[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-shadow-empire":3,"chapter-the-shadow-empire-the-shadow-empire-chapter-51":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Shadow Empire",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"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},2267671,4428,"Chapter 51: The Wooden Door and the Wooden Table","the-shadow-empire-chapter-51",51,"\u003Cp>In the morning, Enio and several friends met at the front door, their faces glowing with genuine smiles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yesterday they closed two deals, earning eleven dollars including commissions—it seemed like a small amount.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But remember, during this time, illegal immigrants renting others’ work cards could only keep about ten or so dollars as actual income.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Add a bit more, and this was equivalent to a month’s income for an illegal immigrant—yet they earned it in just one day.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>More precisely, it took only an afternoon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This pace of earning made people’s eyes turn red.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lans paid them in cash, disbursing all commissions immediately, which better motivated them to work for him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nothing in this world cannot be driven by interest; if it can’t, it’s only because the interest you offered was too little.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eleven dollars was enough to make these young immigrants, with no steady jobs, work hard for him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Enio handed out cigarettes to his friends—he bought cigarettes priced at twenty-five cents a pack, while they usually smoked hand-rolled tobacco sticks made by ordinary families.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those were not only harsh to smoke, but also turned teeth yellow; these small-pack cigarettes were different—they were less harsh and didn’t stain teeth as badly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this time, only raw tobacco leaf was used; roasted tobacco had not yet reached the masses, mainly because the market for female smokers was still too small, and cigarette companies hadn’t noticed the emerging female consumer base.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When women began linking smoking to the fight for women’s rights, cigarette companies would start devising ways to get more women to smoke.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But now, they hadn’t thought of it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Several young men stood at street corners, puffing clouds of smoke; passersby deliberately kept their distance, a clear sign of rejection—even contempt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But to these youths, this was “power,” this was “cool.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This neighborhood was populated by imperial immigrants, so most people knew their neighbors; as they chatted about who might need to borrow money, a short, quiet boy named Mo Lisi suddenly spoke up: “I know a place where plenty of people need loans.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mo Lisi was short, barely one meter fifty tall even with shoes on; at seventeen, even if he grew a bit more, he wouldn’t get much taller.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked classically malnourished, his hair slightly yellow, wearing an old baseball cap, and clothes handed down from his older brother, washed pale.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Enio perked up instantly—his father had divorced his mother after arriving in the Federation, and now he lived with his father.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He felt no gratitude toward this old man, only resentment, because his father had a violent streak—only ever directing violence at family.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He worked at a sales company, earning only twenty dollars a month as base salary, and even that required him to complete at least one sale.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For every additional item sold that month, he earned a little more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His mother once urged him to find a higher, more stable job—like a factory line worker.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Higher pay, union protection, no one bullying him, and the household income would improve.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But his father saw this as the annihilation of his future; he was convinced he’d become a sales champion, own his own office, his own company, even his own brand someday.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After obtaining his Federation permanent residency card, he’d read too many inspirational books about sales creating legends; he believed he was the next lucky soul who’d rise from sales to become someone above others—even though most months, the only sale he made was himself buying his own product.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whoever told him to change jobs was destroying his future—he’d turn on them!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To push these products, he threw away all dignity; he didn’t care if people insulted him or spat in his face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Finding ways to pitch his products, finding ways to sell them—this was the only spark in his life, his very existence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Outwardly, he was a coward everyone could bully; but at home, he became the household demon—he couldn’t hold his liquor, got drunk on one glass.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After drinking, he would whip his wife with a belt to vent the negative emotions suppressed by work; this was the main reason for their divorce.