Chapter 915: Arrangements and Greater Opposition

When Karl removed his hat and held it in his hand, his slick, oily, gleaming bald head was revealed.

Every strand of hair sat exactly where it belonged, never straying.

Karl, who once had to weigh whether spending five cents would fill his stomach, now spent three dollars on a haircut without hesitation.

Money decides everything.

He took off his coat and draped it over his arm until the man standing by the door took both coat and hat from him, at which point he murmured thanks and stepped before Lans.

“Mr. Lans?”

Lans pointed to a sofa beside him and signaled for him to sit.

Over this period, Karl hired two private tutors: one taught him social etiquette within the Federation’s high and mid-level circles.

Theoretical knowledge was certainly more complex than practical experience, but he endured hardship and studied relentlessly.

The other tutor taught him common-sense knowledge across all areas—anything to prevent him from embarrassing himself in public.

If he messed up a high-level technical point, it didn’t matter; but if he erred on basic common knowledge, people would mock him.

For the sake of a better future, he was giving it everything he had.

Though the affairs at Happy Building no longer put him directly in charge of that work, the funds still flowed through his hands—he simply no longer appeared in person, and this brought him no real loss.

Moreover, Lans had stood up for him.

Miles, to preserve those three soldiers, sent them straight to the front lines—whether they lived or died remained unclear, but Lans privately told Karl that if they returned, no matter what they’d done or whether they’d earned glory, they’d be finished.

Karl was not a cold-blooded man; otherwise, he wouldn’t have spent years treating others’ dreams as his own ideals.

He had simply grown mature—not become incapable of feeling. He knew Lans was using him for certain tasks, but Lans also genuinely cared for him.

Even his own parents had never treated him this well; so even if Lans was using him, Karl wished to become more useful, not to seek freedom or autonomy.

When Lans summoned him late at night, Karl came at once, without pause.

“Has the number of refugees in the new district changed recently?” Lans handed him a cigarette, which he accepted respectfully and lit.

“Mr. Lans, the refugee count has increased further, and I don’t know how to say this—but there are also more people from Dentra.”

Lans paused, startled. “Refugees from Dentra?”

“What are they doing here?”

Karl shook his head. “I caught one and questioned him. He said the Federation is about to invade, so they fled ahead of time.”

Hearing this, Lans couldn’t help laughing—a perfect excuse.

He recalled what Senator Cleveland had told him: perhaps these people were also some kind of spies.

He did not press the matter further. “How do these people feel about life here?”

Karl pursed his lips and shrugged. “What else can they feel?”

“Despair.”

“Most spent enormous sums—nearly all their money—to reach the Federation. In other words, even if they wanted to return, they couldn’t.”

“And you know our situation: the government is hunting deserters. Returning now only means being sent to the deadliest front lines—no one wants to go back.”

“The Federation… though it has many inconveniences,” he cautiously observed Lans’s expression, ensuring his words wouldn’t provoke him, then continued, “it’s still far better than going back. So everyone is holding on.”

Lans nodded slightly, thinking for a moment. “Have you heard anything about protests or demonstrations lately?”

Karl revealed nothing to Lans—he nodded as he spoke. “I’ve heard. Workers in many factories are talking about it.”

As he spoke, he tapped ash into the ashtray.

His etiquette tutor had told him: when a superior is speaking with you face-to-face and permits you to smoke or drink coffee, you must not refuse.

Refusing would offend; accepting is the sign of obedience.

You must not drink coffee all at once: take a small sip first, but finish the cup entirely by the end of the conversation.

Likewise, when smoking, you must not smoke continuously—your smoke, even in small amounts, may disturb your superior.

The best method is to take the first puff when lighting, and the last puff just before the cigarette burns out.

That way, you smoke only two puffs—obeying your superior’s request without releasing too much smoke.

He wasn’t sure if these etiquette rules were right, but he followed them faithfully.

After a few more seconds of thought, Lans said, “I need you to do something.”

He immediately stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, straightened his back, and sat properly.

Seeing Karl’s posture, Lans found it amusing—and sensed his intense desire for a better life.

Someone who doesn’t crave entry into the upper class would never learn these things!

