Chapter 92

On the third day of prohibition, work efficiency increased by 200 percent!

The front-page headline of Today Jincheng published a shocking piece of news, but given the public’s distrust of newspapers at the time, after deciding newspapers wouldn’t lie, they chose to believe the nonsense it printed—even though it sounded absurd.

The reporter also interviewed several workers with long histories of heavy drinking, all of whom said that before prohibition, they could buy large quantities of alcohol at cheap prices.

Alcohol robbed them of their ability to work; one man even claimed he lost two fingers due to drunkenness on the job—a painful lesson.

But since the prohibition took effect, they have firmly obeyed the decisions of the city and state governments, refusing to buy or consume any alcoholic beverages, and now they feel better.

They can now climb six flights of stairs in one breath, punch a bull to death with one strike, no longer fall asleep on the job, and no longer spend all day thinking only of alcohol.

Even on the assembly line, after working eleven hours, they still have the energy to keep going—if the capitalists hadn’t cared about their health and stopped them from overtime, they’d work sixteen hours a day before returning to rest!

Their lives have changed for the better because of prohibition; they sincerely, from the bottom of their hearts, thank the implementation of prohibition…

This is politics.

Whether it’s absurd or not doesn’t matter; what matters is making those who made the decision see that the policy has been thoroughly implemented and is receiving positive feedback.

Lans saw this article while having breakfast, and indeed, the entire politics section of Today Jincheng was filled with positive feedback on the prohibition since its implementation.

But he sneered at it, because this is politics.

What it presents isn’t necessarily true; it only needs people to believe it.

Whether they’re at the bottom or the top.

The old men in Congress will hold up this newspaper and shout at their political enemies who oppose prohibition: “Open your dog eyes and see! Prohibition has won another battle!”

“Productivity losses and violent crimes caused by alcoholism will soon be eradicated from the Federation—this is a great victory for humanity!”

But for the common people, they eat as they please, drink as they please.

On his way to the company, Lans had already seen more than one protest; many alcoholics held signs reading “Alcohol is Innocent” and loudly protested the full prohibition in Jincheng.

Many bar workers also joined the protests.

Think about it: before, those alcoholics could drink while watching dancers slowly strip off their clothes—what can they do now?

Drink black tea or juice?

Or milk?

Without the stimulation of alcohol, they won’t throw money onto the stage just to stare a little longer or get close to smelly seafood like fools.

Strip dancers’ incomes have plummeted, alcoholics have lost their entertainment, bar workers have lost their income—they can only protest.

Perhaps this is why, even though the Federation has banned alcohol, sales of alcoholic beverages in states that have already banned it have surged.

People don’t necessarily drink because they want alcohol; they drink to defy the Federation government’s half-baked policy.

They’re not drinking alcohol—they’re drinking dissent, a spirit!

Lans first went to the financial consulting firm; things there are stable, earning about ten thousand dollars monthly in interest, growing slowly.

In contrast, the labor agency has entered its explosive phase, with monthly income now exceeding seven thousand dollars.

Because word of mouth is spreading, more and more people who don’t want to work but still want a salary have chosen Wanli.

They only need to sign an authorization contract, hand over their work card to Wanli to use, and receive at least thirty-two dollars monthly.

They don’t need to worry about contact with illegal immigrants—the labor agency handles everything themselves; they just wait each month to collect their money.

In the morning, Lans met with George, the reporter from Today Jincheng.

George was punctual; he felt an inexplicable, almost reverent emotion toward Lans—everything Lans did seemed like a miracle to him!

After brief pleasantries, Lans ushered him into his office and ordered two iced coffees from the side.

“This place is bustling—I’m glad you chose such a promising industry!” George offered his congratulations, then asked the purpose of the meeting: “So you want me to run an ad for you?”

Today Jincheng is unquestionably a major media player in the state; though it’s only a local newspaper, it has sales points and a fixed readership across the entire state.

For people in remote or backward small towns, compared to their dull, boring lives, they’d rather know what’s happening in Jincheng today.

Even media outlets from other regions often buy news from them to republish.

This was the only possible reason he could think of for his own appearance here.

But Lans shook his head. “Have you considered doing a special feature?”