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He always beat that woman in front of Enio—not necessarily intentionally, perhaps just because their apartment was too small to avoid it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One night, after getting drunk and stripping her, hanging her up, and whipping her, she packed her things and fled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They married in the Empire, but never registered in the Federation; in a sense, they weren’t legally married in the Federation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After she left, his father turned his rage onto Enio; when Enio was young, he could only endure the beatings, but now, older, he ran, fought back, even resisted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Enio’s only thought now was to earn more money and escape this damned home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So when Mo Lisi mentioned a place where many needed loans, Enio’s heart leapt, his mouth went dry.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He took a deep drag, biting the cigarette filter—the bitter tar taste gave him relief. “Where?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Behind the Lei family’s building, there’s a gambling den. My father goes there often—there must be people who need money.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Enio’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He couldn’t wait. “Should we go check it out now?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two youths hesitated, but everyone else wanted to go, so they followed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seven or eight youths walked quickly down the street; nearly everyone they passed stepped aside, wearing expressions of disgust.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one liked these aimless youths on the streets—no one knew when they’d pull a dagger from somewhere and demand you hand over your pocket money.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The distance from here to Mo Lisi’s gambling den wasn’t far—less than two kilometers; after ten minutes, they stood before a wooden door.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was in an alley behind the main street; the wooden door clearly led to a basement. Mo Lisi knocked; a metal peephole snapped open with a click, revealing a pair of eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The eyes scanned Mo Lisi and his friends, then shut again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as they thought they wouldn’t get in, the door suddenly opened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Your father didn’t come today.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mo Lisi tensed. “I brought my friends to see it—they want to take a look.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The big man at the door scrutinized the youths behind him, his gaze finally settling on Enio. “You got money?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Enio pulled out two five-dollar bills. The big man hesitated, then stepped aside. “Don’t cause trouble—or you’ll regret it.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The youths exhaled, smiles spreading across their faces; they slipped through the wooden door.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside, the air was damp, stifling, reeking of a foul odor—like a group of rotting people fermenting together; this smell was common among the homeless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After descending about ten meters of stairs, they entered a large hall.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Calling it a hall was generous—it was less than seventy square meters, yet it erupted into noise.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Six tables, each surrounded by gamblers drenched in sweat and stench.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even with several fans running, the temperature refused to drop.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Some shouted loudly, others laughed wildly, some pounded themselves in remorse and agony—in that instant, this bizarre scene struck the youths with unimaginable force!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Some noticed them, but seeing Mo Lisi, they paid no further attention—he was a “regular,” brought here by his father, often sent to run errands.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Buy cigarettes, buy food—other patrons would also send him on errands, paying him one or two cents each time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They assumed Mo Lisi brought these youths to show them around—and maybe let them gamble a little.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As long as you brought money, the casino owner didn’t care who you brought.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even the President wouldn’t matter!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This is blackjack—very popular now. Three tables here are blackjack…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mo Lisi explained the game to the youths. There were six seats; those without seats could still bet on the six positions, though sitting down clearly felt more immersive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blackjack had just arrived in the Federation; nearly every gambling den now had a blackjack table, with huge crowds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to other complex, rule-heavy gambling methods, blackjack offered more confrontation and fun; it became an instant favorite among Federation gamblers upon arrival.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No chips on the table—this neighborhood’s small underground casino used only cash.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing the pile on the table quickly grow past a hundred dollars, Enio’s breath quickened—he’d never seen so much money in his life!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mo Lisi remained calm—he’d seen this too many times.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blackjack was a game of math and probability; as long as the dealer wasn’t stupid, he could guarantee a high chance of winning without cheating.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This ensured someone always won each round—and someone winning was the nuclear engine that kept gamblers playing, without exception!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After standing and watching for ten minutes, the table turnover exceeded seven or eight hundred dollars. Enio swallowed saliva several times—he wanted to play a round, but Mo Lisi stopped him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’ll get addicted!”\u003C\u002Fp>",1461,"2026-06-19T21:10:27.799Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","5603f5682b699602f5eec902ef6a962f47759e21cdfc7a37d7867172200e0d96","the-shadow-empire-chapter-52","the-shadow-empire-chapter-50",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-shadow-empire-cover.jpg"]