Motivation, ambition, desire—these are good things!

A person with no desires at all is someone no one can trust.

“These protests and demonstrations are aimed at me, but they’ve taken precautions—I can’t act against them directly.”

“After thinking it over, you’re the most suitable.”

“First, recruit a group of people willing to escape their current lives—not too many, but not too few: four or five hundred.”

“Divide them into ten teams. Place people you trust as team leaders.”

“When the protests fully erupt, send them to various protest sites to instigate clashes.”

Creating clashes is only one part of the plan.

If these clashes target too many refugees, they’ll trigger a cascade of other problems—Mayor Williams might even be implicated.

For example: if thousands, even two or three thousand refugees, organized and attacked a protest march, how would the governor and Congress view it?

That would be clear mismanagement. But if only small groups are involved—too insignificant to be called a “threat” in public opinion—then Mayor Williams won’t face harsh criticism.

At most, they’ll demand he resolve the issue quickly—raise it high, then let it drop gently.

The real force that must act will be the police of Jingang City.

After two years of expansion, Jingang City’s police force now numbers twenty thousand—that’s the real weapon.

Because the Federation’s First Amendment permits spontaneous protests, police have no right to stop them.

But police do have the right to stop violent incidents.

When conflict erupts and blood is spilled, police will intervene—focusing on arresting the protesters, letting the refugees go free, so they can create more chaos.

This protest, which could have shaken the entire city, the state, even the Federation, can be smothered this way.

A spark can ignite a prairie fire—but what if it’s extinguished before it ever catches?

Karl listened intently to every word Lans spoke, memorizing them. He asked, “Mr. Lans, how far should we go?”

“Clubs? Daggers? Swords? Guns?”

“That’s a foolish question,” Lans chuckled, “but it shows you’re paying attention!”

“Use clubs. Try not to kill anyone—but make it look brutal. Use square wooden beams.”

“Not too heavy—light enough that even a blow to the head won’t be fatal, yet still leave deep wounds.”

“You decide the details.”

“We’ll have much more work ahead. Our territory will expand greatly. Besides our own people, you can recruit others too.”

“This operation is a good test—bring in those you think are capable. We’ll need them later.”

As he spoke, he picked up a leather suitcase from beside him and placed it on the coffee table. “Here’s one hundred thousand dollars for this operation.”

“How you distribute it is up to you—but don’t mess up what I’ve entrusted to you. Understood?”

Karl didn’t even glance at the suitcase. He kept his head bowed, nodding repeatedly. “Understood.”

“Hmm…” Lans was pleased with Karl’s demeanor. He was a talent, so Lans didn’t mind chatting a little longer.

“Now that business is done, let’s talk about something lighter.”

“I’ve been away from Jingang City lately. Has anything happened in the military zone?”

Karl shook his head. “They’ve become much quieter. Military police are patrolling constantly.”

Soon, their conversation turned to Karl’s family. “Have you considered bringing them here?”

Karl nodded. “I’ve thought about it—but it’s difficult now.”

“Slard has issued new policies banning unexplained departures. Even paying won’t get them out easily.”

Speaking of this, Karl’s mood dipped.

Lans pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen and handed them over. “Write down your family’s details. I’ll arrange it.”

To carry out major operations, Lans’s power might still be insufficient—but moving a few people out of Slard? That was simple.

Even without General Miles’s connections, he had ties within the military and the Ministry of National Defense.

Karl stared at Lans in disbelief, yet felt it made sense—and began writing.

He wrote smoothly, his characters elegant and refined—clearly practiced.

“You’re diligent,” Lans praised, studying the paper.

Karl blushed, scratched his head, and smiled silently.

Then Lans told him to return and prepare.

Days passed. The atmosphere in Jingang City grew increasingly tense.

On Monday noon, in a factory supplying upstream and downstream components, workers emerged from the assembly line. Their clothes weren’t thick; some wore coats, but their short sleeves showed as they walked.

The temperature inside the line was high—twenty to thirty degrees.

Mechanical heat, body heat, and physical exertion all generated warmth.

After a morning’s labor, lunchtime finally arrived.

They had thirty minutes to eat and rest before returning to their relentless work.

