Chapter 87: Rumors and a New Dinner

Jason’s death made everyone more united, which might be the point of… what mountain was it again in the Federation?

Lans wasn’t sure, but that was more or less the idea.

At nine in the morning, he arrived outside Saint Naye Cathedral; recently, he had gained some reputation in the Empire’s circles, and many people greeted him warmly along the way.

Lans also cultivated this “persona”—to achieve greater success, he had to become a “representative.”

People are a multifunctional resource; in the hands of capitalists, they are an endless mine.

In the hands of politicians, they are a divine tool that can instantly switch between the sharpest sword and the strongest shield.

Depending on whose hands they’re in, they serve different purposes—even reused back and forth; sometimes people are like condoms: wash them off and use them again, as long as they’re not broken!

Many people still haven’t realized this, like Mr. Chobaf—he has a solid base but doesn’t know how to use it, which is why he’s so weak.

He doesn’t understand: treat people as power, and the more people you have, the stronger your power becomes.

But if you just see them as Jiucai , your money increases, yet your actual power gains nothing.

If Lans had such a base, he would be extremely hard—anyone who touched him would be melted by his heat and rigidity!

Mr. Chobaf was here today too, but his mood was low; he stood aside, staring blankly, as if burdened with many thoughts. Lans greeted him.

In the past, he might have walked over to chat with Lans, and Lans would have waited where he stood—that was etiquette.

But now Mr. Chobaf had no desire to chat with Lans; he had just dined with the mayor, who showed great interest and support for his joining the mayor’s team, yet something made him hesitate.

He was recalling and weighing the mayor’s words from that evening, and the choice left to him—

“Once the President is re-elected, he will begin legalizing certain illegal immigrants, meaning they will gain voting rights.”

“Chobaf, you hold high standing in the Empire’s eyes. I’m glad you see the situation clearly and are willing to join our side.”

“But you know, everyone here has proven their value to us—what about you?”

“How will you convince others that your joining makes the team better, not worse?”

This blunt, coercive pressure to declare allegiance made Mr. Chobaf deeply uncomfortable—even in the Empire, nobles at least maintained surface decorum.

Even if they coveted his wealth desperately, they would find a suitable excuse to negotiate—likely a transaction: offering him something in exchange for his fortune, not directly demanding he “pay up.”

In the past, he would have refused to pay—but now he couldn’t afford to refuse; Arthur still had a major problem waiting for him, and the only thing he was certain of was that the wine probably wasn’t smuggled away by Arthur.

If it were Arthur, he’d have been restless and come to blackmail him long ago—but the more he thought about it, the more his head ached: no leads, no evidence, he didn’t even know who to blame.

Joining the mayor’s team seemed like his last resort; otherwise, he’d eventually be devoured by Arthur and his kind, leaving not even a trace!

But the mayor’s “fill-in-the-blank” question was deeply troubling—he had to make others see his value before he could join the team.

Do too well, and he couldn’t bear to give up his own resources; do too little, and these people wouldn’t be satisfied—his head hurt!

Mr. Chobaf had no desire to chat with him, and Lans had no intention of saying much to him either—he went straight to the young man.

Geral saw him and waved his arms, running over to his side; the other young people also greeted him.

“You’ve formed a family!” he said with excited certainty, “I want to join!”

Lans didn’t react, “Who told you that?”

“Everyone’s saying it—Enio and the others are all following you now,” Geral’s eyes shone with admiration.

On the ship, Lans had always helped him; otherwise, his tight little butt would’ve suffered badly, so he had always admired Lans.

Lans glanced at the distant crowd where Burton was circling around several well-dressed Empire men, then smiled back, “You’ll have to convince your uncle first.”

Geral wasn’t impressed, “He only cares how much money I give him each month, not what I’m doing.”

Lans had never asked about this, “I thought you two got along well.”

He sneered, “If you mean him eagerly waiting at month-end for me to give him more money—then yes.”

