will too." Glenn felt a warm swell inside at his words. While he didn’t grasp the value of silver coins, the weight of his pocket full of banknotes was undeniable. He suddenly had an urge to count how many there were, but refrained from doing so on the spot. There had to be at least 5000 silver coins... He had heard that in the Alliance, an LD series assault rifle only cost about 200 silver coins. "Are we still going to produce gas cylinders? Bicycles seem more profitable." "Of course, we will," Rasov laughed, patting Glenn on the back. "Don't be blinded by short-term gains. This deal is just quick money." He continued, eyes gleaming, "But you’ve given me an idea. We could develop some production lines that cater to the local market... What's the phrase? Right, 'adapt to local conditions!'" Glenn asked, "Such as?" Rasov replied with a grin. "Like pots and pans, cargo tricycles, or furniture." Glenn frowned slightly. "Iron furniture? The iron here is cheap, but wouldn’t that be too heavy?" Rasov shook his head vigorously. "Of course, it should be made of wood. Iron might fetch a tiny profit margin, selling a 1 silver coin item for 1.1 doesn't count. But making someone spend 10 silver coins and thanking us—that's skill. We’ll sell wooden sofas, and also genuine leather and pure cotton ones." Seeing the boss speaking so enthusiastically, Glenn chuckled wryly. "I should remind you, while there are a few trees along the Lavinka River, this place is known as the Great Wasteland." Rasov laughed, adding. "I'm aware. But Fries Port has plenty of wood, as does Bun Port, where the lumber mills were even started by you Weylanders." The wasteland is knitting itself together, and being shackled by the Great Wasteland's boundaries is shortsighted, indeed. He could hire the most esteemed artists from Dawning City and import the finest wood, leather, and cotton from Baiyue Province to be sent to Gallon Harbor for rough processing. As Rasov passionately outlined his grand commercial vision, Glenn found himself taken aback, hardly believing this man was a Bolo native. He had encountered Bolo people before. Their servile demeanor had once caused him to look down on them, not considering them worthy of his attention. But now, he finally understood why the Alliance had emerged victorious. Unity was simply a means. Equality was their core essence. While the Legions turned wastelanders into livestock, The Alliance transformed them into humans. Animals were destined to lose to humans, and the failure of the Southern Legion and the entire Legion was almost inevitable... ... Products from Gallon Harbor sparked a fashionable trend in the Lavinka Industrial Zone. On the dusty roads, the presence of "Aode Biao" was ubiquitous, though it lacked the iconic soul of bananas. This was not the tropics, strictly speaking, more of a temperate region. The heat was due to it being the Southern Hemisphere during the peak of summer in December. As a result, not only were bicycles from Gallon Harbor sought after, but also short-sleeved t-shirts and sandals. Especially the latter. Styles that had already faded from fashion in Gallon Harbor became the hottest items locally! The native populace, barbaric like orcs, would even brawl over a gaudy floral shirt. Conversely, artistic pieces certified by the residents of the shelter, such as from "Teng Teng Cottage," went unnoticed; the subtle luxury was lost on both men and women. In contrast, exaggerated designs created by players found an extreme market here. For instance, a red t-shirt with a doll’s face and a cheerful smile became a spiritual totem for several tribes. Watching the spirited young locals, in bean shoes and sporting Buzz Lightyear t-shirts, Irina's expression was subtly nuanced. During the "closed beta floodgates," this form of performance art briefly surfaced in Dawning City, yet rebounded among the wastelanders after restrictions tightened. "Is this a renaissance of sorts?" Elf King Fugui massaged his temples, easing his mental fatigue. "Ah... you could say so." The influx of new faces in the server had long expanded beyond the circle of veteran players; "Wasteland OL" hadn’t officially gone public, yet little distinguished it from an official launch. Mosquitoes were flying planes on the front lines, Tails was building snowmen in the Arctic Circle, and the most notorious jokers were absent. At least, he couldn't tell who orchestrated this, and it might not even be the players. As players marveled at the spectacle, the 172 naive investors who had bought factories finally grasped the key to market development, eagerly writing to the autonomous committee to expedite the installation of port gantries for easier unloading, and began importing and dumping light industrial goods from Gallon Harbor. This indeed stimulated Lavinka Industrial Zone's market to some extent, but the market and factories were still divided by a river. The young locals, indebted, were indeed coerced by Alliance-imported businessmen into returning to the factories, but they were obviously not genuinely interested in developing their homeland. They merely aimed to make quick money to buy a flashy bike. Such thinking was not entirely flawed, nor was a disdain for saving a fault. People should prioritize living for themselves and the present... but they shouldn't neglect