Chapter 37: A New Beginning

Political maneuvering among the Federation’s upper echelons seemed to have reached a turning point—the President publicly responded to the Empire’s accusations against the Federation—

“The Federation government has never condoned anyone treating Imperial immigrants differently, regardless of whether they arrived through legal channels!”

Before these accusations, the Federation President had remained silent, but this time he called them rumors—even if true, they were isolated incidents, not political movements or events.

The Federation is a highly open, free, tolerant, and inclusive nation, where anyone who loves peace may live.

The Federation government will not acknowledge any groundless accusations, and the President will gradually open channels for illegal immigrants to apply for permanent residency cards.

Furthermore, the Federation government will not respond positively to the Empire’s immoral threat of military force.

But if the Imperial army dares to invade Federation territory, the Federation government will strike back fiercely…

On television, the President stood passionately on the podium, fist raised to emphasize his words; outside the frame, a dense crowd waved their arms and cheered loudly.

A torrent of political jargon poured from his mouth, as if the Federation were already about to become the happiest nation on Earth…

After finishing his cigarette, the TV in the cabinet shut off; Lans restarted the car and returned to the house.

Alberto had not revoked his use of the car—it was worth at most two hundred credits.

Legally and reasonably, he could have taken it back.

He gave it directly to Lans, trading two hundred credits for a favor—this deal was actually quite worthwhile.

When Lans returned, the others were sitting in the living room discussing something; they all stood when he entered.

“After leaving the Empire, we only have each other—we’re family, siblings—there’s no need for this formality.”

He walked over to Merro and sat down on the floor, not on the sofa.

He sat cross-legged, squeezed in with the others, refusing to sit on a chair and look down on them just because he had rented the house and solved everyone’s survival problems.

They had left him a chair, but he didn’t sit in it.

Sometimes, moving others is very simple—and that feeling stays with them for life, even until death, they won’t forget it.

“What are you discussing?” He glanced at Ethan, sitting by the door. “I’ve got two packs of cigarettes, some bottles of alcohol, and food in the car—bring them over.”

Ethan burst into laughter, his big yellow teeth showing.

For dinner they had plain vegetable leaves mixed with coarse grain rice, soybeans, lima beans, chickpeas, red beans—all kinds of beans, plus some wheat kernels; these were actually high-grade feed sold for horses.

But humans could eat them too, and they weren’t expensive—many poor people ate this to fill their stomachs.

If humans and cattle or horses worked the same only in physical labor, now that humans ate the same feed as cattle and horses, there was essentially no difference between them.

Lans asked a question; when he learned they were eating vegetable leaves mixed with beans, he frowned. “Didn’t I tell you to get everyone better food?”

He asked Merro—he had given Merro money; Merro was older than the others and more level-headed, so handling their daily needs was no problem.

Merro looked embarrassed. “If we ate bread or something else, we’d go through a lot—we don’t work now, so we don’t need to eat well.”

It was a simple, honest reason. Lans patted his shoulder—he knew Merro wanted to save money. Twenty-odd youths, eighteen to twenty years old.

Let them eat freely, and one meal could consume forty or fifty pounds of food—or more!

Even if they ate ordinary food, one meal might cost two or three credits, five credits—seven to ten credits a day!

Who the hell could afford that?

A monthly food budget of three hundred credits was unimaginably high—and most importantly, they had no income, only draining their savings.

It all depended on Lans… which was possible, but Merro thought this approach unsustainable, so he bought the cheapest beans—pennies per pound, and very filling.

Even Ethan, after eating less than two pounds of vegetable leaves mixed with beans, couldn’t eat another bite.

“Don’t worry about work—I saw the news on the way back. It’ll resume soon.”

Lans didn’t say much more—he believed this outcome was highly likely. For the President, all he needed was a positive “response” to the Emperor’s provocation, using the pretext of “preventing Imperial military attack” to declare a state of emergency and invoke presidential powers—he’d be guaranteed re-election!

In other words, as long as he didn’t care about the consequences, re-election was certain.

So the core of this political struggle wasn’t whether the President could be re-elected—it was how much he was willing to sacrifice to secure it.

The unrest in Jingang City was merely “one glimpse” of this political struggle; the economic engine had stalled, and capital forces would soon move.

Under the coordination of capital forces, political factions reached a compromise—the President received a promise of re-election, and the conflict ended.

But the lower classes saw none of this—they only saw the President say the Federation would become greater, and they became inexplicably excited, cheering wildly—that was all.

They didn’t know why their lives had become such a mess, or why good fortune never favored them.

Ethan walked in carrying a large bundle of food; everyone sat in a circle, cigarettes, alcohol, and food placed within easy reach.

Lans bought a lot of fried chicken—much cheaper than beef or lamb; since large-scale mechanized livestock farming began, the price of chickens and ducks changed daily.

Three fried chickens for one credit—aromatic and irresistible—who could refuse?

Add in some other high-sugar, high-fat foods, and their happiness skyrocketed!

They smoked, drank, dreamed of the future—everything felt so beautiful!

While enjoying the meal and chatting, Merro asked, “After this… movement passes, do we go back to working the docks?”

Everyone turned to Lans—in this small group, he was the “head.”

“How much do you earn working?” he asked.

Everyone fell silent. After eating and drinking, and being exploited by capitalists, three to five credits left at month’s end was the limit.

Everyone knew work wasn’t the answer—but they didn’t know what else to do.

Lans picked up a cigarette; Merro immediately lit it with a match—scratch! The smoke from the friction and the sudden flare of flame added a hint of gunpowder to the room.

Some people liked the smell of gunpowder.

Lans took a sip of alcohol; his cheeks flushed. “I used to work at Johnny’s bakery—even if he didn’t cheat me out of wages, I only made fifteen credits a month.”

“But the gangs and police took at least dozens of credits from him every month.”

“There are dozens of shops on that street—even if others got less, twenty or thirty, or even just ten credits—that’s still a fortune.”

“Of course, I’m just giving an example—I’m not telling you I plan to do this. Actually, it’s a dirty job.”

“You don’t earn much, and you’re hated. If anything goes wrong, the first ones thrown under the bus are the collectors and their organization.”

“What I’m saying is, there are many ways to make money—and many ways to make big money. Don’t fixate on that pitiful wage from working.”

“Look at the Federation’s capital titans, the political dynasties—how many of them got there by working a job?”

Merro looked confused; the others did too. “Then what should we do?”

“Start a company.”

“Start a company?” Merro scratched his head. “I remember you need a permanent residency card or citizenship to register one—are you going to find someone to register it for you?”

Lans shook his head. “My status will be updated soon—I’ll register it myself.”

“And you—all of you—are my employees. I’ve already decided what we’ll do, and I guarantee: if you follow me closely, I’ll make sure each of you can buy a house, buy a car…”

“But before that, I need you to prepare mentally.”

“Making more money means taking greater risks—psychological, physical—get ready for both.”

“Then join me—and face the storm of this era!”