“He’s a miser. He always tells me I’m not brutally exploited like illegal immigrants because they gave me a document granting me legal status to work here—I must be grateful.”

“And they took me in, saved me from sleeping under bridges—all of it was their sacrifice.”

“But I know my parents already paid him a sum.”

Lans hesitated, “If you come here, how will you explain it to your parents?”

“I’m an adult—I can decide my own future!” he said, staring at Lans, firm and unyielding.

Lans patted his arm, “I’ll give you an address. Once you’ve settled things with them, come over.”

Geral immediately smiled.

The news of Lans forming a family spread quickly among the young people—perhaps someone accidentally let it slip—but it didn’t change the bigger picture.

In fact, he should establish a new “brand,” rather than continue expanding his influence as an individual.

One person’s power is limited, but a collective holds infinite power!

In some ways, this was actually a good thing.

Lans told the young people that if they encountered a tough problem they couldn’t solve, they could come to him—but he couldn’t guarantee he’d fix it, only that he’d try his best.

Because they were all Empire people, in this foreign, hostile country, they should help each other.

On Sunday morning, Patricia sat at her vanity, trying to make herself look more beautiful.

Mrs. Lawrence stood outside the door, glanced twice, then went to the study. “Patricia’s going out again.”

Mr. Lawrence, reading the newspaper, didn’t look up. “Let her go. She’s a grown girl now—we can’t control her life forever. It’s her life!”

Mrs. Lawrence added, “She’s putting on makeup—I think she’s going on a date.”

“Still that… what’s-his-name?” Mr. Lawrence recalled, uncertainly, “Lan…S?”

“Lans White. That’s the name, I think.”

Mrs. Lawrence grew more displeased. “You should respect this boy—and respect your daughter.”

Mr. Lawrence knew he was in the wrong; his words could make people think his daughter was a promiscuous woman who changed boyfriends constantly.

He put down the newspaper and raised his hands. “I apologize. I said something stupid.”

“I’d like to invite him over for dinner—let us get to know him,” Mrs. Lawrence said. After all, this was her daughter’s first serious relationship in every sense.

She had attended a girls’ school, where the nuns were as cold and mechanical as robots—they’d even beat disobedient girls’ buttocks with wooden boards, in front of others.

Newspapers said most girls from such schools developed psychological issues; they were deeply worried.

Mr. Lawrence considered it. “You could suggest inviting Lans for dinner—it would ensure they’re home before dark.”

As an old father, he still feared his little lamb being stripped bare and devoured.

Mrs. Lawrence had lived with him her whole life; she knew his thoughts but didn’t call him out, only smiled in a way that made him feel awkward. “When you want to laugh, don’t look at me—and you should go talk to your daughter.”

A few steps later, she stood outside her daughter’s door and knocked. “May I come in?”

Patricia, still applying makeup, turned shyly. “Of course, Mom.”

Mrs. Lawrence walked behind her. “Going on a date with Lans?”

The girl didn’t deny it. “Dad wants to invite him over for dinner.”

Patricia spun around, eyes wide. “That’s inappropriate!”

Mrs. Lawrence asked, “Why?”

“Because you haven’t confirmed a relationship yet?”

“Or is there another reason?”

Patricia didn’t know how to answer. She soothed her daughter’s emotions. “I think this is a good opportunity. You know your father and I care about you—we’re worried.”

“You have to give us a chance to know him. Can’t we meet him before you tell us you’re getting married?”

“It’s just dinner. I’ll make sure your father doesn’t say anything foolish, and I promise I won’t interfere in your relationship—I swear.”

Patricia thought for a long while. “I can’t be sure he’ll come, but I’ll tell him about it.”

Mrs. Lawrence picked up her handkerchief and wiped off Patricia’s lipstick. “He’ll prefer you natural—that’s your greatest strength. Show it off, my proud girl!”

Patricia looked at her reflection—youthful, pure—and suddenly felt confident.

Without makeup, she was still the most beautiful!

1: Here, “family” refers to a neighborhood clan—the most basic organizational form.