[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-shadow-empire":3,"chapter-the-shadow-empire-the-shadow-empire-chapter-73":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},2267693,4428,"Chapter 73: Arthur Has Arrived","the-shadow-empire-chapter-73",73,"\u003Cp>Jincheng, Bay Area, House of Power, Villa.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Federals have a preference for “heaviness,” especially among the upper class, who greatly admire that aristocratic style.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everything must be gilded and splendid, exuding wealth, nobility, and weight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, most upper-class individuals’ studies give off this impression.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Massive bookshelves, broad and heavy desks, red or white high-backed chairs, accented with gold trim.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They lay down fine camel-hair carpets, place a globe in the corner, display some antiques, and perhaps a few animal specimens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everything proclaims nobility and luxury.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The room was no different; Senator Williams sat in his chair, smoking a pipe, while his son Arthur sat across from him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur was in his early twenties, with platinum-blonde hair, strikingly handsome—just like his mother.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Senator Williams’ eyes seemed half-closed; he was over sixty, an old man even by Federal standards.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet in this city, no one dared underestimate his influence or power.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Occasionally, the slits of his eyes revealed a glint too sharp to ignore; outside, Arthur was brazen, but before his father, he was as meek as a quail.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The sober society is coming in a few days. Don’t do anything stupid, or I’ll personally send you to prison.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur nodded quickly, “I won’t leave the estate these days.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Senator Williams glanced at him, trying to tell if he was telling the truth or just placating him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing his foolish son’s earnest expression, he felt a flicker of satisfaction. “I didn’t say do nothing—just don’t cause trouble.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur asked curiously, “Father, it’s just a sober society. Do we really need to be this tense?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Just a sober society?” Senator Williams blinked, then laughed aloud, his tone dripping with mockery.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew this son was not the best heir to his power, so he never intended for Arthur to inherit it—he had other sons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur was the product of his fourth marriage. Though he liked Arthur—he looked just like him—that was no reason to make a wrong decision.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In good spirits, he didn’t mind explaining: “The sober association originated from the Church. That alone ties it to many high-ranking Federal figures.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Not to mention the political struggles and social experiments behind it. Explaining this to you is pointless—your brain, stuffed with shit, couldn’t grasp what I’m saying.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Just know this: don’t cause trouble these days, or I’ll personally lock you up.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Arthur’s pitiful, wounded expression, Senator Williams softened. “I heard you’ve been stockpiling liquor.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur jumped. He thought his father was about to hit him. “I’m just… storing it for a friend!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Senator Williams snorted. “You lie just like you did as a child—never changed. Don’t lie to me, Arthur. I’m your father. You can’t fool me.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But you did well. Stockpile more. October twenty-fifth is Saint Harvest Day. On that day, the entire state joins the alcohol ban alliance, and the governor declares prohibition.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Saint Harvest Day is also called “Harvest Day,” when people celebrate the autumn harvest and pray for next year’s bounty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Declaring prohibition at this time carries special meaning: harvest season is peak distilling time. Announcing it then is a direct war against the industry and culture of alcohol.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The war has already been won before it began. Everyone gains mainstream social approval—this means another rise in influence, status, and power!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing Arthur’s blank stare, Senator Williams sighed. “You’re hopelessly stupid, my dear.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“So I hope you earn more money before I fall. That’s the only gift I can leave you!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Now, get out. Looking at you gives me a headache.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur slunk out of the room and went straight to his mother—a woman who looked barely thirty-six or thirty-seven.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She reclined half-lounging on the sofa, reading a magazine. She glanced at Arthur and gestured for him to sit across from her. “Didn’t your father beat you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That’s rare.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur glanced at his mother’s ample chest, then looked away. He always tried to recall childhood memories, but couldn’t—impolite, yet irresistible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Father told me to stockpile more liquor.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She set down the magazine. “So you came here to ask me for money?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I heard you’ve been making a lot of money using your father’s name.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With his mother, he wasn’t afraid—he was almost cheeky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sat at her feet and massaged her calves. “I just stored forty-five thousand bottles. I’m almost out of cash.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The woman, who had been half-asleep, opened her eyes wide. “You didn’t buy cheap liquor, did you?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Gold Label Napoleonic Whiskey.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She studied him with hidden meaning. “That six-dollar-a-bottle stuff?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur corrected her proudly. “Now it’s nearly eight dollars. Plus some Derran gin.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She raised an eyebrow. “You’re richer than I thought.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Forty-five thousand bottles—that’s three hundred sixty thousand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sounds like not much. But if a person earns thirty or forty dollars a month, that sum equals a worker’s income for a thousand years—and he can’t even eat or drink it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sometimes the world is truly unfair. Everyone arrives naked, yet some pour in more effort and get nothing in return.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Meanwhile, those who never lift a finger are born with everything most people can never reach in a lifetime.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She thought a moment. “I have about… three hundred thousand. I’ll give you two hundred fifty thousand. But when you pay me back, it’ll be three hundred thousand.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur beamed. He understood why his father told him this—so he’d rush to stockpile liquor before Saint Harvest Day!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With this money, he’d borrow more—whatever he could scrape together. A hundred percent profit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He leaned over and kissed her hard on the cheek. “Thank you so much, my good mother!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She laughed and pushed him away. “Your spit’s all over my face. Go to the bank and wait for Marlon—he’ll handle the transfer.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Marlon was her full-power attorney, responsible for transfers. In truth, her own account held only a few thousand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The money she promised Arthur came from the Jincheng Aicheng Charity Foundation—a private charity fund she ran.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur left immediately. Though he loved his mother, the twenty-five thousand—and more wealth—mattered far more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He might feel guilty, but he’d make it up to her in his dreams.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the branch manager’s office at Botong Bank, Marlon was chatting with the bank president when Arthur burst in.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Marlon disliked Arthur but showed no sign. He presented the authorization letter and transferred the foundation’s funds into Arthur’s account.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Arthur didn’t like Marlon either—Marlon was too talented. Idiots never want to play with the smart ones, because then they realize how truly stupid they are.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After signing the simple documents, Arthur left. He thought it over and immediately set his sights on Jo Bafu.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d extorted Jo Bafu before. Sure, it sounded excessive—but among this city’s immigrant capitalists, how many hadn’t been extorted by him?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sometimes he even thought: I’m extorting you because I’m giving you face. Not everyone gets extorted by me!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When his car—the only one of its kind in all of Jincheng, outrageously flashy—pulled up beneath Jo Bafu’s bank, the assistant burst into Jo Bafu’s office.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stood by the door, gripping the handle, face pale. “Arthur is here.”\u003C\u002Fp>",1172,"2026-06-19T21:10:27.799Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","bb0dd110634076f776eaa26a93e599852943db25aa3c2dfb9a5c021fa99aabe9","the-shadow-empire-chapter-74","the-shadow-empire-chapter-72",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-shadow-empire-cover.jpg"]