Chapter 7

Under the roadside shade, Lans watched Ethan and said, “Are you feeling a bit uncomfortable?”

Ethan shook his head, insincerely: “No.”

In truth, Lans could see he was uncomfortable inside—just unwilling to say it.

“I worked my ass off for a month, and that son of a bitch plans to swallow my share too. I punched him, and now they want me to apologize to him…”

As Lans spoke, Ethan looked up at him with an incredulous, exposed gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know what you’re thinking—I’m just young too.”

“A lot of the time, I feel the same way you do—like honor matters more than anything else. But Ethan, this is the Federation.”

He lifted his head and drew in several deep breaths through his nose. “Can you smell it?”

Ethan and Aierwen both tilted their heads and sniffed. Aierwen said nothing; Ethan answered honestly: “Saltwater stink, rot, and a hint of engine oil.”

“No!” Lans rejected his observations. “It’s the smell of money—and power!”

“This is a good place, Ethan—good enough that if you have money, you can do anything you want. But only if you have money.”

“Do you have money?” Ethan shook his head. Lans clapped his arm. “So you can’t do whatever you want—not even punch that son of a bitch, or anything else.”

“I made you apologize because I don’t want this to escalate.” He glanced at Aierwen beside him.

“There are only so many dock worker cards, but every day, countless people without cards wait outside the docks, just like us.”

“If that bastard twists this story even slightly and spreads it, Ethan, there won’t be room for you in Jinguang City.”

“People won’t give jobs to someone who beats his employers on a whim. Why hire you for fifteen bucks when they can hire someone else who won’t hit them?”

“You could take all his money—but then you, and all of you, won’t find work on the docks again.”

“We’re too easy to spot. They can tell us apart from other races. So today’s lesson is this: rules.”

“Take only what’s ours. As long as we follow the rules, no one can use the rules against us.”

“If he doesn’t gossip or stir trouble, no one will ever know what happened—and it won’t affect you.”

“But if he does stir trouble, the ones who made the rules will deal with him—he’s the one who caused unnecessary chaos.”

“This isn’t the Empire, where you can go cry to your parents or your uncles and aunts—they’ll fight your battles for you.”

“Here, we have to carry our own burdens.”

Lans turned to Aierwen , pressing his shoulder. “Ethan sometimes has a slow mind. Keep an eye on him. Just get through this period first.”

The events of this period had made Aierwen deeply admire Lans—he obeyed Lans’s words almost without question.

“I will.”

Lans nodded. “If there’s anything you still don’t understand, say it now.”

“We crossed the ocean to come here. We share the same ancestral blood. We are brothers. We should speak openly, stand together.”

Ethan lowered his head for a long while, then whispered, “Thank you.”

Lans laughed and punched him in the chest—but his body didn’t budge an inch, as solid as a young bull!

“Alright, I should head back. If anything happens, don’t act rashly—come find me.”

“Even if one day you want to kill someone, come to me first—don’t gamble your life out of spite!”

He clapped Aierwen ’s arm again and got into the car, leaving.

Watching Lans drive away, Aierwen rolled his eyes at Ethan. “Do you even know what happened today?”

Ethan scratched his head, embarrassed. “I dragged you guys down.”

Aierwen waved his hand. “We’re brothers. We’re from the same hometown. Lans was right—we should stick together.”

Then he told Ethan what happened after he hid away—how many of the new arrivals from the same ship pooled money for him, even two strangers from his hometown who chipped in three bucks.

Ethan burst into tears!

He was moved—and guilty. He’d done something stupid, leaving everyone with debt.

Now, as guilt began to overwhelm his earlier shame and anger, reason returned, and he calmed down—he realized how foolish it had been to punch that son of a bitch.

“...So our most urgent task now is to pay this money back.”

“Good news—I still have over seventy bucks. So we’re short by very little…”

In the car, the bustling street scenes rolled backward outside. Lans sat in the passenger seat. “Got a cigarette, Fordis?”

Fordis glanced sideways at him. “You should add ‘Mr.’!” Still, he opened the glove compartment, revealing a pack of cigarettes.

Lans took one, struck a match, lit it, and drew a deep breath.

Thick smoke, mingled with the fragrance of summer and the weight of years, filled his lungs. The alveoli didn’t filter tar or toxins—they filtered time, Suiyue , history!

His right elbow rested on the open window, his head half-protruding. The hot summer wind blew against his face, tousling his hair and stirring his soul.

A new world. A new life. A new beginning!

A genuine smile, rare and deep, touched his ever-calm face. Whatever had brought him here—treat this world as a canvas, and paint your wildest dreams upon it!

At 4:55, the car stopped outside the bakery. When Lans stepped out with Fordis, the fat owner’s eyes nearly popped out.

He hesitated, uncertain. “Lans, you didn’t bring me trouble, did you?”

“Who is this gentleman…?”

Lans was an illegal—smuggled in. The fat owner had confirmed this long ago. No normal person would take a job paying only ten-odd bucks a month—not even a child laborer.

The Federation never banned child labor—only limited hours and mandated wages.

Lans had nothing: no work card, no social ID. He was an illegal.

An illegal riding home in a luxury car—no wonder the fat owner felt confused, even uneasy.

Lans didn’t confuse matters. “New friend. Mr. Fordis. Just stopping by to buy some bread.”

“I’m not late, am I?”

Before understanding this “Mr. Fordis”’s identity, the fat owner kept his tone cautious. “Of course not. I was just joking with you.”

He paused. “Go change your apron. I’ll entertain Mr. Fordis.”

The man’s clothing was clearly expensive.

No one understood such things better than the middle class—they might not have them, but they knew exactly what they meant.

Otherwise, who would buy those magazines?

The rich who spent without counting?

“Lans is a hardworking kid. Even if he just mopped the floor, he’ll mop it again if he’s got nothing else to do.”

“I always hold him up as an example to others—how excellent he is.”

“But he’s socially shy. He never told me he knew someone like you.”

“Could you tell me how you two met?”

A clumsy probing tactic. Fordis shot him a sidelong glance and said nothing, stepping into the bakery.

Though slightly annoyed, the fat owner’s smile never faded—driven by the new car and the fine fabric of the man’s clothes.

Perhaps sensing Fordis had no interest in him, he stepped back. “Lans, introduce our delicacies to your friend.”

Lans stood behind the counter in his apron. The sight made Fordis smile. “So… what are you recommending?”

Lans opened the display case. “The only thing here remotely edible is this premium ham from Musuli Island.”

Musuli Island is far away—another country. Its unique climate and geography produce three things.

Tobacco.

Ham.

Women.

Lans used tweezers to pick a slice and offered it. Fordis pinched it between his fingers, tasted it, then shook his head. “Not authentic Musuli ham. Barely passable.”

“If this is the best…”

He glanced at the fat owner in the corner. “Two portions. And two loaves that match it. Do you have donuts?”

“Yes. Buy a box of donuts, get a free coffee. If you’re into roasted wood chips, I’ll throw in another.”

Fordis closed his eyes, as if dizzy. “So this is how you treat customers?”

Lans packed the food, smiling. “Ninety-nine percent of customers here just want to fill their stomachs. They care about price—not taste or origin.”

He placed the packed goods on the counter. “Six dollars and ninety-nine cents.”

One box of donuts: ninety-nine cents, with a free coffee.

Two portions of the best ham: five dollars. Two decent loaves: one dollar. Fair price.

Fordis took his food, paid, and added: “Don’t forget your deal with the boss.”

He glanced once more at the fat owner, who forced a smile, then pushed through the door and left.