planning for the future. Especially when a society lacks any forward-thinking, whether good or bad, stagnation or decline becomes almost inevitable. Under such circumstances, any measures intending to stimulate a civilized society would fail. Locals lived like animals, seeking food when hungry, water when thirsty, mating when the urge arose, engaging in daily labor, never mastering a skill set, and hoping for them to become skilled workers was a vain hope. In the short term, shrewd merchants from Gallon Harbor, led by Rasov, made a fortune, but much of this income stemmed from the dividends of auctioning Southern Legion assets in the Lavinka Industrial Zone. Local workers could borrow money because of these dividends as collateral. Without it, no one would advance their wages, similar to no one lending money to seagulls in Fries Port. Once these dividends were exhausted, everyone here would suffer. Fang Chang was confident that an experienced Gallon Harbor merchant like Rasov could escape before the deluge approached, but as the captain of this ship, who held the last life ring was meaningless to him. There wouldn’t be enough life rings for everyone. His task was to steer the ship well, avoiding obstacles, ensuring every passenger successfully disembarks. At the Lavinka Industrial Zone's autonomous committee meeting, Fang Chang, at the head of the table, addressed the gathered members. "…The wastelanders of the Valley Province also don’t like saving money; they adhere to the philosophy of living life fleetingly, but they still have some concept of what to do tomorrow.” "So when we offer them books and tell them tomorrow will be better, it takes little effort for them to participate. And when we present a better plan, they strive with us.” Xiaoyu and Boss Xia exemplify such progress, as did accomplished figures like Lester and Sun Shiqi. The latest “Wasteland OL” newcomers may not know of Xiaoyu, but Fang Chang remembers vividly. That girl who once sat counting coins at the sanatorium door had grown into one of the designers of the Alliance’s financial system, outmaneuvering even him. Boss Xia, too, had become a remarkable engineer. Though not wealthy, money wasn't the sole measure of life's meaning. Her contributions were recognized by many Alliance players. As for here... After a moment of silence, Fang Chang sighed, looking at the ceiling, and shook his head. “These are lessons from Dawning City, the roots of the Boulder City model and the Gallon Harbor model… but I regretfully find that these foundational elements don’t apply here.” The locals had no concept of the future. Their extreme apathy and laissez-faire attitude are why Lavinka Industrial Zone's actual production falls short of its potential. The reasons are not complicated nor related to Tyr or the Enlightenment Society, He indeed misjudged them. They did not lack "resistance" but resisted continually, against everyone they encountered… If the same industrial zone were placed in Lion State of Bolo Province, with Bolo people tightened their belts to produce arms for the Southern Legion, perhaps Abusake and Laxi might be crushed by the Southern Legion. The attendees exchanged glances, then focused their attention on Chairman Antoine. Propelled to the forefront by everyone's expectations, Chairman Antoine chuckled bitterly and turned to Fang Chang with a hopeful gaze. "Perhaps you have a solution?" Fang Chang shook his head. "You cannot place all your hopes on me alone; what would you do if I left? I convened this meeting to hear your opinions.” Chairman Antoine fell silent, shifting his gaze to the head of the Development Fund. The man, named Hope, was an accountant from the Weland city of Arvant and was now managing the autonomous committee's "purse," handling a hefty sum of 1.5 billion silver coins! Holding such a large amount of money, Antoine was curious about his capabilities. Fixed under Chairman Antoine’s expectant eyes, Hope knew he couldn't escape. He cleared his throat and suggested, “Perhaps we can allow some people to get wealthy first, then the others—” His statement was cut short by the stern interruption of the industrial zone's security team leader. “They would be robbed clean by other natives, like in the Blackwater Alley of Eternal Night Harbor. In just half a month, we've handled 37 robbery cases and 26 theft cases, half linked to bicycles.” He was one of the few Lavinka natives at the table, though raised in the city of Arvant, making him one of the rare local faces familiar with the civilized world. His mother was a servant to a myriarch, and due to his half-Weylander heritage, he rose to the position of a centurion in the servant army. Later, when General Rubis was defeated, his exemplary conduct in surrender led the Alliance to assign him to the security force. With outstanding performance and a recommendation from an expeditionary corps captain, he quickly ascended to his current position of sheriff. Because of the native blood running through his veins, he understood the local people's nature better than anyone else. Before Hope could respond, he continued speaking. "In the end, this place would just become another Eternal Night Harbor. Outsiders will continue to live in the most prosperous neighborhoods, while locals will still rot in the gutters… I doubt that's what