Chapter 24: The Mutual Witnessing of Growth Is Life

“Uncle Burton, I heard you bought this apartment yourself, not rented it, is that right?”

Lans glanced at the water glass on the table, with no intention of drinking; Mr. Burton kept waiting for him to take a sip, so he could prove his point with, “See? I told you—the tap water here has no odd taste, it’s even sweet.”

He had to change the subject, and the moment he spoke, it would be one Mr. Burton couldn’t ignore.

Mr. Burton’s lips twitched involuntarily upward; the facial muscles he’d tried to keep serious finally gave way into an unsteady smile, and even his hope for Lans’s approval on the tap water’s slight sweetness was forgotten.

“Did Gerald tell you all this?”

“That shows you two are truly close friends!”

He took a deep breath, feeling as if he’d been caught and had no choice but to admit it: “Yes, that’s right—I bought this apartment.”

“You might not know what I went through when I first arrived, but no matter what, I’ve grown alongside this city, and it has given me its finest gift.”

“I bought a home, got married, then divorced; I have insurance, a work card—I don’t have to worry about the Emperor’s soldiers dragging me out of bed at midnight, handing me a gun that won’t fire, and ordering me to die for the royal family.”

“The only thing I need to do is work hard, and I’ll receive my reward!”

He couldn’t help laughing a few more times as he spoke: “I’m not boasting, Lans—this is the Federal Dream. It’s entered my life, and I hope you can become someone like me.”

“Hard work, perseverance, endurance—this society will repay you with everything. If it hasn’t yet, it’s just delayed. No matter how late, it will come. This is the Federation!”

“Pay, and you’ll be repaid!” His face wore the earnest, sacred expression of a preacher swindling country farmers—Lans felt a wave of nausea.

“You’re truly an extraordinary man!” Lans praised him insincerely, and Mr. Burton laughed even louder, unrestrained.

He loved sharing his greatest successes, everything he desperately wanted to show off—and now, he had succeeded.

“You can do the same—buy a house here, build your own life, and obtain your immigration status.”

“If only you’re willing to work hard and stay grounded!”

He paused, wiping away the white foam of saliva from the corner of his mouth from talking too much: “I haven’t asked—what do you do for work, Lans?”

He gave Lans a clear gesture of appraisal—eyes sweeping him from head to toe, as if to say, “I’m sizing you up,” and “I can tell your clothes are nice.”

Lans kept his polite smile: “I work for some locals—not the traditional kind of jobs. I handle tricky matters for them, and they pay me in return.”

The previously rich smile on Mr. Burton’s face suddenly dimmed.

Most hardworking workers who willingly submitted to capitalist exploitation disliked the kind of things Lans described.

It meant instability, risk—nothing like the life he wanted to live.

The atmosphere grew stiff all at once. It wasn’t Mr. Burton’s fault—most ordinary people avoided any connection with gang affairs.

“That’s good,” he replied vaguely, now eager for Lans to leave; he made a large show of glancing at the clock hanging above the bedroom door.

Lans acted as if he hadn’t noticed: “I’ve only been here a short time—I don’t know much about Jincheng.”

“Uncle Burton, you’ve lived here a long time—you must know this place well. Could you tell me about the lives of the Empire people here?”

Mr. Burton hesitated, but considering Lans might have joined a gang, he ultimately couldn’t refuse.

“About thirty thousand Empire people in Jincheng have obtained identity cards; the rest are… illegal immigrants.”

“Those of us who’ve gotten identity cards all gather at the Saint Naye Cathedral on weekends.”

“I’ve heard others have different meeting places, but I’ve never joined them.”

He thought for a moment: “Since you’re good friends with Gerald, I’ll give you a piece of advice—stay away from the Kamir Gang.”

When Lans pressed him about the “Kamir Gang,” Mr. Burton fell silent.

He then said it was getting late—he had work to do—and Lans rose to take his leave.

Though he hadn’t seen Little Red Riding Hood, he now had at least some understanding of the Empire people living here.

As for Mr. Burton’s mention of the Kamir Gang, Lans didn’t know what they did—but he already had a suspicion:

The fatal wound you receive is often delivered by the person you least expect.

People are always cautious and alert toward enemies—but when facing their own, they lower their guard, and that’s when the knife goes into the heart.

Fortunately, the weekend was just one day away—plenty of time for Mr. Anderson to think hard about whether to settle his debt.

In the afternoon, Lans went to the company. He told Aierwen he had nothing to do with selling Mr. Cotti, but he still needed to inform the man.

This time at the company, everyone greeted him.

Capable people are welcomed and valued everywhere—even the cute front desk girl painting her toenails looked up and waved “Hi!” to Lans.

Fordis wasn’t there—he was out working. Lans went straight to Mr. Cotti’s office; he was on the phone.

To avoid being annoying, Lans didn’t enter the office. He waited at the door until Mr. Cotti called him in.

“Sorry, the call took longer than expected—it’s near month-end.”

The second quarter was ending, the third was coming—this was when companies scrambled to borrow money to make their balance sheets look good and fool investors and shareholders.

This was also a busy season for financial firms and banks, with most loans being overnight, three-day, five-day, or week-long.

Interest rates were high: just now, Alberto had finalized a one-week short-term loan—he paid out two hundred thousand, and in a week, the borrower would repay him two hundred fifteen thousand.

It seemed like low interest—only fifteen thousand—but in reality, it was a substantial sum.

The company had excellent credit and sufficient collateral; they signed formal loan contracts with legal enforceability.

In fact, Alberto now hoped the borrower wouldn’t repay—or couldn’t repay—so he could legally seize their assets through judicial channels.

He was in excellent spirits!

“Sit down. Anderson called me—you did an excellent job.” He opened the cigarette pack, turned it around, and offered Lans one.

“On the phone, he cursed worse than the filthiest whore I’ve ever heard—I’m a bit angry.”

“I’m considering whether to actually recover the money, or just take some satisfying revenge, Lans—what’s your take?”

Closing his first deal and getting Anderson to call him himself had fully demonstrated Lans’s personal ability.

Alberto wanted to know: if he were Lans, how would he choose?

Lans didn’t hesitate: “No one turns down money. If I were you, Mr. Cotti, I’d take back what’s mine—and then make sure to get my revenge.”

Alberto clapped his hands, thoroughly pleased: “You’re right—I won’t turn down money…” He paused, thinking. “Do you have any follow-up ideas?”

Lans didn’t hide his thoughts: “Mr. Anderson cares deeply about his restaurant—I plan to keep targeting the restaurant.”