The assembly line was the most soul-crushing place—anyone with spirit would slowly become numb.

Day after day, year after year, repeating the same tasks—either you explode in silence, or you go mad in silence.

Among workers, there is also the phenomenon of forming cliques—for example, people on the same production line, or those in the same workshop.

Several workers walked out of the workshop with lunch boxes, and from afar saw a crowd gathered together.

The worker at the front stopped walking, glanced at those beside him, and then the group headed toward the crowd.

As they drew closer, they could hear someone speaking in the center of the crowd.

“Fellow workers!”

“We are facing the worst situation in history!”

“You must already know that Wanli Labor Agency is negotiating labor support arrangements with the new industrial zone factories.”

“They have already sent seven thousand workers to the new industrial zone—do you know what this means?”

The surrounding workers stared at him in silence; the man in the center then shouted loudly, “It means seven thousand job positions have been seized by illegal immigrants, refugees, and the like!”

“They have stolen these jobs from us, and more and more people will compete with us for work—until each of us becomes unemployed!”

“Although I hate to admit it, I must: compared to the cheap labor of these illegal immigrants, we are clearly far more expensive.”

“But fellow workers, this pay is precisely what sustains us and our families—it is the rightful reward for our labor!”

“We don’t just want to survive—we want our lives! They cannot treat us this way; they cannot snatch jobs from our hands!”

“We must unite! We must resist the brutality of Wanli Labor Agency and the city authorities’ indifference to these matters!”

“The Labor Union and the workers are actively encouraging and calling on us to hold a major strike and protest march this month to voice our demands.”

“This concerns the legal rights of every single one of us—I hope you will stand with us, the working class, this time!”

“Fellow workers who are willing to join can receive food vouchers—though not much, it’s at least a gesture.”

“What we want is for these capitalists to see our united strength—just like in the past, smashing their unrealistic fantasies with our fists…”

Soon, workers were convinced and signed their names on a registration form; according to the organizers, food vouchers would be distributed based on this list.

Just two yuan per person in designated food vouchers—these vouchers were actually sponsored by some capitalists and could only be used to buy certain goods.

But no matter what, two yuan in food vouchers was still very appealing.

Moreover, this march was for their own sake—soon, people began signing up, pledging to answer the call.

Among these people, some genuinely supported the call, believing the working class should unite against capitalists and labor agencies; others simply wanted an extra day off.

But not everyone was willing to join—some non-union workers, unwilling to pay dues, watched from a distance.

Some workers disliked the union, feeling its presence only worsened labor-management tensions and that its constant activities disrupted their earnings.

So after watching for a while, they left to enjoy their lunch.

The factory owner watched these people from his office; his face was grim. The office also held the manager and several key staff.

After watching for a while, he sat back down in his chair. “These people—the union—are like a tumor rooted inside us.”

“They feed on our flesh and blood to grow!”

“Worse still, they told me that even during the march, I must pay them at least fifty percent of their wages.”

“What the hell is this!”

Everyone in the office remained silent. The union had contacted them yesterday—the march would last five to seven days, during which participating workers would be fully detached from work.

But he was legally required to pay them at least fifty percent of their wages, because failure to do so would violate the First Amendment of the Federal Constitution, obstructing the freedom to protest.

Then they might launch a longer strike against his factory!

This was precisely why the union and the Labor Alliance were so detested by capitalists—and yet utterly powerless to stop: the strike.

Once a strike began, order schedules would collapse; some orders might face late-delivery claims and countless other problems.

That’s why many factories, despite knowing they’d anger the union, still chose to cooperate with Lans.

Those refugees, those illegal immigrants—damn them, they don’t have these problems! No matter what happens outside, they still show up and work!

After venting for a while, the owner calmed himself. “Keep contacting those workers—tell them we’ll increase on-duty pay during the march.”

This was the only way he could think of to retain more workers on the assembly line—the non-union workers would keep working.

But in this industry, nearly half the workers are union members—this means his orders are in serious trouble!

Thinking of it, he cursed again, then picked up the phone and dialed the labor agency.

He needed temporary workers—labor agencies were clearly the best option.

(End of Chapter)