[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-shadow-empire":3,"chapter-the-shadow-empire-the-shadow-empire-chapter-1000":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Shadow Empire",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":12,"novelImage":21},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2268620,4428,"Chapter 1000: Troublemaker","the-shadow-empire-chapter-1000",1000,"\u003Cp>“Ronnie...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before the man behind the giant could grab him, Ronnie used his thick arm to shove the manager so hard he flew backward like a projectile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, this was just hyperbole; in reality, he staggered back seven or eight steps before crashing to the ground.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Someone had struck the manager. The news spread quickly, and the atmosphere in the factory turned tense all at once.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The manager sat on the ground, clutching his buttocks, grimacing and gasping sharply from the pain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked at the giant with a gaze full of deep frost—he had never, not even once in his life, felt such a strong desire to kill someone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew this feeling was wrong, but he still thought it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The man who shoved him was called “Ronnie.” No one knew his surname—not even Ronnie himself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ronnie was a mixed-race child, the offspring of a dark-skinned person and a local.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was lucky enough not to be fully stained; outwardly, he was only slightly darker-skinned than the locals, still within the bounds of public acceptance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But people could detect his mixed heritage through subtle differences in his appearance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From childhood, his life had never been easy. He was seen as a disgrace by his mother and a shame to her family.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then his mother abandoned him—when he was three or four years old, she left him on the roadside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In Lamen, children abandoned at that age rarely survived—but he did.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He grew up on the streets, which forged in him a brutal street mentality; just one glance at him revealed exactly where he came from.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Street culture was uniform: flamboyant, devoid of thought, with no room for reflection.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For Ronnie, thinking was far less simple and direct than punching his enemy in the face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He ended up at this factory by accident. When they were hiring, they were on the same street where he lived. He was stronger than everyone else, so he was luckily chosen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The recruiters thought he’d be a good worker—turns out he was a troublemaker.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was the first to start slacking off. He’d never done such a dull job—sitting all day, endlessly repeating the process of rolling cigars. He was sick of it, yet unwilling to give up this high-paying job.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So he began slacking off. Under his influence, some people close to him also started slacking off, and the habit spread outward—this was what caused everything to happen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this moment, Ronnie looked at the manager sprawled on the ground. He knew things had gone beyond his expectations and plans—he couldn’t stay in the factory anymore.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The thought of losing his job made his gaze toward the manager turn even more vicious.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And he walked toward the manager.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The manager was terrified. Ronnie’s eyes looked like they wanted to devour him. He scrambled backward on hands and feet, begging for help as he retreated.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one around dared to help him. The factory supervisors stood nearby but showed no intention of intervening fully.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as Ronnie reached him, grabbed his collar, and prepared to drive his fist into the manager’s nose, his movement suddenly froze.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Loud noise behind him made him turn—and saw a baseball bat swinging toward his head.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He instinctively dropped the manager and raised both arms to shield his head—but it was useless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The searing pain from the bat striking his forearm was enough to make a man question life itself!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But this wasn’t the end—it was only the beginning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next instant, a force struck his knee joint, destroying his balance. He collapsed instinctively to the ground, and then a rain of blows followed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one gave him a moment to breathe. No one explained why this was happening.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this moment, curled on his side on the ground, these experiences reminded him of childhood bullying on the streets.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It wasn’t something worth remembering.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those kids always called him “dog bastard.” He lived in deep shame, and at one point, he even hated his mother.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If you weren’t going to keep me, why give birth to me?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If you’d already decided to give birth to me, why abandon me?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand. There was no time to understand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Most of the time, he was the target of bullying. What else could you expect when your skin was so dark?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They’d beaten him like this before. In the deepest corner of his memory, the ringleader who bullied him, after finishing the beating, had pulled down his pants.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The moment hot, stinking urine poured over his head, he vowed—he would rise above all of this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He craved strength. Only strength, he believed, could protect him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He once thought he was strong enough—that no one could ever bully him again—until this moment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Each blow delivered not just physical pain, but mental and spiritual torment. Old, terrible memories surged back. His eyes turned red.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Through the gaps between his arms, he stared coldly at the manager, at those beating him. The bystander cops finally noticed something was wrong—they ran toward him—but were blocked by foreigners in dark trench coats who clearly weren’t locals.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Clearly, these people were allied with those doing the beating.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One young man pulled out five two-Sol bills, fixed his gaze on what appeared to be the officer among the cops, and handed him the money. “I’ve only one piece of advice: don’t make trouble for yourself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he spoke, he lifted his trench coat, revealing the weapon inside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing the pistol in its holster, the officers before him fell silent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They had no weapons. More precisely—they had no firearms.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not even a single pistol, let alone a submachine gun.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unnecessary. Unneeded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before the Lianbang arrived, Lamen was easy to manage. As long as they didn’t starve, they wouldn’t challenge their rulers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But with the Lianbang’s arrival, everything changed—and became harder to control.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They began questioning things, no longer as simple-minded as before.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even so, the police still weren’t fully armed. Only a tiny few carried weapons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, even a pistol was a firearm. It could kill at distances of dozens of meters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That was what the rulers feared most. So the ruling elite imposed strict controls on weapons within Lamen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The officer glanced at the pistol in the young man’s trench coat, then at the several bills in his other hand. He made his decision quickly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He reached out, took the money from the young man’s hand, and in front of the other officers, removed his cap, placed the bills inside, then put the cap back on neatly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In that brief moment, Ronnie had been beaten into rolling on the ground. He had fought back—but resistance only drew more attacks. The workers looked at him with pity and sorrow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The crowd stirred slightly, but was quickly suppressed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The manager was helped to his feet. He’d been terrified. He’d lost face in front of the workers—he was the manager; this damaged his authority.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, to reclaim what Ronnie’s shove had stolen, he had to make a contribution!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans gave him a baseball bat. The manager swung it so fast it became a blur.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You fucking shoved me!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You fucking started the riot!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You fucking slacked off every damn day...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In his outburst, he pinned all blame squarely on Ronnie—as if everything had gone wrong solely because of him!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He swung the bat again and again at the prone Ronnie. He vented his rage, and with each blow, his mood calmed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Using violence and destruction to find relief has always been a common human habit—like someone smashing things when emotions flare.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The manager looked at Ronnie, lying motionless on the ground, pretending to be dead. He spat on him. Then he climbed back onto the crate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He scanned the crowd, took a deep breath, pointed one finger at the motionless Ronnie, and spoke coldly, sternly: “This is the fate of those who refuse to cooperate!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, many had lowered their heads, afraid to provoke the manager further.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The manager’s gaze lingered on those closest to him. No one dared raise their eyes. At this moment, the manager was satisfied.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If you want to keep your jobs, from now on, you will follow company rules.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If anyone finds them too strict and can’t bear it, you may leave now.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This is my final repetition of this.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Minutes later, the crowd gathered at the factory gate dispersed on their own.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Some men lifted Ronnie and carried him away—he needed a doctor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Most, however, returned to the factory, back to the assembly lines, to begin another day’s work.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The lower and poorer a place, the less likely its people are to respect you just because you gave them opportunity or treated them with dignity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People only revere those who control their fate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ronnie’s “outburst” was merely gossip to them—nothing more. It changed nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1479,"2026-06-19T21:10:31.886Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","bfe38a4d5a7fc84719923d23ad38dbc1683216f4d54bd35b15fb70bd1dc40b46",null,"the-shadow-empire-chapter-999","https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-shadow-empire-cover.jpg"]