[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-shadow-empire":3,"chapter-the-shadow-empire-the-shadow-empire-chapter-1":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Shadow Empire",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":18,"prevChapterSlug":19,"totalChapters":20,"novelImage":21},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":12,"translator":16,"content_hash":17},2267621,4428,"Chapter 1: The Wind of Summer","the-shadow-empire-chapter-1",1,"\u003Cp>Jincheng is also known as the City of Angels.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The world’s third-largest port and the top daily throughput hub in the Northern Hemisphere, this city is showered with endless praise.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It is as if a divine blessing bestowed upon humanity, bathed in the glory of God, all things perfect…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fuck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Federals love calling it the City of Angels, but to others, it is no different from hell.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans, right now, thinks exactly that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The City of Angels is too dangerous.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Almost every day, this city sees several shootings, sometimes over a dozen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When gangs clash, the dead are often hauled away in trucks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The city’s rapid economic growth has brought a flood of criminals and crime syndicates, while corrupt officials, bribed by capital and black money, look down on the entire city.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They care only about how much their bank balances grow each month, not whether the lower classes starve or suffer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People want only the economic myths this city keeps producing; few care whether someone is struggling to survive behind its glittering facade.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They refuse to know, and they forbid anyone else from knowing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, this is the City of Angels—the engine of the Federation’s economy!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans stared blankly at the girl on the street; that old-fashioned summer breeze, blowing into people’s hearts, made the whole world seem wrapped in a natural, vintage filter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The entire world appeared sepia-toned, with occasional overexposed spots blotching the scene.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The unmistakably off-key sound from the record player spilled from the speaker, adding another layer to this retro world.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The summer sun warmed the city—and the girls’ hearts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two young girls in sleeveless tops and short skirts, wearing tiny round hats, passed by the bakery; their lively, joyful smiles suddenly brightened the city like a faded photograph brought to life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>*Snap!* Lans was slapped, snapping his gaze back from the bakery window; the baker stood behind him, glaring fiercely.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I hired you to work, not to stare at girls behind the counter!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He slapped his palm hard, “Move! Move! You lazy bastard, already crawling with maggots—don’t you dare let me catch you slacking again. I’m paying you!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans scratched his head and picked up a cloth to wipe the display case.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Business was slow today; this bakery, not located in a bustling district or the city center, was like a steamed bun shop outside a quiet neighborhood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They served only local residents’ daily needs, with peak hours before 9:30 a.m. and after evening work hours.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The rest of the day, hardly anyone came.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bakery owner displayed classic traits of a petty capitalist: he oppressed himself, exploited his workers, and tried to control them too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Besides Lans, the bakery had one apprentice who earned zero wages each month and even paid the owner ten dollars just to learn the trade.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d been here over half a year and still could do nothing but knead dough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bakery owner was fat—about two hundred thirty to two hundred forty pounds—and possessed expert bread-making skills.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Local residents were loyal customers; their main product, whole wheat bread, offered strong satiety and delayed hunger.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans had secretly noticed: this bastard added extra bran, making the bread drier, harder, denser—and more popular with the poor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because it filled stomachs better and kept hunger at bay longer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The poor didn’t care what they stuffed into their bellies; they only cared how long it kept them from starving.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He disliked the owner—cold, cruel, stingy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans earned fifteen dollars a month; Jincheng’s average wage was about sixty dollars, and rumor had it that to achieve this average, the universities had created a new subject called “statistics.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In reality, most workers earned only forty-five to fifty dollars a month.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans’s pay was one-third of the actual wage; he didn’t want to earn so little while doing endless work.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But he had no choice—he was undocumented.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d somehow ended up on a ship, and the ship docked here.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>According to the crew, everyone aboard had paid enough to smuggle themselves into the Federation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Federation’s booming economy lacked labor; even today, amid rampant automation, you still saw humans working side by side with oxen and horses in factories.