George sipped his iced coffee and asked, “About what?”—whether from the chill of the coffee or something else, he suddenly felt a flicker of interest.

“About the difficult lives of illegal immigrants in the Federation,” Lans said, looking at him. “Voting begins next month, and we all know the president will be re-elected…”

George shook his head and muttered, “That’s the most disgusting thing about the Federation—whether the president gets re-elected is treated like a transaction, and we already know the outcome before voting even happens—capital controls everything!”

“And then?” he asked.

“The president promised to solve the problem of illegal immigration—even step by step. Perhaps we can focus on illegal immigrants before the presidential palace shifts attention away from them.”

“Then the presidential palace will thank you, illegal immigrants and immigrant communities will be grateful, everyone will.”

After hearing this, George felt a surge of excitement—everyone wanted the Federation’s highest journalism honor, the Golden Newspaper Award—the ultimate accolade every media person craved!

But the award was hard to win; to earn it, you had to report on a painful issue people wanted to avoid but couldn’t, then deeply analyze it and seek redemption.

Illegal immigration was indeed a strong angle: as their numbers grew, they had evolved from a minor skin rash into an undeniable, influential force—an edge force.

George pulled out his notebook and pen. “I’m interested. Do you want joint byline?”

“Yes.”

He scribbled a few notes. “Where do we start?”

Lans tapped his fingers on the table. “Start right here.”

George immediately realized: “You’re still advertising for yourself!”

He smiled. “But this kind of advertising won’t annoy anyone—I even had a moment where I thought I should pay you so I could proudly put my name before yours.”

He paused. “When do we start working?”

“Let me lay out my ideas first,” Lans said before beginning—before the article, or even the series, he needed to set its tone.

George knew Lans’s skill—he immediately prepared to take notes.

“We can start with my labor agency, which provides job opportunities specifically for illegal immigrants who need work—we rent out work cards to them.”

“Their earnings are divided into three parts: the card owner gets most of it, we take one dollar, and they get a small share.”

“Start by examining whether our work is legal and reasonable, then delve into the conflict and competition between native workers and immigrant workers to find the core issue.”

“Then report on the terrible conditions illegal immigrants face now—I’ll find you some typical cases, guaranteed to captivate readers nationwide.”

“We must frame the question of whether illegal immigrants can find work as a moral issue for the Federation.”

“We can’t ignore them just because they lack legal status—we can’t watch them starve, die of illness, or even become accomplices accelerating their death in the civilized world!”

“The more civilized we are, the more humane we must be—even if we dislike them, we must grant them the most basic right to survive.”

“How do we protect native workers’ rights? Do illegal immigrants have the right to survive? Who cares about their health and survival? What about the conflicts and contradictions?”

George took detailed notes, adding his own ideas—he began to feel his blood boil; this would surely become a massive news story!

“If I win the Golden Newspaper Award, I’ll have your name engraved on the base,” George said seriously. “This is half yours.”

“I thought you’d say you’d give it to me,” George laughed heartily. “Don’t even think about it!”

“Even if you wanted to have dinner with my wife, I’d tolerate it—but the Golden Newspaper Award? Absolutely not!”

Lans called Elvin, who arrived shortly after. “Take Mr. George around, get everyone to cooperate with him, and find some typical illegal immigrants—both those we work with and those we don’t.”

Elvin was quick-witted—he understood Lans’s meaning: find some miserable cases. Such people were everywhere among illegal immigrants.

Without Lans, they’d be suffering just as badly.

In the afternoon, Jincheng had another rainstorm; after the rain, the autumn chill and bleakness became unmistakably clear. The old tailor arrived with Lans’s new clothes—he was eager to see them.

Of course, the tailor lived up to his expectations: entirely hand-sewn, with a matching thread-stitched “G·J” inside the left collar—a signature mark unique to the tailor.

Perfect fit, snug and tailored—not like ready-made clothes, which are always either too big or too small, never quite right.

Others stared, saliva nearly dripping; but there was no help for it—handmade takes time. Now only the tailor, his daughter, and his son-in-law worked, and for Lans to get two suits and a trench coat in a few days was already a miracle of overtime.

Others wanting such speed would have to wait much longer.