the Alliance wants." As he spoke, he looked at Fang Chang, who, although remained silent, gave him a nod of agreement. Indeed, the Alliance didn't want such scenarios to happen. However, expecting the Alliance to intervene just because it doesn't want this outcome is to misunderstand it entirely. Peaceful coexistence is an aspiration. They wouldn't design an unwinnable contest just to seize the victor's trophy and forcefully hand it to those in need. Maintaining fair rules ensures any victory holds meaning, and forcing those rules not only doesn't help the weak but turns victory into a farce, culminating in a lose-lose situation. Though he couldn't say this outright, Fang Chang felt that if the locals couldn't carry their own weight, they should perhaps watch the Weylander neighbors, through their hard work and courage, return to big houses, and then decide if they want to change how they or their next generation live. Perhaps interpreting his meaningful look, Hope felt bolstered. Addressing the persistent sheriff, he argued, "Even so, it’s better to first become another Eternal Night Harbor, right? The outsiders in Blackwater Alley and those in the Lavinka Industrial Zone are different. No matter how impoverished, slum dwellers are more dignified than animals in the jungle. Can you deny that? Besides, aren't you originally from Weyland City? You more than anyone understand why the locals are impoverished and why, despite your mixed heritage, you differ from them!" Momentarily speechless, the sheriff was not skilled in debating, and having been exposed to civilized thoughts, lacked the unruly and unreasonable demeanor of a Bosaka. He stared, unable to retort, swallowing his words back down forcibly. Not only him, but even the elders of prominent tribes seated at the table couldn’t generate a rebuttal. Deep down, they recognized the true nature of their young men and themselves. To be fair, they never even dreamed of sitting at the same table with Weylanders and discussing the future of the Lavinka Industrial Zone as equals. If their tribes couldn’t compete against the Weylanders, no one else was to blame… Fang Chang looked at Hope. "You want to apply the 'Gallon Harbor Model,' right?" "The Eternal Night Harbor Model!" Hope mustered his courage and continued, "Eternal Night Harbor had no funds, no technology, and no market... but we have all of these, and we stand at an opportune moment!” "Liquidating the 172 factories raised 1.5 billion silver coins. This money shouldn't just be for transitional purposes; we can invest part of it in infrastructure... like establishing a local development bank, facilitating bids through the Certification Committee for refurbishing old districts, old civilian docks, roads, and municipal systems." As he spoke, he turned to the four tribal elders present. "You may not understand fully, but put simply, we're going to use funds to help renovate your houses! Move you from tents into big seaside houses!" Upon hearing this, the four elders were thrilled, almost treating him as a savior. Fang Chang listened carefully to his proposal. This was essentially the Gallon Harbor Model, but with notable differences. Gallon Harbor, right after escaping the "Nihark Era," was clueless about market rules. Both old aristocrats and the burgeoning class stood at the same starting line, but the latter were more motivated for change, quickly becoming leaders of progressive thought amid social transformations. But Lavinka Industrial Zone was different. Weylanders, in terms of both capability and experience, overwhelmed the locals. Now raising the starting gun felt like pitting adults against children in a race. However, as Hope mentioned, they stood at an advantageous moment to undertake this task. Once that moment passed, what effect 1.5 billion silver coins could achieve was uncertain. Perhaps they wouldn’t even get the chance for discussion, and these dividends would either be consumed internally or eaten away by outsiders. "This matter isn't without drawbacks, and I can't decide for you. My only advice is to abandon the ‘both ends’ fantasy…” Fang Chang tapped the table, handing over the decision-making power to the locals. “Left hand for agreement, right hand for disagreement, hand on the table for abstaining.” With these words, he placed his hands under the table, signaling that he—or rather, the Alliance—wouldn’t participate in the vote. Around the round table, 14 people were seated: six Weylanders, six locals, and one mixed-heritage individual. At least for now, this was the fairest vote possible. Hands raised—ten in favor, two against, and one abstention. Interestingly, the two negative votes came from a mixed-heritage individual and a Weylander. Antoine, unsurprisingly, cast the abstention vote; he was a classic "capable opportunist." As for the four tribal elders, they joyfully raised their left hands high. After all, they had already chosen their ideal leader. “This marks the first meeting of the Lavinka Industrial Zone, witnessed by a representative from the Alliance, ensuring its fairness… or at least its relatively fair process.” Fang Chang nodded to the energetic Hope, in an unspoken acknowledgment of his triumph. “Don’t betray the trust Lavinka Industrial Zone’s survivors place in you. Pursue the future you envision with full vigor.”