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sometimes, you couldn’t even clearly tell who was human and who was beast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The difference between humans and beasts wasn’t as vast as imagined.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The economy was racing ahead, but labor remained critically scarce; the President was pushing the “Legalization of Irregular Immigration Act.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In plain terms: granting undocumented smugglers legal citizenship—with voting rights.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This move won support from countless undocumented workers and made using black labor more common; everyone sensed something, but no one spoke it aloud.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because he lacked legal status, he could only work here, earning less than half what others made.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was common in Jincheng; everyone preferred undocumented workers. If you were obedient, these fledgling capitalists would cut your pay another two dollars next month.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If you weren’t obedient, they’d call the police and claim you harassed them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This trick worked perfectly on undocumented workers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One of Lans’s fellow villagers from home now ate free lunches.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All afternoon, he bustled back and forth in the bakery.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The smell of baking bread stirred his hunger, but now wasn’t the time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only after work, when unsold bread remained, could he eat it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner’s cheap bread couldn’t stay overnight—it turned as hard as bricks; even reheated, it paled next to fresh bread, so it became their food.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From just after six, the bakery grew busy; the fat owner stood behind the counter handling payments, while his daughter packed bread for customers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The apprentice worked nonstop, placing dough loaves into the oven and immediately returning to knead more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans handled all the odd jobs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner’s daughter wasn’t beautiful, but she was curvy—and had a certain… odor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A… stale odor. Had her smell not been so overpowering, Lans might have married the baker.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But because it was so strong, he simply couldn’t bear it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The frantic work ended after 8:30 p.m.; Lans dragged his tired body cleaning the bakery, forbidden from entering the kitchen, so his main area was the front shop.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fat owner sat at the table counting today’s earnings, his face beaming with unrestrained joy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hard to imagine a cold, cruel man could wear such a soft, gentle smile—perhaps that was the power of money.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After sweeping the last corner, arranging all tools neatly, and confirming nothing was missed, Lans walked to the fat owner’s side.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The pressure of someone approaching made the owner look up, wary. “What do you want?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans forced a smile. “It’s been a month, Boss. My salary…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner, previously wary, jumped as if stepped on a tail. “Salary?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What salary?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Didn’t you get soaked in last week’s rain and catch a fever?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If you didn’t get sick, why are you talking nonsense?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What salary do you even have?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing the owner flailing like someone had shoved a stick up his ass, Lans was bewildered. “We agreed: fifteen dollars a month.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner glared. “Yes, correct—but have you considered that you live here and eat my bread? Have you calculated how much you’ve cost me this month?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sat back, flipped a page in his notebook. “The cheapest nearby hostel costs twenty-five cents a day. Since you live here, I’ll charge you twenty cents.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Thirty-one days this month…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It’s February, Boss.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Shut up and listen!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Thirty-one days, twenty cents daily equals…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans watched the owner freeze, then whispered, “Six dollars and twenty cents, Boss.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner nodded. “Right, six dollars and fifty cents. And you eat one loaf every morning and night.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You know each loaf sells for fifteen cents—that’s…” He stared at Lans, waiting for his answer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans didn’t disappoint. “Nine dollars and thirty cents, Boss.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner added the number to his notebook. “Yes, nine dollars and fifty cents. Plus lodging: six dollars and fifty cents. You cost me… ten… eighteen dollars a month.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But your wage is only fifteen. So tell me—what right do you have to ask for pay?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You owe me three dollars. Deduct it from next month’s pay—if you get any.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans couldn’t believe it. Such things only happened in “storybooks” and “history”; even after a month, he still felt no real sense of participation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To him, he was merely a passerby in history’s river—perhaps amazed by this world, but not attached to it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Until this moment—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You… you’re not joking, are you?” he asked.\u003C\u002Fp>",1406,"2026-06-19T21:10:27.799Z","Qwen3-Next 80B","f06aedfec79842273c7203045fb865a52e7affa90f73f5f0b607386ca5387c83","the-shadow-empire-chapter-2",null,1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-shadow-empire-cover.jpg"]