Chapter 12: Conflict Intensifies

Thunderstorm.

Suddenly, raindrops the size of soybeans pattered down, covering the entire city and surrounding areas.

The world seemed veiled in a thin gauze, making everything appear indistinct.

The streets were filled with people seeking shelter; beautiful dresses, soaked by rain, clung to long, rounded legs, making them look even more alluring.

Some people took refuge in the bakery and, out of face, bought at least a little bread.

Normally, at this hour, regular customers would chat, filling the bakery with lively energy.

But today, no one seemed in the mood to talk; everyone was lost in thought.

They all stared out the window at the dark sky, where clouds hung so low it felt as if stepping outside and reaching up, one could touch them.

The clouds weighed not only over Jincheng but also crushed the people’s spirits.

Thunderstorms like this were common in Jincheng; it was summer, and being by the sea, they came fast and vanished quickly.

Sometimes people even welcomed such storms—they washed away the city’s dust, freshened the air, and brought a cool relief to the sweltering heat.

But now, no one had the heart to think of that.

The Lianbang had not been untouched by war, nor had it avoided participation; precisely because they understood war’s terror, they now sank into confusion and anxiety.

Watching others suffer is always enjoyable, but when misfortune strikes oneself, no one can laugh.

The gloomy sky mirrored the inner hearts of the people, shrouded from sunlight by dark clouds.

Lans, who considered himself experienced in grand affairs, could only stare dumbfounded as the tide of history roared toward him, powerless to stop it.

Due to the thunderstorm, the streets remained nearly empty until noon.

At just after eleven, the thunderstorm ended; golden sunlight pierced through the gloom, tore apart the clouds, and bathed the earth in light.

Jincheng, washed clean by rain, radiated freshness; pedestrians gradually returned to the streets.

Councilor Petrit looked displeased at his soaked pant cuffs; technically, a “city councilor”—or “municipal councilor”—was not supposed to take sides.

On the surface, that was true.

In reality, taking sides was necessary.

To climb higher—whether running for mayor or entering the state legislature—one needed powerful backers.

Petrit’s patron was a majority party senator in the state senate, and that senator answered to even higher figures in the national congress.

Political directives flowed downward, Cengcengchuandi until they reached him; he had planned a press conference today, but the sudden rain left him irritable.

He might not have coined the sharp phrase “Once you enter politics, you lose control of yourself,” but he understood that since choosing politics, he had lost much—even part of his own identity.

At this stage of city politics, especially in Jincheng, an economic engine, personal ability alone could never carry one further.

Taking sides became an unavoidable choice.

Resources trickled down through the ranks; if you received your share, you were expected to contribute your strength when the team needed you.

As Petrit stood on the wet stage, feeling rain seep through the imperfectly sealed seams of his shoes, each wiggle of his toes a clear sensation of being submerged, his irritation deepened.

Damn politics!

Yet his face shone as bright and blinding as the sun breaking through the clouds.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for coming here. This is a brief press conference…” Several reporters were already shouting; a storm of anger brewed inside him.

He suppressed the urge to destroy something, clenched his lips, and continued, “Regarding the recent firefight incident, after our investigation team’s thorough review, several points require clarification.”

“First, the smuggling vessel did not carry only armed militants; the militants were a minority, totaling fewer than ten. The rest were smugglers.”

“Second, two coast guard officers died on-site, with multiple others seriously wounded; the armed militants suffered nearly total annihilation.”

“The remaining seven, sent to hospital, died during treatment due to insufficient emergency and surgical staff.”

“In other words, they could have survived.”

“Finally, I must admit that our officers, after the firefight ended, murdered approximately thirty-seven innocent civilians out of personal vengeance.”

“I apologize on behalf of them to the innocent victims…”

Petrit already knew what would follow these words, but he was prepared—he had to say them.

Only this way could the “team’s” big brothers see him as a brother willing to shoulder responsibility, unafraid of accountability.

His statements appeared to supplement the investigation, but in truth, he was overturning the previous conclusions.

First, he implied the coast guard and local police were incompetent—eleven dead against fewer than ten armed militants.

If the militants had been numerous, the public might have assumed they were highly armed and professional, and felt sympathy for the victims.

But now, they would see them as utterly, disgustingly stupid!

Second, he told the media and public that only two died in the firefight; the rest died from delayed medical care.

He redirected public resentment toward illegal—and even legal—immigrants toward the healthcare system.

The Lianbang people had long hated medical corporations and the healthcare system; this was a convenient scapegoat, and they didn’t care.

Third, he demonized the officers some had begun to glorify, lowering public sympathy for them.

People sympathize with the loss of heroes, not with demons.

Thus, he aimed to make the public disengage from the incident entirely.

No one likes being deceived; those who enjoy spectacle would feel humiliated and enraged, believing they had been manipulated.

Petrit knew full well that after speaking these words, he would become the storm’s center, risking a long silence.

But it was also an opportunity—if he survived this crisis, he would qualify for mayorship or a seat in the state legislature.

His open, total rejection of the previous conclusions triggered frantic media reposts and intensified public sentiment.

Two other city councilors immediately emerged, denouncing Petrit’s words as dogshit, baseless slander; the coast guard even threatened to sue him!

Neither side could produce solid evidence proving their claims—indeed, innocent smugglers had been slaughtered in revenge.

One coast guard officer stormed the hold with a submachine gun; others followed to eliminate witnesses and prevent complications.

Regarding the delayed medical care, it wasn’t entirely false—anyone who still had a breath when reaching the hospital had half their on-site responsibility removed.

Both sides hurled mud, cursed each other, exposed each other’s secrets, perfectly embodying the essence of Lianbang politics—

According to the world’s leading media outlet, Zhenzhi, a random survey across major civilized nations collected over fifty thousand responses, and seventy-seven percent said they followed Lianbang political news.

Not because they cared about politics, but because they wanted to see just how absurd and ridiculous Lianbang politics could be!

While some sought to downplay the case’s severity, others pushed to escalate it.

Soon, the public split into two factions—the largest social activity in Lianbang history, commonly called “political brawling.”

But no matter how things changed, those destined to suffer would still suffer.

Having listened to Lans, Aierwen and his group had been sticking together; during the peak of the incident, someone tried to attack them.

But seeing they were numerous and young, strong men, the attackers gave up.

Yet as the situation continued to ferment and the Emperor’s increasingly hysterical demands persisted, Lianbang citizens’ resentment—and even hatred—toward Empire people kept rising.

Today, as they arrived at the dock, dock management staff told them they had to leave.

“I know you’re all good guys, but you’ve seen the situation—they may not target you directly, but they’ll target us.”

“People have already blocked our company gates, demanding we stop hiring you.”

“And this isn’t personal—anyone without a social security number or work card will be barred from dock work. We respect and obey Lianbang law.”

The dock worker who normally assigned jobs wore a look of deep regret—they had genuinely liked these black workers.

These black workers were tough, willing to do anything—even jump straight into clogged sewers.

Unlike locals, who demanded this, demanded that, and insisted on extra pay for “tasks beyond their job description.”

But now, they had no choice; everyone could see Jincheng had become a battleground for multiple forces.

Though the dock management company had powerful backers, compared to stock stability, temporarily firing some black workers was far more cost-effective!

Capitalists knew what was right.

This decisiveness made Aierwen and the others realize they were unemployed.